#and I still can’t tell my mental health professionals that

[drdemonprince]

Not a question. Just a THANK YOU.

I have always been called weird all my life and when I read your book Unmasking Autism, a lot of things made sense and I thought I may be autistic. When I mentioned this to 3 of my friends, I was met with “Try getting a professional opinion”, “You are being delusional” and “Stop giving yourself white people diseases”. This made me notice that people liked me for the strengths of my maybe autism and for the bad sides, they would tell me to get my shit together and stop being weird and unreliable. I am a 32-year-old Kenyan woman and I think I am super burnt out from masking and I just want to be alone all the time. I don’t speak to my mum or my sister either. My mum (who is a clinical officer) told me to get off anti-depressants and pray to god to heal me. I don’t believe in god, I love women and I want to spend the rest of my life with a woman and I could be autistic. These are things that won’t board well with my bible-thumping, homophobic family members. Lately, whenever someone asks me to come to my house, I immediately feel attacked because my house is the only safe space I have. 

Sorry for the gibberish. I guess what I am trying to say is, THANK YOU so much for writing about unmasking autism because it’s probably saved a 32-year-old child in Nairobi Kenya. I use the word ‘child’ because I feel like I am a child who is reparenting herself. I still have crazy anxiety but at least, I do not want to kill myself anymore.

When I get a notification for a new email and it is from your substack, my day significantly gets better because when I read your articles, I always feel seen and warm, like a hug from a loved one.

Sidenote: I hate my tits and uterus and I can’t wait to get rid of them when I turn 35 and have the money to do it.

Wow! Thank you so much for your lovely message. I am so glad the book has been helpful to you, and so sorry that the world is so weighed down with an ignorant, ableist, colonialist framework of mental health that has kept you from finding acceptance for so long. I am rooting for you to get that top surgery and hysto as soon as you possibly can!!

[lynx-tales]

Had a dream that i was back at college. Had a discussion with my old advisor. She said she would have wanted me to take over after she leaves, and she was offended that I didn’t take more costume classes my last year.

I wonder if, IRL, she even thinks about me or remembers me at all.

[nope-body]

.

[thoughtfulbearpanda]

February 2024 Pick a Card

Piles 1 -> 2 -> 3

Hi there! This is a timeless reading, so remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. Remember that you have free will and nothing is set in stone. Yes, this is intended for entertainment purposes but if any serious topics that come up in these readings that you find yourself resonating with, please seek aid or professional help if you are inclined to do so. Also, if anything in this reading is triggering for you don't feel the need to continue reading; please prioritize your mental and emotional health.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

PILE I

Okana Oracle: Reconcile, Grandma's Baby Lenormand: Whip & Heart, Tarot: 6 of cups rx, 2 of wands, 4 of cups, the Tower rx, 9 of cup rx

What I see you going through in the month of February pile 1 is you walking away from something. With the 6oc rx coupled with the 2ow there may be a decision you will have to make, and this decision could lead to you letting go of past connections, I’m getting ‘leaving the nest' for some of you. Some of you could be moving away, beginning your own chapter of life solo; some of you could be traveling overseas in the month of February, or just simply moving out of house and getting your own place. 

There is also this aspect of fear, not really knowing what you’re getting into, there is the sense of naivety. This could be towards a new job, maybe a change of career path or change in career studies for those who are still in school. This could be a small few of you but some of you may be weighing the decision to drop out of college or school. College/school/work may no longer be as exciting for as when you first started and you may be thinking about just calling it quits, but are delaying this decision because you may not have a backup plan and/or you don’t want to disappoint your loved ones. It’s like ‘I no longer enjoy this.’; ‘What if there is more for me out there?’; ‘What will my loved ones think?’; ‘What if I don’t have a back up plan and this ends being a mistake?’

Life is not full of easy choices. Every day we are proven that life is short. For those who resonate with the school/college message, I am not here to tell you what you should do BUT do what you believe is best for you. College is not for every one, but if dropping out is an option you are considering than have a back up plan ready for when you do. Figure out what you are going to do afterwards. Don’t just dive into this particular decision blindly.

I see you going through transformation pile 1. Some of you may have felt like you lost your spark, your joy, your purpose in life. I see you gaining that back in the month of February. You are going to start making decisions that make YOU happy, that bring YOU joy. February is the month where you consider how to get closer to your ultimate goal in life, and how you can rediscover your sense of purpose.

Shadow Message: Reconcile - “love yourself for only then can you love others” -> What is something that you find yourself struggling to let go of? What is this thing that is depleting you? Is it a job? Is is friends? Family? A partner, past or present? Do you find yourself pouring so much of yourself into this thing and/or person (people) that you barely have enough to pour into yourself? To whomever this resonates, it is time to take a look at your current attachments and come to terms with whether it is healthy or if you are simply a victim of codependency. Is this thing or person feeding off of you? If so, then it is time to cut the cord on that. Do some 'spring cleaning'. For some, it may not even a person or a job. Sometimes it just simply clearing out the old within your space, getting rid of old clothes, trinkets, furniture etc., to make room for the new. Find what is weighing you down emotionally, spiritually, mentally; find what is depleting your happiness and take the necessary steps to rid yourself of it.

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Whip & Heart - 'Sacrifice' & 'Love' -> Whip: "Everyone must pay. Nothing worthwhile or lasting was ever achieved by simply wanting it to be ours...sacrifice and work move things further than desire alone." Love: "There is an infinite supply of love for us to draw on, whether from platonic or romantic relationships, living or dead...but if we often lose ourselves in the need to nurture others, hiding in them to avoid being in ourselves...we must learn to love ourselves so deeply we find joy in solitude instead of heartbreak."

Final Messages:

"What is past is gone, what is hoped for is absent, for you is the hour for which you are."

"Wisdom outweighs strength."

"A snake that you can see does not bite."

"You cannot blindfold a man and expect him to ferry you across the river."

"Whoever stands in the need of honey should not be afraid of bees."

~additional messages: unexpected good fortune, generosity, possible travel, changes, postponement, disappointment and opposition

**PROVERBS 15:13 and DANIEL 10:6 for some of you**

PILE II

Okana Oracle: Grit & Confide, Grandma's Baby Lenormand: Rider rx & Clouds, Tarot; Page of swords, Queen of wands, 9 of cups, 7 of swords rx, & ace of wands Rx

The month of February is going to be very abundant for you pile 2. I see you socializing and being so vibrant and free, being the talk of the town. I'm getting 'social butterfly'. This month is going to be raining down blessings for you with the 9oc here. I see you filled with so much gratitude and happiness. Wishes will be coming true for you in the month of February; whatever you have been wishing for, praying for, hoping for, it will come true. I see you getting that dream job, dream car, dream house. Whatever you've been wishing for, you will be receiving it this month. Some of you could be starting a new project or job, and I see you being so excited about it. You have this eager, 'go getter' energy.

With the QoW here, a feminine figure could be significant for some you. This person could be mature, or just has a lot experience and wisdom under their belt. Who knows how to work a room, use their charm and charisma to achieve their goals. I see this person being some sort of a mentor figure to you this month. Someone that will help you harness this vibrant, off the walls energy that you may have. I see you shadowing this person, soaking up all the knowledge that she has to offer. *Be sure to take head from whatever advice this person gives you*

For some of you, there could be some snakes in your mists. In the month of February you may find yourself being on the receiving end of a lot of 'evil eye'. I see you being highly favored in the month of February, and with that comes with a lot of jealousy and attempts at sabotage. You may end up encountering a lot two-faced people; those who smile in your face but are quick to pray and revel in your downfall. Some of you may be up for promotion or have been promoted - BE CAREFUL. Be wary of those who are quick to befriend and try to get into your circle. It's like that saying 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' - that is the mentality of these haters toward you. Just know that secrets don't stay buried and will eventually come to light. Karma never misses, so whatever these potential sabotagers have planned will back fire. You are protected by the Divine and your Ancestors.

The month of February, some of you may find yourself consumed with the drive to get something started. There may be an idea/project that you are trying to get off the ground to this point where you are obsessing over it. You are trying and trying and becoming more and more frustrated because it's not going the way you planned. With the ace of wands rx, you are being called to take a break. Step away from the idea/project and allow yourself to breathe. When we are so hyper focused on something, it can become easy for use to become consumed by to the point where we forget why we started said project/idea; and in some instances lose our passion fro what we do. That's why in moments of frustration we need to take a step back, put on pause on things. If this resonates, Spirit is prompting you to take a look out where you are, how far you've come, and remember why you started. Stop and smell the roses. Allow yourself to look at it from a different perspective.

For others, there could be a whole idea that you abandoned completely because it never got off the ground, someone may have told you that idea is not good, or maybe you felt like it could never be. Maybe it's time to revisit that project/idea from a new, fresher lens.

Shadow Message: Grit & Confide - Grit: "when a needle falls into a well many people will look into the well, but very few will go down after it" -> Take a look at yourself this month and ask yourself 'Am I biting off more than I can chew?', 'Am I involving myself in projects or places that do not pertain to me?', 'If I am doing all these things: why?' If you find yourself spiraling or just taking on so much, unnecessarily, maybe it's time to take a step back from it. It's good to have drive to have that grit/conviction but not to the point where it is at your own detriment. It can be easy, being caught up in 'the grind' and all but we also have to remember to take breaks; Confide: "all things are good to eat, but not all things are good to say" -> February is looking to be an abundant month for you, but remember to not get caught up in the high. You may be on the receiving end gossip, but try not to perpetuate the same behaviors as your haters. If find yourself engaging gossip with others ask yourself 'Is it true?', 'Is it kind?', 'Are these people doing the same thing to me behind my back?', 'Will they go back an twist my words to said person?', 'Why are they trying to get me involved gossip to begin with?'. Remember: Karma. Never. Misses.

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Rider rx & Clouds - 'Intention' & 'Denial' -> Rider rx: "Don't be hasty, Baby. Before taking action, we must be clear on our intention. And be certain our actions align with that intention." Clouds: "Clouds can be information that is hidden and outcomes that are uncertain...we must know truth before we know miracles, and what is before we know what can be."

Final Messages:

"Not to know is bad, to not wish to know is worse."

"Fire surrounded by elders cannot burn you."

"Luck at times will visit a fool, but it never sits down with him."

"Truth cannot be hidden forever beneath evil."

"He who wakes up early in the morning receives bundle of blessings."

~additional messages: good luck coming to you, harmony, property, achievement, love, dark-haired woman who is strong, helpful and attractive, warning of loss of friendship

**EXODUS 24:15 for some of you**

PILE III

Okana Oracle: Harmony & Reconcile, Grandma Baby Lenormand: Fish & Mice, Tarot: 10 of swords, 2 of cups, Knight of wands, 5 of pentacles rx, ace of swords rx

Are some of you in a relationship, pile 3? Or is there someone on your mind? Cause with the 2oc here there is a potential for love to blossom for you in the month of February. You could have met this person or will meet this person and you guys hit right off the bat. The knight of wands indicates that you and this person will 'click' so fast, and so unexpectedly. This person could be a fire sign; they could be someone who is vibrant, and has a lot of energy and passion to them. They could be 'go-getter', someone who acts before they thinks, who likes to dive into things head-first. And it doesn't necessarily have to be a romance either. This could be someone who you will end up having a genuine bond and connection with. This person could be a bit of foil to you if you are more on the shy side, or this is someone who will match your energy.

Some of you may have dealt with betrayal in the past, like been backstabbed by a person/people that you've trusted. This has possibly resulted you in having trust issues, you questioning the motives of those who try to get close to you. This connection coming in is going to help you heal those wounds. This connection coming is someone you can trust and they are going to prove that to you. They will be patient with you. Maybe this person coming in has probably dealt with same thing, and this connection will be healing for both of you.

For others of you, you may have fallen on hard times in the past pile 3. Some of you may have dealt with a lot of spiritual warfare. What I mean by that, is that you may have been feeling empty spiritually. Doubting your religion, your ancestors, spirit guides, or even the concept of spirituality itself. *With everything that has been going on in the world, I can understand* Maybe you've hanging on to this concept of religion or spirituality in hopes it will make your life better because that's what you've been told, only to be met with disappointment after disappointment. Maybe recently you've had one too many disappointments and began to question yourself: 'Am I doing something wrong?' 'Why isn't working?' 'Am I just playing myself for a fool?'

I see you starting to come back to that pile 3, because you can't ignore the call forever. I see rekindling your relationship with the Divine, with God, your Ancestors, whomever you believe in. That tarot deck that you've put away? You're dusting off and getting back into the swing of things. That altar that you abandoned, walked away from? I see resetting it and familiarizing yourself with your guides, with your gifts. And honestly, sometimes walking away is needed pile 3. It's okay to take a break for a while, reconnect with yourself, ground yourself, and find your way back to it eventually.

Shadow Message: Harmony & Reconcile - Harmony: "where there is life, there is always hope" -> You could be dealing with bouts of loss or despair in February. Have you lost all hope of being happy? Content? Have you lost hope in ever being able to trust again? Have you become a glass half-empty, glass half-full kind of person? It's time to confront those doubts, pile 3. Time to challenge those negative beliefs you've become accustomed to. Make the effort of bringing harmony and positivity back into your life; Reconcile: "love yourself for only then can you love others" -> It is time to heal pile 3. Heal those wounds. Hanging onto that hurt is giving the person who hurt you more power over you. What is something you have trouble letting go of? Is it the betrayal? The backstabbing? Is it becomes you should have saw it coming? Are you ready to let it go? Are you ready to move on?

Message(s) from the Ancestors: Fish & Mice - 'Gifts' & 'Fear' -> Fish: "If we give birth to what is within us, what is within us will save us. If we do not give birth to what is within us, what is within us will destroy us." Mice: "If we feed fear, we will be eaten alive."

Final Messages:

"You can kill the identity of a man on earth, but you cannot kill his spirit."

"Respect begets respect."

"Even as the archer loves the arrow that flies, so too he loves the bow that remains in his hands."

"The path to wisdom is a lifelong commitment."

"It is the one who lives in the house that knows where the roof leaks."

~additional messages: friendship, success, business meetings, reliable friend, conflict, love, affair, worry and fear

**JONAH 1:17 for some of you**

That's all I have for you! Thanks for reading! Stay safe, stay blessed!

Asé

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 1: History]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+) and drugs, alcohol, smoking, astronomy, mental health struggles, Missouri.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

* * * I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world. 🥰😘 * * *

@borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @quartzs-posts​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @chainsawsangel​ @itsabby15​ @padfooteyes​ @arcielee​ @travelingmypassion​ @what-is-originality​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @randomdragonfires​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @jvpit3rs​ @sarcastic-halfling-princess​ @flowerpotmage​ @ladylannisterxo​ @thelittleswanao3​ @libroparaiso​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07​ @trifoliumviridi​ @deltamoon666​ @mariahossain​ @darkenchantress​ @doingfondue​ @atherverybest​ @namelesslosers​ @skythighs​ @moonlightfoxx​ @partypoison00​ @bellameshipper​ @coffedraven​ @greenowlfactif​ @catalina-howard​ @babyblue711​ @marvelescvpe​ @heimtathurs​ @ammo23​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 💜

“You are a professional,” you tell your reflection threateningly, like it owes you money. Your hair is painstakingly tidy, your makeup neat, subdued, businesslike. You are wearing a black blazer, a white blouse, and Cookie Monster pajama pants. You are in your one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City, Missouri: grey, thunderous, humid as hell, June raindrops on the windows. “You have a master’s degree and hundreds of clinical hours and you are not afraid of clients. Not at all! Not even a little bit!”

You check your phone. 2:55 p.m.

“Oh God,” you whine to the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor, to the floral wallpaper. You clutch the cold porcelain of the sink: rose-pink, 1950s, diners and Thunderbirds, housewives and Valium. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t do this. Oh my God.”

But there is no escape! You hurry, sweating profusely, to your laptop. You start the Zoom meeting and wait for your client to arrive, chewing your thumbnail until it bleeds, a scarlet semicircle of dull warm pain, a crescent moon like spilled merlot. You glance at your notepad again. David Mills, 25, married, anxiety upon relocating to a new city and beginning employment there.

Wait.

You confirm with a quick Google search in a new tab. David Mills was the protagonist in Se7en.

You sit back in your swivel chair, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The blue-white luminance of the screen glows on your face like moonlight. Your client is either a coincidence or a liar.

So what? People lie. People lie about therapy especially. So he wants some anonymity. Big deal.

“Strange,” you murmur to yourself.

You have no further opportunity to mull it over. A gratingly cheerful ding announces your client’s arrival in the Zoom meeting waiting room. No avatar, name still listed as David Mills.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Here we go.”

You shake the tremors out of your hands and admit him. He pops onto the screen like a bloom of ironweed, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s nighttime wherever he is. The background is dark and indistinct, shadowy; lamplight cascades across his face, topaz and fool’s gold. You are startled to realize that you already know him. And his name is definitely not David Mills.

“…Aegon?!”

He grins, sly and cocky but never cruel. “Hey.”

“Aegon Targaryen??!!”

“That’s me!” he concurs brightly. “What’s up, Stargirl?”

And instantly, you are transported back to almost exactly one year ago: a rooftop bar downtown, neon signs coiled in shades of violet and rhodonite and sapphire, night wind, constellations, ice clinking in misty glasses, locks of his hair skating between your fingers, the sting of his teeth on your throat, the Weeknd. “Hey,” you say softly. And then again, with more enthusiasm: “Hey! I saw you on Good Morning America last week!”

“Yeah? Was I good?”

“Jace was good. You were slightly offkey.”

“Aw shit. I usually am.”

“That’s okay. You’re the hot loser, right? That’s your character?”

“That’s me, baby. That’s why it works so well.”

It’s impossible: time has passed, thousands of miles have opened up between you, and yet it’s like he’s right here in the room, he never arrived, he never left, he’s always been here for life to grow up around like the framework of a house, a trellis, a skeleton. “How did you find me?”

“I couldn’t remember your name, but I figured you must have finished school by now. So I Googled therapists in Kansas City. Do you know how many there are?”

“500,” you guess.

“712,” Aegon says. “At least, that’s how many I scrolled through before I found your photo.”

“Wow.” You’re smiling; you can’t take your eyes off him. A lot of girls have that problem. That’s why he’s worth $100 million. “Couldn’t remember my name, huh? I guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

He chuckles, a little bashfully, sweeping his blond hair off his face. “No. No, you definitely made an impression.”

So did he. In the downstairs bathroom of the bar, tucked beneath a staircase, stark white florescent lights and red walls, lip biting and ripped seams on your dress. He’d finished in approximately thirty seconds—which, oddly, felt more like a compliment than anything else—and then promptly snapped off the condom, dropped to his knees, and went down on you until you came not once but twice, a rarity for you. But that wasn’t the best part. Afterwards you’d gone back up to the roof together, sat in a quiet corner booth until the bar closed, talked about anything and everything with your bodies folded unconsciously into each other, origami, blended watercolors, whispers and murmurs, your palm on his thigh, his fingertips ghosting the underside of your wrist.

