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#it's like trying to relearn how to walk after a stroke
mousegirlheart · 11 months
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hey who wants to see me be super weird about TF
I wrote this alllll the way back in January after reading Mice Tea and Out Of Placers and realizing how much that particular kind of TF appealed to me.
You were a human, but due to shenanigans you find yourself transformed into a smaller, weaker, diminutive creature. You still have your human intelligence, but your new form is something that will be difficult to acclimate to.
Being much smaller than a human, weaker, you find yourself reliant on your friends for help and safety. It's not long before they've taken to carrying you around, despite your objections. They find you new clothes. Perhaps they're a little more.... dollish than you'd like. You're so cute and little now they can't help but dote on you.
Getting used to your new body, your new features and their limitations is taxing. Your mouth is different, so speaking has to be relearned. Your legs are much more different, walking is now an exercise in concentration, at least until you get used to it. Your large ears and tail betray you, showing your emotions clear as day to those around you. You can insist that having your new fur brushed and stroked by your friends isn't that great, but your swishy tail and relaxed ears insist otherwise. It feels glorious. Imagine the feeling of having your scalp scratched, amplify that euphoria, then put those nerves all over your body.
Your sensory perception is something bizarre you need to get used to. Your hearing, taste and smell are all significantly more powerful. Good food is incredible now, and due to your tiny size, everything feels so much bigger and louder. Your friends faces look huge, and every micro expression they make when talking to you is dramatically amplified. Their concern when you behave less.... human... is painfully apparent, despite them trying to hide it. The slightest frown at the corner of their mouth is extremely apparent to you.
Learning to fight your new mind is frightening. Your head is filled with new instincts, desires, compulsions that are difficult to resist. You try not to cave, fearing further transformation and loss of humanity, at least that's what you tell your friends. Honestly, you're more just embarrassed about your lack of self control, your compromised mental state making you act out in bizarre unexpected ways. You'll have brief lapses in lucidity where you find yourself doing things you didn't mean to do. It's embarrassing.
Despite trying to play it calm and cool, as you find yourself subconsciously leaning into these instincts, acting more like the creature you are now, doing things no human would do, the distress takes over. You break down, panicking. Your friends care about you, immediately scooping you up, doting over you, assuring you it will be okay. Your dynamic changes. They move closer to being carers. You're almost a pet. You insist they not treat you as a pet, but you accept there are some things you just need help with now. You're just too cute for them not to, if not just a little pathetic.
God, the food. Thanks to your heightened ability to taste and smell, some things are just incredible now. Things you wouldn't have cared about as a human, and other things a human would never dare put near their mouth. It's a goddamn religious experience sometimes. It almost makes you never want to change back. Almost.
Your position in society is changed. People don't treat you as highly as they did as a human, and so you end up even more reliant on your friends. In a world not designed with a creature like you in mind, your tiny stature and proportionally weaker muscles, navigating the world is just not possible any more. People need to get things off high places for you, open doors, lift you onto hard to reach places. You can no longer carry the things you used to. Even just your old phone is inconveniently heavy to carry. Not that you can use it like you used to. Your tiny, clawed fingers don't exactly make it easy to type.
As time goes on, your mental state adjusts. You accept this new form a lot more now. The compulsions and desires to do strange things no longer make you break out in a panic anymore, it's just part of what you need to do to soothe your racing mind. Get those scratches, gnaw on that object, cram that delicious food in your mouth. You accept the satisfaction these things bring now. You can appreciate the positive feelings.
Sure, your newfound limitations can be troubling at times. You're too small to do things you used to. There isn't a video game controller designed for you, so no more games, you guess. Your taste and digestion place new limits. There are some foods you used to like that taste foul now, and some normal human foods just make you violently ill. You insist you can walk, but you're just too small to get anywhere at a decent pace, much less without straining your tiny lungs, or making your already rapidly beating heart go into overdrive, nor is everywhere safe for you to wander. You begin to accept your friends just need to carry you sometimes.
The clothes you were given are incredibly uncomfortable. You can't tell if it's because they weren't designed with your unique anatomy in mind so much as a dolls, the terrible fabrics, the comparatively gigantic seams that were never meant to touch skin, much less snag your fur and pull it in unpleasant directions until you desperately need to be groomed lest you go nuts. Maybe it's another compulsion, an instinct to remove the clothes, like how a cat goes ballistic when you put a sweater on it. You can't tell if the shame of not wearing clothes is worse than the discomfort. Maybe you need to look into getting clothes custom made. That might be better. Finding the right fabric might be hard, at your size everything feels coarser than it used to.
There are times that you briefly forget you were ever human, and that your new behaviors are strange or embarrassing. You'll do something without even considering how people around you will react, not feeling like you're doing something wrong until after the fact
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robinrites · 1 year
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Day Five: Best-Worst Bad Guy
Happy Whumptober Day 5!
Prompts: Every Whumpee's Needs, Blood Loss, Running out of Air, Hyperthermia
TW: Suffocation, gunshot wound, heat stroke, hallucinations, water deprivation.
Villain knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. They held their right hand against their left shoulder as they darted down the hallway, occasionally stealing glances at their pursuers. They pulled their hand away for a moment, only to see it was covered in their blood. 
“Fuck.” They whispered before pressing their hand back over where they had been shot.  
“You can run but you can’t hide Villain,” Supervillain called as she followed them down the hallway. 
Villain ducked into one of the empty labs along the hallway and hid out of sight as best as they could. They held their breath as they heard Supervillain’s heels click on the floor, then paused at the door to the room they were currently hiding in. Seconds passed, Villain held in their breath, afraid even the tiniest noise would alert their pursuer of their location. As Supervillain’s heels clicked away, Villain let out a sigh of relief. They went to inhale, but suddenly found all the air had been sucked from their lungs. As they gasped for air, they couldn’t help but want to cry. 
“Tt, foolish Villain.” Supervillain’s shoes clacked as she came back towards where Villain was hiding. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of?” Even if Villain wanted to respond, they weren’t sure they had the air to do so. “Show yourself if you want to breathe again.” Villain felt their face turn blue, their lungs burned for air. Somehow they stumbled back out into the hallway, and the air rushed back to their lungs. Villain took gasping, shuddering breaths as they tried to regulate their breathing again. 
“Fuck you.” They panted, mentally promising themselves they would flip Supervillain off once they could focus on anything but being suffocated. 
Supervillain squatted down to where Villain was kneeling and tilted their chin upward, “To think I took you under my wing.” Supervillain spat in their face, then sneered, “I think it’s high time you relearned some manners.” 
Two guards, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, each grab one of Villain’s arms, quickly dragging them away from Supervillain. Villain wants to fight so desperately, but one look in Supervillain’s eyes reminds them of what will happen if they try to escape again. If only suffocation got easier each time it happened. 
Villain feels a pinprick in their neck as Supervillain begins to walk away. The guards are smart like that. Without the threat of suffocation, what else would keep them in line? They numbly register being dragged down several flights of stairs. Villain knows this will hurt later, they’ll probably be bruised from it, but what else can they do? Their limbs feel heavy, almost as if they were lined with lead. The lights get dimmer and dimmer as they descend levels until finally they have reached sub-basement 3. 
Villain barely registers being tossed in a cell, or the fact that they are now chained to the wall with barely any wiggle room. They want to call after the guards, maybe bribe them, but their mouth refuses to open. Words die in their throat before they can hit their lips. 
When they wake up the next morning, the first thing they notice is the intense heat. All the moisture is gone from Villain’s mouth, and there isn’t a single drop of water in sight. Villain goes to rub their eyes, which are itching from how dry they are, only to be reminded that they are chained to a wall. They let their head roll backwards for a second, hoping it’ll help them collect their thoughts. It doesn’t. 
“Hello?” They call, as loud as they can. “Hey I think you guys left the heater on!” Villain tugs experimentally against their chains to no avail. “What’s a person gotta do to get some water around here?” They try to joke, but the lack of moisture makes Villain cough over the sound of any response. “Hello?” They drop their head, sweat rolling down their forehead in droves. “Fuck! Okay I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll be a good little villain now just please! Can I at least get some water?” 
They are about to give up on yelling, when they hear the sound of a lock turning in the door. A guard storms in, face red with rage, and he’s carrying what looks like a water bowl for a dog. He sets it in front of them, then crosses his arms. 
“Will this get ya to shut up?” 
“Yes! Oh gods yes please thank you!” They wait expectantly for the guard to uncuff them so they can drink, but he doesn’t make any moves to do so. “Can I be uncuffed so I can drink please?” 
“Ha!” The guard rolls his eyes, then kicks the bowl a little closer with his foot, spilling precious water. “Boss lady said she wants you trained, so we’re startin’ with the basics. Eatin’ from a bowl.” 
“You can’t be serious.” 
“I could jus’ take the water away if that’ll make you happy.” 
“No!” Villain shouts, “I’m sorry, please don’t.” They awkwardly bend forward until their head is inches from the bowl of water, wincing at the strain this position puts on their arms. They take a sip of the water and almost spit it out when they realize it’s warm. They force themself to swallow, then steal a glance up at the guard. 
“Somethin’ wrong?” 
“The water it’s-” 
“Warm? I’m aware.” He laughs cruelly, “We’re sweatin’ the goody-two-shoes out of ya. Now drink up before I take it away.” 
Villain bites back a cry before returning to the warm water. They drink the whole bowl, feeling slightly less parched than before, but still craving crisp cool water. The man picks up the bowl, then glares at Villain one more time. 
“Aren’t ya forgetting something?” 
“Thank you for the water.” They drop their head, both as a sign of respect and a sign of exhaustion. Satisfied, the man exits the cell, quickly locking it behind him. 
Villain wants to bang their head against the wall behind them. They want to cry so badly. Their throat begins to choke up from holding in the tears, but they know crying would waste precious water. Eventually, the urge to cry disappears, replaced by a new feeling: fear. They aren’t sure how long they’ve been sitting in the cell, possibly a couple hours. 
All they are sure about is how hot it is. Villain’s heart feels like it’s been moving a thousand miles per hour, and they feel absolutely drenched in sweat. Villain pities whoever will walk into the room next, even though they are numb to the stench of their sweat, they are positive this room reeks. Villain spots a figure in the room, when did the door open? 
A warm glow surrounds the other person in the room. Villain can’t help but smile as they take in the glittering nest of curls resting atop this new person’s head, as if it was a halo. They watch this woman step closer to them, then they feel her hand cup their cheek. So faint it’s almost as if she wasn’t really there. She laughs, was it something I said? Villain doesn’t remember saying anything, but why would this person laugh if nothing was said? 
“Help me.” Villain manages to sputter out, but the person just smiles, then turns to go. Villain tugs as hard as they can on their bindings. “Wait! Please don’t leave me! I’ll be good-er bad! I’ll be the best-worst bad villain there ever was….” Villain shakes their head, “I’m getting all mixed up now aren’t I?” The woman grabs the door handle and pulls it open, then walks into a white light. What happened to the corridor outside? The guard? 
The sound of the door creaking open snaps them back into reality. Was it really all fake? A caped figure sneaks into the cell, quickly scanning it for any threats or weaknesses before focusing on Villain. They move the hood so it no longer obscures their face, only to reveal the woman from Villain’s hallucination. 
“Villain?!”
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flamingtunapictures · 5 months
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The Animators - Book Review
Tl:dr - The production timeline described in this book for the characters’ animated film is absolute WHACK and offensive enough to completely pull you out of the story.
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This is a book about a couple of animators pouring their entire beings into their work and being recognized for it. Readers get long drawn-out narratives and meandering ups and downs (mostly downs) of their life together as business and creative partners. The story is told from the perspective of one of the partners (Sharon), with never a narrative crossover into the other’s psyche (Mel).
There are a myriad of reasons I did not like this book both in terms of literary style (*purely a personal preference, the author should get credit for doing the do technically well) and characterization.
The characters are incredibly unlikable and irritating – toxic, immature, and impulsive with no measurable proclivity for considering “maybe I should try to be a better person.” They act and speak rashly, often betraying unbelievable selfishness and the psyche of an incredibly immature teenager. Which could be fine, if it weren’t for them being in their 30’s. I found myself constantly yelling “grow up please!”
In addition, the sheer amount, and lack of self-control, concerning substance abuse, hurtful statements, and destructive behaviors – all attributed (understandably) to their difficult upbringings becomes increasingly grating when they seem to forgo responsibility for their actions in lieu of blaming their circumstances.
All of that aside, let’s get to the real reason (and only important reason) I’m blowing a gasket over this book.
