@roseymendes - Tumblr Blog

18+ crying during sex with clark kent

fem! reader, mdni. 0.9k words. it all kinda feels like too much for reader so she cries just a smidge (you're getting too good a dicking) no use of safe word or crying kink or anything like that, just some momentary comfort then they continue

it's not so much that you're sensitive, rather you feel a lot. and with Clark, you almost always feel everything.

he has that effect on you, especially when he's on you.

maybe tonight you were just feeling particularly fragile. maybe a little overwhelmed by your day and it all coalesced into a heaping pile of vulnerability right underneath Clark. he's sort of smothering you, skin fused with yours as he keeps you enveloped within his tight hold. like a kind of caging, your tits sandwich with the beef of his chest above you — pressure firm, as if he's eager to stay exactly as is.

it's slow. it's deep and controlled, his grinds into you. each push of his cock reaching further and further into you; so much so it's like you can feel him knocking at your lungs, hindering and staggering your every breath.

inkmonster21

No Cameras Here

Simon “Ghost” Riley x TikTok Influencer!Reader

You’ve built an empire out of cozy vlogs, candid Q&As, and a million followers who adore how “real” you are, even when you’re jet-lagged, spilling wax on your leggings, or eating takeaway in a hoodie. Manchester is just another work trip: collabs, content, and unboxings.

But then you keep seeing him.

The hooded masked stranger who passes you on rainy streets. He doesn’t care about TikTok, doesn’t ask for selfies, doesn’t even tell you his name. He’s steady, silent, and far too handsome for the mask and shadows he hides behind.

1. Lights On, Lights Out

2. Manchester Mornings

3. Curious for Content

4. Problem Here

5. Someone Who Sees Me

6. Offline

7. Midnight on Deansgate

8. Soft Light, Sharp Edges

9. Napkin Confessions

10. Unknown Number

11. Both

12. Next Time

13. Midnight Calls

14. Lower the Mask

15. Iron Works & a Wink

16. Errands & “As You Wish”

17. Soft Launch, Hard Fall

18. The Quiet Parts of Us

19. When the Waiting Ends

20. Unknown Territory

21. Before the Club

22. The Personal Viewing

23. Between the Man and the Mask

24. Hooks, Houseplants, and Half a Life

25. The Calendar on the Sideboard

26. Little Distances

27. No More Countdowns

28. First Brick

29. Housing Stress

30. More Simon, Less Ghost

31. Not Single, Not Sharing

32. Hands

33. Boyfriend Behavior

34. The Call

35. When You Come Back

36. Being Seen

37. Within the Year

💀📱✨🖤💄 💀📱✨🖤💄 💀📱✨🖤

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Make sure to comment on the most current chapter so I see it right away! Influencer chaos x Ghost broody silence is too good to miss 👀🖤

Read on ao3

roseymendes

spent so many days catching up lol , it’s been 100% worth it

jarofstyles

Admiration

I had an idea and it spiraled! It was meant to be a blurb but it turned into a one shot, and it's smutty <3 I know I've been light on that lately but more is coming.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 340+ Exclusive writings and series

WC- 3.2k

warnings- oral (f receiving), squirting, soft Dom!Harry, slightly feral Harry tbh, kinda filthy

Y/N and her newly established boyfriend had yet to be properly intimate.

Harry was a gentleman on all counts. He paid for their outings without question, he walked her to her door every single time, held every door open- car and building alike. The man knew the sidewalk rule and abided by it every time, he had his impeccable manners while talking to her, pulled out her chair when they went out to eat, he didn’t call her after midnight, and most of all- he hadn’t pushed for anything sexual.

inkhours

MENTAL DESTROYING TRUTH AND COMFORT

Simon Riley x reader

summary: after reading a vulnerable text message by you about your past, Simon tries to comfort you

cw: abuse, sexual assault, neglecting, angst, shitty parent behaviour

A/N: I cried while writing this because that's pretty painful to write about, hope you still will enjoy it

wc: 2,5k

"One of the weirdest aspects is how my family deals with emotions, you know?

I know that after my parents’ divorce, when I was seven, my mother sent my sister and me to get checked to see if we were okay. A divorce can be pretty confusing for a seven-year-old and for a twelve-year-old too.

The real issues didn’t start immediately, though. They came a few years later. After my father started a new family. Don’t get me wrong, I like them now. But for a while, I didn’t. And it wasn’t their fault. When you’re younger, you don’t always understand who is actually responsible. So instead of blaming my father for his neglectful behavior, I blamed my little brother and his mother.