“So,” Aegon says through the laptop screen. “Are you, like, kind of unemployed currently?”

“No,” you reply, palpably defensive. Embarrassing! “I’m clearly working right now. You literally made a virtual appointment with me. I’m just…getting my practice off the ground.”

“Yeah but you seem lowkey unemployed.”

“You are so fucking rude.” But you’re laughing.

“I’m just saying, you had a lot of appointment times available. A lot.”

“I’m recruiting clients!” you exclaim. “I’m not like you. I can’t simulate sex with microphone stands to sell tickets.”

“That was one time!”

You smirk at him, eyebrows raised.

“That was…four times. That I recall.”

“I’m a professional. A serious, grown-up, certified professional.”

“You’re a glorified hobo, admit it.”

“You’re a dollar store Harry Styles.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, clutching his chest. “Okay you win.”

“Why did you do this? Why did you track me down in order to make some fraudulent therapy appointment?”

Now Aegon is something you’ve never seen from him before. He’s nervous. “I, uh…I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Well, not me specifically,” he amends. “We need your help. Comet does.”

Comet. What he means—what screaming fans all over the world mean when they drop this name in Reddit threads or Twitter hashtags or Tumblr gifsets—is the boy band Comet Donati. Three albums, five members: Aegon, Jace, Luke, Cregan, Daeron. The lineup has changed recently. Everyone knows why. “Help with what?”

“I mean…I’m sure you heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you say, somber now. Six months ago a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo. It hit Aemond, costing him six inches of flesh on the left side of his face, his sight in one eye, and his position as the undisputed, archetypal fearless leader of Comet. The celebrity gossip sites had reported that he was taking time off to recover, and then that his younger brother Daeron would be filling in for him at a few shows, and then suddenly Daeron was the fifth member of the band, and everyone was so charmed by his distinctly buoyant, sunshine-and-rainbows quality that Aemond faded from the discourse almost entirely, a ghost, a phantom, an antiquated word like telegraph or courtship or laudanum.

“So things are different now,” Aegon continues. “Things are…not always easy. And I think it might be a good idea to have you around.”

“Look, I’m not…like…” How can you put this? It’s something you have difficulty admitting out loud. “I’m not a real therapist, you know? You’re right, Aegon. I’m basically unemployed. I’m fresh out of my master’s program, I don’t have anywhere near the kind of experience that someone would need to adequately help Comet. So, maybe I could recommend some people to you, but other than that I don’t think I can—”

“It has to be you,” Aegon says.

You shake your head, gazing through the screen at him, through the space and the time. “Why?”

“When Comet performed in Kansas City…when we met at the bar that night…” He is hushed, meditative. “I don’t really remember what we talked about. But I remember exactly how you made me feel.” He smiles, the sort of smile you didn’t know he had in him: soft, pure, nostalgic, without edges. “I think Aemond could use some of that.”

The walls fall down around you, this apartment, this city, this life. “Where are you right now?”

“Capri.”

“Where?”

“Capri,” he says again, amused. “But we’ll be in Rome tomorrow. You can meet us there.”

“In Rome,” you repeat, like it’s Mars or one of Jupiter’s moons.

“Catch the next flight out. The band can reimburse you. We’ll get you a contract of some sort. Nothing too long-term, so you won’t be locked in or anything. A few months. Then we can reassess.”

“Okay, but…I don’t feel comfortable serving as an official therapist to you or anyone else in Comet, Aegon. The circumstances are less than orthodox. And not just because of the…um…bar bathroom situation.”

“Fine, whatever.” He’s high on the victory; the details don’t matter so much.

“Okay,” you say. And then again, giggling wildly at the ludicrousness of it all: “Okay! I guess I’ll see you in Rome tomorrow!”

“Cool. Let me give you my WhatsApp.” You exchange information, and then he grins at you, crafty and radiant through the screen. “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

“We’ll see,” you reply distractedly, already opening Expedia in a new tab.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Midwest, the East Coast, the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, Southern Europe, green to blue and then green again as the plane descends into the Leonardo da Vinci Airport of Rome. You roll your single carry-on bag through the corridors, peering out the windows at cloudless cerulean skies and towering stone pines. Aegon meets you at the bottom of an escalator. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and matching Crocs. He’s slightly chubbier than you remember, just as beautiful, just as chaotically charismatic, the sun made flesh. He’s standing with a man you don’t recognize.

“Benvenuta, bella!” Aegon proclaims, nearly tackling you with a hug before taking your bag. He smells like beer, sunscreen, Axe body spray, summer air that unfurls warm and golden in the lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” the other man—possibly Italian, definitely gorgeous—exhales with great relief. “Aegon said he needed to meet someone at the airport and I was 90% sure that you would be a drug dealer. But you do not look like a drug dealer. You’re not a…are you a…?”

“No, I’m definitely not a drug dealer.”

“Okay. Great. Hello.” He extends a hand, tan and muscley. “I’m Criston, I’m the tour manager. It is my job to keep everyone alive and uninjured.”

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” Aegon says. And then, when Criston is clearly distressed by it: “Uh, anyway, there’s an Escalade waiting outside.”

The SUV is massive and black with tinted windows. As you follow Aegon into the backseat, several paparazzi appear on the sidewalk and begin snapping photos, calling out to you and expelling rapid-fire white flashes like lightning. Aegon ignores them. You’ve been travelling all day, and the sun is setting now in Rome. The sky is the color of embers, autumn leaves, Saturn. Criston climbs into the passenger seat and gives instructions to the driver. The Escalade wheels out of Arrivals, paparazzi sprinting down the sidewalk after it to take a few final pictures.

“So,” Aegon says, smiling. He pops open the mini fridge and hands you an ice-cold can of San Pellegrino. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Kansas? Or, maybe, boyfriends?”

“Missouri,” you correct him automatically. “And no. None worth mentioning.” A guy you’ve had lunch with twice, a guy you made out with at an Olive Garden, a guy you hooked up with back at UChicago who you’re still texting, guys who flit in and out of your mind like birds through the sky, impermanent, inconsequential.

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes.” You’re not offended. Aegon is teasing, and so are you. It occurs to you that talking to Aegon is a bit like talking to yourself; there are no awkward lulls, and he rarely says anything that shocks you. “But that’s not why I came to Rome.”

“That’s fine. That’s not why I invited you.”

As the Escalade zooms by iconic landmarks—the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, the Piazza del Popolo—you ask Aegon about them. He has no idea; he makes things up instead.

“That’s the duck waterpark,” he says as you pass a fountain that’s over 1,000 years old. Then he points to a naked statue of an extremely buff Mercury. “That’s me before I started eating carbs again.” His only snippet of accurate trivia comes as you drive by the twilight-lit Colosseum. “Holy shit, that’s where Taylor Swift made out with Tom Hiddleston!”

“Surely more important things have happened there at some point in the past two millennia.”

“I doubt it,” Aegon replies, frowning out the Escalade window, taciturn. “I wish I got to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum.”

Comet Donati is staying at the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, which closely resembles a palace. When the Escalade stops at the front doors, you drag your luggage out onto the cobblestones.

“No no no,” Criston says, grabbing the rolling suitcase from you. He gives it to a white-gloved butler along with a room number and then escorts you and Aegon to the top floor. It’s not until the three of you are in the elevator that you realize you are still wearing your highly unsophisticated travel-day attire: yoga pants, flip flops, a tie-dye hoodie with Louis Tomlinson’s face on it that you purchased from Etsy last winter. Aegon catches you scrutinizing your reflection in the mirrors that line the inside of the elevator.

“Traitor,” he says with a grin, massaging your shoulders. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror. His touch is—just as it was a year ago at that bar in Kansas City when you were home from school on break and he was a transient visitor, fleeting like a rainstorm—familiar somehow, pleasant and comforting but not profound, welcome without being necessary.

“Don’t hate him ‘cause you ain’t him. When was the last time you wrote a #1 hit single?”

“Never,” Aegon readily admits. “Although I got into the Top 5 in Norway once.” No, everyone knows that Aemond was Comet’s Louis Tomlinson: their best songwriter, their relatively unproblematic and grounded team captain, their protector, their compass. And now he has no official place in the band at all.

When the elevator doors open, Criston leads you and Aegon down the hallway to a bustling suite. Inside there are white leather couches and gold-colored lounge chairs, a bar, a staircase that leads up to the loft bedroom, people wandering in and out of air that is hazy with whispers and cigarette smoke. There are men in suits, women in short tight dresses, leather and velvet and sequins. You are woefully underdressed. Fortunately, so is Aegon. He is greeted with a dizzying array of cheers, waves, and toasts. Someone shoves an emerald green bottle of Peroni into his grasp. Kesha’s Your Love Is My Drug is vibrating through the speakers mounted on the wall: “What you’ve got, boy, is hard to find, I think about it all the time…”

“Hey, hey, listen up!” Aegon shouts, stepping on top of an ottoman, and the chatter lowers in volume like a radio being turned down.

You scan the smokey room until you’ve located all five current Comet Donati members: Aegon the disaster playboy, Luke the sensitive and kindhearted one, Daeron the energetic ray of sunshine, Jace the heir apparent in the power vacuum created by Aemond’s departure, Cregan the brooding, mysterious, sexy Northern Englishman. You know them, and yet you don’t. You know the characters they play, their reputations, their public personas…but that doesn’t mean you know them. Aegon is the only man you spoke to at the rooftop bar that night in Kansas City a year ago. So far, the mythical version of him seems quite consistent with reality.

Cregan is slumped at one end of the couch by the window and knocking back shots of what appears to be straight vodka. In the night sky beyond the glass, you can see stars and the illuminated Rome skyline: modern skyscrapers, ancient rubble. At the other end of the couch is Aemond. He’s smoking, drinking something iced and bloody pink, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, all in black like he’s trying to disappear. His left eye, the blind one, is an ethereal cloudy blue that reminds you of renderings you’ve seen of Neptune, Uranus, exoplanets, the Earth from space. He glances up at you and holds your gaze for just a few seconds too long. Then he looks away, bewildered, taking a drag off his cigarette.

Aegon introduces you to the room as you stand beside the ottoman, awkward and ashamed in your Louis Tomlinson hoodie. “She’s a friend,” Aegon says. “And she’s also a therapist.”

“Good, you need one!” Jace shouts through cupped hands, and there are tipsy titters and guffaws.

“Not for me,” Aegon snaps. “For you deranged bitches.”

As Aegon descends from the ottoman—klutzily, stumbling, clutching onto Criston like a baby lemur to its mother—Luke approaches to present himself. He has a mess of dark curly hair that falls over his face and large, honest eyes. There’s a black spiral notebook and a white gel pen in his left hand. He offers you his right. “Hi! I’m Luke Velaryon.”

“Yeah, I know. I spend a lot of time on Comet’s Spotify page.”

He groans. “I look so bad in that header photo.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s the nose. I have a pug nose. The label has been trying to convince me to get it fixed for years.” He turns to a girl who is practically hiding behind him: arrestingly beautiful in a fragile sort of way, gentle like a doe. “Maybe you can help Rhaena talk to people.”

“I have social anxiety,” she explains apologetically. Her voice is very quiet yet lyrical. There are weights tied to her confession, years of shame and despair. Luke throws an arm across her shoulders and hugs her to him, touching his forehead briefly to hers.

“That’s okay.” You give Rhaena a reassuring smile. “It’s super common, and there are a lot of strategies you can try that might make it more manageable.”

“It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know?” Rhaena says. It comes out in a rush like water through a cracked dam. Luke looks astonished but pleased. You have been known to have this effect upon people, a compulsive sort of disclosure that drains, empties, unburdens. Aegon is watching from several feet away, beaming between swigs of Peroni. “Luke and I met before he got famous and we could just hang out around the neighborhood. Ice cream, public parks, Pret a Manger, riding the Tube together. But now…now he’s always meeting new people and there are all these events I’m supposed to go to with him, and I can’t sleep properly for days leading up to each one, and half the time I end up hiding in the bathroom or being too nauseous to eat anything, and…”

Jace is at the bar and slurping a vesper: shoulder-length curls, flashy blazer with nothing underneath it, a contemplative appraisal of you. There’s a stunning girl sitting beside him that he’s not listening to.

As you are explaining the potential benefits of exposure therapy to Rhaena and Luke, Daeron bursts through the crowd to greet you. He’s their Niall Horan: warm, uncomplicated, disarmingly friendly, beachy blond hair, a golden retriever on two legs. He hugs you—spiritedly, like Aegon did—and then compliments your flip flops.

“So you’re our new therapist?” Daeron says eagerly, like this is something he knows they’ve needed.

“Well, I’m a therapist, but I’m not really your therapist. Because I can’t hang out with you guys all the time and also be your therapist. It’s unethical. But Aegon thought I might have some good ideas, I guess. In a strictly unofficial capacity.”

“Okay! Cool! And you and Aegon are…friends?”

“Um…yeah. Sort of.”

“Remember that show in Kansas City last summer?” Aegon tells Daeron. He’s supernaturally gifted at making everything sound blissfully casual, like there couldn’t possibly be more to the story. “I met her at the bar we went to afterwards.”

“Totally,” Daeron says. “Great city. Awesome barbeque.”

Criston asks him: “So, uh, how’s your mom doing?”

Daeron is puzzled. “Fine…?”

“Criston, please stop asking about my mom,” Aegon says. “It’s getting weird. It’s been weird. It was weird four years ago and it’s weird now. She has a husband.”

“Yeah, but is that…you know…is that still going well?”

“Yes, Criston.”

“Fantastic,” Criston mutters, pouring himself a Scotch. He uses the glass to gesture to you. “So what the hell am I supposed to bill her as? Aegon’s friend?”

“She’s a…” Aegon considers this, waving his Peroni around in the air. “Human resources mental health consultant.”

“She’s a what?”

“She helps resolve both intra and interpersonal conflict.”

“That sounds imaginary.”

“Well then you figure something out!” Aegon says, exasperated. “Isn’t this what you get paid for? To make problems go away? To keep us happy? To stop us from killing each other? You figure it out.” He saunters off to grace the drunken masses with his presence. Criston sighs and goes to stand by the wall with a herd of stone-faced businessmen in suits, record label guys, guys who only know how to see the world in terms of contract clauses and account balances.

Rhaena goes to stand by Jace’s companion, who—as you conjure up vague recollections of celebrity gossip sites—is named something like Bella or Bailey. Daeron is commandeered by a gaggle of adoring Italian women. Luke is showing Aemond something in his notebook: black pages, sparkly white ink. Aemond is nodding and giving critique, not that saccharine, generic, brainless kind of praise but authentic encouragement: try to think of a more specific word here, move that line up to the first verse, I love the use of this metaphor. Aemond’s voice dredges up memories you didn’t know you had of him on talk shows, in YouTube compilations, in songs you’ve been streaming on Spotify for years. Smoke drifts from his lips. Ice jangles in his organ-pink cocktail. And again, he looks up at you, inhaling poison as Luke makes his opal-ink edits.

“What’s that drink called?” you ask the bartender, and he squints across the room to where Aemond is seated on the snow-colored leather couch to discern it.

“A Bramble,” he says. “It’s named after blackberry bushes.”

“Can I get one?”

“Sure.”

You procure your drink and when Luke leaves the couch, you whizz past him like a meteor as you walk towards it.

“Hey,” Cregan flings impassively, not knowing why you’re here, not caring either.

“Hey,” you return.

And then you sit down next to Aemond, deliberately on his blind side. He glances over at you, his brow crinkling with confusion. Because—surely, undoubtedly—no one ever speaks about his injury, but it’s veined through everything they do, it’s a perpetual undercurrent that steers his life and yet cannot be voiced without breaching those vigilantly constructed levees of propriety. It’s the elephant in every room. It’s a ghost rattling doorknobs and tapping on windows. And sometimes the only way to free yourself of something is to throw the cage door wide open and set it loose.

“I accidentally wore your competitor’s merch,” you say. “I didn’t want you to have a good view.”

Aemond laughs, and the strangest thing happens: everyone in the room turns to look. On their faces are expressions of shock, bafflement, relief, wonder. Aemond shifts so he’s facing you, one elbow propped on the back of the couch. He sips the Bramble in his right hand, puffs on the cigarette in his left. And there it is, what people like to call a spark, but it’s something deeper than that: organic chemistry, neurotransmitter plumes, wells of marrow that sing to each other from beneath the darkness.

You nod to his cigarette, Benson & Hedges according to the shimmery gold pack that lays open on the glass coffee table. “You think that makes you cool?”

“I know it does,” he says. His gaze flicks down to your Louis Tomlinson hoodie…or what’s under it, perhaps. “Wouldn’t work on you though. Too far gone.”

You hold out your hand. After a few seconds, Aemond passes you his cigarette. You—very stoically, very nonchalantly—take a single drag and then erupt into a coughing fit, eyes watering, lungs gasping, surrendering the cigarette emphatically. Humiliating! Irredeemable!

“Told you,” Aemond notes. But he’s rubbing your back with a hand that is large and strong and yet careful. You smile at him. Aemond smiles too.

Criston pulls one of the suit guys aside and says: “Get her on the payroll.”

[rainbowrelyea]

I keep thinking about the idea of Kelly and Lena becoming besties after season six. And well Kelly, being the good friend she is, and also a mental health professional, keeps trying to convince Lena to go see a therapist and sort through all the trauma she has been through. And even though Kara, Lena’s other best friend (and possibly girlfriend at this point?) finally agreed to start seeing someone for her own issues, Lena still refuses. Perhaps because she is still too stubborn to accept the help, or because she is scared of unearthing all her demons, possibly both. So Kelly decides to change tactics and go for a more covert approach. After years of treating patients much more difficult than Lena, Kelly has a repertoire of tricks up her sleeve for convincing people to open up to her, and by subtly working some of those methods into normal everyday conversations, she’s slowly able to get Lena to start sharing herself more openly with Kelly. It’s not like that much really changes about their relationship, just now some of their discussions go a bit deeper, and little by little Lena and Kelly start to work through some of her baggage without her even fully realizing it.

This goes on for quite a while, until one day Lena puts the pieces together and realizes that Kelly has essentially been secretly psycho-analyzing her all this time (Lena is a genius after all, she was bound to figure it out eventually). When she confronts her about it, Kelly can’t help but cringe internally and braces herself for the worst. Riddled with guilt, and putting on the most apologetic face she can muster, she tells Lena how incredibly sorry she is, and tries to explain herself. But when Kelly asks her if she is upset with her, she gets an answer she doesn’t expect.

Lena crosses her arms and purses her lips, tilting her head to the side, a contemplative look on her face. For once Kelly can’t read her best friend’s expression, and she can feel her own anxiety growing as the seconds tick by. But when Lena finally speaks, there is no anger in her voice.

“I think - no, I know - that the old Lena, the person I was when we first met - she’d probably be furious at you. Maybe even friendship ending furious. I’m sure you remember what happened with Kara and I.”

Kelly doesn’t say anything, simply nods an acknowledgment, and waits for Lena to continue.