The book is called The Animators. You would expect a book called The Animators to have some semblance of a REALISTIC production timeline for a full-length animated film. This book fails hard on that.
This story expects you to believe that a two woman team (and only two) work tirelessly to bring a full 70-75 minute feature film to life in LESS THAN TWO YEARS. The details are thus:
The project is traditionally animated (the first half accomplished completely by traditional means with onionsskins etc)
Only 2 people are working on it (maybe there was a little bit of help from an eager fan of their work, but nothing realistically substantial)
All this work was accomplished with one of the individuals regularly sleep-deprived, mal-nourished, and a little coked up
(this is the real doozy) The other half of this two woman team (that wasn’t coked up) was actively recovering from a stroke in which she temporarily lost, and had to relearn, how to speak, read, walk, and draw.
The moment when this aspect of the story really started to nag me was when the characters are in Louisville, Kentucky. During this time they essentially start the serious work on their project. After the 3 month mark they are showing off their first full 20 minutes of their film. Based off how the part of the story is told, we are to assume that this 20 minutes is: fully animated, composited, and overlaid with sound. Not just an animatic. I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E.
20 seconds could probably be achieved in 2-3 months by an animator of their supposed caliber. Never 20 minutes under traditional methods with only two people. (Did I mention one of them was still recovering from a stroke??) And then they go on to confirm that the movie was a full 70-75 minutes long and that the characters finished, published, and were on tour for it in less than 2 years after its inception.
A project of the described magnitude, under the conditions described, would take a minimum of 5-7 years, unless the animation was just really scratchy, choppy, and unrefined (which the narrative again, implies it’s not.)
This gross misrepresentation of the amount of time traditional animation actually takes is to the narratives detriment: completely ripping the reader out of any sort of believable reality (at least, if the reader has any personal experience with the medium).
To be dramatic, I would even say it’s a little offensive.
I’m mostly writing this review because I haven’t seen any other review yet actually call out this aspect of the book. (I searched for one).
That’s all folks. Have a nice night. Read it if you want.
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blahandwhatever · 1 year
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This weekend I continued searching and shopping and returning, tried another in a string of bowls of subpar chili from a non-Whole Foods place, finally picked out a dentist and submitted an appointment request - mainly so I’d have an accomplishment to report to my parents - and placed an order for contacts I’d procrastinated on ridiculously because I like to get them from 1-800-contacts with the best price guarantee, which means spending 5-10 minutes doing the Work of finding a good and valid deal to price match and then chatting to someone about it.
I also caught up with some of my favorite warm-and-fuzzy YouTubers and picked back up on Super Mario Odyssey after an extremely long hiatus, fumbling around reorienting myself and relearning the controls, feeling like a stroke patient relearning how to walk, but ultimately getting back in the swing of things and having lots of fun! Like more than I remember having last time!! Excited for Game.
Today I went to my parents’ house, which was significantly less difficult/unpleasant than my recent experiences with my parents (and again excessive psychological preparations) would suggest. I also saw some resurgence of sleepiness and some eyelid twitching I had recently that had gone away. Again, I slept either too little or too much, unsure which. I recently added glutathione to my supplement mix, not on an everyday basis but as needed, thinking maybe I could use the extra antioxidant boost when not feeling my best, though so far, the effects are unclear - no obvious immediate ones like I had with alpha-lipoic acid and anxiety (which, by the way, I should probably also replenish and try out in this context).
Anyway, I had seemingly everything done hours ago, yet here I go again, barely budging with my sleep schedule.
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greenwood106-blog · 1 year
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They Said I Had To Go To Rehab...
I spent almost 2 weeks in the hospital, and now they said I was being transferred to a rehabilitation facility.  My wife had chosen the one with the highest marks for rehab stays, so it was another ambulance ride for me.
I arrived and thankfully had a private room.  I guess one of the sad benefits of the pandemic was the isolation. I was never a big fan of the masses, so it was no problem to be isolated for me.  I was still in the mindset of wanting to be left alone, so I can’t imagine what the staff thought of me.  I was struggling with my temperature, hot one minute, cold the next.  When I arrived the hot version was there so I asked them for a fan, and they found one for me.  I then asked them to keep my door closed, which wasn’t easy as my communication was still in its infancy.
The next day I was introduced to a ton of people, none of whom I remember (sorry), and they kept wanting to open my blinds and my door. After I told the first few people no, they were sure to let my wife know that I must be depressed.  She told them that I was a wanna be hermit who loathed sunlight, and that it was a good sign that I was asking for these things.  While I was battling depression, it wasn’t what I would deem traditional depression.  I had just suffered a stroke and from what I could tell, my guitar playing, never mind teaching, was done and walking could a thing of the past. Whether my blinds were open or closed wasn’t going to impact that.
It hadn’t struck me yet, but this place was exclusively a rehabilitation hospital, so therapists started coming in, introducing themselves and discussing the plan for me. I was so not interested in them, and they were interrupting my television session, watching Friends or Everybody Loves Raymond or maybe CSI New Orleans, so for the most part they got the cold shoulder.  They told me they would be moving me from the bed via a hoyer lift and my level of excitement went absolutely nowhere.  I knew how to operate these and hated them, so I was excited to be craned out of bed then back into bed every day.
The next day I could imagine the beeping of a crane as they wheeled in to load my bulky ass into a wheelchair.  On the first day or so, I was visited by the in house shrink, who was nice but wanted to know how I was emotionally.  My words were good in my mind, but got stuck there, so I grinned and frowned and muttered what I could to get my message across.  They had gotten me a dry erase board and marker to write instead of pointing at letters and numbers.  My right hand still didn’t work, so writing with my left hand was almost as pointless as my speaking.  This tested my patience, but helped my brain think of how to spell vulgarities as a lefty.
One of the things the therapy staff did was put me in an electric wheelchair, which was pretty bad ass.  It reclined, the foot rest raised and extended, and man could it boogie.
I would have three physical therapy sessions a day, and a speech therapy session.  The physical therapy folks clearly had a mission, wear my ass out.  But it was after one session that I had a realization.  I wasn’t done and I could beat this damn thing!  The therapists became my friends, my partners in my new life.
My speech therapist worked diligently to get me past mumbling to a drunken level of communicating.  Some days I’m thinking they had wished I was still only mumbling, as I began joking with them or harassing them.  My first achievement was staying out of bed all day.  I watched entirely too many reruns of the shows I mentioned earlier, but hey it was progress.
As the sessions went on, I still struggled, and now my patience was being tested.  I had gotten to where I really loved ice chips, and except for the damp sponge on a stick, they were they only thing I could safely ingest.  My speech therapist told me there would be a test soon to see if my brain had relearned the basics of swallowing.  She would bring me samples of things like pudding and fruit pieces and water, and I would try not to choke on them little by little.
Finally the test day arrived.  I went to the back hallway where the radiology department was and was positioned in front of something like an x-ray machine that would allow the doctor to see how my throat handled each sample. I went through a handful of test foods and drinks and then I was done.  I had passed! Man I cried  for several minutes.  This was victory that for me confirmed I would beat this crap, that I could not be beaten by something as simple as a stroke.  Not to mention real food was on the menu now instead of goo.  The scrambled eggs the next morning were some of the best ever.  I’m sure I wasn’t biased by my weeks of goo.
It was a few weeks in that they decided I should start walking.  They had the parallel bars for support and a therapist holding with a gait belt and off I went.  I think it was 6 feet, but it felt like a mile.  I had developed the fight again, and the rest of the day was just waiting for my next therapy session.  Weekends sucked as there was no sessions, just little things like homework.
The hoyer lift was gone now, as it was time for me to learn how to use a slide board to go from the bed to my Cadillac and back.  That was a process also, as I could only effectively slide to my left, so the Caddy had be positioned just right for me to slide my ass across the gap.
Progress continues.....
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tallmantall · 2 years
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#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth – No One Knew I Struggled Until My #SuicideAttempt. What I Want #Parents To Know
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Meghan Holohan This story discusses #suicide. If you or someone you know is at risk of #suicide please call the U.S. #NationalSuicidePreventionLifeline at 800-273-8255, text HOME to 741741 or go to  SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for additional resources. In June 2017, then 16-year-old Emma Benoit, a varsity cheerleader in Louisiana who described herself as a "picture-perfect American #girl," attempted #suicide. She survived but was left with serious injuries. Since then, Benoit has spoken about #teen #mentalhealth and #suicide and she is featured in the documentary film, “My Ascension.” Benoit shares her thoughts about #teens, #mentalhealth and #suicide with TODAY. I first remember experiencing #anxiety as early as grade #school. Then it became bigger and bigger. By high school, the #depression began. The two felt constant in my life for five to six years. I never said anything because I didn’t know what I was feeling. I had such little exposure to #mentalhealth that I didn’t even have the language to discuss what I was experiencing. No one ever addressed #mentalhealth with me until after it was too late. I also had this sense that sharing dark feelings came with a #stigma. So I kept quiet. This meant I felt isolated and alone. I thought there was just something wrong with me and I was the problem causing these feelings. But couldn’t do anything about it. I told myself that therapy was for people with more serious problems than mine. No one ever suspected that I struggled with my #mentalhealth. This lack of community and conversation about #mentalhealth factored into what caused me to attempt #suicide. But the pervasive feeling that caused me to try to end my life was overwhelming #hopelessness. I wanted my pain to end. (Editor's note: TODAY does not go into detail about methods used for suicides or #suicideattempts.) Almost immediately, I regretted what I had done. I knew I truly did not want to die. When I woke in the hospital, it was clear that I had many physical injuries. My journey involved a lot of physical recovery, and I first focused my energy on that. I was paralyzed from the neck down, which meant I was quadriplegic. I needed to relearn how to care for myself. I also experienced several blood clots in my brain that led to a series of strokes and cognitive issues. I needed to go to speech, occupational and physical therapy. I’ve regained about 80% of my abilities, but I do use a wheelchair at times. I can now walk and drive and experience some sensation in my limbs and torso. But the nerves in my left hand were severed, so I can’t use those fingers very well. While in the hospital I couldn’t remember what exactly happened — I believe my brain was trying to protect me from those tough memories. When I arrived home, everything rushed back. I felt like both a victim and the perpetrator at the same time. I had this challenging injury that required me to relearn much of how I did things. But I’m the one who inflicted it on me. After working on my physical health, I focused on my emotional strength. Receiving a diagnosis of #depression and #anxiety felt groundbreaking. I now had words to describe what I experienced. But it also made it feel more real. While that could feel scary, it also felt empowering because it felt like something I could work with. The therapists I met made it clear that I could successfully receive treatment and live with #mentalillness. It gave me hope and perspective that I had been lacking. Everyone was shocked that I was struggling. I hope by sharing my story I encourage #parents to talk about #mentalhealth with their #children. As I was recovering, so many people said, “Not Emma.” No one expected that I would attempt to die by #suicide. That’s one reason why it’s important to share my story: I want parents to recognize the warning signs in their #children. Looking back, the biggest signal that something was wrong was when I skipped a cheerleading tryout. After a lifetime of loving the sport, I simply stopped caring. I began hanging out with new friends that I otherwise wouldn’t have befriended. I became angered easily and often felt frustrated — both huge character shifts for me. It’s tough because sometimes people do experience frustration or make new friends, and it’s not always a cry for help. I do wish someone would have talked to me about my feelings so that I didn’t feel alone and struggle so much. #James Donaldson notes: Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes. Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use. Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticle Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book, #CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy http://www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com When I was first in the hospital, I focused on my physical recovery, but when I started talk therapy it was like learning a new language to address my feelings. I encourage #parents to err on the side of caution. If their #teen starts acting differently or suddenly becomes uninterested in something they once loved, ask them about it. It might be nothing. But if it’s something, that conversation could be the start of a dialogue that could lead to them getting help that they need. I hope that #parents start bringing up #mentalhealth and make sure their #children know that if they face difficulties, they can talk to their #parents. I didn’t know that #mentalhealth was something I could discuss. I am on a mission to share my story by taking my documentary to communities and anyone who will listen, to help them open up their own conversations about #mentalhealth. I hope it encourages other people who are struggling to be vulnerable with a loved one. I want them to understand they are not alone and there is help — and that you can overcome your #mentalhealthchallenges and thrive. This interview has been edited and condensed. Read the full article
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loxxxlay · 3 years
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hihihi, just wanted to say that I'm having a lot of feelings and after i literally felt nothing about loki or thor or anything to do with them for almost a year, it's kinda overwhelming for it to all be back right now.
so i see ppl messaging me excited and i've responded to some of it, and i am also excited!
but my human brain isn't quite caught up with my lizard brain, so please be gentle and patient with me! I'm carefully wading into this tumblr pool, testing the temperature, not quite sure whether i want to submerge yet lol
tldr it's gonna take me some time to respond to DMs if they are about loki (or really any DMs tbh bc even tumblr is a bit overwhelming), and i'm sorry!!! T_T
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nightmaresofthedark · 3 years
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Hold Still and Let Me Love You
She’s waiting for you the moment you walk into the apartment. Stern blue eyes pierce into your soul, the hardness behind them sending fear and anticipation into your heart as you slowly put your bag down on the counter, avoiding all eye contact as you stare at the ground sheepishly.��
Silence falls upon the apartment, the place so quiet you swear you can hear your heart beating out of your chest. 
“Kara-” You begin, desperate to break the deathly silence that has fallen between the two of you.
“Don’t ‘Kara’ me little girl, I am Mistress to you right now, or do I need to remind you of that?” Her voice is hard, stern, and you find yourself feeling small in her presence, and yet, you feel completely safe, completely cared for, just like you always do. 
The blonde approaches until she’s right in front of you, her hand reaching behind your head, her fingers threading through your hair before she pulls gently, forcing your head up until you have nowhere else to look except into the eyes of your girlfriend. They’re still hard, but you can see the softness behind them. You know that no matter how strict she gets when you break your rules, she will still always be your soft girlfriend when the evening is up, just waiting to wrap you up in her arms.
Which is why, when the fingers in your hair tighten their grip, forcing your head to the side, exposing your neck, you feel completely safe, calm, relaxed, knowing that Kara is only doing what you both agreed on months earlier at the beginning of your dom/sub relationship. 
“Tell me little girl, what is rule 4?” Kara whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 
You take a second to answer, gulping as you relearn how to breathe when she’s this close to you. 
“Rule 4 is that I must not stay behind at work past 7pm.” You manage to whisper, knowing exactly why Kara made this rule. 
When you first met your girlfriend, you were always staying behind at work late, trying to get tasks done by impossible deadlines, making yourself exhausted and sick in the process. Kara had hated seeing you so weak, so exhausted due to your boss putting impossible workloads on your shoulders, so when you had both begun discussing rules for the dominance and submission side of your relationship, that rule had been one of the very first ones out of Kara’s mouth. 
The grip in your hair tightens slightly, and a low growl escapes from the blonde’s throat.
“So why do you think it’s okay for you to finish work at 9pm princess?” She grumbles into your ear.
You have no answer, and you let your eyes drop to the floor, succumbing to the submission Kara is demanding of you right now, the same submission you crave to give her. 
“You know what happens to little girls who can’t follow their rules, don't you my little girl?”
“Yes Mistress, I do.” 
“Good.” Is all Kara replies before you’re being dragged by your hair over Kara’s knee who’s sat herself down on the couch. Deft fingertips rip your pants and underwear down to your ankles, leaving your upturned bottom exposed. You struggle only a little, trying to wriggle away from the iron grip that has now been moved to your hip, but five hits to your ass in quick succession stop the pathetic fight you were putting on for show immediately.
The hits don’t hurt, don’t even sting, in fact they probably hurt your Mistress’ hand more than you, but they serve as a reminder: be still, and accept your punishment. Naughty girls accept their punishment when they’ve been caught, Kara always told you. 
That was a lesson she spanked and caned and flogged into you over the months, and one you will never forget.
You let your body relax as best you can over Kara’s knee, receiving a gentle stroking of her thumb over your hip in return, but you can’t help tensing up when you feel the wooden paddle being rubbed in circles on your ass. 
“I want you to count every hit out loud, finishing every number with ‘I’m sorry for breaking rule 4 Mistress’. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” Your Mistress asks softly, continuing to rub the wooden instrument against your skin, giving you an out if you need it. 
“Yes Mistress, I can do that for you.” 
Your voice sounds shaky, but you’re not scared. You want this, you want to be kept accountable, you want to have consequences if you go back to your old ways, and you’re so lucky that you’ve found someone that will be that person for you. 
When Kara whispers good girl and the paddle is taken away from your skin, you feel yourself relaxing deeper into submission, just letting your mind slip away from work and instead to your girlfriend and to the paddle in her hand. Moments later, the instrument is brought down hard against your ass, and your punishment begins. 
She starts slow at first, holding the paddle against your skin for a few seconds after every hit, making the sting last longer and feel more intense. You start squirming, wriggling around on Kara’s knee as the pain and heat builds with every smack on your ass. She keeps hold of you, her strong arm wrapping itself around your waist to pin you down so you can’t escape your punishment.
The paddle rains down on your bare skin, the only noises in the room are that of the slapping of the paddle, Kara’s grunts, and your whiny voice repeatedly saying sorry for breaking one of the most important rules your Mistress had set out for you.
Heat and pain build and build as the time slowly ticks on. Your mind becomes a calm oasis; thoughts trickle out of your head like a waterfall, the pain acting like some kind of relaxant, the only one that’s capable of clearing your mind and completely calming you.
Smack after smack after smack rain down on your ass. The stinging pain becomes almost unbearable, but that only adds to the relaxation you manage to feel. With every hit, with every grunt from your Mistress as she brings the paddle down harder and harder, your wriggling and squirming to get away becomes less and less, until, finally, you fall still, your mind completely empty, completely void of all thoughts and emotions except the monotonous; “I’m sorry for breaking rule 4 Mistress”, that escape your mouth every time a new stinging pain latches itself onto your raw bottom. 
Kara watches as your taut muscles relax, as you fall still over her knee, as your voice becomes quiet and slow as you speak rhythmically, almost robotically every time she places a firm smack to your ass. She knows you need this. Ever since this rule came into place, you have been happier and healthier and more rested than you have ever been, all because you know that if you were to ever break the rule and work later than 7pm, a severe punishment like tonight would be your consequence. 
Kara lays a few more slightly more gentle hits onto your bottom before she pulls your limp body into her arms, carrying you into the bedroom. She lays you down on your stomach, careful not to touch your raw sensitive skin as she undresses you before gently rubbing some ointment into your ass, wincing every time you make a sound. 
Aftercare is the most important aspect of any scene the two of you undertake, but it is most important after punishment scenes, when the two of you are the most vulnerable, the most emotionally open. It had taken lots of trial and error, but you both had eventually learned the best ways to take care of each other after scenes like this.
So, when Kara lifts you into the bath to hold you against her chest, as her fingers begin to thread through your hair and her voice begins to fill the silent bathroom with quiet reassurance and praise, it’s almost muscle memory to her. And when you curl yourself into her chest at night, holding on tight to her and telling her she did an amazing job and you felt so safe the whole time, it’s almost muscle memory to you too.
As you fall asleep in each other's arms, your raw ass radiating heat against Kara’s bare skin, you feel safe and content in the knowledge that no matter what, you will love each other and care for each other, in ways only the two of you can.
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fific7 · 3 years
Text
Short Term Loss
Billy Russo x Reader
@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration
Summary: Follows on from That Swept-Back Hair and Velvet (they’re tagged if you want to read). It’s 2 months since Billy got out of hospital. He’s got some memories back, but are they the important ones?
Warnings: Swearing, memory loss, angst/fluff mix.
A/N: well this is really late to the party but here’s part 3, final one. Loosely based on S2 Billy, but this is non-canon and exists only within my personal Punisher AU.
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(My GIF)
Your plane touched down at JFK about 30 minutes later than scheduled, and by the time you grabbed an Uber and got home, it was just after midnight.
The trip had been a super busy one, and you were totally shattered. The jet lag was gonna be a bitch. At least it was Saturday tomorrow. Today.
With a sigh of relief, you stepped inside your darkened apartment, dropped your suitcase and bag, kicked off your shoes and headed straight for the sofa. It had your name on it, and you were going to collapse on it for at least half an hour before doing anything else.
You gave a small shriek as a sudden movement from one of the armchairs startled you. Billy’s face came into view in the reflected glow from a streetlight outside, and you noticed he was still wearing his black tactical outfit. He stood up and came over to you, sliding his arms around your waist and kissing your neck, burying his nose in your hair.
“Hey, sorry sweetheart... I didn’t mean to scare you. Dozed off waitin’ for you.”
You stroked his jawline, your fingertips feeling the bristly scruff along it.
“Oh, honey, we agreed we’d meet up tomorrow for lunch.... because my flight was getting in late, and you had a job today.”
His face fell, “Uh, yeah... I... kinda thought we had, but I... wasn’t 100% sure.” Inwardly, you felt sadness wash over you. Absentmindedly, he touched a finger to his largest scar, a frown appearing on his face.
You took hold of his hand, “C’mon you, let’s go and faceplant onto the bed,” starting to lead him through to the bedroom. You heard a chuckle behind you, “Okay... if you say so.”
You began to strip off your wrinkled travelled-in clothes, pulling on one of the oversized Anvil T’s Billy had given you, and which had pretty much replaced your PJ’s for sleeping in.
Billy was down to his boxer briefs and undershirt, and as he pulled the white tank over his head while sitting on the bed, you spotted a big purple-black bruise on his side which hadn’t been there when you left for your trip.
You leant down, fingertips touching it. “Billy? Where’d that come from?” He looked down, his own fingers landing on top of yours.
“Ah, that job today. Some asshole wouldn’t do what I told him to.”
You cupped his face in your hand, “When’re you gonna stop going out on assignments, Billy? You know I worry about you.”
You saw his mouth pull into a line, his eyes looking like black flints as he stared at you. He stood up abruptly, facing you, body tensed, “I’m too fuckin’ tired for this shit right now! If you’re gonna go over it again, maybe I better head to my place.”
He stared at you, waiting for your answer.
You sighed, holding out your hand to him, “You don’t need to do that, Billy. I’m too fucking tired for that shit too.”
He grinned at that, relaxing, taking your hand and sitting on the edge of the bed, where he pulled you to stand between his wide-apart long legs, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
He ran his hands up from your waist to cup your breasts, lingering for a moment, then moved them back down to your waist. He looked as tired as you felt.
You ran your fingers through his hair, thinking how glad you were it’d begun to grow back at last, although not yet anywhere near as long as it had been. But there was enough there now for you to attempt small tugs on it, which you were delighted to find still had the same effect on Billy that it ever did.
He suddenly lay back on the bed, burrowing under the covers and pulling you right along with him.
“Billy!” “What?” “I need to....” “You need to lay here with me.”
You laughed. “If I wake up tomorrow with panda eyes, it’s on you. And I will punish you.”
He sighed, grinning at you, and let you go. “Okay, okay, I know when I’m beat! But... don’t be too long.”
After you’d done all the necessary girl things which needed to be done, you hopped back into bed with Billy, switching off the bedside lamp as you lay down next to him.
He gave you a long kiss, then you felt his lips softly trailing kisses down your neck.
“G’night, sweetheart,” whispered against your ear. “Sweet dreams, Billy.” You tucked your head against his chest, sighing in contentment, hearing his steady heartbeat.
Soon, his breathing evened out and you knew he was asleep.
Tired as you were, your mind wouldn’t let you sleep. You thought of Billy’s words to you when you got home; he’d forgotten that the two of you were meeting for lunch the next day, rather than him coming over to your place that night. He’d tried to cover it up, but you knew he’d forgotten.
Your heart ached for him. He’d made a lot of progress over the past couple of months, recovering well physically. Psychologically.. well, that was another thing entirely.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
As you’d anticipated, Billy had an exceptionally hard time dealing with his facial scarring. The scars were much less noticeable than they had been, but he had taken to wearing caps and hoodies to hide behind.
You often found him gazing into a mirror, lip curled in distaste as he stared at his reflection. You’d make a point of sneaking up behind him, arms going round his waist, asking him, “Hey, who’s that handsome guy in the mirror, then?” He’d smile and turn round, kissing you softly, totally aware of what you were trying to do.
Once though, he’d blown up, whirling round and yelling at you, “How can you say that?! Look at me!! This...” pointing to his face, “...is a fuckin’ mess!!”
You had placed your palm on his cheek, and he’d calmed down, laying his hand over yours. “Billy, I told you in the hospital that you’re still handsome, and I meant it. Okay?” He’d looked unconvinced and said in a low voice, “I know you say that, but I just don’t understand why you wanna be with me when I look like this.”
And you’d have to try and tell him why without using the L word, as you two hadn’t got to that stage before the explosion, and now was not the time to mention it.