“But the Lena I am now? I’ve grown a lot in the last few years… and I don’t think I can find it in me to truly be upset with you. Maybe a little sad that you felt it was a necessary measure. But not mad - because I know you did what you did out of a place of love, not because you were trying to deceive or manipulate me. Because you’re one of my best friends and I believe you when you say you only want what’s best for me. Even when I refused to admit I needed any help, you know me well enough to know better.” She pauses, glancing down at the ground briefly before looking back up at Kelly, a small smile starting to pull at the edges of her mouth. “And you really did help me, you know? Honestly, this is the lightest and happiest I’ve felt in years.”

Kelly can tell Lena is telling the truth when she says it, because she can see it so clearly in the way Lena’s small grin breaks into a face splitting smile, one Kelly knows is genuine because of the way it’s a little crooked and because of how it crinkles Lena’s eyes at the corners. She feels her shoulders relax and she releases the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Then Lena is wrapping her up in a tight embrace, and it’s a little longer than usual, and Lena squeezes a little harder than usual, as if to say “thank you for being there for me.”

“That said…” Lena pulls back from the hug and breathes out an exaggerated sigh as she makes a show of crossing her arms and rolling her eyes like a petulant teenager, even as she fights to keep the smirk off her face. “That said, I think it’s about time I face my fears head on and schedule an appointment with a therapist, you know, one who is not my BFF.”

Kelly can’t help but smile widely at that, feeling nothing but warmth and affection for her dear friend. “Took you long enough, you stubborn old mule,” she teases, pulling Lena into another hug.

“Excuse you!” Lena swats at Kelly’s arm in mock indignation. “Stubborn yes, but I am neither old nor a mule! You take that back Kelly Olsen-Danvers!”

“Fine, fine, just ridiculously stubborn then,” Kelly replies through her laughter. “But I hope you know, just because you start going to actual therapy, that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to keep poking holes in all those walls of yours.”

Lena considers her with a soft look in her eyes and a soft smile to match. “Yeah, I know. I don’t think I’d want it any other way.”

[whxre-bxby]

"Special Appointment"

recom Mansk x human f. reader

Masterlist Click here for art

Summary: You're in charge of the physical and mental health of the recom team. Mansk has an appointment and he gets a massage. Little do you know, he has developed a crush on you which becomes fairly obvious during the appointment and there is a turn in events.

WARNING: SMUT, fluff, bad language, penetration, blowjob, fingering, breeding kink

Word Count: 5482

The RDA is a busy place to work in. On Earth, I had a lot to do already. On Pandora, my chores seemed to double. Luckily I’ve been slightly transferred from the research department to… whatever department this is. 

I studied Na’vi species. Their body structure, muscles, skeletons, genes, and organs. The psychology too. Their language, culture and behaviour. 

Now, I no longer have the desk job which I am thankful for. I was moved and assigned to the newly created recombinant team, to give them regular checkups and make sure everything was okay. 

Part of my job now was to give them physiotherapy. Not all of them needed it but even the smallest complaints of pain or pressure could be a fault in the system so I needed to look at it. 

Today, I had Mansk assigned to me. It was a check-up with an included massage because he wasn’t sleeping well. 

I had gotten to know most of the recom’s pretty well. Mansk was one of them. We’ve had a few previous appointments and I enjoy talking with him. He’s the only person who asks me questions back when he comes in. I definitely don’t expect anyone to do that but it does often make my day. Of course, I don’t tell Mansk that because I want to keep things professional but I look forward to having him come in. I’ve also never massaged him before so let’s see how it goes.

Lyle came in for one yesterday. Not because he needed it, he’s in good condition. He insisted he needed a massage so I just let it happen and he fell asleep before we were even half done. 

Anyway, I knew what I was doing. This was my job, after all, so there was no need to be nervous. It’s all going to be okay, he’s just going to take his… shirt off. And I will not stare OR make it awkward because I’m a professional at what I do and I’m still trying to get a raise so I can’t have anything going wrong!

He’s meant to be here in a few minutes so I get the room ready by putting away anything that wasn’t needed for this appointment. Since I wasn’t working in a laboratory anymore, I didn’t have to wear the stupid coat or the gloves. My clothes were more comfortable and that was part of the reason I preferred this over my previous job. 

The big and heavy metal door beeps and the light above it flashes green instead of red. They automatically open and outside it is a colleague in a lab coat and half of what I’m assuming is Mansk. 

Yes, the doors were absolutely humungous for me but apparently still not big enough for the Na’vi body. The person holding the clipboard direct the soldiers here and they nodded before turning to leave. 

Mansk slowly leaned down, tilting his upper body slightly forward and stepping into the room. At least the ceiling was high enough. 

“Don’t hit your head.” I say, smiling and quickly arranging my desk. 

Mansk grins and breathily answers “Yeah.” before scanning the room. 

“Hi, welcome back.” I greet him and he smiles. 

“Hey.” he nods and I point to the large chair. 

“Take a seat there and I’ll be right with you.” I say, finishing what I was doing. 

Mansk listens, walking over to it and taking a seat while moving his tail out of the way. He always paid extra attention to it here because he didn’t want to knock anything over. 

“Alright, I’m ready.” I say, turning around with all the necessary clean tools. 

He nods again. I noticed he didn’t talk much, only when it was important. Yet he would still go out of his way to ask me things. 

“How are you feeling?” I ask, stopping on his side and placing a few things on the trolly next to the chair. 

“Alright.” he said, straightening his posture on the seat. “How are you?” he asks. 

I chuckle and a smile forces itself onto my face. 

“I’m alright too, thanks for asking.” I say and he smiles. “You know this check-up is about you, not about me, right?” 

The corner of his mouth lifts up into a slight smirk. “Yeah, I know.” He says and I see myself in the reflection of his shades. 

“Do you mind if we take those off?” I ask, motioning to his sunglasses. “You can put them on again when we’re done.” 

He looks away and nods, taking them off and holding on to them. I smile. 

“Thanks.” 

I start with the check-up by examining his reflexes. The good old snapping next to the ears to see if they react. Everything worked well. 

Next, I need to check the eyes. I reach for the torch and then gently place my hand on the left side of his face to guide him to look towards me. 

I notice how his eyes widen as he watches me intently but lets me do what I need to. 

I turn on the torch to its weakest level and shine it in his right eye. He squints a little and his pupil shrinks. The other eye does the same. It’s healthy. I keep his head there while I put the torch away and I feel how his eyes continue to linger on me. 

I face him again, noticing that they are slightly red in the corners. Probably from lack of sleep. His eyes keep flicking back and forth, probably looking at mine but I refuse to let myself get distracted. Not that I didn’t want to. If I could I would sit down in his lap and stare into his eyes all day but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable because that would clearly be crossing the line and I would probably get fired. 

I smile, gently tapping his cheek with my fingertip in praise that it’s all good and I step away. 

“What happened to your face?” Mansk suddenly asks me and I remember the small scratch I have. 

I grin at the memory. “Me and a friend were messing around with paperwork and she threw some of it at me. It’s just a papercut, no biggie.” 

“Important paperwork?” he asks, smiling and looking up at me. 

“Don’t tell your Colonel or the General.” I slyly say and he chuckles, dropping his head and shaking it. 

I then scan over his braid, picking it up and checking whether everything is in its place. I pull it over his shoulder to make sure that it's still flexible like it should be. A Na’vi virus side effect is a stiff cord which is extremely painful, so luckily he doesn’t have that. 

He watches how my hand glides over his braid and has to suppress a shiver which I don’t notice. 

I move it down his queue and pinch the end of it gently while making sure he isn’t showing any signs of discomfort. The braid was very sensitive and it had to be handled gently or else it could potentially cause some disruption in the body. 

He stayed still so I examined the small strands that moved as if they had a life of their own. I didn’t touch them, I just looked. As long as they move, everything is fine. 

“Good, everything looks fine.” I say and flash him a reassuring smile before taking all the tools back to the cupboard. 

“You said your back hurt, right?” I ask him, to make sure I didn’t get it wrong. 

“Yeah.” 

“Did something happen?”

“Nah, I just slept badly.” 

I nod, writing it down. “Okay, then please remove your shirt and you can lie down over there.” 

He nods and I turn away to give him a little privacy just to keep everything comfortable as I finish my notes. I get out the oil that helps with cramps and sore muscles from the cupboard next to me while I hear him shuffling around and laying down. 

I turn around and walk to him with the bottle of oil in my hand. Since the mattress for him to lay on is the height of his waist, that makes it as tall as me so I have steps to climb on. 

Mansk turns his head to the side and grins. “You have steps?”

“Yep. We don’t talk about it.” I say, quickly shutting him down. 

“It’s cute.” he mumbles and the words make my heart race but I’m so in the character of the version of Y/N that doesn’t give a shit, that I can respond quickly. 

“I feel like a Chihuahua.” I say, making him chuckle again. 

I climb up and kneel next to him. Mansk is resting his head on his arms again and his tail is swaying around. 

“You have to keep your tail down for the next 20 minutes.” I say and he lifts his head. 

“Still too?” Mansk asks, seeming a little worried about that. The tail was hard for them to control. 

“No, just try to keep it flat down if possible.” I laugh and he drops his head in defeat before nodding. I knew he struggled to get it under control too.

He managed though and I climbed on top of him, placing my legs on either side of his waist. 

His tail was beneath me so I refused to sit down. Mansk’s ears were flattened back, focusing on me instead of pointing forwards. 

“Just relax now.” I say with a smile and he answers with a soft “Mhm”. 

I flick open the bottle, pouring some oil on my palm before rubbing it between both my hands to warm it up. 

I then place my hands on his bare back and notice him flinch a little. Goosebumps rise on his skin making me smile but I say nothing. 

I start working on his back, feeling his tense muscles and focusing on loosening them. 

As the minutes go by, Mansk grows more relaxed and lets his shoulder slump. 

(I made art for this :D click here)

Occasionally, he sighs and I smile because it makes me feel better about my work when I know that he isn’t uncomfortable or in pain. 

I start telling him about the crisis I had with paperwork this morning because I know Mansk prefers listening over talking and he also prefers listening over silence. 

So when I speak and rant, he listens and gives me his attention and it often helps me blow off some steam. Sometimes he adds things like nods or agreeing noises or even questions. 

“Why was the deadline at 2:00 in the morning?” he asks, it sounding like a mumble though because his head is between his arms. 

“Ask my bitch of a boss. Never giving us a normal time to do anything. That’s why your appointment is this late.” I complain and I feel him chuckle. 

I work my way up his back, not leaving out a single spot. Apparently, I found a good area because Mansk is now letting out a few groans and his ears have drooped to the side. 

The noises he is making hypnotise me and I can’t get enough of it. I’ve zoned out a few times already, daydreaming while massaging him. Mansk is now suppressing them and it makes me wonder whether I did something wrong or whether he felt a change in the atmosphere. 

I also noticed he was no longer as relaxed as before and I tried to redo what I had previously done to ease the tension but it didn’t work. 

That didn’t stop me from continuing though. We had a few minutes left and I was working on his shoulders right now. 

Suddenly, I felt something brush up against the back of my leg and turned to see that Mansk’s tail was no longer down on the mattress. 

I was about to say something about it when it suddenly caressed my hip and then seemed to try and wrap around my thigh. I froze for a split second, watching it move. 

Was he doing this on purpose or was his tail once again acting up against his will?

I tried ignoring it, speeding up the massage because we were almost done. Maybe Mansk fell asleep? 

Then, I felt his tail brush the inside of my thigh which was so close to my crotch and it made me jump. I suddenly grew extremely nervous and decided to stop. 

“Okay, you’re all done.” I say, being so thankful that I didn’t stutter and trip over my words. 

I climb off Mansk, putting the bottle of oil away and when I turn back to him, he hasn’t moved at all. 

“You can come down now.” I say, trying to encourage him to get up because his appointment is finished. Not that I had anyone after him, he was the last person.

He runs a hand over his face and suddenly he seems frustrated. 

“I uhm- I can’t… get up.” he says and his words confuse me. 

“Does it still hurt?” I ask and he shakes his head no but I’m already returning back to where I was before. 

“Is it the same spot as before?” I ask and Mansk shakes his head and starts to panic slightly but keeps his composure as I climb back on him, running my hands down his back.

I notice how tensed up he is but he doesn’t seem sore anymore. 

“I can prescribe you a cream to relieve muscle pain.” I say, looking over to my cabinet again. 

Little did I know, Mansk needed to be relieved in a different way and of something else. But he would never dare tell me. 

Mansk thought of you too highly. You were like an angel to him and he appreciated every second he got to spend with you. Yes, he had developed a crush but he was denying it even to himself. He didn’t want to ruin what you had. 

Even though his new body was difficult to deal with and he had to put up with it needing more attention, he wouldn’t ever touch himself to the thought of you or anything like that. In his head, you were too good for him. He knew that if he got up, you would visibly see what had formed in his pants and he would probably kill himself or lock himself away forever if you would see him as some creep. 

But all that holding back had the tension in him just build up and he was currently having a very hard time suppressing his feelings. 

I lift my left leg up, ready to climb off of him but suddenly his tail is around my thigh and it’s keeping me there. I don’t move, wondering whether it will let go but it stays still, just holding me there. 

“Mansk?” I ask and I notice his head is raised but he seems to be avoiding me. 

In the next second, the tail tugs me down and I land on Mansk. My weight is now fully seated on his lower back and- 

…the beginning of his tail is pressed up right against my clothed pussy. The contact makes my breath hitch and I watch the muscles on his back flex. He must feel it too. 

Then, his tail moves and I gasp. His ears shoot to where my noise came from and he is gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles have turned white. 

The smell of you fills the air and Mansk is able to pick it up. It makes his pupils widen a little and he bares his fangs while fighting himself to not turn around and touch you. 

I start to imagine what could be going on and while I can’t see his expression nor pick up any scent, I can feel how the atmosphere completely changes. 

The shift leads me to a conclusion of why Mansk isn’t turning around and why he is so tense all of a sudden. But since I’m not sure, I don’t want to risk too much. 

However, I will act on it slightly because I can see that his body language confirms my hypothesis and I’m the expert in that after all. 

“Mansk.” I say, with my voice more confident now and no longer shaky. His ears twitch back before flattening out again. Yeah, he heard me. 

I lift myself up a little while his tail still holds on to me. 

“Turn around.” It almost sounds like an order and it seems to surprise him a little. This time he inhales a shaky breath. 

“But uh- I can’t I have-” 

“Do it now.” I add and I watch him swallow nervously before he complies. His tail becomes loose around my thigh and he slowly turns around, to lie on his back while I give him some space. 

His face is tainted with an embarrassed blush, his ears are once again strained back and he refuses to meet my eyes. He’s just staring down at himself and he looks almost ashamed and guilty. I follow his gaze, letting my eyes trace down his bare torso until I see his problem. And with that, my theory is indeed confirmed. 

Mansk had a boner and he was clearly embarrassed about it. 

I inhale sharply and my lips part. I don’t know what to say but seeing him worked up like this is really doing it for me. I just need to know whether he feels like this about me or whether his body is just messing with him again. 

I move back a little so that I’m not right above it. Mansk’s eyes flicker up while his cheeks continue to burn. 

“Is this for me?” I ask with a smirk. “Or is it your Avatar messing up?”

Finally, Mansk looks at me. He looks like a puppy that just did something bad and is in trouble. 

He’s been trying to come up with any plausible excuse to save himself from this situation but your words hinted at amusement and now he wasn’t sure whether he should lie to get out of this or see where it goes. 

I notice he is hesitant so I decide to give him a little push. I move up, now hovering over his torso and staring down at him. Mansk watches me with wide blown eyes and perked-forward ears. 

“Come on, you can tell me.” I smirk again, taking one hand and tracing it along his collarbone and down to his chest. He shivers beneath me and his expression is changing from being hypnotised to fighting himself. 

“If you don’t want to I will leave.” I say, wanting him to know he has the option to get out of this if I really have misinterpreted this whole situation. 

“No-” he breathes out and I watch how defeat floods him. He’s given up on holding back. 

“Y/N I love you.” he blurts out and his words take me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I can see he’s still deeply blushing but he’s just staring at me like a lovestruck idiot at this point and I’m starting to love this. 

“Yeah?” I ask, raising an eyebrow while a grin forms on my face. 

“Yeah.” he almost whispers. His voice gave out for a split second and he sounds hoarse now. 

“How much?” I tease, letting my fingertips dance on his glistening skin. 

“So much.” 

I just watch him in amusement. Who knew a big man like him would be so whipped and desperate? 

“I need you so bad.” he adds and it almost sounds like a whine. Yep, he’s losing his barrier of being an emotionless and quiet soldier. 

I chuckle, wrapping my fingers around his dog tag and leaning down to him. 

“Magic word.” I say, thriving in the fact that I have so much control over him who is 3 times as big as me. 

“Please.” he whispers and I grin. I lean down, keeping our faces just mere millimetres apart and then Mansk leans his head up and connects our lips. 

I kiss him and rest my hands on his chest while his own start to wander my body. I let him touch my waist and face, but the rest will have to wait for later. 

His hand travels down my back and once it passes my hip I pull away and smack it lightly. Mansk retreats his hand and stares up at me. 

“Not yet.” I say and the words make him shiver again. 

I sit back on him and let my hands glide over his torso. 

Slowly I inch to the waistband on his pants and soon I am sitting on his upper thighs while his erection is straining his pants in front of me. 

Mansk leans on his forearms to watch me and I grin at him again. 

“Can I?” I ask, teasing his skin while dipping my fingertips beneath the fabric. He shakily sighs and nods his head. 

“Words, baby.”

“Yeah…” 

I slowly open and tug down his pants, thereby noticing he isn’t wearing a belt for once. I pull them down his thighs along with the underwear beneath and he sighs in slight relief when his erection is freed. 

This time I gulp, staring at the size of it. It’s so big it blows my mind. I might have to rethink my strategy here. 

Mansk notices and seems a little worried. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” he tells me and it warms my heart but the longer I see him like this the more I need him inside me. 

“I want to.” I say, leaning forward and kissing him again. “You’re so beautiful.” 

His ears perk forward and I take note that he likes the praise. 

I then sit back again and wrap one hand around him. Mansk shudders and bites his lip and then I do the same with my other hand. 

I stroke him a few times to test the waters and it seems to be working because Mansk is falling apart. 

I smile to myself when I see how his mouth is hanging open a little and how his breathing gets heavier. He groans when I tighten my grip a little.

I lean down after collecting saliva on my tongue and lick over his tip. His teeth sink into his bottom lip and he tightly clutches his hands into fists again. I hear Mansk whimper and I continue to lick the tip of his cock, running my tongue along the slit where what I think is precum is forming. 

I lick a long stripe from the base to the top before I wrap my lips around his tip and suck on him. Mansk throws his head back and his body shakes. 

He’s been so desperate for your touch for so long and he refused to ever take care of himself or acknowledge it so now he’s so much more sensitive to you, he can’t help himself but already spill all over your hands. 