You kept constantly reassuring him, and slowly he began to accept that you did still want him, especially as you two slept in the same bed when staying over at each other’s places. You held each other, just that, and this one simple thing seemed to bring him comfort.
His memory still had a black hole in it, covering the period between the explosion and his last tour in Afghanistan. The memories seemed to start making their way back into his head from there outwards.
He was struggling a little with his short-term memory too, forgetting or mixing things up, hence the lunch confusion from earlier. While this worried you, he was silently frustrated by it.
He now remembered his discharge from the Marines, and that it was his decision to leave. The word Anvil was hovering just at the edge of his memory, present but not fully formed yet. Billy was back working there, but Frank was temporarily still in charge. He could also remember most of what had happened leading up to the explosion, but not the actual event itself.
Some memories came back as tiny fragmented pieces. He would remember a comment you’d made in the past, or the way you did something. You’d walk into a restaurant or cafe with him, he’d stop walking and talking, and you knew it had sparked a memory for him.
An important sense to him seemed to be that of smell. You’d spritz your perfume, deodorant, or body spray around you and his eyes would close, you’d hear your name being said under his breath.
He was forever sliding his nose against your neck or into your hair as if scenting you, through your perfume or shampoo.
But he still didn’t really know who you were.
He heard all about your shared history from you, of course. He didn’t remember anything except random moments of your six months together, and nothing at all about the years of being ‘friends with benefits’ which preceded that.
Frank and Karen had also answered questions that he was wary of asking you directly; how the two of you had been together, how you’d acted with each other, had you kissed, held hands, wrapped your arms around each other in public? Telling you later what he’d asked, and you’d reinforce what they’d told him through actions as well as words.
You were like two strangers, who’d only just met and were getting to know each other. Everything had been a little awkward between you since Billy got home from the hospital.
From the first night he was back, he’d started making tentative, fumbling attempts to have sex with you. It had taken you aback, as it’d been so unlike the Billy you’d known. You guessed he thought it was what you’d expect from him as your boyfriend, and was trying to keep you happy.
So you’d sat him down after a few days of gently warding off these attempts, and had a long talk with him.
How he literally didn’t know you anymore, and that he’d be relearning everything about you. How, until you were truly and completely back in his head, he really shouldn’t rush to try and be a boyfriend to you.
While he protested that he didn’t want to wait, you could tell that truthfully he was relieved. He was trying his best to be your ‘before’ Billy which had been a strain on him, and you’d felt like he was on edge all the time.
But since your little chat, he’d been a lot more relaxed and had been more easily affectionate, in public and private. This had finally resulted in a full-on kiss just before your most recent trip, initiated by him while Frank and Karen were sitting there with you. In itself that didn’t sound earth-shattering, but to you it was a major step forward, as it meant he was a lot more comfortable around you.
The four of you had been in your regular after-work bar, just chatting, Billy listening a lot as usual, just soaking up the details of the conversation and making an occasional comment, or more often asking a question.
You’d just finished recounting a story of an arm-wrestling match between Frank and Billy at a backyard barbecue one time, where the two of them had been so competitive about it they’d ended up rolling around on the lawn, putting each other in headlocks.
Billy had laughed out loud, leant forward, slid his hand around the back of your neck and passionately kissed you. He’d then sat back and taken a sip of his beer, before noticing three sets of surprised eyes on him. “What?” he’d smirked.
“Don’t mind us, Bill, you just carry right on,” grinned Frank, waving a hand in the air.
Billy had looked at you, eyes sparkling, “Huh. Yeah, might just do that.”
Frank raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.
“What can I say,” Billy shrugged, “haven’t felt much like laughin’ lately, and.... and she makes me laugh,” grinning at you.
You’d felt a blush burning its way onto your face, and you’d looked down with a small smile, feeling shy all of a sudden. Karen reached over and put her hand on your arm, a cheeky grin on her face. You knew she was worried about you still seeing Billy, she was scared you’d get badly hurt.
A few days prior, she’d asked what you’d do if Billy never recovered his memories of you, and started seeing other women because he didn’t feel any real connection to you.
Truthfully at first you’d been hurt and offended by the question, and felt that she wasn’t being very supportive of you. But at the same time, you knew that she was a pragmatic soul and was merely trying to prepare you for the worst case scenario.
After letting this percolate through your brain for a few moments, you’d answered, “Well, obviously I wouldn’t be happy about it, and I guess I’d finish with him.”
She’d nodded, seeming to take some comfort in hearing that you wouldn’t cling on for dear life to a non-existent relationship.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Now, as you lay there listening to Billy’s regular breathing, you thought back to what Karen had said a few days ago, her ‘worst case scenario’.
Honestly, right now you didn’t think Billy had enough confidence in his appearance to approach any other women. You smiled sadly; whoever would’ve thought anyone would ever be able to say that about Billy Russo?
But he was slowly regaining his equilibrium, so how long would it be before he decided he needed to look elsewhere for what you wouldn’t give him? Especially if he still hadn’t recalled your relationship and consequently felt no loyalty to you.
You sighed, and Billy huffed in his sleep; lying still, you held your breath, you didn’t want him to wake up.
He still slept, so you released a breath and let your mind start spinning again.
You wondered to yourself... would you really do what you’d promised Karen you would - give up Billy without a fight? Pride and jealousy might get in the way of that. And why exactly were you lying awake torturing yourself over something which hopefully wouldn’t ever happen?
Eventually your tired mind wound down and down, and you slept too.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Billy had woken up before your jaded jet-lagged self did, and you’d groggily surfaced to the sound of cupboards opening and closing, and the chink of mugs and plates. He appeared a little while later, two mugs clutched in one big hand, two plates in the other.
He’d made coffee and toast, which was slightly burnt but you didn’t mind that, as he’d slathered on lots of butter, just as you liked it. You pointed at it, “You remembered,” smirking.
“Uhuh,” he said, “I did,” looking pleased with himself, putting everything down on the bedside table and getting back into bed. He slid closer to you, hand going round the back of your neck and pulling you in for a slow kiss. He pulled away, smirking at you then sat back up, grabbed a plate, handing it to you.
“Breakfast in bed,” he said, to which you replied, “Crumbs in bed,” grinning back at him. He laughed and poked your side, “Now that’s just ungrateful!”
The two of you lazed around, eating your breakfast and drinking your coffee, watching the TV news as you did.
Suddenly, Billy put his mug down and rolled on top of you, dark eyes gazing down into yours, his fingers tracing your cheek and jaw. He leant in and kissed you. “I’m startin’ to remember, you know, I really am. I can feel what we had between us.”
You stroked his face gently, feeling the ridges of his scars against your palm. “Are you, Billy? Truly? I confess I’d be very happy if you are.”
He nodded, still gazing at you. Then you felt his fingers at the hem of your t-shirt, moving it up. You shot up, Billy falling back on one shoulder.
“Wait a minute! Were you just saying that so you’d get laid?!”
He put both hands up, palms out, “No!!” Then a guilty look crossed his face, “But I can’t lie, I do wanna get laid.”
“Oh, and I’m the nearest convenient woman, right?”
He sat up, putting his head in his hands. “No!” he yelled, looking over at you, “You’re my girlfriend! We should want each other!”
“But you don’t remember that I’m your girlfriend, Billy!”
You felt tears welling up in your eyes, “You don’t remember.”
He reached for you, and you allowed him to pull you into his arms, kissing your temple. “But I’m tryin’ to, sweetheart, I swear I am.” His dark eyes looked into yours, “Because I want back what we had. I see Frank and Karen together, and I want that too. With you!”
The two of you lay back down, Billy sliding his arms round you, lips next to your ear. “I’ll be here with you till I remember, I’m not going anywhere and... I don’t want anyone else.”
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Things were a little bit awkward between you for the rest of that day, Billy casting anxious glances at you and periodically repeating much the same thing to you, trying to reassure you. He now knew that you were feeling as insecure as he was, but about a totally different aspect of your relationship. He, deep down, still worried that you no longer truly wanted him due to his scars and continued amnesia.
You were worried that he didn’t want you as he couldn’t really remember you, and would leave you eventually. He’d felt helpless, was trying to make you see that he felt the connection between you, was just trying to fill in the gaps, didn’t want anyone else except you. But he wasn’t sure you believed him.
Karen and Frank had suggested meeting for lunch the next day at a local diner and you’d sent Billy on ahead to meet them, as you’d received a query from your Editor in Chief which you thought you’d better answer sooner rather than later.
As you stepped into the diner 25 minutes late for lunch, you spotted Karen and Frank sitting in a booth but there was no sign of Billy. Your stomach dropped, where was he? Did he forget which diner you were meeting in and was maybe wandering about trying to find you all?
Then your stomach lurched again, but for a different reason. Billy was standing at the far end of the curved diner counter, facing you but tucked out of sight of your other two friends, his head tilted over as he listened to a dark-haired woman speak directly into his ear. Her back was to you so you couldn’t see her face, but suddenly Billy grinned and she moved her hand to cover his, rubbing her thumb over his skin.
You felt rage and jealousy boil up inside you, and you took silent swift steps towards the two of them, catching the tail end of what the woman had been saying, “....so just come to my apartment, and we can have some private sessions, okay?” Your mouth dropped open as you continued walking towards them... what the hell??
Billy caught sight of you heading his way, and his face lit up with a big smile. You couldn’t believe it, this woman was blatantly propositioning him and he was smiling at you?! A murderous scowl on your face, you grabbed the woman’s elbow and swung her towards you. Catching sight of Billy’s astonished face, you then quickly looked at her equally startled face.
Dr Krista Dumont.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
“You!” was the first thing out of your mouth. “Consulting in diners now, are you?”
You’d taken an instant dislike to the good doctor when you found her in Billy’s hospital room without permission, feeling that there was something ‘off’ about her. And now you knew why... private sessions? You’d lay odds on those not consisting of psychotherapy. Or not the kind she was licensed to practise, anyhow.
Looking pointedly at her hand on Billy’s, you continued, “Take your hand off Billy, and take yourself out of here... now.” She opened her mouth to speak, but you cut her off, “And if I find you anywhere near my boyfriend again, especially making offers to give him private sessions!... I’ll have you struck off.”
She drew herself up, trying to regain some dignity, but after taking another look at your furious face, she just high-tailed it out of there instead without saying a word.
Billy had watched this exchange between the two of you in complete confusion, but as you switched your attention to him, you saw that he had the ‘Billy smirk’ on his face. He’d just remembered that he loved it when you got feisty. “What are you smirking at? And...exactly what did that woman say to you?”
He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, she said she’d been my psychotherapist in the hospital but didn’t think she’d been allowed long enough to fully rehabilitate me, and wanted me to go to her apartment so we could continue having private sessions.” Looking anxiously at you, he asked, “Would it have been so wrong to go?”
“Oh, Billy,” you sighed, it was breaking your heart how vulnerable this trauma had made him. You took his hand, “Come with me, over to Karen and Frank. I want you to hear from them why it would have been so wrong,” you glanced up at him, “in case you think I’m bullshitting you.” He shook his head, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’d never think you were doing that.” You in turn shook your head, “It’s better you hear it from them.”
You led him round to the booth where your two friends sat, deep in conversation but immediately looking up as you approached. “Hey! Where were you?” grinned Karen, “we were about to send out a search party!” Frank butted in, “Were you two in the bathroom together?” and wiggled his eyebrows at you both. You punched him lightly on the arm, “No, we weren’t! But I walked in on Billy and an unexpected visitor.”
They both looked puzzled, and as you and Billy slid into the booth, you said, “Dr Dumont.” Karen burst out, “What?!!” and you nodded, “Yeah, exactly. Interesting, huh? Billy... tell them what she said to you.” Looking nervous, Billy repeated what he’d told you earlier and saw amazed looks appear on their faces as he recounted it.
“Wow,” said Karen, “Billy, that is not true. Absolutely not true.” She nodded over at you, telling him you’d declined Dumont’s services in favour of Curtis’ counselling sessions, as everyone had agreed that he’d be more at ease in those. “Yeah, Mask Lady is a piece of work, so we heard,” growled Frank.
“And this just confirms it,” agreed Karen. “Billy, no self-respecting doctor runs ‘private sessions’ from their own apartments.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “You can imagine what one of her sessions would have consisted of, surely?”
Billy’s face flushed red, and he immediately looked at you, “Oh shit! I... uh... I didn’t... I never...” shaking his head back and forth, eyes wide. You put your hand on top of his, “Billy, shush... it’s fine. She tried to take advantage of you. In a really calculated manner.”
You stroked the back of his hand. “You’re still vulnerable, and she must’ve asked you little questions here and there to gauge how much you remembered about your time in hospital. When she’d determined that your memory of it was hazy at best, she spun you that tale of being your doctor. She wasn’t. She tried to be, going behind our backs and starting a session with you, but luckily Frank & I interrupted her when we arrived for a visit.”
Karen tutted, “What a creepy bitch!” You nodded, “You know, I’ve got a good mind to go ahead and report her anyway. She might be pulling this same stunt with other vets!” Frank agreed, “I’ll get Curtis onto it, he’s got so many contacts in that sector he’ll be able to put the word out.”
Billy huffed out a long breath, still shaking his head. “I can’t believe I fell for that.” “Billy - she’s a doctor. People believe doctors,” Karen said. “Yeah, well I’ll be a lot more wary of them now!” he replied.
Then his smirk appeared again, and those dark eyes stared into yours, “On a lighter note...” he said, “while you were verbally beating up Dumont, I remembered that I always loved it when you got feisty. And I remembered that it would mean angry sex for me later on!” And he winked at you, making you blush and give an embarrassed laugh.
Once you’d all eaten and were finishing up your coffees, Billy had sidled up to you and nudged your shoulder with his. “Ready to head for the ranch?” As he asked you this, he took your hand and slid it along his thigh, brushing it sneakily past the large bulge in his jeans, watching your reaction. His eyes had a soft, needy look in them, and suddenly you didn’t feel like keeping him at arm’s length any more. You nodded, and signalled for the bill.
Once outside, Karen corralled you slightly away from the men, who were having a conversation in low voices. She gave you a concerned look, “Are you okay after that little shitshow Dumont put on in there? Honestly, I don’t know how you stopped yourself bitch-slapping that bitch!”
You giggled at her, “With great difficulty, I tell you! I could’ve fucking dropped her where she stood to be honest, but I didn’t think that was a good look. Plus then I would’ve ended up in jail and she’d be free to come sniffing round Billy again. She’s so fucking creepy, Karen! She put her hand right on top of his, stroking it, you know? It was so ... euwwww!”
Karen gaped, “Oh I’d definitely have killed her.”
“Anyway,” you confided, “I think it’s time I lifted the sex ban on Billy.” Karen raised an eyebrow, “Oh.... really? And you’re comfortable with that?”
“Well....” you shrugged, “if Dumont thought it was a good idea...?” you said, voice dripping sarcasm.
Karen burst out laughing. Frank and Billy’s heads swivelled and they smiled at you both, happy to hear laughter after the earlier tension.
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Back in the apartment, Billy headed straight for the bedroom, pulling you along by the hand, saying you both needed a siesta. You laughed, “We do?” He nodded, ��Definitely. Your feistiness, all the remembering I’ve been doin’, all the sexual tension between us,” he grinned at you.
You laughed, shaking your head at him and started peeling off your clothes. You pulled your sleep t-shirt on over your head, lying down on the bed and sighing as you relaxed into the pillows.
Billy, meanwhile, had now finished stripping off down to his black boxer briefs - a delicious sight to behold, you thought as you lay watching him - and joined you in bed, pulling the covers over both of you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest, kissing your temple before kissing you on the lips with heated passion. He pulled back, rubbing his bristly jaw along your cheekbone before just gazing at you for a long moment.
He sighed, running his hand over your hair, saying, “You know that... while I might still have gaps in my memory, and I’ve been forgettin’ things... you do know that I love you, right?”
You’d been watching his sensual lips moving while he spoke. Now you looked up, startled, into his dark eyes, “I..uh.... no, I didn’t know that, Billy.”
His eyes got wide and glossy, “I really shoulda told you that before all this shit happened.” Overwhelmed by his admission, you laid your face against his chest. You heard his heart, it was beating fast.
He spoke again, in a low voice. “Because I know I felt this then, and I still feel it now. More than ever. You’ve really got my back, haven’t you?” You nodded, “Yeah, Billy.” His arms tightened around you, and you felt soft kisses on your cheek.
“You love me?” he suddenly asked you.
Again, you looked deep into those dark eyes of his, “Yeah, Billy.” He gave a low laugh, “You gonna actually say it to me?” You smiled, “I love you, Russo.”
He gently tilted your face up towards his and kissed you, long, slow and full of love.
“Oh... we’re doing last names, huh?” he smirked, knowing he had one more bombshell to drop.
He leant down, and you felt his breath on your ear as he whispered, “Well, I hope you like ‘Russo’, ‘cause it’s gonna be your last name too, someday soon.”
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
Additional A/N: Yes, not me still with the 🥊 on Dumont!
»»————————————-———- ⚜ ———————————-————-««
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236 notes · View notes
peralta-guaranteed · 3 years
Note
hc of showering together /smut and cute
(not a HC sorry the smut muse kissed me wow okay that sounds wrong)
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Hot showers truly are a gift from the heavens.
Jake had to relearn that, for a while. Florida forced him to shower almost cold, just to escape the humid heat for a while, and he kind of got used to it for a while, to rushed cleanings and shaking hands as he dried himself off. And then he'd returned to his terrible apartment, where the shower setting switched from "ice cubes wouldn't melt in this" straight to "You didn't really need that patch of skin anyway".
But now he was in Amy’s apartment - their apartment - and the shower was actually well-maintained. There was a milky glass separation instead of a shower curtain that would stick to your ass, there was a whole array of scented bottles with what he considered nothing short but magical properties when rubbed into his skin or hair, and there was actual hot water, hot enough to let his sore muscles relax, but not so hot he felt like peeling his skin off when he stepped out of the tub again.
So, needless to say, hot showers turned into a very regular, sometimes overly long thing.
Like today, after waking up from a very short night, yesterday’s evening spent at the precinct over a case that had been a small blip when he left into WitSec, but had since grown into a chaos of notes and intel from several detectives trying to work on it. He was sure Amy would scold him for wasting that much water and turning her - their bathroom into a steam sauna, but he couldn’t find it in him to worry about it while the heat of the stream was working into his shoulders.
-
There’s the smallest breath of cold air as he hears the bathroom door open, and waits for the ensuing groan and lecture through the glass partition.
It never happens, though - instead there’s only the soft sound of feet hitting wet tiles as she steps in behind him, wraps her arms around his stomach as she leans against his back.
“Hey.” comes with a soft kiss to his finally relaxed shoulder, and then a head lent on it, one of her hands lifting up to catch some of the water streaming down against his front. “Did you sleep okay? You’re not usually up this early after a late night.”
“Mh.” He sighs and lifts an arm to turn around without breaking her embrace, letting her share the shower side by side. “Think I might go in for a few hours today, actually, to look over the files again.”
“Lemme know when you do. I’ll go with you.”
She doesn’t like to stay separated from him too long at the moment, and he understands it more than enough. It’s only been a short while since she woke up next to him in bed and broke into tears, whispering about how ‘it wasn’t a dream this time’. 
He hugs her a little closer, feeling the heat of the water slowly warming up her always cold-ish sides, and sighs with the softest feeling of comfort around him. She was pressed against him completely nude, the water making her hair already cling to her shoulders and pouring little streams down over her chest, and it genuinely didn’t register as anything but true comfort to be close to her, hold her safe like nothing had ever happened, in their own home. Their own little space.
-
“Did you wash yet?”
He shakes his head, causing a few extra droplets from his soaking hair to spray across the tiles. 
“Just soaking up the heat. I didn’t really need a shower, to be honest - took one before bed yesterday.”
She breaks out of the hug to reach past him to the little array of bottles, grabs the slightly scratchy peeling loofah and rubs some of her vanilla scrub into it before swiping it over his chest to spread it with foam.
He’s glad his face is covered with drops from his hair when she reaches his shoulders, rubs there a bit stronger for a little massage, because this way she might not notice the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. It’s insane, the things you can miss - of course he missed her, endlessly and with despair, but it’s these little moments he longed for the most. The soft care of her hands, the shine in her eyes as she looks over his arms as she cleans them.
She presses against him to reach his back, instead of walking around him, and smiles up at him for a little kiss. There’s a grin to her, too, as the loofah rubbing on his lower back is replaced by two hands giving his butt a playful squeeze.
“Is that the ‘All done’ sign, now?” He grins back as she giggles and kisses him again, a bit longer this time, a bit more insistent, before pushing the loofah into his hands and turning around, swiping her wet hair to one side over her shoulder.
“My turn.”
He obliges, of course, massaging into her shoulders and the dip of her waist, up and down her spine as she hums deep and lets her head drop. She’s been dealing with just as much at work as he has, he realises, as her shoulders relax under his grip, her sore muscles flex against his thumbs.
He pulls her against him once he’s done with her back, swipes her hair back for her, and she giggles when the loofah quickly travels up her sternum as his hands wrap around her sides and help the little sponge out.
“They’re gonna be so squeaky clean they’ll shine by the time you’re done.” She mumbles while he cups her breasts and abandons the loofah entirely, and he huffs a laugh against her neck.
“Not my fault they’re too awesome to be ignored.” His thumbs rub over her nipples, swirl across them until they’re completely perked up. “And have been sadly lacking attention for quite a while.”
“Well, not completely lacking.” Her voice has dropped a little, and the soft feeling of comfort in their little shower bubble slowly grows more tense in a rather pleasant way. “I know how to take care of them.”
“Mh, I know.” He lets her peaks glide between his fingers as he cups her breasts again, squeezes softly. “Did you think of me while you did?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Moments like this?” He pinches them for a second, earning himself a high-pitched whine as she nods. “What else did you think of?”
“W-well, I-”
“Show me.” He interrupts her before she can stammer anything more, and she nods again as she grabs one of his hands away from her chest, guides it down over her stomach to between her legs. He tries to let her lead the way, but it’s difficult to resist when she pushes his fingers between her folds and he feels a wetness that is definitely not from the shower.
He moves slowly, her hand still on his and steering him a little as he begins to stroke, rub along her slit until he meets with her clit, and she exhales deeply as her head drops back against his shoulder.
“I missed you so much.” He whispers into her ear as he kisses the spot behind it. “Missed feeling you like this.” As he circles her, feels her thighs clench around their hands. “Missed hearing you like this.” As a soft flick makes her moan even deeper than her voice was before.
“Jake…” Her hand pushes him down a bit more, and he understands her direction well enough to slip two fingers into her to another moan, gliding in and out in a steady rhythm while his thumb presses up again, rubbing her clit. 
“Jake.” She sighs again, her head still against his shoulder. “So good… so much better than my- alone-”
“Yeah.” His voice is just as husky as hers, and she must feel how hard he is as she pushes her hips back while he speeds up, but that’s not what this is about right now. “I got you, babe. I’m right here.”
She groans as she grabs behind her to hold him, and his free arm snakes around her ribs to hold her up as her legs begin to shake slightly.
“Come for me, babe.” He whispers into her ear with another flick of his thumb, and it’s all she needs to let out the deepest groan yet. Her thighs are more than just shaking as he feels her clench around him, and her whole weight presses against his chest and into his arm as he slowly rubs her all throughout her orgasm, leaving her almost limp in his grip when his hand finally stills and pulls away from between her legs to hold her just as steady around her hips.
-
She’s still panting even as she stands up on her own again, twists in his arms to pull his head down to her for a deep kiss.
“I missed you too.” She answers far later, and he smirks before she kisses him again, her hand now gliding down his belly instead. 
“Your turn.” Amy huffs against his lips as her hand wraps around his cock, and his hand laying softly against her hip tenses as he moans with her first few strokes.
“Fuck, Ames…-” There are still soapsuds trailing down his front, helping her hand glide across his erection, and he can already tell that no matter how slow she moves, this is not going to last long.
“Did you think of me too?” She whispers in her most seductive voice, as if that was still needed, and he gulps.
“Always, Ames. So much.”
“In the shower?” She grins, and he can’t help but laugh breathlessly too.
“Everywhere. All the time.”
There’s a certain sense of pride in her smile as she strokes him even faster, a possessiveness he’ll gladly hand to her without any resistance, anyway.
She turns her wrist in just that way that she has, and his guttural groan reverberates off the tiles.
“Babe- I- oh god, this- it’s not- this isn’t gonna take long if you-” He stammers, and she slows down slightly as she presses a kiss to his throat before sinking down.
The sight of her kneeling in front of him is not a particularly rare one, but it still sends a jolt through his body every time, especially as she presses a kiss against the tip of his cock, her hand still gripping it firmly. He expects it to leave him soon enough while her mouth takes him in, but neither happens - and when he looks down, he’s met with a glint in her eyes looking up at him that makes him shiver despite the heat of the shower.