Mansk is cumming and I try to swallow everything I can but the white ropes of cum are spurting out on me and my hands, it’s a mess. 

He’s breathing heavily and I watch how his dick is throbbing in my hand. I myself and completely hypnotised by it and I wonder whether it’s going to go soft but it doesn’t. 

Mansk has his head tilted back while he steadies his breath before he looks back at me. 

“Can you do another round?” I ask, licking some cum off my hand and then licking my lips. The sight of that has Mansk feeling sure that he can do it. 

“Fuck yeah.” he breathily says and I grin. 

I sit back on my legs and pull my top over my head while he watches me with heart eyes. 

I throw it to the side and quickly, my bra joins it on the floor. Mansk is speechless, still unable to wrap his head around the fact that you are doing this here with him. 

My shorts and underwear are gone in the next second and Mansk sighs while letting his lust-drunk eyes rest on the newly exposed parts of your body. 

He sits up once I’m naked but he keeps his hands on the side, not sure whether he is allowed to touch me or whether I even want that. 

“You’re so cute.” I smile at him, sliding my hand over his head while one of my hands holds his cheek. 

His cheeks heat up even more and he can’t suppress the big smile that formed on his face. 

“Who’s making you blush this bad, huh?” I ask, in a teasing manner and he chuckles, dropping his head but doesn’t answer because we both know the answer. 

I lean forward and connect our lips once again. This time we are closer and I arch my bare chest into him. 

The make-out session is heavy and soon he builds up the confidence to touch me. It starts out small, with his fingertips lingering on my thigh. Then he holds my waist.

I grow impatient, wanting to feel more so I take his arm and wrap it all the way around me. Mansk presses me right against him, wanting to be as close to me as possible and he moves his kisses from my lips to my jaw before he starts to mark my neck in hickeys. I don’t even care if they will be visible, I need him more than anything right now. 

I run my hands along his shoulders, appreciating every part of his body that I can and then my fingertips reach his braid and I let my hand glide down it. Mansk sighs into the crook of my neck and I decide that I need to feel him now. 

I look down between us and grind myself down against him. He stops what he’s doing and relishes in the feeling before leaning back a little. 

I watch as his hand travels between our bodies and he rubs the inside of my thigh before gliding his finger over my pussy. I whine, forgetting how good it felt to be touched like that. Maybe I needed this just as much as he did. 

He was rubbing me and I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes. 

Before long, he pushes his finger halfway into me and I tensed up. It was obviously much bigger than my fingers and already stretched my walls a little but I tried relaxing again. He carefully pulled it out and repeated this action, thrusting it in a little further each time. 

After a while, Mansk was fingering me knuckle-deep and then he added a second fingers and I held on tightly to his arm. 

“Fuck-” I whimper and he just leans down and presses his head against mine in a form of comfort. 

“You’re so pretty.” he whispers, making me blush. I hide my face by pressing it against his torso and he smiles. 

I finally start to relax and it feels good but just then Mansk pulls his fingers out of me. I watch as he puts them in his mouth and licks them clean and it makes my heart skip a beat. 

“God you taste amazing.” he groans, kissing my cheek before reaching for his dick which is almost pressing up against his stomach. 

I lift my waist up a little more and Mansk supports me by holding my hip. He lines himself up with me, pressing his tip against my entrance. 

“Go slow, please.” I say, a little worried about how it will feel. 

“Yes ma’am.” he smiles, pressing his forehead against mine and rubbing his hand up and down my thigh. 

Slowly I lower myself down and I feel the resistance. I adjust my position a little and push myself further down until finally, his tip pushes inside me. 

Mansk’s mouth drops open and he relishes in the feeling of how I’m hugging him. 

Even this would be fine with him. He just needs to make sure you feel good.

I clench my teeth together, stopping for a moment before letting myself sink down. The further inside me he goes the thicker he becomes and I’ve never felt anything like this before. 

Mansk isn’t pushing me down at all, he’s letting me go at my own pace. Meanwhile, his eyes are fluttering closed and he’s trying to gather all his self-control to not spill just from how tight you are around him now.

I don’t manage to bottom out but neither of us expected that. He hit my cervix with his tip and he was just a little over halfway inside me. 

I dig my nails into his skin, trying to fight back the discomfort and closing my eyes. Mansk notices and gets worried. 

“I’m sorry…” he softly says, guiltily looking at me to make sure I’m still okay. 

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” I say and give him a smile before readjusting myself on him. 

“You feel so good.” he whimpers, cradling my body with one arm while holding himself up with the other. 

I smile, glad that I can please him. 

For the next two minutes, I just stay like that, needing to get used to him. 

After that, it doesn’t feel like such an intrusion and I nod. 

“It’s okay now.”I breathe out and his eyes shoot open and meet mine. He returns the nod and I slowly move up before letting myself sink down. 

I set a slow pace and know that I won’t manage to keep it for long. Luckily Mansk helps me out by guiding my movements. 

It starts feeling good and with time my legs turn to rubber and it’s Mansk who is moving me up and down his length. Both his hands are on my waist while mine rest on his shoulders and he’s effortlessly lifting me before pushing me down again. One would think that the person on top has control but that is definitely not the case. 

As soon as the first moan leaves my lips, it encourages Mansk to pick up the pace a little. 

His ears are once again strained back as he focuses on making us both feel good. 

My eyes are glossy because I’ve never felt so full in my life and he was managing to hit all the good spots inside me at once. 

“Mansk-” I moan, starting to feel hazy. “Don’t stop.” 

He hisses, your words making a volcano of butterflies erupt in his stomach. 

“Y/N- I can’t hold it much longer.” Mansk pants. 

“It’s okay, I’m almost there…” I reply, feeling the tension build up in my lower abdomen. His hand dives between our bodies again and suddenly his thumb is rubbing against my clit. 

I moan out his name again, letting my own head fall back while Mansk continues to fuck me down on him. 

I feel his dick twitch and his eyes close as he chases his high. It’s all too much for me and with the next thrust, he pushes me over the edge. 

My pussy clenches around him as if it weren’t already tight enough and it drives Mansk feral. He’s cumming right behind me, filling me up while I see stars. My body trembles while he presses us together again to keep us grounded in reality. 

I gasp for air, leaning against him for stability while his hot breath fans against my back. 

“Holy shit.” I whisper and he chuckles. I notice how his cum isn’t dripping out of me. That’s how tight it is for him. I feel a little sore now that the pleasure is gone but I remain close to him. 

We pull away a little and Mansk gazes into my eyes. He’s about to say something but I cut him off with a kiss. Of course, he doesn’t complain. 

When I pull back I smile, realising I’m in love with him too. He’s the best person I know here. Why not give it a shot?

“I think I love you too.” I whisper and my words make his eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting that either but it made him smile. 

“Let me take you out some time.”  he suggests and I giggle, looking down. 

“Sure.” I reply and Mansk pulls me into a hug. 

We clean ourselves up and he sets a day for the date. 

“See you tomorrow.” he says as he leaves. 

“Don’t be late!” I call after him with a grin. 

“I wouldn’t dare to. I’m meeting you.” he says, turning around with a grin. That was so cheesy it made me blush. Fuck.

This evening went much better than expected.

Tag List: @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @number1gal

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

After Hours (Boss!Geto x Assistant!Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Self-Insert!Reader

Synopsis: In which Geto Suguru, your boss, and owner of his own public relations firm, celebrates a job well done on a five-month-long project with you, his trusty secretary, but what was once a friendly, professional relationship between you turns into something else when the staff goes home for the night and champagne gets involved.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized!; Crush Confession; Boss/Secretary; Some Power Play; Sexual Tension; Coworkers to Lovers; Office Sex; Mild BDSM; MDom/fsub; Geto Pours Champagne on the Titties & Kitty; Temperature/Sensory Play; Ice Play; Cunnilingus; Sex Against the Window; Geto Got a Big Ol' Dick; Unprotected PIV; Mutual O; Cum on Ass; Aftercare; Surprise Ending 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Once again, a big thank you to @curiouscutie143 for allowing me to bring her fantasies to life. I had so much fun writing boss!Geto & now I wanna lowkey write a longer fic about an office romance with him. Enjoy! -Jazz

*********

“Cheers,” your boss says with a smile. “To the successful end of this stupid fucking waste of time.” 

You laugh, lightly clinking your champagne flute with the extremely handsome, wealthy, intoxicating man sitting next to you on his office couch…who also, again, happens to be your boss. “It wasn’t a waste,” you giggle. “But I will say it was very time-consuming. At least we got it done in time.” 

Geto Suguru hums in agreement as he takes a sip of the champagne in unison with you, making even that look hot.

He is truly a man to behold with his long, black hair he kept tied into a respectable ponytail, a lean build under his button-down and slacks, gage earrings that he purposely kept in for tonight’s festivities, brown eyes you could swim in forever, and tattoos that he usually keeps hidden beneath his blazers and designer suit jackets, but tonight are exposed under his rolled-up sleeves. 

He puts all models and men to shame with his beauty. And wealth! He is his own boss and CEO of his own PR firm which he has owned for over six years now. It skyrocketed in popularity in only a year, earning the title of the 6th most popular business in Japan which has jumped to 2nd place on that list. You joined his team two years later as his personal secretary after working as an assistant for his HR team. 

Geto, who interviewed and hired you, was so impressed with your work and presentation that he offered you the job. “I need a personal secretary,” he explained to you, “and I think you’d be the perfect fit.” Two years later, you’re still here and you don’t see yourself going anywhere else. Geto is a wonderful boss who offers great pay, supreme benefits, and understands the importance of mental health days. 

Though he doesn’t allow anyone to play with him or his money. If he suspects that an employee is not giving him the most on the clock or is taking advantage of his kindness, he will either straighten them out himself with a private meeting or send them on their way. However, he is a kind, respectable, understanding man that you are honored to have worked for for four years. 

And a man that you have embarrassingly been crushing on for four years. “All thanks to you,” he praises. “I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am to you, V. Seriously; I so appreciate all of those times you’ve stayed late with me and the team and set up all of those lunch meetings and conference calls.” 

Those eyes, so generous and kind, smile at you in his spacious, luxurious office. Seriously; Geto’s office is like a damn penthouse stretching over 900 square feet with polished marbled floors and open-brick walls. A kitchenette, coffee section, wine mini bar, and bathroom sit on the left side of the office while his mahogany desk and bookcase sit on the right.

His lounging section, or “decompression area” as he calls it, sits smack dab in the middle, included with two chairs and a couch you both currently occupy with a glass coffee table sitting in the middle. 

Though the office is wide enough for space, you feel as if the walls are closing in on you the more you sit and stare at Geto. “Well, that’s my job anyway,” you joke, clearing your throat. “It was no trouble, Mr. Geto, really! I’m honored you chose me to work with you on this.” 

Geto scoffs, raising an eyebrow at you as he begins to loosen his tie with one hand. “You thought I wouldn’t?” he chuckles. “You’re my trusted assistant and a great employee. Plus, dealing with people is your specialty, unlike me. If anyone was needed on this project, it was you.” 

You feel like you flush as red as the cocktail dress you are wearing despite the fact you’re as Black as your mama.

Tonight was the celebration of your five-month project ending. Geto has been interested in partnerships and merging his firm with other companies, especially tech companies. When a popular tech firm in Germany reached out, it took about five months to get everything finalized and a lot of reaching out to multiple people. 

You sweated over this project, doing work at home, setting up meetings, and sometimes staying late with Geto and his business team where he ordered Chinese and pizza for the crew around dinnertime.

There were also days and nights when everyone wasn’t here then you’d be with Geto in his office, typing up memos and emails he would think of at the top of his head. But you didn’t mind. Not only did your boss pay you overtime for all the hours you spent working on this, but it also meant you could spend more time with him. 

Finally, just a week ago, the project was completed and Geto’s partnership was greenlit. All staff was invited to the party, including those who didn’t even work on it, to celebrate such a milestone for Geto’s firm. Food, alcohol, and music were all included, lasting from 5 PM to 9 at night.

You danced and sang karaoke with your coworkers and friends, trying to get Geto to join in though it was like trying to pull teeth out of his mouth. He looks more relaxed now as he loosens his tie and pops a collar to his shirt, revealing the column of his throat and toned chest. You look away, feeling warm. 

“Now I can finally rest without hurrying here at 6 AM to prepare for meetings or deal with that stupid fucking Excel chart,” he huffs, revealed. “And we’re blessed with a new partnership. Praise God or whoever.” He points his glass to the ceiling before taking a sip of the Brüte champagne. You giggle, feeling his relief. 

Suddenly, the door to his office opens and you startle as if you were just caught in a very compromising position with your boss. Gojo Satoru, your supervisor, Geto’s right hand, and the heart throb of the office (understandably since the man is just as fine as Geto), pokes his snow-white head into the room. 

“You two still in here?” he scoffs, glaring at you beneath his glasses. “Oooh, are those more of those cupcake cheesecakes?” He strides into the room and bends down to pluck one of the tiny cakes off of Geto’s desk, but Geto chucks a pillow at him. “Uh-uh, greedy,” he criticizes. “You barely left any of the food at the party earlier. Besides, aren’t you goin’ for dinner now?” 

Gojo catches the pillow with one hand, grinning. “Dinner and drinks,” he cackles. “Shoko, Yuki, and I were wonderin’ if you two wanted to come along and not be boring for once.” He slips his glasses down his nose and winks at you, indicating that he’s joking.  

Knowing his game and having this relationship with Gojo, you play along. “I am not boring,” you scoff, putting a hand to your chest. “My cat thinks I’m a lot of fun at 3 AM, thank you very much. I put on all kinds of concerts for her!” 

Geto gives a big laugh that lights your insides up while Gojo physically cringes. “Fun to us isn’t just downing shots and passin’ out on our couch, Satoru,” your boss scoffs. His friend takes a moment to think about it, sitting down on the edge of Geto’s desk. “Okay, point taken, but the offer is still open. C’mon, we need to celebrate and it’s a Friday night!” 

Even with his friend’s whining, Geto shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Thanks, but not tonight,” he sighs. “I wanted to clean up my office a bit before I head home and get some much-needed sleep.”

Gojo takes his glasses off and rolls his ocean-blue eyes. “Such an old man,” he huffs. “What about you, Ms. V? You up for some fun with me?” The gorgeous, Colgate smile he gives you is full of temptation, but you’ve already had enough drinking and dancing for tonight. 

“Thank you, Satoru,” you sweetly say, “but I have to get ready for a family event tomorrow. My mom is forcing me to help cook.” You get up from the couch and saunter over to him, barely seeing his eyes glazing over your hips. “Buuut if y’all ever decide to have another night out, let me know and I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

You take the pillow from him and offer him a sweet smile which he returns. It damn near makes him prettier. “Will do,” he replies. His phone suddenly dings and he sighs. “That’s Shoko chewin’ me out,” he announces, slipping off the desk and heading to the door on his long legs. “I’ll see you two kids later. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…or do. I don’t give a fuck.” 

He gives you another wink and a smile before slipping out of the office and shutting the door behind him. “Have fun!” you call after him. Once he leaves, you realize how quiet the building seems. “Any of the janitors still here?” you curiously ask Geto. 

He is still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the back of the couch and still sipping his champagne. “Nah, I sent everybody home after the party ended.” He gives you a curious look, almost looking like a puppy...or maybe that’s just the champagne getting to you. You only had a half of glass at the party and now you find your current glass empty. 

“How come you didn’t want to go with Satoru, if you don’t mind me asking?” he suddenly asks, his head cocked to the side. You don’t mind since Geto and you have a very “close” relationship. 

It’s one of the closest you have at work, ironically enough. You know what his condo looks like having visited there before to deliver papers and packages that accidentally came to the office.

You know his birthday and he knows yours, even sending you flowers to your apartment every year, each one bigger and more beautiful than the last.

You talk about anything that annoys or bothers you when you find yourselves together, even sometimes having lunch together (for work purposes). 

You would say that he is almost like your work husband, but that would be pushing it. You find yourself needing to remind yourself that he’s your boss! No matter how good he looks in his suits or the way you feel when he praises your work, you must remember that. This is your job. Your responsibility.

“Eh,” you sigh with a shrug. “Sometimes, I just like being home to unwind and relax. Nothing beats a glass of wine, a hot bath, and a movie.” Geto nods, understanding. 

“What about you?” you curiously ask as you sit back down beside him. “Why didn’t you go with Gojo? He’s your best friend, right?” 

Geto drains the rest of his glass before pouring another. “Unfortunately,” he jokes, making you laugh. He seems to enjoy that. “Nah, but I’m the same: sometimes, I like to unwind with some drinks and social outings, and other times, I just chill at home in my very spacious, very lonely condo with my dog. When you’re the owner of a PR firm, it’s usually the second one.” 

You can’t help but feel sad about that. “So was that story about your mom a lie?” he asks with a smirk. Sheepishly, you nod. “So I’m guessin’ that show for your cat is the move for tonight?” 

You would say yes, but something pulls you back. You don’t know if it’s the champagne or the way Geto’s cologne smells, but something is keeping you glued to the couch with him. “W-Well, I was gonna say I can help you clean up your office if you want…a-and drink the rest of this champagne!” You pick up the bottle and pour yourself another glass, raising it to him. 

Geto looks taken aback as he clinks his glass with yours. “I mean…if you want,” he hesitantly says. “You absolutely don’t have to stay for my sake, V. You’re not on the clock.” 

You flush, not wanting him to think you’re weird for staying here or that you have ulterior motives (which you do). “It’s okay!” you laugh, waving your manicured hand. “Really! Call me weird, but I kind of like organizing.” 

Geto laughs at this, getting up from the couch. “Well, now I know why your office is so pristine,” he chuckles. “Lemme turn on some music then.”

You watch him as he walks over this his desk, shamelessly ogling his firm, toned, juicy ass in his slacks. You would give so much to feel it in your hands, your nails digging into the flesh while his hips grind against yours, his cock buried deep inside your– 

The sound of a piano mixed with horns and a smooth bass makes you jump, deep in your naughty thoughts. Geto sighs and his shoulders loosen as he presses the volume up on his Bluetooth, happy and relaxed.

“Jazz music?” you snort. He gives you a sheepish smirk. “I know, I know: I’m an old man.” To make him feel better, you begin to snap your fingers, albeit offbeat, and that makes him laugh even harder. 

For the next hour, you sit with your boss and help him organize his office while downing champagne. While he rearranges items on his desk, you lounge on his couch with your heels off and organize documents, either throwing some away or keeping some to file. You talk every so often about everything––new movies, restaurants, plans for the summer, etc. But the silence that follows these conversations isn’t awkward, but peaceful and comfortable. You feel relaxed with Geto. 

“So what’s the plan for this weekend?” he suddenly asks as he organizes his bookcase. “Maybe a date or something?” You pause, not sure why this question is making you feel so frazzled. “If that’s too personal, I understand,” he quickly adds, noticing your reluctance to answer. 

You push your glass away, having already finished your second glass. You feel bubbly and loose, the alcohol sinking its claws into you. “No,” you reply, sheepishly so. “No dating for me right now with work and everything. Maybe one day if I find the right person.” 

Geto hums and goes back to organizing his books. You continue to work, mostly to give your hands something to do. “What about you?” you ask. “With your kinda money, you could take a weekend trip to Mexico for the hell of it, if you wanted!” 

Your boss suddenly turns, his expression stoic and a brow raised. “Exactly how much money do you think I have, Ms. L/N?” he asks in a deep voice that makes your pussy jump.

At first, you think you went too far but then you see the corner of his mouth flick upwards. “Like you don’t have a condo,” you scoff. “Which I know because I’ve sent you packages from work and secret admirers before.” 

Geto’s brows wrinkle cutely. “Secret admirers?” he parrots. You nod, already giggling at one particular memory. “You remember the flowers sent here when you were sick with COVID that time?” 

He blinks, clueless, and then his eyes widen. “Ohhh, yeah!” he laughs, tossing his head back. “God, Gojo wouldn’t leave me alone about that for weeks. She was an old partner of mine who heard through the grapevine that I was sick.” He turns and leans against his bookcase, his, big, tatted arms crossed over his chest. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, still shuffling papers. You want to give yourself something to do as the next question gnaws at you. “A…business partner?” you carefully ask. You never knew who this woman was that sent Geto the flowers; only that you didn’t know her but she knew your boss. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, giving you a smile that looks almost saddened. “I haven’t dated anyone long-term in over two years. Like you said, maybe one day if I find the right person, but that hasn’t happened yet.” He chuckles to himself. “You’d think it’d be easy with my status, right?” 

You don’t say anything for a while and the silence becomes thick even with the music playing. When he turns around to finish his work, you finally get up the nerve to speak to his backside. 

When you start, you can’t stop yourself, the champagne overflowing out of your mouth. “You know, if it’s any consolation to you, I-I think you’d deserve to meet someone nice,” you stutteringly say. “You’re a very good man, Mr. Geto.” 

And then he turns slowly to you and the way the city lights from the window reflect on his shocked face and in his eyes makes you realize what you just said. “V,” he says, his voice breathless and soft. You cover your mouth but it’s too late. You can’t take them back. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that,” you quietly gasp. 

Immediately, you get up, but the papers you were organizing fall from your lap onto the floor. 

“I’m so, so sorry!” you squeak. “I-I should leave!” You’re near tears, a hot rush of humiliation falling on you. You fall onto your knees and begin picking up the papers, swearing as you do. 

“No, no, V,” Geto says, walking toward you. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“No, I do!” you protest. “That was totally inappropriate! I don’t know why I–” You pause when your finger catches against the edge of a sheet of paper too quickly and it slices into your skin. 

“Ow!” you hiss, immediately snatching your hand away and dropping the paper. 

Quickly, Geto stops the music and rushes over to you. He kneels down in front of you, crushing the papers under his knees as if they mean nothing. “What happened?” he demands.

You silently show him your bleeding finger, whimpering at the sting. “Lemme see,” he says, already taking your hand. He examines the cut and frowns at it. “Oh, honey, it cut you deep,” he coos, the pet name making your stomach flip. He’s never called you that before. “Here, don’t move,” he orders and quickly hurries to his bathroom. 

He returns with a first aid kit and coaxes you to sit up on the couch. He takes your wounded finger in one hand, holding an alcohol swab in the other. “It may sting a bit,” he warns. “Just squeeze my leg if it’s too much.” And it does sting. You hiss and grip his thigh as he cleans the cut, watching your expression. “That’s it,” he softly coos. “Good girl.” 

Your stomach flutters and your body grows hot at the very inappropriate pet name, but what is more inappropriate are the past thoughts you’ve had about him calling you a good girl. His good girl. He smiles at you when he finishes cleaning the cut. “Hard part’s over,” he chuckles. “Now I’ll just add some antibacterial cream and a band-aid to make it all better.” 

You stay quiet as he applies the cream to your cut, his touch soft and gentle. “I’m sorry, Mr. Geto,” you whisper. He narrows his eyes at you. “What are you talkin’ about?” he scoffs. “V, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident. You could never do anything to upset me…except think that you don’t deserve to date right now.” 

The silence around you swells the instant he says it. “W-What?” you whisper, gaping at him. He continues his work, now wrapping the band-aid around your finger. “Y’know, if it’s any consolation to you, you deserve to meet the right man too. You’re so sweet and smart and beautiful…who wouldn’t want you?” 

Finally, he finishes and just looks at you. You look at him too, both of you just staring at each other in the dimly lit office. Geto finally breaks and pinches the bridge of the nose. “God, I really shouldn’t have said that,” he groans. “We shouldn’t be doing any of this.” 

Seeing his internal battle and realizing that he feels the same way you do, you keep your hand on his thigh and squeeze. “Suguru,” you softly say. “It’s okay.” 

He looks at you in shock. This is the first time you’ve ever used his first name, especially when talking to him. He moves closer to you, making the room feel like it’s shrinking. The city lights reflect in his eyes through the window, twinkling at you. “Say my name again,” he demands but it’s more like a plea. “Tell me what you want me to do, V. You can tell me to stop and I will.” 

You know this is very bad. You know this is wrong. You know that if you do this, you can never go back to the way things were. But you can’t turn back at this point. “Suguru,” you say again, “please. I want this.” You trail your hand up to his chest, feeling his heart pound against your fingertips. “I’ve wanted you for 5 years,” you confess. 

The restraint in Geto’s eyes finally dissipates and he places his hand on top of yours. “Fuck,” he growls. “I’ve wanted this too, V. You have no fuckin’ idea.” He takes both of your hands in his, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. You damn near choke, feeling like you’re about to faint. 

He scoots closer, close enough to do so himself…but he doesn’t. “I need your words, mama,” he murmurs.

Finally, you find the will to speak: “Yes,” you whimper and it’s enough to make Geto melt. “Kiss me, Suguru.” Immediately, he swoops in and takes you into his arms, holding you against him as he places the hottest, most passionate kiss you’ve ever had on your lips. 

His lips are soft and wet against yours, pulling you in farther and farther. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him flush against you. If this were a romantic comedy, there would be fireworks popping off outside the same way they are in your head. Geto pulls away, softly panting. “Keep talkin’ to me,” he whispers. “Tell me what you want from me.” 

He swoops in to kiss you again, drowning out your soft moans. “Touch me,” you plea into his mouth. “Put your hands on me, Suguru.”

He does just that, his big hands moving down your hips to pull you into his lap. You wrap your arms tight around his neck like a koala bear, latching onto his body. Geto wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves how your soft, pudgy body feels against him and sitting on top of him, your heat radiating from between your thighs against his crotch. Your kisses grow deeper and wetter, your tongues swirling against each other, arousing the both of you.  

“You’re wearing too much,” you whisper, tugging at his collar. He sniggers against your lips, his hands gripping your ass. “So are you,” he chuckles. “But we can help each other with that, can’t we?” Even without the seduction in his gaze, you wouldn’t resist. 

You begin to pop his buttons, yank off his tie, and peel his shirt off while he unzips your dress. You beat him, successfully getting him semi-naked. At the feeling and sight of his toned abs, pecs, and tatted, tanned skin, you damn near get a nosebleed. “Like whatcha see, babydoll?” he purrs. “Because I’m lovin’ what I’m seein’ right now.” 

He coaxes you to stand up in front of him and finally peels off your dress, exposing your lace bra and panties to him. At the sight of you standing between his thighs in only your underwear, stockings, and heels, Geto almost busts a nut. You’re so fucking beautiful, babydoll, shit,” he hisses. 

His hands glide down your sides before pulling you closer. You allow him to do what he wants, loving whatever he does, especially when he latches his lips onto your brown nipples. While he sucks and laps at your nipples, alternating between each, his big hands mold and fondle each juicy breast that his mouth can’t occupy. 

Your sultry, slutty moans are like music to him, way better than the jazz. “Fuck!” you moan. “Suguru…that feels so good!” Your head falls back and your eyes close, the pleasure immense. He’s so, so good with his mouth! You wonder just how good he is eating pussy. 

Geto suddenly looks up at you, his mouth still latched onto your hardened, brown nipple. 

“Lay back on the couch and put your arms over your head,” he orders you. You do so, shivering in delight at him telling you what to do. He then takes his empty champagne glass off of the table and pours himself a glass. 

“Lemme try something,” he pants before slowly pouring some of the champagne over your breasts. You gasp as each cold, little droplet hits your skin, making your nipples even harder. He then swoops down and begins to lap at the champagne, drinking it from between your cleavage and lapping it off your nipples. 

“Mmm,” you softly moan, melting into the couch cushion. You’re so relaxed that you barely notice the ice cube in Geto’s mouth until he’s dragging it over your neck and tits. You gasp, your back arching into his cold lips. 

He smiles, leaning back up with the ice cube in his mouth and giving you an open-mouth kiss. The ice cube falls into your mouth, immediately melting. “That feel good, babydoll?” he chuckles, loving the way your skin jumped at the cold ice cube. 

He continues to suck on your nipples while you grind your hips against his thigh wedged between your thighs. “My, you’re so vocal,” he hums. “Thank God the staff ain’t here or we’d be in big trouble.” He then sits up, straddling you, and slowly takes down his ponytail. Watching his locks of black hair cascade over his shoulders and back is more than you can handle. 

“I need more of you,” he says, sounding hoarse and in need. “Is it okay if I taste you, babydoll? I’ve been dreaming of what you’d feel like against my tongue for so long.” He doesn’t touch you. Not until you say so. Consent being so important to him makes you wetter, your cunt throbbing against his knee. “Yes, sir,” you moan. “Please taste me. I’m yours.” 

He yanks you closer by your legs, making you squeal. “Keep saying that,” he demands. He then hunkers down in between your legs, peppering your jiggly, luscious thighs in kisses. “I’m yours,” you say, a laugh slipping out of you. 

He takes your panties off of you, leaving your heels on. “I’m yours,” you gasp as his lips make contact with your fatter, softer ones down under. His tongue laps and licks at your folds, caressing your clit. He then begins to gently suck on the tiny bud, making your toes curl. “I’m yours, Suguru, fuck!” you moan, your hands lacing in his hair. “Please do that again!” 

Geto smirks against your pussy. “What?” he chuckles. “You mean this?” He does the same move again, this time swirling his tongue around your clit.

The pleasure is overwhelming, making your mind blank and emitting the sluttiest sounds out of you. “Shit, Sugu, yes, fuck!” you pant. “You’re s-so…oooo, fuck, baby, right there!” 

Geto continues to feast on your pussy, eating it up like it’s his last meal for a while. “Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” he groans against your slit, his tongue sliding down to your asscrack before sliding back up. “I like seein’ you like this. Keep makin’ more of those sounds for me, babydoll. That’s an order.” 

You can’t help it, so you do it, making as many moans, whines, and grunts as he wants. With the way he works his mouth against your pussy, it’s impossible to not. But when his hands move up to tweak and pinch your nipples, you almost explode.

“Yes, like that!” you whine. “I love that so much! Keep goin’, sir, please, sh-sh-shit!” You begin to grind your clit against his nose while his tongue explores your insides, his hot, wet mouth and cushiony lips too much to bear. You can’t take much more of this! “Shit, Suguru!” you moan. “Fuck, sir, I’m gonna cum!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Geto hums, slipping his tongue out of you. He begins to suck on your throbbing clit again, making you see heaven. “Say the magic word,” he coos against your clit. Your hands grip his hair as your back arches into his ministrations, needing more. “Please, sir!” you whine. “Please, please let me cum! I need it, please!” 

His chocolate eyes peer up at you through the V of your thighs, demanding you to give him what he wants. “Give it to me, babydoll,” he orders. “Cum all over me. Fuckin’ do it.” As his voice drops several octaves, you feel shivers travel up and down your spine. Your core begins to tighten more and more as you grind against his magical mouth over and over again. 

When you cum, you cum hard. You’ve never had such an intense orgasm before. It tears through you, making you nearly arch off of the bed as you explode in Geto’s mouth. Moans and cries of pleasure leave your lips, tingles of ecstasy coursing through you. The man between your legs hungrily laps at your pussy, slurping up all of the cream that you give him. 

Finally, after several seconds, you come down from your high, aching in the best way possible. Geto pulls away with a sigh, his lips dripping with you. “You’re way better than the champagne,” he chuckles, licking your juices off of his lips. “Now I need more.” 

He seems to shift into a whole other person the more you look at him. His eyes darken and his hands massage your thighs a lot more as if he can’t get enough of them. “I’m sorry, babydoll, but you seem to have made me into a fiend,” he growls. “If you don’t want this, tell me now before I bust a hole through these pants.” 

He grips his hard-on pushing into his slacks and your eyes have never stretched so wide before. 

“B-But what about–” 

“You don’t need to take care of me,” he interrupts. “What you can do is lay back and let me fuck you like I need to.” He gazes down at you, molten lust evident in his eyes. “Will you let me, V?” he asks. “Is that okay with you?” 

Is that okay with you? Your pussy is dripping at the mention of finally getting what she and you both want. Finally!

Instinctively, you open your legs for him, exposing your soaked pussy to his naked eyes only. “Fuck me, sir,” you purr. “I want you so bad. Please, just fuck me now.”

Geto doesn’t need to be told twice. After planting another rough, wet kiss on your lips, he unzips his pants and shrugs his boxers down to his waist. 

Like a Jack-in-the-Box, his cock springs up, fat, long, and throbbing. You practically salivate at the sight of it. Smirkingly, Geto wraps a hand around himself and slowly slides himself home inside the wet, spongy walls of your pretty cunt, emitting a gasp from the both of you.

He looks down at you expectantly, waiting for you to give him the go to move. Once you have adjusted to his size and girth, you put your hands on his shoulders and nod, giving him a reassuring smile. 

He settles on top of you, keeping his arms on either side of you to hold himself up, and slowly begins to rock his hips. As soon as he begins to sheathe his cock in and out of you, you feel the pleasure you felt before return but it’s increased by 100. You are overwhelmed with ecstasy every time Geto pumps his cock inside of you and his pelvis rubs against your clit, unable to hold back the slutty sounds dripping from your open mouth. 

Geto smiles down at you, loving how adorable you look underneath him as you take his cock. He holds himself up with one hand to hold one of your juicy tits in his hand, loving how it jiggles as he fucks himself down into you. “So needy for me,” he sighs. “So fuckin’ cute.” His hips piston into yours just right, nailing that spot again and again as he fucks you into the couch. 

“Fuck, Sugu!” you cry, gripping his broad shoulders. “Please go faster! Fuck me faster, sir!” His handsome face flushed and black strands of hair falling in his face, Geto gives you what he wants. He sits up and grips your fleshy thighs before pumping his cock deeper and faster into you, causing the sounds of your moans to grow louder. 

If anyone were to be outside of the office right now, they would immediately know what’s going down in Mr. Geto Suguru’s office. The sound of sex–grunts, moans, whimpers, couch springs bouncing, skin slapping against skin–is way too obvious to pass it off as something else. The idea of that makes you wetter and tighter around Geto’s cock. It makes him damn near insane. 

Unable to control himself any longer, his big hands move under your ass to pull you to him. 

He then sits up with you and slowly stands, lifting you up with him. You gasp, gripping onto him tight like a cobra, and he chuckles. “I’ve got you, honey. Don’t worry, just hold onto me.” You do so as he walks over to his office window, the glittering lights of the city gleaming back at you. He slowly puts you down and wordlessly stares at you, his gaze dark and oh-so seductive. 

You don’t have to ask what he wants. Immediately, you turn around and place your hands on the cold glass of the window, sticking your ass out for him. “Damn, I didn’t even have to tell you to assume the position,” he chuckles. “I guess you’re feenin’ too.” His hand caresses your asscheeks, his thick fingers massaging them. 

You look down at the streets below, seeing people walking their dogs and having a night out on the town. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the idea of having sex in front of a window where anyone could look up and see you makes you wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. And nobody would ever know that it’s your boss giving you such good dick.

Your coherent thoughts are pushed to the back when Geto slaps his cock up against your asscheeks and then sinks himself back into your pussy. “Shit, baby!” he hisses, immediately going back to railing you. “You’re tighter than before.” 

You whine in response as he grips your hips, pumping himself into you like you’re no more than a toy. A fleshlight. His personal sex object. It’s so dirty. So wrong.

And yet it feels so, so good. You can’t deny how much you enjoy his thick cock stretching you out and sending sparks of pleasure throughout your brain. How much you love the sweet ache in your knees and your body. How much you love the way he makes your tits and ass jiggle as he fucks you.

Speaking of ass, Geto is a fiend for it, staring at the way it shakes and jiggles as he fucks your pussy. “I need to see this ass bounce for me,” he shudderingly groans, giving your ass a harsh smack. You gasp at the sting, the nasty act of it making your pussy throb around him. 

“Do that again!” you whine and he does, the pain mixing with the pleasure as he sinks his cock back into you again and again, going deeper and deeper each time. You have to brace yourself against the window the more he pounds into you, going so fast that he could damn well put a pornstar to shame with his stamina. “Fuck, Sugu, yes!” you sob. “Y-Yeah, just like that, fuck me just like that!” 

“Fuck me back, babydoll,” he demands. “Work for that cum, c’mon. Be a good secretary for me.” You do so, pressing into your heels and tossing your ass back into him. “God, that’s it!” he moans, giving you another spank as a reward. “I’ve always dreamed of fucking you like this. Always wanted to see you like this.” 

You want to tell him the same, but your tongue is tied, the pleasure making you crazy as you begin to frantically rub your clit. You can quickly feel that knot in your stomach about to snap the more he fucks you. You feel him press himself against you, pushing you into the window. You gasp as the cold glass touches your bare, brown tits pushed against the window while Geto’s big, rock-hard body pushes against your back. 

“You wanna cum with me, babydoll?” he pants into your ear. “Tell me. Tell me you wanna cum with me.”

You can feel the wetness begin to drip down your thighs and stain his balls, no doubt getting on the floor. “Tell me you want me to give you my cum,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me where the fuck you want it.” 

Somehow, you find the words to speak and scream out, “Yes! Yes, sir, I want your cum! Do it on me, please! I don’t care where! Just please, please cum with me!”

That just about makes Geto snap. He turns your face and tongue kisses you, his lips and mouth tasting like a night of champagne. You don’t speak as he continues to rail you, chasing his orgasm at full speed and taking you along for the ride.

When you both finally cum, you do so together. He manages to pull out of you quickly and pumps his cum all over your plump, soft, perfect ass while you do so onto his hand, his fingers replacing yours. 

Swears, sobs, and moans leave your lips as you’re finally released like a genie in a bottle, your orgasm hitting you dead on. It drains all of the energy out of you, making your knees buckle and your body feel weak.

“I’ve got you,” Geto softly says, hugging you to him from the back. “Just melt into me, mama. It’s okay.” 