“Say when.” She simply says, and drags an open-mouthed lick across his slit, and god-
“Right now if you do that again.” He manages to press out, and he can feel her smile against him as she only kisses the tip again, drags her lips around it softly before pulling away and licking a bit harder this time.
“Fuck, babe, I’m-”
Her hand squeezes and pulls as her tongue rests against the underside of his head, and he can’t say another word as he comes with a whining exhale into her open mouth. Her strokes continue as he twitches in her hand, and she kisses away the last few drops with soft, hot lips around him before letting him go and slowly standing up.
-
He’s leaning against the cold tiles without even noticing as she presses against him with a sly grin, and her thumb caresses across his bottom lip while he’s catching his breath. He leans away from it and over to kiss her, though, his hand digging into her wet hair and pressing her forehead against his.
“On second thought, I don’t think I need to go into work today for anything.”
She giggles when she kisses him much softer and turns the shower off without moving away from him.
“Good.” Her voice is still husky, but it’s slowly moving back, and her thumb softly strokes across his cheek while she holds his head in her hands. “Lemme dry you off. I put the towels on the heater.”
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boneswriteswords · 3 years
Text
Just A Little Longer - Michelangelo
A/N: Here is my self indulgent Mikey goodtime lime. Let me live. (It isn’t a lime. Its a lemon. But lime rhymes with time.)
Unbeta’d because no one has the time for editing.
Also I have no idea if any of it makes sense so.....
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~~~~~~
The bright neon LED lights of the alarm clock on your nightstand stood guard over you as you blinked awake. 2:04am. Awareness came slowly, your eyes dripping sleep even as the rest of you came online. You shifted, extending your body into a stretch, grinning when a muffled groan erupted from behind you.
A thick leg forced its way between yours. A heavy arm landed across your abdomen. A hard chest molded into your back.
Beyond your apartment walls, sounds of the city rage on. Waves of muted color trickle through the crack in your black-out curtains. Lines of yellow light bleed over the room. There are police sirens passing by as the house party three doors down blasts the newest Ariana Grande album. Someone honks their car horn in vicious repetition. If you strain, you can hear an muffled fighting and the shuffling of clothes as it turns physical.
All the noises harmonize and fade into nothing as you flip over, encouraging the limbs of your bed partner to stay entangled with yours. You’ve lived in the city long enough that the noises and the people and the lights don’t register much to you unless you focus on them. You know the sounds of danger from the sounds of the loud and that’s all you really need to know. Rainbow noise guided you, filtering through all the memories that you have access to you, and anything less has no space in your life.
Quiet nights are eerie after years of noise and you are more than happy having Mikey hold you in bed while the world keeps going around you.
REM does not return after closing your eyes again and you concede to being awake. It isn’t awful, not with the way Mikey clutches onto you as he shuffles - head nuzzling into whatever crevice he can reach. You can tell he is waking.
He can never remain asleep if he feels you are awake. He struggles to remain in a plan of existence where you aren’t. He fights himself awake and you never know if you need to be concerned or flattered by it.
You watch the lights as they bounce off objects in your room before looking back at him. Blurry lines. Soft shapes. Calming motions as they dance back and forth. They are beautiful but you’d much rather look at Mikey.
He has an arm curled loosely over your side while the other is resting under the pillow you both were using. You both liked long thick pillows that went from one side of the bed to the other. A small commonality made sweeter by your domesticity. His hand is curled limply and you remember that he had been stroking your head when you had fallen asleep earlier.
The muted light makes his green skin lighter. Shadows dip into the crevices of his skin and scars, revealing texture you usually only can feel. There is a darkness under his jaw and around his eyebrow ridge. You find yourself tracing the lines of shadow and light with your eyes, hurling the idea that anything could be more captivating out of the window. His breath is steady but his eyes are twitching behind his eyelids.
You see his eyes open. Three blinks and he is awake. You are jealous of how easy it is for him to go from one state of being to the next. He falls asleep quickly and he awakens even quicker. Deep blue eyes find yours and he smiles, moving his arm to drag you the tiniest bit closer. His lips twitch as he draws slow circles in the space between your shoulder blades.
There is an ache in your body, a reminder of the way he had rushed into your apartment as soon as the sun was down. The impact into the wall. Manic energy. Breathless laughter as pent-up passion bubbled over.
Your fingers trace down the side of his face, dipping down from the line of his throat to the pools of his collarbones below his plastron. He churrs the tiniest bit in response and it sounds a lot like the noise he makes when you tease the skin of his neck between your teeth.
You can’t leave marks on him. His skin just doesn’t color the ways a human’s might. Its thicker. Denser. Darker. Scalier. You can’t leave scratches either. It was a bit disappointing to find this out but knowing that he’d enjoy your marks if he was able to have them seizes you in ways you have never experienced. You imagine lining little rouge starbursts down his next and across the broadness of his shoulders and the way he would walk around with them proudly. Red lines connecting red flowers like vines.
His eyes scan over you. He is visual.
Its not always like this. You and him alone. Some nights its you and Mikey and the ghosts that follow you both. There are eyes in the shadows and they have many names and you never know who you are speaking to. They lurk while he cleans his weapons in the living room. They boldly take a seat next to you while you watch a movie tucked under his arm. Some nights, you pull up a seat at the table and serve them as Mikey makes a joke about something that happened during your day.
They exist and they try to make their home in your spaces and they take a toll on the nights when you are too weary to kick them out. A mix-match of traumas that spiral and float and smother and linger.
Mikey doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve. He rips open his chest and holds the organ up into the light directly. Makes you watch as it beats and pulses and moves his lifeblood through his body. There are no questions about what he does, how he feels. He is on display by choice, flitting about vulnerable as if there are no monsters in the world he lives in.
But there are days where he wraps himself up behind a glass wall to separate himself from the rest of the world. Deep-rooted hopelessness drains his light, his strength a house of cards edging towards collapse. His voice cracks and wavers. Its never his fault. No one asks for trauma. No one asks to be too late. No one asks for the life he’s lived.
Only recently has a door appeared in the glass. He always tells you where the key is so you can open it. You make sure to crack open the door and wait for him to invite you in further. If he does, you sit inside with him. If he doesn’t, you sit outside and wait for the wall to come down.
And then there are the days where you are translucent. You look down at your body and see through it, faintly incorporeal. A ghost. Light bleeds through you as you walk under the sun. Intangible and lost. You don’t feel real even as your ribs ache and the steady stream of your heartbeat remains. All that exists is quiet breathing.
All your worst nightmares are of you reaching out to hold Mikey’s hand but it goes through him. You can’t grip onto him and he walks away because he can’t see you.
Mikey tells you that he sees you. He grips your hand and squeezes and pulls you in close on the off chance that you feel like your floating away. He won’t let you but he doesn’t begrudge your fear. No one asks for the life you’ve lived.
Jeers erupt from outside but neither of you flinch. You just lean closer into each other. Mikey runs his hand up and down your spine, eyes wet, and you are astounded once more how stubbornly he loves you. How intensely he feels for you. How he believes so much that you both are it. The endgame.
You wish you could take the shadows that live behind his eyes and demand they leave. “You can’t have him,” you imagine you’d say, “He is mine. And I’m not scared of you. I love him too much.” If that meant pulling a seat up for them in the living room and offering them a whiskey laced with intention, you’d do it.
Mikey’s hand slips under your night shirt, his palm flat against the skin of your back and you melt against him. You have studied those hands and all the ways they make you feel things and you exhale harshly and slowly so as to not disturb the rays of muted light.
“You doing okay?” Mikey asks, voice dripping with drowsiness despite the awareness present in his baby blues. “Its late. Or early. Whatever. Was it a nightmare?”
“No baby,” you respond, pressing your mouth against his beak, “No nightmares tonight.”
“Good.”
You press another kiss to his beak before ducking down a little and pressing another one to the side of his mouth. The arm under the blanket shifts. His fingers stroke your head.
There is a lull.
“I love you.”
Its comes out unexpectedly but you aren’t ashamed of it. He already knows. That relationship milestone has long since passed. Even so, the words are splintered, cracked around the edges and easy to be drowned out by the sounds of screeching tires on the road and idiots on the street.
But the impact is till the same. The look he gives you is blue fire and he guides you closer for a kiss. It starts off light, gentle, a nudge against your mouth but his fingers cradled the back of your head as he deepens it. “Love you too. So much” is mumbled as he presses further into you.
Arousal simmers on the back-burner as an afterthought. You had fucked hard earlier - a frenzy, a reconnection after a week of only facetime calls and voice memos that left you worked up and over. You know you will fuck again when the sun is up because Mikey loves starting the days off right when you are both in the same place.
Right now is the time to relearn the shape of his mouth as he kisses you lazily. You pull back slowly. You stare at him and he stares at you, movements slow.  
A beat.
Two.
Three.
“You remember the talks we had?” you whisper before you could stop, brushing your nose over his, “when we had just met? The ones that lasted days at time?”
“Yeah,” he responds, his voice low, “That was a long time ago but I do. I don’t think I could ever forget.” There are flashes of light behind his eyes and you know he remembers each call. Each text thread that was either memes or philosophical questions that had you trying to unearth the truth of the universe. Each conversation that spanned days because real life creates lulls between responses.
“I fell in love with you there,” you whisper back, “Somewhere in those calls, I turned over to look into the phone and realized that you were mine and there would never be anyone else for me.”
“Yeah?” its a soft question that, from the look on his face, doesn’t require an answer, “You too?” You nod anyway. He deserves to see it.
He grins.
“I’m glad that we took our time,” you continue, wiggling as his hand scratches at your back the tiniest bit, “I like that we are friends. I like that I can say “Mikey is my best friend” when they ask me about my boyfriend. I’m glad that I got the chance to like you.”
“I like you too angel,” he whispers, his voice getting softer, warmth bleeding in the spaces between words. Heat singes around his eyes, “I like you so much.”
You hold him tighter, “no one knows my soul like you do.”
Mikey surges forward to kiss you again, his hand running down from your back to the side of your thigh. He rolls you both so he is half on top of you, maneuvering a thigh between your legs and pressing your chests touch as he slips his tongue between your waiting lips. You arms reach up to rest along the broadness of his shoulders, fingers dancing along the lip of his shell.
When he pulls back, his breathing is harsh, “you know mine angel.”
There is a sense of peace with knowing that all your exposed parts are being kept safe. The storms pass. Smoke is cleared. Petrichor sweetens the air. The dead are laid to rest so flowers can grow on their remains. The sun is bright.
Between you, pleasure kindles slowly. Hands roam and tug and cup. Kisses are scattered like constellations. There are murmurs of praise and whispers of awe. Time blurs as you sink down into it.
Mikey brushes his lips along the side of your face as he glances as the clock, the sun peeking its head above the skyline from the window, “Do you want me now?”
“Now.” You punctuate the word with a roll of your hips against his thigh. “I want to feel you.”
He sighs under his breath, hands shifting you until you are where he wants you. Your night clothes are removed and dropped by the side of your bed. His shorts follow, landing right on top of yours. He nestles firmly between your open thighs. “Okay angel. You can have me. You can have everything.”
The vulnerability in his voice shakes you. The slide of his cock into you has you gripping onto him. He draws it out, indulgent in the way you stutter and writhe against him. Its a seamless fit, despite his size. You are still prepped from earlier, wet and accommodating, and he drips like a faucet.
Mikey had never known sex could be like this. He always expected that sex would be purely physically, a thing that couples did to feel good and sate any hormonal urges. No one ever told him about how it feels when hands grip onto him, leaving trails of sparks and comets and tingles across his body that linger for days. No one ever told him that his lovers moans could vibrate along his vertebrate and resonate in the parts of his unknown. The void in his chest fills with liquid gold when he hears his named sobbed against his skin.
You hadn’t known either.
And even though you both do now, even though you crave each other more fiercely than you crave air, it always feels new when you collide. Every sensation has been redefined. Vulnerability has never felt so powerful.
You cry as you feel his cock pulse inside of you as he bottoms out and grinds forward. He grunts, his arms keeping your hips flush against his.
“How do you always feel so good?” Words emphasized with deep thrusts. Hard, slow, tapering into a grind before pulling back out. ”Always so good for me. Meant for me. Made for me to love. Made to take me.”
“Yes,” you hiss back, breath hot against his neck. Mikey adjusts, one of his hands remaining on your hip while the other slides to grip your arms behind your back. He presses you flush against his plastron, back arched off the bed and supported by the strength in his arms as he holds you. “Meant for you. And you found me.”