Deliriously and happily, you smile, doing as he says. You loop an arm around his head, bringing him closer to you. You don’t ever want to leave his arms. You want to stay like this forever, pressed against him in his office, while the rest of the world turns and moves outside. At some point, you both sink onto the floor and just stay there for a while, silence descending onto you. 

Once the pleasurable fog of your orgasm fades, the concrete realization hits you like a truck: you just had sex with your boss. Geto seems to know what you’re thinking though and turns your face towards his. “Tell me how you feel,” he tells you, his eyes firm but soft. “Listen, I don’t want you to regret what we did, Y/N, ‘cause I don’t. This was real for me.” 

He bites on his bottom lip, looking flushed and nervous. You’ve never seen him look like that before. “I know this was a lot, but if you want, I’d like to turn this into something more. But it’s all up to you.” You blink at him, wondering if he’s serious. He continues to hold that firm yet nervous look, his eyes hopeful. 

After sex like that, you’d be crazy to say no! You place a hand on his cheek and move in to kiss him softly. He accepts the kiss, his lips dancing with yours before you pull away. “I’m ready to try if you are, sir,” you softly answer. “But dinner would be nice.”

Geto begins to laugh and kisses your hand. “Of course,” he chuckles, sounding relieved. “You like Italian? Or maybe ramen? I know this place that just opened that–” 

Knock, knock, knock! Quickly, Geto places himself in front of you, blocking you from whoever is at his office door. Fear jumps inside of you, making your stomach churn. “I thought you said nobody was here!” you hiss. 

“There isn’t,” he whispers. “Or there wasn’t supposed to be.” He clears his throat, giving a clear, short, “Yes?” 

“Brooo, it’s me!” Gojo shouts through the door. “I think I dropped my wallet in here! Can ya let me in?” Geto turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you think, babydoll?” he asks. “Should we let my friend in?” 

You don’t know why you say yes or why your pussy throbs despite having just orgasmed twice, but Geto gives Gojo the okay and he comes waltzing into the office. At the sight of his best friend and his personal secretary sitting naked on the floor in their afterglow, Gojo’s blue eyes widen in shock… 

And then they grow hooded with lust. “Well, well,” he chuckles. “It’s about fuckin’ time.”

He begins to loosen his tie, giving you a flirty smile. “I hope it ain’t too much to ask if I can join, babe.” 

THE END. 

Fan Art by @almaadst

[piecesofreeses]

We've Got You

Nick ignores his mental health in favor of staying on top of work. When his involuntary age regression catches up with him, Matt and Chris are there. 

Told in 3rd person limited (like most of my stories) where the reader has access to Nick’s thoughts, but not Matt or Chris’s.

DISCLAIMER:

This is an age regression fanfic! Age regression is a completely nonsexual coping skill and it is represented appropriately and correctly as it relates to my life. Regression can be positive in many circumstances, but not all. If you are struggling with your mental health or involuntary age regression, talking to a professional is always the best choice.

Hate will not be tolerated, nor will it be entertained. I will not give you my attention; your comment will just be deleted! Please don’t waste your time, just take your bullshit somewhere else!

One more note:

This is NOT incestual, nor is it sexual in any manner. The comfort Nick receives during and after his panic attack is purely loving, familial support. Yes! They cuddle! Yes! They hold Nick and rub his back! Yes! They share a bed for the night! No! None of that makes this “weird!” 

TWs: Panic attack, descriptions of the physical sensation of a panic attack, avoiding regression, swearing, lighthearted arguing, guilt for enjoying a pacifier

Okay on to the story!

Nick always tries to be the quick witted, loud, strong oldest brother. With the triplets spending so much time in LA just the three of them, more now than ever they have to keep each other in line. And yes, that means Nick has to take care of his brothers even when he doesn’t want to. 

Matt may be their transportation as the only brother with a license, but Nick still feels like he’s mothering them half of the time. He’s constantly sticking a hand between his brother's faces both literally and metaphorically. While Nick probably couldn’t love Matt and Chris any more than he does, they’re brothers; it’s impossible for them not to get on his nerves sometimes. 

Currently, the triplets are sitting in a parking lot about ten minutes from their house filming a car video. Nick is tired and has been a bit quieter than usual, leaving his quips and comebacks to a minimum, just listening to Matt and Chris rant. 

Suddenly, of-fucking-course, the two are arguing again. It’s something stupid about the song that’s playing in the background— no wait— it’s about Matt’s phone? Nick isn’t really sure, he’s just exhausted. It’s not the other boys fault; they can disagree and get at each other throats all they want in the car videos. Nick knows the fans love it, but in that moment he’s just so goddamn overwhelmed.

Nick tries to open his mouth to tell his brothers to shut the fuck up, but no sound comes out. He feels a bit like he’s sinking into the backseat, totally isolated from the argument in the front. Nick knows he’s fine, so why does he want to cry? Why can’t he get his words to come out?

A tear escapes and slips down his cheek. He tries to wipe it away but his arm feels so heavy and his fingers feel so clunky and they’re not moving the way he needs them to. Why is everything so hard?

Without even meaning to, Nick lets a little whine slip past his lips. Even though he hates asking for help, he’s sure he needs Matt and Chris. If nothing else, they need to turn off the camera, but apparently the fighting in the front seat is too loud, because the boys give no indication of hearing him. 

Oh no, Nick realizes as his mind gets even fuzzier, I’m slipping.

Nick knows he regresses if stress gets to him too much– his brothers know too, but God, it hasn’t happened in months.

He’s usually pretty good about preventing it by being gentle with himself, but it’s just been so fucking stressful this month. The end of the podcast just ended up being a lot of work and he didn’t have time to cater to his mental health the way he has to to make sure he never slips. 

This is the result, I guess, Nick thinks. Because he refused to show himself some goddamn love when he was big, his brain was forcing him to regress. And he didn’t get to pick when. 

“Matt?” The oldest choked out.

Still no response. Nick felt like he was sinking into his brain as everything started to feel eerily quiet, like his brother’s voices were coming from underwater. 

Maybe I’m the one underwater, he thinks as the whole world begins to appear muted in color. My sensory processing just conked out, didn’t it.

“Chris? Help,” Nick tried again, but it came out even quieter than the previous attempt. Despite his every effort, Nick felt his eyes well up. 

Why won’t they stop arguing? I need help! I need help and I don’t know how to get it! Someone please help me. Matt? Chris? Please help me.

It’s all far too much, so he closes his eyes and fights against his heavy limbs, eventually able to pick up his hands to cover his ears. He feels himself shaking gently and the first of his tears begin to flow down his cheeks. Apparently, Nick hasn’t breathed in a while, because suddenly he feels himself gasp involuntary. Fighting the sudden rush of air, his throat catches on nothing and he coughs out, forcing more tears to spill. 

Nick’s forearms are covering his cheeks from the way he's trying to protect his ears, and he feels them wet from how hard he's begun to cry. He convulses in a sob and finally, a loud enough sound comes out.

“Nick?!” He hears Matt yell. “Something’s wrong, Chris! Turn that shit off!”

They’re coming. They’re gonna help. Please hurry, though.

“Okay, okay I am. Go get in the back with him!” Chris’s response comes, quieter.

He doesn't even hear the door open, but suddenly Matt’s arms are around him. He’s wracked by sobs as his body relaxes into Matt’s chest.

It’s all okay. I’m okay. They’ll make it okay. 

Matt’s arms are rubbing Nick’s back as he shakes and he can feel how his tears have wet the shoulder of his t-shirt. A moment later, he feels the seat underneath them move like another body has sat down, and then he hears Chris’s voice. 

“It’s okay, Nick. We’ve got you,” Chris says gently. As Matt keeps touching him comfortingly, Chris keeps talking. 

“The camera is off and we can delete all the footage later. I’m so sorry we didn’t notice what was happening earlier. Matt and I are gonna help, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

“Chris,” Matt whispers, “Take him? I want to get us home.”

“‘Course,” Chris says. Nick whines and holds onto Matt, clearly comfortable where he is, but the boys are still able to switch who he’s sitting onto fairly easily. He's stopped crying and looks up at Chris as he pulls him into his lap. Chris is sitting properly in the left seat with Nick on his lap, back leaned against the door and head on Chris’s shoulder. It's probably illegal, but with the boy no longer crying, they won’t be taking any risks. 

As Matt gets out of the back and back into the driver’s seat, Chris haphazardly wraps the seatbelt over the two of them. Nick pulls his knees up and burrows his head into his brother's shoulder. Quietly, he pulls a thumb into his mouth before looking up at Chris as if waiting to be told off. He waits, half expecting to be called gross, even though he knows his brothers don't find his regression gross.

“Oh, you’re small, Nicky. How old are you?” Chris asks with nothing but love in his voice. Nick doesn't respond, just closing his eyes and sinking into the comfort.

“He’s small?” Matt asks from the front. “How old did he say?”

“Didn’t respond. I’d guess one by the thumb and how he was crying earlier,” Chris responds, petting Nick's hair and trying to make sure he doesn't slip out of his lap on the drive home. 

Matt sighs, “Okay, we’re only a minute away from home. What do you think we do when we get there? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him regress.”

“Well first get his pacifier, I don’t want his fingers in his mouth and longer than they have to be, but I’m pretty sure he’ll cry if I try to take them out without a replacement. Next… uhh… I don’t think he’s going to be chill with me letting go of him unless I'm literally putting him into your arms, but he seems exhausted. I’d say we all get in your bed and try to get him to go to bed? It’s late for all of us, especially for the baby,” Chris says, looking down at Nick and laughing quietly as they pull into the driveway.

“Alright, I’m going to come and help you stand up with him so you can carry him in. He’s not going to walk himself, is he?” Matt replies, looking back at the little boy curled into Chris with his thumb in his mouth. 

“No way.” Chris says, reaching to unbuckle them. Matt steps out of the car and opens the door for Nick and Chris. 

Sounding confused, Matt asks, “How are we going to make this work?”

“You just take him? I don't think I can stand up with him in my lap even with your help,” Chris suggests. Matt slots his arms under Nick’s knees and picks him up bridal style. Luckily, there is minimal protest from the little, just a whine and some still watery eyes. With Nick out of his lap, Chris climbs out of the car, shuts the door, locks it and runs up ahead of his brothers to unlock and open their door. 

Now that they are standing, Matt carries Nick with ease. Up the steps of their porch and into the house, the lack of strain on Matt’s face makes it appear as if Nick really is a baby. Chris smiles with the thought as he follows the two inside and closes the door behind them. 

“I’ll find his paci. Get in bed?” Chris calls out as he tosses the car keys on the kitchen table. 

“Got it,” comes Matt’s reply. Chris has no idea where the little’s paci might be, but it’s pretty important that he finds it, so he starts by tearing out the couch cushions to see if it's tucked underneath one of them. With no luck, he heads up to Nick’s room and strips his bed, checking if it might be in there. Unfortunately, the stupid blue thing is still nowhere to be found. 

Nick can hear Chris tearing his room apart looking for his pacifier as Matt carries him upstairs. 

He’s never gonna find it.

Too small to tell Matt where it is, he just tugs on his sleeve and looks down the hall to his room.

Fortunately, Matt gets the message. “Want to go help Chrissy?” Matt says and turns toward the sound of the rummaging. As they walk into the room, Chris looks at the boys defeated. 

“I can’t find it,” he sighs. 

“Losat,” comes Nick’s small voice. 

Oh no, are they going to think that means I lost it? No no, that’s supposed to be “closet.”

“In the closet?” Matt and Chris respond in unison, walking into the closet and digging through the junk on his closet floor. 

Oh thank God. 

Matt sets Nick down, leaning his back against the closet wall so he can move his shoes. Underneath, he finds a small shoebox covered in stickers. How promising. Opening it up, Matt discovers the pacifier and a couple small toys. 

“Bingo, Chris! It's right here,” Matt exclaims.

“Why’d you hide it away like this, sweet pea?” Chris asks the little boy, scooping him up like a koala. Nick doesn't respond other than a whine and rests his chin on Chris’s shoulder, facing the opposite direction. 

The boys walk out of the closet, Matt with a pacifier in hand and Chris with a Nick in… arms.

“I need to wash this off,” Matt says and walks into the bathroom. 

“Okay, bring it to us when you're done,” Chris says and hikes Nick up so his legs can wrap around his waist. Nick has one arm wrapped around Chris’s shoulder and neck and the other bent so his thumb can slip back into his mouth. “You ready for bed, honey?” Chris whispers into his ear as he leans over the bed, working to gently disconnect Nick from him. Eventually, he separates them, laying Nick down on his back in Matt’s bed. Chris pulls Nick's shoes off, brushes the little’s hair out of his face, kicks off his own Crocs and crawls into bed with Nick. He drags the covers up over them and pulls Nick closer to make space for Matt to lay on the other side of the boy. 

“Okay bub, I’ve got your paci,” comes Matt’s voice. Carefully, he pulls Nick’s hand away from his mouth and replaces it with the blue pacifier, slotting it between his lips. 

That helps. That helps so much. Why am I like this? Why does that help?!

Matt slips under the covers and wraps his arms around the boy. “Nick, honey, I can see you freaking out. It’s okay that you like that. It's not gross, it’s not bad, and Chrissy and I don't mind. We love you bubba.”

“Luv yous too.” 

[late-to-the-party-81]

Whatever you need

AN: Thank you to the anons who sent me asks about the boys looking after Cali when she’s having her period. I didn’t follow the suggestions to the letter, but hopefully you will still enjoy this fluff tinged with a small amount of smut.

Beta’d by @lfnr-blog-blog-blog

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard by me

Master list | Series Master list

Relationship: Engineer Bucky x Reader (Cali) x Artist Steve

Word Count: 1.2k

CW: Period fic, soft loving boyfriends, clothed thigh-riding/soft smut, lots of kissing, soft dirty talk - kinda.

You didn’t know why you were so surprised by your boys being so in tune with your body, but every month - or rather every 31-33 days - you were still taken offguard.

Initially you thought it would be difficult for the two men to understand the waxing and waning of your menstrual cycle, previous partners having never cared, but they’d proved you wrong. 

“Darlin’ we know how to take you apart with the merest touch, what makes you think we don’t know what’s going on down there and how it all works?”

You lay on your side on the bed, Bucky pressed up behind you with his large warm hands splayed across your cramping abdomen. He’d found you here, in your baggy sweats and vest, not needing to ask what was the matter when a wave of pain made your features twist in discomfort. He’d just whipped out his phone, called Steve to tell him to bring home snacks and supplies, and then snuggled up behind you.

“Well, to be honest most men are either ignorant and/or don’t care.”

“And those guys are bozos. How can they not want to understand? If they have menstruating people in their lives who they love and care for, understanding it just makes sense.”

His right arm was moving, drawing slow circles on your stomach, soothing your aching body.

“I remember talking to my doctor once, about my periods. Before I’d even started he asked if they were still regularly every 28 days. Part of me wanted to tell him that I was the fricking moon, and that not all women are like that. When even health professionals can’t get it right…”

You trailed off. Sure, your guys knew a lot, but you would admit you hadn’t plumbed the depths of their knowledge on the subject.

“I know, sweetheart. I got three sisters. I know more than I ever thought I would. 17 year old me got my eyes opened wide the first month all three of them and Ma synched. My pa just came home, dumped a load of candy on the table and told Ma that he and I were going out for boys' night.”

You giggled at the mental image of young Bucky, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, not knowing what to say in the face of a multiple progesterone crash.

“‘N by extension, Stevie knew all about it cos he was always hanging out at mine when his ma had to work nights.”

You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him. His misty grey eyes looked back at you and his cheeks and chin was covered by a short layer of hair. Fuck, he looked delicious. You needed to distract yourself.

“So, here’s a test for you. Why are there different sizes of tampons?”

“Easy- different flow rates.”

“How often does a woman need to change her tampon?” 

“About every 6 hours. Don’t leave it in for more than 8. Come on, give me a hard one here!”

You pondered for a moment.

“When does a woman grow her eggs.”

“Grow them? When she’s still in utero. Which means when your mom was pregnant with you, there were three generations in the same body. But your ovaries take turns maturing one each month.”

It was a bit awkward to press a kiss to his lips, but you didn’t care.

“My, you are clever.”

He smiled against your lips.

“I know…”

His lips roved gently over yours as his hand continued to stroke your stomach, slowly but surely stoking a fire within you. So much for distracting yourself. You always got horny on your period, your jumbled hormones doing a number on you, but you always felt a bit ‘wrong’ doing anything about it.

Reluctantly you pulled your lips away from Bucky’s, giggling as you felt his erection nudging your ass.

“Need me to help you out with that?” 

Bucky turned you in his arms so he could look you in the face, brushing his nose against yours and cupping your face.

Let’s just focus on you, darlin’. Orgasms are good for cramps.”  His voice was a purr, his lips brushing over yours before he sucked your lower lip into his mouth and ran his tongue over it. You pulled away with a laugh and smacked at his chest, but your doubts were crumbling.

“Bucky! You’re such a horn-dog!”

He chuckled and pulled you closer, slotting one of his thick thighs between your legs.

“Can you blame me, when you and Stevie are so god-damn sexy.”

“You’re not too bad yourself…”

“Flattery will get you everywhere and everything you like.”

You nipped at his jaw and heard him drag in a sharp breath.

“Didn’t think I needed to flatter you.”

“Okay. You got me.”

“And you got me.”

He kissed you again, his hands slipping inside your sweats to knead your ass and gently move you up and down his thigh. Okay, now all your doubts were gone. Vanished. Poof. There was only Bucky and how good he was making you feel. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you breathed soft whimpers into his mouth. 

Up here, in the top floor bedroom, you didn’t hear the front door open and close, but you did notice when the bed dipped behind you, and the smell of Steve’s cologne enveloped you.

His breath tickled your ear as his large hands, with their long, tapered fingers, slid up your vest and started to stroke over your sensitive breasts.

“Hey, baby. Bucky helping to soothe those pesky cramps? You nodded and let out a muffled mmm-hmm as Bucky continued to kiss you.

“Well, just enjoy it, Cali. Let us make you feel better.”

Steve’s thumbs brushed gently back and forth over your nipples and you gasped, throwing your head back. His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, while Bucky shifted to your collarbone, his hands still on your ass, rocking you.

You could feel the pleasure building in you as the friction across your clit sent shockwaves through your core, coupled with the gentle teasing of your breasts. You closed your eyes and just let yourself drift away on the rising tide, small whimpers and moans making their way past your lips

“Just let go, darlin’. That’s it.”

“So beautiful, baby.”

You were surrounded by your boys, being loved and cared for. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

Finally, you crested, a soft ecstasy filling your pores and surrounding you like a fuzzy blanket. Steve and Bucky continued to kiss you and pet you until you slowly relaxed into the mattress. When Bucky pulled away from you, leaving the bed, after a quick readjustment of his pants, you let out a little whine, not really to be dragged from your comfortable, warm spot, but Steve just wrapped his arms around you, a mirror of how you’d been lying with Bucky only 30 minutes ago.