The casual, effortless show of strength spreads a warm haziness across your mind. You lean into it.
“Fuck - Mi...I-” There are tears in your eyes as you gasp and shudder as Mikey picks up the pace. Without warning, your mouth is covered by his and you can feel his smile against yours. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere and tapers off as the kiss turns hungry.
“Shh I have you,” he gasps between his own pleasured noises, “I have you. You are safe here. What do you need?” His hand strokes along your face as he rocks into you. His voice is breathless but full of intent. “Tell me what you want.”
“Everything,” you babble as he grind right up against your good spot, “I want everything with you.”
He groans, breathing deep as the colors blur into shapes. He tucks his arm back under you, grinding harder, your clit catching along the hardness of his plastron. Your legs tremble around his hips. Mikey kisses you again before he ducks down to your neck and shoulder, his mouth hungry and burning. Ravenous.
Something about romance ignites a wildfire inside of Mikey. You exploit it as often as you can and he lets you because you both know that nothing is said without intent, without meaning. Honesty burns under your skin and shines through your eyes every time you press words of love into his skin like galaxies in a telescope. He basks in the attention. He worships under it.
In return, Mikey spills filth into your ears. The kind that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is but god does he know what you need to hear.
(”You feel perfect, hot and tight.”/ “I’m yours.”/ “I can feel you. You are real.”/ “I know, angel, I know. You’ve been wanting me so much. You need me. I need you too.”/ “I’m going to show you I love you. You’ll never doubt it. You’ll never doubt that I love you.”/ “Angel I’m not scared of your ghosts. They are scared of me.”/)
Mikey’s voice is serrated in ways no one but you have heard. Raw and carnal and deeper than most would expect, flashing dark around the edges the more passionate he gets, the more he reaches down inside of you to pull out the parts of you only he sees. 
You fall apart from the inside and can do nothing as the bottom drops out. You aren’t scared, not with the way Mikey holds you and chases away anything that could ruin this. His “I loves yous” bleed into your skin and you take hold of his pain and strangle it. There is no room for the grief and emptiness as violent tremors rack your bodies and hands cradle exposed hearts. The lights flash and dance as the decrescendo halts everything around you.
Heavy breathing fill the room. Whispered praise is soft and there is shuffling. You wipe each other down as best you can with the wet wipes you keep by the bed before pulling each other closer. The morning light is higher, peeking between the blinds and under the edges of the curtains. 
Eventually you’ll get out of bed. Clean up properly. Make food and spend time together with your clothes on. Relax in the knowledge that the day is a good one with no dark figures hanging in the corners, waiting to come in. But, thats for later.
For now, you lay close, breathing each other in. Hands are still roaming. No one has faded and there is no cold glass protecting warm skin. Mikey murmurs something and you smile. Your smile meets his smile and laughter joins in, glimmering in the light. You peck at his mouth and his fingers dig into the skin of your flesh before he grabs the comforter and hides you both underneath it.
Everything can wait. Just for a little longer. 
~~~~~
156 notes · View notes
amchara · 3 years
Text
Road to Hell (Wait for Me, I’m Coming) Part Two - Kit / Ty Hadestown AU
(Part One)
Ty rubbed his face tiredly, as he stared at another chicken-scratch parchment in the Unseelie Court’s library. He looked up and saw that Dru was fast asleep, gently snoring into her crossed arms, while Anush was dazedly flipping through pages of a huge leatherbound book. Mark had left a while ago, muttering something about getting some food for them but he hadn’t returned yet.
Ty looked down at his research, the collected notes he had written over the last day and a half and suddenly it seemed pitiful, compared to the task ahead. Ty could feel the panic rising, his chest tight and he concentrated on the feel of the rough paper underneath his fingertips. He had to get Kit out of Hell and he was taking notes, like he was back in the Scholomance and this was an assignment, instead of… instead of the most important fucking thing in the world.
He hadn’t told Kit how he felt yet. They had only just re-entered each other’s lives over the past two months and were still doing a wary dance as they relearned each other’s steps after three years apart.
There had been a hesitant scene in the L.A. Institute’s atrium when Kit had strolled in, almost as if he had never left, all sunshine gold hair, eyes the colour of a clear autumn sky, and a husky voice with just the slightest hint of an English accent.
There had been the angry, sparse time when Helen had sent them on a patrol together and they had strode along in miserable silence until Kit had finally stopped him and asked where Livvy was- and Ty had snapped back at him, the wound still raw, that he was trying to make amends for everything he’d done but he’d had to do it alone and he wasn’t ready to talk about it. The fragile moment when Kit’s face had crumpled briefly and he told Ty he was sorry he had left and that Ty had had to do it alone. And the appearance of the Raum demons a minute later, interrupting them- but then the glimpse of how it could be, as Kit had stopped him after the attack and insisted on drawing the iratze on Ty’s forearm, his face a study of concentration as they sat in the car before driving back to the Institute.
There had been fleeting, glorious moments in the training room when they had sparred, the pretence of combat a freeing sensation for Ty, as he felt able to finally touch Kit and the look Kit had given him, his breath an uneven whisper on Ty’s collarbone after he pinned him to the floor, almost helping Ty make his decision. But it hadn’t been enough - and the agonising choice of whether to knock - and still being a coward and walking away, almost too quickly, from Kit’s door.
And then that moment in the clearing. When Kit had done the stupid, honourable Herondale thing and sacrificed himself for the rest of them. Ty didn’t think he’d do the same if the situation was reversed - but then again, he was a Blackthorn.
From far away, he could hear a tearing, ripping sound and he came back to himself, noting the confetti of yellow parchment floating down to the ground around him, as he paced back and forth, paper strewn around him and his hands moving almost mechanically as he shredded his carefully taken notes.
Anush looked over at him, finally noticing Ty’s pacing and his eyes widened. And just then, Mark re-appeared in the doorway, carrying a large tray. He let out a curse as he saw Ty, almost knocking over the tray in his hurry to put it down. He crossed the room quickly to stand in front of Ty, gentle as he placed his hands over his brother’s as he clasped them a firm grip. This time, Ty let him in and he drew in a few deep, shuddering breaths as he let the small remains of paper drop.
“It’s all right,” he told Mark. “I have them all memorised.”
Mark nodded. “It’s wise to not leave the notes to Hade unguarded,” he said. He paused. “Although perhaps a bit unkind to the brownie cleaners - but no matter, I’ll arrange to speak to them.”
There was a stretch of silence. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Ty said. “I can’t wait too long- we don’t know if time moves differently in Hades compared to the rest of Faerie and I can’t risk it.”
Mark’s eyes searched Ty’s face - not seeking eye contact but a different kind of reassurance. He seemed to find it, and he dropped Ty’s hands. “Then we’ll prepare to go together - you’re not going alone,” he said. A chorus joined in - a rousing if slightly terrified response from Anush, and a sleepy affirmation from Dru, who appeared to have just woken up.
Ty felt a brief moment of terror that he was bringing more people into what his research told him was likely a suicide mission… but the ice cold shiver of memories and Livvy’s pleading, drained face swam into view and he swallowed his protests. He didn’t think he could go through it alone again.
The ivory keys of the grand piano were always immaculately polished and Kit wondered whose job it was to clean them. His job was to play the music and he thanked - well, it wasn’t God and it wasn’t the Angel Raziel - but he thanked his lucky stars that he had picked up some basic songs from Jace the previous summer when he had visited the New York Institute, and that Jem had considered learning to read music by sight an essential part of a well-rounded education, alongside Kit’s Shadowhunter training and mundane school.
In contrast to the bright electric fluorescence that lit the warren of overly warm machinery-filled rooms that Kit had started to refer to as Hadestown, Persephone’s conservatory was different, with its faded white, latticed walls and high glass ceilings letting in the smallest fraction of outside light.
It reminded him of where he had lived with Jem, Tessa and Mina - in… C- In Cir- Kit’s mind stuttered. He didn’t know how long he had been here - the days were starting to blur together and he was worried he was starting to forget more than just the little things.
He stared down at the piano keys as the large ornamental clock on the wall struck eleven. Like clockwork precision, Persephone waltzed in, her movements sultry but sulky as always. She threw some new music books at Kit and he caught them awkwardly, balancing them on his lap.
“These ones - I don’t care which one you play first today,” she said, sitting down on the long fainting couch across from him, her black hair spilling over the white satin fabric as she rested her head. Kit tried not to stare at her deep decolletage, which was prominently framed by the tight red dress she was wearing. She noticed as he turned away and her gaze was hungry as she looked at him.
Kit looked down as he chose a music book and blindly opened it to a first page he saw. He started playing, a crooning jazz number singing out underneath his fingers. He didn’t know if it was because he was in Faerie or the spell he could feel he was under but he was a much better musician here than in the mundane world. The tight, lost look on Persephone’s face began to relax as the melody echoed in the conservatory.
As he finished the first song and began another, his movements almost automatic, Kit allowed himself to think again, of escape - of returning to the land of the living - to his family, to the Shadowhunter institutions he was slowly becoming accustomed to again, to… Ty. To what might be between them, although he had almost strangled that hope, locked it away tight and deep inside his heart. What they had resurrected - if that word could be used - given previous circumstances was almost a miracle, Kit thought, hard fought for and one that he hadn’t been about to throw away on foolish too-soon declarations of love. Even so, when he had seen that faerie arrow aimed straight at Ty’s heart, he hadn’t hesitated. He might not be ever able to tell Ty how he felt but at least he had been able to show it in his actions, he mused.
And he wasn’t about to give up on leaving this hellhole, although each unrelenting day in this dull, dark and depressing place of dust and hollow-eyed workers pulled at that hope. But he clung to his memories - to the now-dimly lit memories of the outside world. Of his love for a black-haired, grey-eyed boy with his sharp intellect and fierce love of his family, who saw the world in a different light than most, and was - had been willing - and maybe, might be willing again to share it with Kit.
The last note rang out as he finished the song and he drew his hands back, muscles aching. He had been playing for nearly an hour. In the sudden silence, Persephone let out a ragged sigh.
“Who is the love that you play for, boy?” she said, her voice ancient and rough. She rose from the couch and crossed the floor, her dress swishing across the smooth marble. “I have heard many love songs in my years… but yours is one that I haven’t heard in an eon. Tell me their name.” Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears.
But Kit remained silent. He knew instinctively if he said Ty’s name, he would lose it. He shook his head, his lips pressed together.
Persephone narrowed her eyes, and she reached out, as if to stroke his brow. Kit evaded her and stood up. He had been coming to play for her for several times now, and he had started to learn her ways. He needed a distraction. “I saw that crack in the wall- is that new, Persephone?” Kit lowered his voice as he gestured across the room. “I know you’re a captive as much as I am. Let me help you- we can escape together and then I will tell you.”
Persephone’s laugh was as dry as a winter’s wind as she sized him up. “Oh, that’s adorable, my sweet-” she said. “But I made my choice long ago and it’s--” her eyes suddenly moved past him. “It’s the love I deserve,” her voice suddenly was filled with honey and springtime.
Kit knew that Hades had arrived, and he tried to quell the fear rising in him as he turned around.
The man - fae - god or whatever he was - was standing in the doorway, casually watching them.
“Leave him,” he said in his deep voice. “I desire your company.”
Persephone swept past Kit without another word and draped herself across Hades. “Of course my darling- I am here. What shall we do?”
Hades took a moment to whisper into her ear and Persephone looked uncomfortable but let out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Of course.”
Hades smiled, with a devilish twist and he pulled her away, starting down the hall.
But then he stopped and looked back at Kit. “Your shift here has ended - get back on the assembly line.”
Kit looked down at his rough worker’s uniform, smeared with rust and dust and he forced himself to nod evenly - he knew from past experience that it was unwise to argue with Hades.
Hades’ firelit eyes swept over him. “And once that is over - come see me in my office.”
And at that, Kit knew that he was in trouble. Hades had summoned him twice since his arrival to his office, after the initial contract signing. Each time afterwards Kit had found himself weak and gasping on the floor outside, his mind blank and unsure of what had passed behind the walls of the office. Nothing good, he thought grimly - and that was likely the cause of his increasingly fuzzy memory recall.
He needed to escape and soon. He nodded again and Hades left with Persephone. Kit started to make his way to the factory floor. On his way out of the conservatory, he bumped into a small, bird-framed girl with a luminous beauty and whose too-large eyes must have been lively once but were now faded and glazed over with the thousand yard stare that all Hades’ workers had. That he might soon have. “What’s your name?” Kit asked the girl, trying not to sound desperate.