“Ssshhh, Cali. He’s just gone to run you a bath. And you're gonna have candles, and wine, and candy and that relaxing music that you like. Sound good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nothing’s too good for you, sweetheart. I hope you know that. Now, you rest here, and have a little snooze, and I’ll wake you up when your bath’s ready.”

“Okay, Stevie.”

You drifted off, with a smile on your face and warmth in your heart.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel

[radexchangeprogram]

Can I request for some angsty headcanons? Fluff ending?? Confronting their s/o when they're mentally unstable but they are not aware of it???

Also please make it gender-neutral!

*crawls out of my hole* Hello it’s been a while :’) I didn’t want to make another “Omg I swear I’ll post guys!!!” post because I’ve made so many. Every time I thought I had motivation to write, my brain was like “lol nope”. I also have just had a lot going on in my life in general that I don’t wish to get into on here.

Anyways here you go! I decided to go with imposter syndrome as being the main culprit behind the mental health moment (definitely not self projecting nooooo) but feel free to interpret it in anyways that resonates with you :’) I just did the brothers because I didn’t want to push myself too hard!

Edit: Fixed a few grammar mistakes, I probably missed a few but meh

Comforting S/O Going Through a Mental Health Crisis (The Brothers)

Tw: negative self thoughts

Preface

Even before coming to the Devildom, you’ve struggled with mental health. You had good days and bad days, but today was a particularly bad day.

Lucifer

He called you into his office after you had skipped class that day.

While he may let you get off lighter than his brothers, you are still not immune from his lectures.

He didn’t even get a chance to start his usual speech when he noticed your puffy eyes.

He cupped your face with one of his gloves hands and asked you what was wrong.

You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore as you sobbed about how you didn’t feel good enough for the program, how you shouldn’t even have your pacts in the first place, how you didn’t even feel good enough to be his partner.

As you continued to regurgitate all of these horrible thoughts and feelings you had, you suddenly stopped when he pulled you into a tight hug.

At some point, he had shifted into his more demonic form, wrapping the two of you in his onyx wings. It was something he had done more frequently in the Celestial Realm when his brothers got upset as children. He remembers them saying it helped them feel safe.

“MC… You deserve everything you have and more. You helped all of us when we were broken and believed to be beyond repair.” He placed a kiss to your forehead, “Please allow us to be here for you as well.”

Will help you get a therapist or any other kind of professional who you feel you would have the best results with. He loves you so much.

Mammon

He ran into your room without knocking like always. He just HAD to tell you about the bet he just won!

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw your trembling form under the blankets, very clearly having been crying just moments before.

A lot of people forget that Mammon was the glue that held his family together after the fall, remaining calm and even helping Lucifer during his moments of fear and doubt. He’s a lot more emotionally intelligent than people give him credit for, there’s a reason he’s the only brother who has yet to resort to flashing his demon form in rage.

He gently helped you sit up and asked what was wrong, concern very visible in his eyes.

You explained to him your feelings of inadequacy, of how you felt you didn’t deserve any of your accomplishments or to even be in the program.

He asked if someone had said something to you, perhaps a lower demon making a comment towards you.

If you confirm that someone did, he will absolutely remind that demon why you shouldn’t fuck with the partner of the second ruler of hell after he makes sure you’re ok.

If not, he will remain calm and ask you how long you have felt this way. As you speak, he pulls you closer into his arms and softly plays with your hair, leaving the occasional kiss on the crown of your head.

If you allow it, he will do anything to help you get treatment. You’re probably the only one he’s willing to take a bit out of his hoard for (you can’t tell me he doesn’t have a hoard full of some of the most expensive and valuable things in the three worlds, come on. The royal family is probably the only one who has more than him.)

He will never let you forget your value again. He loves you so much.

Leviathan

You two were having a gaming session like usual, cuddled up on his couch while trying out a new rpg.

It was single player, so you were mostly just watching Levi while he rambled about strategies and such.

He eventually noticed you had completely stopped talking and got really worried. Dude has the worst anxiety.

And this anxiety only increases when he sees you trying really hard to fight tears while you dig your fingers into one of the cushions on his couch.

“MC? W-what’s wrong? Did something happen in the game? It’s not that good of a game anyways, we can turn it off!” He offers an awkward, nervous smile in an attempt to reassure you. He has no idea what’s going on and it’s terrifying to him.

When you explain how you have been struggling to feel good enough in general lately, he is floored. Was it because he called you a normie?! Those were all jokes! God he’s such a horrible boyfriend-

When you told him that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, he started to understand more. It was kinda like his envy in a way, just a constant feeling of not being enough. While he knew what you were feeling wasn’t envy, he understood not being able to control self deprecating thoughts.

A bit more confidently than usual, he held both your hands. Telling you that he loved you and that even if you don’t feel good enough, you are good enough. His face was red the entire time, but he knew it was something you needed to hear.

After you calm down a bit, he’ll look into helping you get help. He suggested Telehealth as an option since then you wouldn’t have to constantly be drained going between worlds for treatment. However, if you prefer in person, he will be just as supportive.

Satan

He decided to go to the school library during his off period, as usual. It sucked that the two of you had different off periods, but what can you do?

So he was shocked to see you in the tucked away spot the two of you had claimed as your own in the library.

You were curled into yourself in your chair, trying to steady your breathing. He instantly knew something was horribly wrong.

He softly asked if you were okay, to which you simply shook your head. You weren’t going to talk here and that was okay. He grabbed your hand and guided you out of a less used exit of the library and took you straight home. He didn’t care about skipping class, Lucifer can cope.

Once he had you in his room and seated on one of his comfy reader chairs, he asked you what was going on.

He could feel his anger growing as you spoke about feeling small, feeling that maybe you took an exchange program opportunity away from someone who deserved it more, and how maybe you should give up and go home.

He asked if someone had said something, immediately thinking of all the fun torture methods he would be using on them if they did. If you say yes, they will never see the light of day again.

If you say no and that you don’t know why you feel this way, then he will try to think of ways to help you. He personally used his feelings of inadequacy to push him to constantly read and research, so he understands the struggle.

However when he sees the look of defeat and feelings of failure in your eyes, he knows this isn’t something he can’t simply research a potion for.

He softly rubs your hands with his thumbs as he tells you that if it weren’t for you, he and his family would be just as bitter as they were for thousands of years. In a few months, you accomplished more than many sorcerers had in a lifetime.

“MC, none of us would have stuck around you if you were ‘pathetic’. I have lived for thousands of years, met thousands of beings from different realms, but I cannot think of a single one I’d rather be with than you. You are the most incredible thing in my life. What can I do to help you feel the same way about yourself that I feel about you?”

He recommends getting therapy, assuring you that he will be there every step of the way and that he loves you so much. If you do not wish to seek therapy, he will be supportive and understanding. But he will do everything he can to help you feel better.

Asmodeus

He was getting really worried when you ignored his texts all day. Usually when you stayed home sick, you would still next him during class while he told you about all the gossip going on for the day.

When he got home, he didn’t even put his bag up before knocking on your door, “Hon? Are you ok? I’m coming in.”

He noticed you curled up under your blanket, very clearly trying to pretend to be asleep. Something was definitely wrong.

“MC? Sweetie? What’s going on?” He pulled the covers up and refused to listen to your protests when you wanted to go back under them to hide. He placed a hand to your forehead, you felt completely normal.

“Why did you fake being sick? I’m not gonna tell Lucifer, but please tell me what happened? Was it Belial? Did that bitch post something? If she did-“

You stopped his rant by suddenly grabbing onto him and sobbing into his school coat. He was shocked. He had never seen you like this before and it made his worry only grow.

He shushed you and wrapped his arms around you, his hand rubbing your back soothingly.

When you told him about how you felt you didn’t deserve to be in the program, to have pacts, or to even be his partner, he stopped you.

“Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare say that, MC!” Tears began to prick his eyes too, it was so much learning that the light of his life felt that they deserved nothing. “You-you’ve done so much for everyone! For me! I love you! We all do!” He held you tighter as some of his tears fell into your hair.

As you held each other, Asmo continued to tell you how he adored you, how beautiful you were, and more between his sobs. He never could have imagined you felt this way and he wish he had known sooner.

After the two of you calmed down, he took you to his room where he drew a bath. While you relaxed in the suds, the two of you spoke about where to go from here.

If you want therapy, he would get you it. If you need him to support you in another way, he would do it without hesitation. He would make sure you felt just as beautiful as you are, inside and out.

Beelzebub

He had just gotten home from practice and was looking forward to enjoying a nice after practice snack with his S/O.

He carried two massive bags of food and went to your room, a pit forming in his stomach when he smelt salt that could only be from tears.

He opened your door and peeked his head in, immediately rushing towards you when he confirmed his suspension that you were crying.

He dropped the bags on the floor and scooped you into his arms. He didn’t even sit down as his eyes scanned over your form, looking to see if you were hurt. It was something he instinctually did when he loved ones cried, truth be told.

“MC? What happened?” You tried to bite your tongue, you didn’t want to burden him with these feelings. It was stupid, it would make you look even dumber than you already were-

“Love bug?” The dam broke the second he used that nickname. You told him all your feelings, about how you felt so stupid in class when something didn’t come naturally to you, how you knew there were people who were so much better than you who deserved to be here, and all the horrible thoughts you had about how you wanted to vanish into thin air.

He hated this. He hated seeing you like this. It reminded him of the pain his family dealt with during the fall. But this time, he would protect you. He would make sure you felt the same love and support you gave him and his family while their emotions were in turmoil.

He doesn’t speak much, just holding your head against his chest as you listen to his steady heartbeat with the occasional affirmation that your self deprecating thoughts weren’t true.

Once you had calmed down, he reached down to grab the previously discarded bags, giving you the snack he had bought you.

“…I don’t like to share food. I don’t like to share much of anything. But it feels right to share with you.” While you ate, you noticed he didn’t even pick up a snack for himself, “You’re a very special person.” It was only after you assured him you couldn’t eat anymore that he began eating himself.

Beel would likely ask Belphie for some advice on how to help with human emotions. When he heard about the concept of therapy, he suggested it to you. Wether you decide to get therapy or would prefer some other means of support, he will be there the whole time.

Belphegor

He was getting a bit annoyed because he couldn’t find his favorite pillow (you) and it was time for his after school nap.

He was absolutely going to have you make this up to him with as many kisses and cuddles his bratty self wanted.

He finally went up to the attic where he saw you holding yourself and choking back tears.

His eyes widened and with speed unbefitting of the Avatar of Sloth, he ran over to you.

“MC? Are you ok? Did you have a nightmare?” He had never seen you like this before, not even when he-

Before his train of thought could continue, you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed into his shirt.

He was frozen for a minute before he slowly wrapped his arms around you. He didn’t say anything, just trying to think of what could have possibly happened.

When you began to pull back and stammer out apologies, his grip tightened. “MC please! Please tell me what happened!” He had a panicked look in his eyes. He needed to know.

Then you began to tell him about your feelings and he felt like he got punched in the gut. The fact that you felt you should be replaced by someone more deserving, about how you just were a fraud who got lucky rather than someone who worked hard for everything they had. It reminded him about how he felt about the fall. And it pained him to know you were suffering the same way.

He quietly shifted to his demonic form, his tail coming to run up and down your back as he laid you down with him. It was funny, you were calling yourself nothing special while a demon who vowed to destroy humanity was treating you like the most precious thing in the world, all because of your bravery and compassionate heart.

“Do you remember in the planetarium when I told you how I felt maybe Lilith should have survived instead?” You nodded, about to protest before he began speaking again, “You told me that I was never allowed to say that again. Well, I’m telling you you’re never allowed to say you’re not enough ever again.”

When you tried to say this was different, he smacked the back of your head lightly with his tail. He kept doing it a few times, sometimes having the fluffy part hit your face slightly, before you began to let out the laugh he loved to dearly.

He would ask if you’ve ever had therapy before or if you would be open to the idea of it. When you had joked about being the family therapist, he had actually done some research on human world therapists.

If you decide to go forward with therapy, he’ll be supportive and make sure to come with you to every appointment (though he may fall asleep in the waiting room…). If you decide against it, then he’ll do his best to make note of when you’re struggling so it never gets to the point it got to again.

You helped him feel like a whole demon again after thousands of years of bitterness and self loathing, let him help you with your struggles as well.

[papyrus-in-practice]

Hey, y’all! I wanted to give an update on Papyrus in Practice and other related stuff.

“It’s been about a year, where’s the next page!?”

Wow, when I saw it’s actually been a year, I kind of blanched a bit. I didn’t mean for the hiatus to last that long. Next page is actually done. In fact, a couple of pages are either done or close to done. I’m trying to build up a big buffer so that, hopefully, there will be a smaller gap between updates in the future. My plan is to have eight pages completed, line art for four pages done, have the script for the next scene done, and have a couple of pages worth of sketches ready. As I’m typing this, six of the eight next pages are done with the remaining ones in various stages of completion and two of the four next pages have finished line art. I’ve been working and reworking and re-reworking the script for the final scene for the past twenty months and honestly frustrated in how to wrap up the chapter in a satisfying way that won’t make me stuck on chapter 4 for another two years because the climax and conclusion is so long. So, that’s where I’m at now.

“I wrote something in the ask blog and didn’t get a response.”

I read every comment and every ask sent to me and, most likely, have at least attempted to write a script to answer it. But, I gotta weigh my options. Do I answer it at risk of delaying Papyrus in Practice for another month or focus on the comic? Depending on how elaborate the answer is, it might take a while to make a response. There are also things I just don’t know how to answer to and, believe me, I’ve tried coming up with a good answer, but I’m also still learning about life myself and I’ve found that, sometimes, my answer to a question has changed a lot over time. Sometimes, I’m afraid of saying something that’s ultimately harmful. It’s a tricky balance. At the end of the day, I've never guaranteed a response to any ask and never will guarantee a response. There are still some asks that I'd like to get around to, maybe if chapter 4 finishes or I get burnt out while making it and need a change of pace.

“Are you actually a therapist?”

Yup. I just graduated this past May with a masters in art therapy counseling. My title right now is a qualified mental health professional or QMHP. I’m waiting to take the National Counselor’s Exam to obtain my LPC but government paperwork is a looooong process(seriously, some of my colleagues have been waiting in the queue for over a year to get their LCPC). In the meantime, I can still practice as a therapist as long as I check in with a supervisor and have been practicing and slowly building my caseload for the past couple of months.

“Can you be my therapist/give therapy to this person?”

The short answer is no. The long answer is that there are a lot of ethical concerns when it comes to providing mental healthcare and breaching ethical guidelines could impede therapy progress, bring potential harm to the client, myself, or I could get in big legal trouble. I can also only practice if the client is located in my home state and goes through the company I work for since I need supervision to practice. However, I’d be happy to provide resources like websites that help you find a therapist, even for a reduced price, or self-help sites that can help you learn skills and develop tools to use that can boost your mental well-being. I cannot, however, provide mental health services.

“Will (insert character’s name) meet with Papyrus?”

Maybe. I’ve got ideas for characters in mind, but it’s more a question of how much longer I want to be doing this for. I’ll be honest with y’all, I’m getting burnt out. I want to do different projects or even revisit older projects, but I tell myself I can’t do that until I finish Papyrus in Practice or, at the very least, finish chapter 4. I didn’t think this chapter would go on for as long as it has, but it also makes sense. We’ve already hit page 25 which is almost as long as the entirety of chapter 3 and I don’t even know if we’re halfway done with the chapter yet. The way it’s looking, chapter 4 may easily hit at least 50 pages.

“So, when will you be posting again?”

Soon! Hopefully, before the end of the year. When I start updating again, I’ll be posting one page every other week which gives at least a few months of content for y’all.

That being said, I’ll see you soon!

-Meemie

[primeministerofantarctica]

Mankai Therapy Company

tsumugi vc you guys need so much therapy on god

It started, like it always did, with extortion. 

Or rather, it started at a company meeting. 

“I,” Tsumugi announced, “have great news.”

“You’re getting married?” Citron all but yelled. Tsumugi choked. 

“N-”

“I didn’t hear Tasuku say anything,” Itaru muttered without looking up from his handheld gaming device, still managing to be heard by everyone in the room.

“I’m not getting married!” He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly before opening them. “I - we-” he gestured towards the Director- “called everyone in here to tell you that I was able to contact one of my old colleague’s practices, and they said they’d be willing to do business with our company at a reduced price.”

“Practice?” Muku echoed in confusion.

“He’s telling us to see a shrink.” Yuki said flatly.

“Only if you feel comfortable doing so,” Tsumugi curled his fists to keep himself from wringing his hands together. It was best not to show nerves in these situations. “I acknowledge that it is a personal choice and I won’t force anyone into this. However, if you do decide to take this opportunity, it’s now arranged so that the company will pay for your sessions in full.”

“Am I dreaming?” Tsuzuru blinked. “Did you just say free health insurance?”

“Holy shit, are you crying?”

“No!” He rubbed his eyes quickly. Kazunari patted him on the arm. 

“There, there, Tsuzuroon.” 

Sakyo cleared his throat. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” Tsumugi did his best to make his expression open and nonjudgmental. 

“Or a concern. Where in the company’s budget have these funds been allocated?”

Tsumugi’s smile was unchanging, not flickering or wavering in the slightest. “Sorry, let me rephrase that. Anyone who works for Mankai Company who wants to see a therapist, counselor, psychiatrist, or any mental health professional now can, free of charge, with any copayments covered in full. Is that understood?”

Izumi had to hand it to Tsumugi, the soft-spoken man could be downright scary when he wanted to be. Why was it always the nice ones? 

“I’ll be reviewing this on next month’s budget.”

“Great!” Tsumugi hummed. “Does anyone else have a question?”

“Yeah,” Taichi raised his hand, “why are you telling us to go to therapy? Isn’t that for, like, divorced couples and depressed shut-ins and stuff? I mean, none of us qualify for that, right?”

Tsumugi’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help it. 

“Hey, Tsumugi!” 

Tsumugi looked up from the script he’d been reading on the sofa, politely greeting Taichi in return as the boy opened the fridge and grabbed a soda. He frowned slightly. 

“Nanao, don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Yep!” Taichi nodded as he popped the soda cap off and took a swig. “Uh, why? Is there something else happening tomorrow?”

“No, I just-” he looked pointedly towards the soda. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to drink so much caffeine before bed? Won’t you have trouble going to sleep?”

“Oh, this?” Taichi laughed and rubbed his neck. “It - okay, this might sound fake, but I swear soda and caffeine actually make me sleepier! Weird, right?”

“That’s certainly…interesting.” 

“Azuma, my dear, my camellia that blossoms in the moonlight,” Homare paused. “Were you, perchance, the one that moved my tea bags?”

“Hm? No. Why, are you missing some?”

“No.” Homare closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them. “I…apologize for the accusation. Thank you.” He turned around to leave before-

“Aha!” 

“Oh crap,” was all Tasuku could manage before Homare accosted him. “Tasuku, my Adonis, you wouldn’t happen to have moved my tea bags this morning, would you?”