She looked up at him. “I- Eu- I…” she looked puzzled and sad. “I don’t know.” she said.
Kit felt a stab of despair.
Tag list: (let me know if you want to be added / removed!)
@jesse-is-spiraling @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @thechangeling
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sister-dear · 2 years
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As you know, I absolutely adore everything you write, so it was hard to find just one section in one fic to choose to ask about. In the end I chose 'Fill the cracks with gold' because it's just such a beautiful fic, and probably one of the first fics I ever read that dealt with Four being more than the sum of his parts. This section where the others subtly start to realise things aren't ok with him really stands out to me, how did it come about?
He longs for his forge, for the comfort of the heat and the repetitive motion and the singular focus it brings.
He’s gotten distracted, stopped paying attention to his body. Four misses a step, winds up tripping over his own feet, Red and Violet and Blue and Green all sending conflicting desires to his legs. The stumble this time is not subtle. Four catches himself, ignoring Sky’s eyes on him, the brief hesitation in Hyrule’s step and the way Legend’s head tilts a little, listening. He straightens his back, lifts his chin, and concentrates on walking even as an argument breaks out in his head.
(Did they notice?)
(Of course they did.)
(They’d have to be blind not to.)
(They won’t ask.)
The mild shivers are full on shudders now. Hot and cold, worry and embarrassment pulsing through his veins. He holds his arms rigid at his sides. His fists want to clench, to reach up and hug himself, to shake out and limber up in case of attack. Four’s muscles start to tremble and ache with just the effort of keeping his arms still.
(warning for passing mention of canon Four Swords character death)
Thank you for the ask, Lala!
This story! I do believe this was the first story where I first tried to include the colors as their own distinct parts of Four, or their own separate characters, even though he never splits. Some aspects of it feel a little clumsy to me now, but it helped me get a handle on both the colors and Four himself. And I still love the mental image of Four bundled up with care and comfort and so many layers.
I like to think that one of the things that keeps Four whole as Four is his ability to find things to focus on past whatever background noise exists in his head. As evidenced by his conversation in Twilight in… I think it’s Divine Dark Reflections part 1. The forge would be one of those places where that comes easily, it’s definitely a place and activity that he finds comforting, which is why he’s wanting to go back to it when he’s not feeling entirely himself.
This section is also a further development of the idea I first started playing with in Failure and Fortitude, that Four had to relearn literally every aspect of physical control from the ground up after he first rejoined into one body again - like a stroke victim, or someone else with severe brain injury - because the colors were all trying to exert control simultaneously as if they were the only ones in the body.
So combine those two things and when he loses focus, or just falls out of mental balance, the colors start to fall out of sync, and his control over his own movements starts to slip. Then he just needed something to be upset about. The anniversary of Shadow’s passing definitely seemed like something suitably large enough to have Four running at a constant level of distraction.
As for the others in the scene! I like to think they recognize and respect Four’s sense of pride enough that they don’t want to draw attention to his struggle at first. None of them like to be babied or fussed over needlessly, and this is set early in their adventure so they're still figuring out boundaries with each other. So they’re all silently trying to judge the severity of what might be wrong, how it might have come about, whether it’s bad enough to need intervention… (Which, when Four starts to get markedly worse, they decide he does.)
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lilaclias · 3 years
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day 3: nighttime (sasusaku month 2021)
title: everyday with you ( ao3 ☆ ffn ) (ssm21) @ssskmonth fandom: naruto (sasuke/sakura) info: t / 1158 words / romance, angst summary: Sakura lives her nights through Sasuke’s words. [Canon compliant. Through the years.] notes: Remember when I said I wouldn't go over 1000 words? Well. That went out the window real quick.
He demands, “It’s the dead of the night. What are you doing here?”
She grasps her heart and stands behind him, clumsily laying it between them in offering. She peels back its layers and shows him its core as she shouts that she loves him. How dearly she loves him. Even as he stands steps away, she feels an ache grow in her, a clawing deep in her chest. She already misses him and she can’t imagine living with this incessant feeling. Panic grips her and escapes from her throat in a scream as the stream of hot tears blur her vision. She awakes laying on a bench with the sun kissing her face in greeting, and she wonders, if she stays there long enough will her organs prune? Will her bones grate to fine dust and let her wither away in the wind? Or if she continues on, will her heart survive? 
He is silent.
She is only able to hear him in her memories. She fills her mind with the words of gratitude and desperately clutches onto it. Because if they fade, who else would remember the hope in them? She sits with her knees curled to her chest while the rest of the village lays in a deep slumber as she flickers through the memories, trying to fill her loneliness with them before she is swallowed whole. Holding on to the days with pranks, teasing and laughter—days that are gone and only exist in the confines of her mind, days so precious that it was naive to think it would last forever. The memories drone on, time passes and her exhaustion grows. They say there are two types of tired: a desire to sleep and a desire for peace. In the chasm of the night, she wonders how long a human can breathe life while feeling both. Rest escapes her and everyday she wages battle against her frenzied mind. The days go by and as she wields her fatigue like a weapon, sleep is able to claim her more easily. At least while her mind is in a nightly trance, she is able to cast her eyes away from the question of what has she lived for that day, and what is her reason to live for tomorrow?
He whispers, “I’ll walk you home.”
She had always wondered what it would be like when (not if, because she had to believe it was only ever a when) after walking in the endless dark, he found a bright enough light to turn around and find her right behind him. Along with the seasons that came and went, they have changed. Bearing the stifling awkwardness that comes with relearning each other, they clear through the rubble to tenderly salvage the string that’s held their ragtag group of misfits together. And like always, as though their individual gravitational forces were in direct connection with each other, they are unable to stay away from each other even if they wanted to. They meet at the end of the week at Ichiraku’s to indulge Naruto, to unravel and to bask in the simple fact that they finally get to do this again. It’s become routine, just as it’s routine for him to walk her home afterwards. Sometimes she fills the night air between them with chatter, and sometimes they allow the silence of the dark to envelope them and the mere act of together to speak for them. She sees him trying, but she also sees when his mind strays from them and she is taken back to memories of years ago. All she wants is to hold his burden tight in her strong arms, and bury it before it buries him six feet under. 
He writes, “I look at the moon and I see you.”
He had chosen the lonely path once before, and although she knows this time it’s different, she feels like a teenager once again staring up at the dark sky, waiting for the boy she feels she can never grasp onto. But their letters had been cordial until now, and tonight she feels her body sing with life as she clings onto the letter, staring at the moon anew. She lets his written words seep in the crevices of her heart, keeping them just for herself. They take life in her and she finds herself possessed, spending the time between her 12 hours shifts to dig for her notebook. Her eyes track the ink of his strokes, the places where they thicken and narrow, and she imitates as best as she can. Over and over until she is able to recreate the words perfectly. When she finally writes back, she tells him that on the day that his long solitary night ends, she will be there when he raises his head.
He asks, “Can I stay here?”
The first few nights as she lays with him, she admires his sleeping back lit up by the moonlight, and wonders if he will disappear. He’s returned again, and this time he made sure she knew he returned to her, but he can also leave again. With a finger, she carefully traces the line of his neck, around the curve of his back, ingraining the details in her mind. He’s changing and she is happy for him, but she also doesn’t want to spend these nights alone again. Not after knowing what it’s like to have him curled up before her, his hand clutching her to his chest as he dreams. Sometimes she is awakened by his murmuring as he calls out for his brother. She had always expected him to be haunted in his slumber, and as she smooths his brows, wraps an arm around his middle and whispers in his ear that he is safe and that she loves him as he calms, she realizes she can’t let this boy leave with her heart again and she absolutely will not leave him on his own.
He mutters, “It’s a nice night.”
Finding a clearing without signs of life, they set up camp and after working together to cook stew, they lay in the comfort of each other. It almost surprises her how she’s gotten used to this so quickly—the smell of the ground beneath her, his head resting on her stomach, the soft tickling of his hair as she brushes her fingers through it. There is no ceiling above them, only a sky full of stars and when they grow weary of talking, she points to them. He turns his head to look at her, enraptured as though her face holds the whole universe. She watches him watch her and as the dark night wind blows, she knows that even if the sun combusts and everything in this world one day disappears in the absence of light, her love for him will remain and live in the blackness of the night, as always, persevering.
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Headcannon: buck has a cat. That’s it. Give me fluff I beg you
(I have been putting this off far too long and it got into Eddie with the cat but I hope you still like it!)
Getting shot (again) had sucked so much. When he was finally cleared to get back to the 118, Eddie relearned what to expect when he entered the station. After a week, he knew what to expect when he came in for each shift. Today was no different. Hen perched on the back of the ambulance with a med school book. Chim talking to Mrs. Lee or Maddie (the latter had been a more frequent call as of late. Buck cuddling a cat next to where Hen was seated.
Wait a second.
"Where'd that come from?" he asked as he made his way over to Buck.
"She came in a few minutes ago," Buck answered cheerily, stroking the tabby's fur. "Decided to come over and say hello to all of us."
"Buck hasn't been able to put her down since," Hen added, reaching over to scratch the cat's ears.
"She likes me!"
Eddie didn't blame the cat. Animals were drawn to people like Buck. Inherently good and trustworthy and with a big heart...how could this cat resist someone like that? Especially with the way his arms looked cudding-
No...no, he was not going to go down that route on shift. Eddie could put aside his pining for the long hours that stretched ahead of him. A little was fine. He was an adult in control of his feelings and his emotions. And he was not going to be jealous of a cat getting cuddled by Evan Buckley. That was just being stupid.
"Hey, Eddie, you want a turn?"
The tabby was placed into his arms before he say anything. It took him a moment to adjust the hold on the cat before she decided to climb up on his shoulder. The sound of a shutter clicking told him Chimney had caught it on his phone. Hen was grinning, current studies forgotten. A smile was spreading on Buck's lips as the cat looked down at him. He could swear she was reading his thoughts by the look she was giving him.
She meowed from where her front legs were perched on his shoulder. Eddie turned his head a little and caught sight of the collar on her neck.
"Hey, whose cat is this?" he asked, trying to maneuver the tabby off his shoulder and back into his arms. "She's got a collar."
Hen and Buck's smiles fell a little.
"Did you not notice the collar?" Eddie asked them.
Hen looked pointedly at Buck. "He was too busy cuddling her for me to get a good look."
"How did you not notice the collar?" Chimney asked as he finally came over and joined the conversation.
Buck looked between the three of them. "Okay, I wasn't paying attention. She's the cutest thing ever!"
"Ouch," Eddie teased, but it came out a little too fast. Hen tilted her head at him.
"Fine, the cutest cat ever! I got distracted. Is there a number on there?"
Eddie managed to get a good enough look at the tag. "Yeah. Wanna call it."
"Probably would be a good idea before anything happens. I've got it. You can go get changed."
Eddie gave him a thumbs up and started walking backwards before turning the right way. Buck headed off to the front of the house. There was a wheezing noise from behind. Eddie turned to see Hen with a hand over her mouth as she bent over shaking.
He wasn't sure why she was laughing- she'd missed the collar too.
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shujiful · 2 years
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abcf for kazutora 💞
A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?)
B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?)
C - Crying (is it a turn on? a turn off? do they cry during sex? have they cried during sex? what was the reason?)
F - Food play (do they like using food in the bedroom? are there any foods they prefer to use during sex or foreplay? any they’d like to try?)
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when he’s alone and in need of relief, kazutora locks the door and lays down on the bed, taking off his pants and spitting into his palm before beginning to stroke himself. instead of watching porn, he closes his eyes and conjures of the image of you, pretending you’re the one fisting his cock. it never feels as good as the real thing, but what is a boy to do?
he’s super into bondage whether he’s the rigger or the one being tied up. on one hand, he loves watching you struggle against your restraints, your hands reaching out in attempts to touch him but always falling short of making actual contact. on the other hand, he loves basking in the suspense of being bound to the bed, awaiting your next move.
it doesn’t matter the reason, whether it be from pleasure or pain— kazutora simply adores seeing your eyes all glassy and wet, tears streaking down your cheeks as your lashes clump together. your hiccups and sobs only egg him on further, making him more and more determined to fuck you so hard you have to relearn how to walk.
he doesn’t have a kink for food play, but he’s not totally against it. one time you kissed him after eating a spoonful of honey, and the only thing he could think about was covering your body in the gooey substance and then licking it off. though he’s sure you taste even sweeter between your legs. 
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