“Uh, yeah?” He blinked. “They were in front of the cereal. I didn’t take any, though, if you’re missing some.”

“I’m not!” Homare reassured him. “I simply woke up to find the lavender and chai had switched places, and the lemon much farther to the left than it should be, which as you can imagine is quite a distressing predicament to find oneself in.”

“I…I really can’t imagine that, no.”

He hummed. “Well, if you do find yourself moving my teas again, please ascertain that they are relocated back to their original positions, would you?”

Tasuku didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay, sure.”

Azuma chuckled. “Classic Homare.”

Tsumugi bit his lip. 

“Ah, Tenma,” Tsumugi slid a sheet of paper across the table and tapped on it. “This kanji is backwards.”

“Huh?” Tenma snatched up the paper and stared at it, blinking hard. “Oh…oh, yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” He winced. 

“It’s no problem,” Tsumugi smiled gently. “Let’s just correct it and move on, shall we?” 

“Yeah,” Tenma’s ears were still flushed, “yeah, okay.”

“I’ve got it!” Tsuzuru slammed open the door forcefully and marched in like a knight on a mission. A pale, scrawny, sickly looking knight with unwashed hair and dark eyebags. “I’ve got the new script!” He grinned maniacally. 

Itaru looked up. “Five.”

“That’s great, Tsuzuru!” Izumi smiled and took the packet, still warm from the printer. “I’ll read through this tonight and have my notes ready by tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?” Tsumugi asked. 

“I’m fine. I’m great! I’m wonderful!” Tsuzuru said, a little forcefully. 

Citron stood. “Four.” 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I can’t just sleep, Tsukioka, what if I forget a line or piece of dialogue?” 

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Chikage muttered. “Three.”

“Still - sorry, what are you counting for?”

Sakuya just shrugged, half-smiling apologetically. “It’s just easier to coordinate this way. Two.”

“Coordinate what?”

Tsuzuru collapsed face first into Masumi’s arms. “...One.” 

“Taichi’s right, I don’t think any of us need that therapy crap. ‘Cept for Hyodo, maybe someone’ll find out why he’s so chronically annoying.”

Juza elbowed Banri in the ribs. He retaliated by punching his shoulder. 

“It’s a scam anyway.” Yuki spoke up before the fight could escalate further. “Therapy’s just a pseudoscience made to make normal people feel good about themselves by talking to a stranger. No offense.”

Tsumugi steepled his fingers. “None taken. On a related note, how many of you have actually been to therapy?”

Yuki looked away, muttering something about school counselors and zero tolerance policies. Nobody else seemed willing to speak up. 

“I have!” Misumi raised his hand. Tsumugi blinked, trying not to look surprised. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm! I think?” Misumi leaned back on the sofa. “I was really young.”

“What…how was it?”

“They gave me some toys to play with and asked Gramps a lot of questions,” he shrugged. “Don’t remember much else.”

“I…see.” Tsumugi said slowly. “That’s very…enlightening. Thank you.” He coughed. “Still, I have a stack of business cards here, so I would like all of you to take one.”

Banri glared at his card like its existence offended him. Kazunari flipped his over and shoved it into his pocket when he was sure nobody was looking. Misumi also put his in his pocket, but only after forcing the edges down to make a triangle fold. 

Tsumugi prayed that he made the right decision to be so upfront about this. Then again, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to make the first move. 

He had almost forgotten about it, a month later, when Banri stormed into his room and practically threw the business card at him. “Rurikawa was right, therapy’s a total scam. I want a refund and I didn’t even pay anything.”

Secretly Tsumugi was pleased that Banri had relented into going for a few sessions, but he forced those feelings down. “It’s normal to feel upset after a session. But if you feel like you’re being treated unfairly, you can always ask for another therapist.”

“Yeah, I’m being ‘treated unfairly’.” Banri rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor, right in front of him. “You still have your license, right? Why can’t you be our therapist?”

“That’d be an extreme conflict of interest and highly illegal.”

“Didn’t know we cared about the law,” Banri muttered under his breath. 

“If you want to talk, though, I always can as a friend.”

“Right, so,” he waved his hand flippantly. “I was just telling this chick about Hyodo eating my pudding with my name on it, and in the middle she looks me right in the eyes and says Oh, wow, you must really like this Hyodo person to talk about them so much!”

“Oh. Wow.”

“As if! I was just telling you how much he pissed me off, seriously, how dense do you have to be to NOT understand that?”

Tsumugi bit back several comments. “I can’t imagine.”

“Ugh. Anyways. This sucks.”

“Sometimes it does,” he said sympathetically. 

“Tsumugi!” 

He barely had time to blink before Homare’s fingers had interlaced with his, a quick kiss pressed to his temple. “Hello, Angel!”

“Hello, Homare,” he smiled, more than used to these random bouts of affection. “How are you?”

Homare glanced down the hallway quickly before leaning in close to his ear. “Actually, I do have a topic I wanted to discuss with you. Your knowledge on the subject would provide valuable insight on the matter.”

Tsumugi felt the back of his neck prickle. “What is it?”

“Do you think I’m on the spectrum?”

“There’s...a lot of spectrums, Homare.”

He tsked. “True. I- I initially assumed my therapist said I might be on the artistic spectrum, and I told them that I was a renowned poet on the literary arts spectrum, but-” he sighed dramatically, “they simply laughed and gave me a pamphlet to ‘read over’.”

“I see,” Tsumugi squeezed his hand. “And you read it?”

“I…I did, yes.”

Thank god, FINALLY, Tsumugi wanted to say. Instead, he very tactfully asked, “What did you think?”

“I am,” Homare frowned slightly. “Not sure. I’m afraid I must deliberate on the matter further before drawing forth any hasty conclusions.”

“Well,” Tsumugi kissed his cheek. “There’s no rush.”

Hisoka looked left, then right, then cautiously reached for the doorknob before-

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Chikage snapped, crossing his arms.

“There’s a pop-up sweets shop in the next town,” he yawned plainly. “I want to see it.”

Chikage narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were expressly forbidden from driving.”

“It’s only a few minutes,” he shrugged. 

Chikage’s lip curled. “Are those Tasuku’s keys?”

“He’s out jogging.” Hisoka answered. It was getting harder and harder to stay-

He felt somebody shaking him. “I hope you were planning on asking your boyfriend to drive you.”

“I can drive myself,” Hisoka felt a twinge of annoyance. “It’s fine.”

“Right,” Chikage closed his eyes. “Get in Chigasaki’s car before you do anything stupid.” He shook his head and muttered, “Of all the reckless…I can’t believe you fell asleep in the MRI machine-”

Tsumugi watched the door slam shut on Hisoka’s smirking face. 

[takeyourcyanide]

This is going to be difficult for me to coherently put, but I’ll try.

The Mind Electric (Miracle Musical) means a lot to me - which is really saying something. I’ve been religiously listening to it for years now, and I only wish I could’ve discovered it sooner, as little me would’ve been astounded at just how relatable it was. It would’ve been a sort of comfort, just as it is now.

I don’t know if this was what they were going for when writing the song, but it is possibly the most accurate and respectful depiction of schizophrenia I have ever seen within any form of media. And it’s only more impressive if none of the members of the band happen to be on the schizophrenic spectrum themselves.

(A lot of rambling about the lyrics and shit and the song below the cut)

I don’t even know where to begin with the song itself. It is the most profound and excellent piece of art I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. It expertly tells its story through not only what are some of the best lyrics I have ever heard, as someone who listens to everything under the sun, but also through all of the background noises and conversations that even play during the singing itself. The distortions are representative of not only fading, incoherent, burning (caretaker reference), and non-chronological memories, but also the desire to possibly not think of oneself in a certain way or simply not seeing oneself in a particular light (the referring to himself as insane) but being forced to, or struggling to recall one’s memories. The way in which the song builds up, only to hit at the end is masterful. The way in which he begs, he pleads for just a semblance of sympathy and understanding - for the help he has become so utterly desperate for… There are no words that can convey what I’d like to express. The background noises can also be representative of not only the electric chair (various zaps and such), but also hearing whispers and indiscernible sounds at random times (schizophrenia). I love how they depict just how the judgmental, pompous, and stigmatizing nuns, judges, and doctors can ultimately be, especially towards those with a mental illness - like in the lyric “here in my kingdom I am your lord I order you to cower and pray.” In the lyric video, pray flashes between pray and prey, which can be interpreted as both these mental health professionals preying on their patients, especially at the time the electric chair was thought to be a good form of treatment, but can also be interpreted as your own brain preying upon you, you being the prey in its kingdom. Oh and this also goes along with the line “condemn him to the infirmary.” It is detailing how patients are treated in psychiatric wards and hospitals and such, of course. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. They wonderfully depict how cognitive decline feels - how it feels to observe as you agonizingly deteriorate before your own two eyes, and how no one seems to understand what is ultimately happening, simply settling on essentially torturing you (electric chair), not taking you seriously or listening to you because you’re below them and “insane.” I love how, at the end, he says “Doctor, I can’t tell if I’m not me.” A constant in and out, losing yourself and gaining yourself back momentarily, only to feel yourself being taken away by the static once more. You’re too distracted by the incessant noise, by how difficult it is to simply live to even bother with whatever you used to, only making it more difficult to live - a constant cycle, a constant battle. By the end, there will only be a shell of what was once you. You can either accept their “miracle cures” or die. You can tiene accept their scrutiny or face the most horrifying death imaginable. Because you have to live and watch as you still have your body, but not longer yourself. I love the line “see how your brain plays around and you fall inside a hole you couldn’t see.” Precisely. You don’t even realize when you fall into the hole. Things are just exponentially worse, but it’s as though it’s always been that way, and you know no else. “Please help me understand what’s going on inside my mind.” At this point, you’re willing to accept their medication, their torture, because you can’t fucking take it anymore. It’s a desperate plea. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so different? Why I am struggling so much? You cry out for help only to be either turned away or judged throughout treatment, treated like a dog needed to be whipped into submission.

And GOD do I love “see how the serfs work the ground and they give it all they’ve got and they give it all they’ve got and you give it all you’ve got til you’re down.” BECAUSE YES. Absolutely. You give it everything, but you’re essentially fighting a losing battle. You walked into a war you knew you were going to lose and fought like hell anyway, only to end up institutionalized, or unable to simply exist anymore.

Just every single lyric. Every single fucking lyric. I could go on about this forever with anyone who would be willing to listen. I have more to say.

Not to mention nuns being involved, as religion was often viewed as its own cure if I’m not mistaken, like schizophrenics used to be thought of as demon possessed. It’s clear this is set somewhere in most likely the nineteenth century, as many source say electric chairs/electroconvulsive therapy were in use primarily from the 30s to the 70s. They declined in the 60s and 70s, but apparently saw a resurgence in the 80s. Anyway. The way it begins with the whole song in reverse? Anyway, I am done for now.

[runs-red]

Endogenic plurality and forever being fake claimed

I feel like being an endogenic system leaves you in this weird place where you can’t really defend yourself without being ripped apart. You can’t compare it to transgender issues because it’s “making this a gender thing”, you can’t really compare it to kin issues either because people will use that to fake claim you, you can’t use the basis that it’s an identity but you also can’t call it a mental health thing. You can’t use other peoples experiences but you physically can’t rip your head open to show all the people in your head and you can’t just go force a bunch of professionals to validate you. This leaves you in this position where no matter how hateful people are, it’s never really bigotry or “that bad” and you just need to let people have opinions on your existence which may or may not be valid enough to be considered real.

WIth how much syscourse has felt like middle school clique fighting recently, it’s like people have forgotten what origin discourse is even about. Saying “You aren’t real uwu” isn’t just a comment that’s going into some sort of vacuum, you are telling a person you don’t think they exist and this has just been. Normalised. 

I read this article on plurality and it reeked of fakeclaimy-ness, but in a way I felt like it kind of highlights my point. Plurals explaining their plurality are “claiming” to be having an experience. There was one line in the article that I felt was worth mentioning though.

 “This is a challenge for understanding the plural identity claim, on two levels: one, because we can’t access other people’s experiences just in general; and two, because singlets don’t have these same types of experiences.”

While this is about plurals not being able to share their experience with non-plurals, I thought about the current syscourse scene when I read it.

For the simple fact that endogenics literally can’t open our heads to expose our plurality and DID systems don’t experience plurality like endogenics, we must be lying.

 And while people have been sharing their plural experiences that aren’t DID for awhile, our identities are still constantly shit on under the guise that since we have no proof, we can’t be real and we must be malicious in some way. Our choice of language is belittled, the way our systems work are mocked, our communities are seen as a joke, and somehow our communities are constantly being framed as this huge issue.

[losfacedevil]

Careless Whispers // J.T.K (Pt5)

a/n ~ It's been so long since I've visited the world of Jake and Serenia I couldn't even find the picture for this! WARNINGS: Angst, Angst, Angst.

Get Familiar with these babes: Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four Hey @writingcold I made good on my word!

“He’s disassociating again. Remember what  he was in therapy for, Yknow the therapy he claimed he didn’t need anymore?” 

She kept her voice soft, perched on the edge of the bed with her back to Jake. 

Tears pooled in her eyes as she spoke to Josh, her heart breaking as the confession slipped past her lips. Josh sighed hard on the other end of the line, her minds eye seeing just how his face was scrunched and how his fingers would be pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s what happened that night, he wasn’t there mentally. My mind says it’s only an excuse but with his history my heart says to believe it.” 

Josh coughed lightly, his mind reeling with everything that had transpired within the last two months. Jakes downfall, keeping Serenia sane and keeping the younger boys out of trouble. He shook his head and tilted it backwards training his eyes on the ceiling.

“You know that means we have to call mom, right?” 

Serenia’s eyes widened, shaking her head gently as her gaze landed on Jake’s sleeping form. She reached over, brushing his sweat slick hair back off of his forehead and scratched her nails gently across his scalp. 

“No, not yet. Let me try and fix it first.” She knew Josh was still shaking his head on the other end, most likely biting at his finger nails as his mind continued to reel. 

“Ren, you know full well it’s not gonna work.”  The name he only used when he knew she needed an air of sense knocked into her slipping past his lips. 

She let her eyes slip shut and the tears slipped down her cheeks, pulling a deep breath in through her nose she nodded.

“But… I need him to know I care. If we…if we call mom he’s gonna feel some type of way because he promised her he was okay. I need to try and fix it first, please, Bubba.” She could picture the way Josh’s eyes rolled, the whites of them making itself known. 

“You really just Bubba’ed me, didn’t you? Ugh, fine. Talk to him and see where we stand then we’ll come up with a game plan.” 

Serenia nodded her head gently, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and continued to stroke Jake's hair. 

“I’ll call you later.” She mumbled, pulling the phone away from her ear and hitting the end call command before Josh could get another word in. She placed her phone down on the bed side table and tilted her head towards the ceiling, willing away the tears that were stinging her eyes. 

She laid across the bed, pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin of Jake’s neck and wrapped herself around his sleeping form. He stirred slightly, bringing his arm around to rest across her waist and turned his head to run his nose lazily against her. 

“Nina?” He mumbled, his soft breath tickling across her cupids bow. She nodded her head, a soft sound of acknowledgment slipping past her lips as she pursed them and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I love you.” His words were slurred, sleep still clouding his mind as he wrapped himself around Serenia. 

“I love you, more than you’ll ever fully understand.” She mumbled, dancing her hands over the expanse of his back, pulling him back into a dream like state. 

~*~*~

“I think your mom is coming to visit. At least that’s what Josh said this morning.” Jakes eyes shot up from his plate, quickly finding hers and he let the fork he was holding slide out of his grasp. 

“What did you tell Josh?” Anger began to cloud his vision, knowing his mental health would be the only reasonable explanation  for his mom coming. Serenia held her hands up, shaking her head gently from side to side. 

“You need help, Jake. Help that as much as I would like to give you, I can’t. I love you,

I care about you, and with your mental state the way it is? You need professional help.” Jake shook his head vehemently, pushing the plate of food that sat in front of him to the side and reached out for her hands. 

“I… I don’t need help. Don’t call mom, please. I… I need you.” His reserve was breaking, the bad boy persona he always put on falling to the wayside as he true self shown through. 

“How about therapy? We can get you back in with Dr. Sun? Maybe she’ll be able to help you decide on coping mechanisms to help?” Serenia gripped his hands tight, the mixture of fear and anger in his eyes telling her all she needed to know. 

“No I’m NOT going to therapy again! Why? So she can put me on some drugs that turns me into a fucking zombie again?? No, absolutely not!” His grip on her hands tightened, the opposite reaction of what played in his eyes. 

“But baby — Jake you need help.” She kept her voice light, not wanting to startle him. He kept shaking his head, eyes wild as he looked everywhere but at her. 

“So come home. I don’t need Dr. Sun I need you. You don’t understand how much you help me when things go wrong. I know I fucked up, I know it’s going to take SO long to get back to basics but please, just… just come home?” Tears welled in Jakes eyes as he spoke, heart breaking in his chest at the thought of her dismissing his plea for help. 

Serenia’s eyes were trained elsewhere, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled down against the flesh. A deep breath pulled in through her nose puffed out her cheeks as she let it go and her eyes found Jakes once more. 

“We need to figure this out. What do you want to do about it? Coping strategies that didn’t work last time? You don’t want to go talk it out because you don’t want drugs. I… I think you need your mom, Jake.” 

Jakes gaze steeled and he ripped his hands from hers, slamming them down on the table. Serenia recoiled, her eyes wide as she watched Jake get up from the table and throw his plate in the sink. He turned on his heel, his gaze finding hers before he stormed forward. 

“I don’t need my fucking mother.” He growled, reaching out to wrap his hands around her petite wrists. He pulled her up from her seat and gently placed her hands on his shoulders before wrapping his arms tightly around her midsection. 

“I don’t need my mom, Nina, I need you. I need you to come home, to tell me that everything’s gonna be okay. I need you to tell me that we’re going to be okay, that we’re going to make it over this hump. I need you to know that I love you and that nothing in this world will ever change that. I… I need you to know that old trauma sometimes crops up and she… she was my ex. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Jacob, if anything that makes this worse. You have history with her? So her cheating on you cause trauma that made you cheat on me? No. That’s not how this works Jake. What I need from you is for you to shut up and listen.” 

Jake sighed as his body deflated, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Her fingers found their home in the hair at the nape of his neck, carding through it gently as she wracked her thoughts for the way to word what she needed to say. 

“I love you, okay? I know you’re struggling but you have to understand your actions hurt too. Do you know how it feels to find the person you love nose deep in someone else?  Of course you do, she did it to you. So I need you to think long and hard about what happened and what you truly want. Because if it’s her? Well, then I don’t want to know. Your mom is coming up and that is final. You need her wether you think you do or not.” 

Serenia pulled back, pulling her hands forward to cup his cheeks in her palms. His face was kissed pink, eyes bloodshot and raw as a new stream of tears ran down his cheeks. She ran her fingers along the apples of his cheeks, wiping away the stray tears as she pushed up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

“You let me know what you truly want, okay? You know where to find me.”