I blamed my father too, obviously, but it was more like: “Yeah, he loves his new family more, so I don’t like them. It’s their fault… and partly his.” Younger me couldn’t comprehend that he was the one fully neglecting me. I tried to understand him. I really did. But when the only way I found out he was coming over was the day before even though I had a phone at twelve and he could’ve just texted me, it didn’t really help.

I know my sister felt neglected too, somehow. I don’t really know how she felt, though. We don’t talk about feelings in this family. I think it all got worse when my grandmother died of cancer. My grandfather fell into something like a depressive phase, and I was just eleven. I didn’t feel like I was allowed to talk about my feelings. I mean, I understood that my grandmother was dying, that she was going to be gone. But before she died, I talked about the smell of decay. And to be honest, I still smelled it after she died. Sometimes I even smelled it years later.

Once, years later, my grandfather visited us. I stayed in my sister’s room, and he slept in mine. After he left, my room smelled like that again. Exactly like that. I was so overwhelmed that I think I screamed. I didn’t know how to deal with it.

Later on, things with my grandfather got even more complicated. He wasn’t the most tolerant person. He liked to claim he was, but he said so much bullshit about unemployed people and immigrants – even though my sister and I are children of an immigrant. It didn’t matter how many times my mother and sister told me to ignore what he was saying. I couldn’t. I couldn’t ignore it when he said something misogynistic. I tolerated it for a while. And when I finally snapped, I was the bad one. “He’s trying. It’s so difficult for him.” Why couldn’t he at least apologize? He never did.

There are so many reasons why I’m not able to talk to my family about issues. I’m just not used to it anymore. Maybe before all of that – before I was seven – I used to run to my mother when I fell and scraped my knee. Maybe I cried openly back then.

But after everything, I only did it once. When I had my first friendship breakup. I was eleven. After that, they basically never saw me cry again. Except when I accidentally hurt myself physically.

Over the years, I developed trust issues. Big surprise. And I stopped talking to my family about personal stuff.

Well, except political topics later on. Those we talked about. Kind of.

Another reason why I can’t talk to my family – especially my mother – is how she reacted when I said no. (This part is going to get deep. And yeah, maybe my weird former therapist was right about that one aspect)

After my grandmother died, there were times when I didn’t want to travel to my grandfather. I was around fourteen. There were several reasons. Not political ones at that time, I cared about human rights, sure, but I wasn’t fully aware of capitalism, colonialism, all of that yet. That came later.

The reasons were simple:

– I got nauseous during long car rides.

– I still sometimes smelled the decay.

– I had schoolwork to do.

It only happened twice, but apparently that was enough to leave a mark.

My mother slapped me in the face. My sister had slapped me once before too – because I used a word she thought was cringe. We never talked about that again. But still, slapping isn’t how you solve anything.

When my mother slapped me, my glasses flew off and she accidentally stepped on them. I was crying, of course. But I was more worried about my glasses being broken than about the slap itself.

You might think I must have said something horrible to deserve that. I didn’t. I said I didn’t want to go to my grandfather’s house. That I had other things to do. That was it.

She didn’t accept it. I had to go anyway. After that, I had to pretend I was fine because I had orchestra rehearsal and couldn’t cancel.

As for my therapist – despite him doing a pretty shitty job overall – one thing he said kind of made sense. He said that this behavior is probably why I struggle to say no. That I was taught to endure things, to be pushed past my boundaries. So I freeze. So my former friend was able to assault me.

And now I realize I already froze when my mother slapped me.

That’s probably why I can’t really talk to my family about my feelings. Why I’d rather cry silently. Why I had panic attacks after the assault and dealt with it alone.

That’s why.

Simon reads the message three times before he realizes he’s stopped breathing.

He’s still sitting in his truck when he opens it. Engine off. Keys still in the ignition. The world outside is loud in that distant, meaningless way – traffic passing, a dog barking somewhere, wind scraping along metal but inside the cab, there’s just the glow of his phone and your words.

One of the weirdest aspects is how my family deals with emotions, you know?

His thumb scrolls slowly. He doesn’t skim. He can’t. Every sentence feels like something fragile laid carefully into his hands.

The divorce at seven.

Your father’s new family.

The way you blamed the wrong people because you were a kid and kids survive however they can.

The smell. Christ.

Simon swallows when he reads that part. The decay. The screaming. The room that smelled wrong.

He keeps reading.

The slap.

His jaw tightens so hard it aches.

You didn’t want to go. That was it. You said no.

He exhales slowly through his nose, something dark and steady settling in his chest. Not explosive anger – he’s too controlled for that – but something older. Protective. Heavy.

And then the last lines.

Freezing.

Panic attacks.

Dealing with the assault alone.

His thumb stills against the screen.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

He doesn’t reply.

He doesn’t trust himself to.

Instead, he starts the truck.

The drive feels longer than it is. His mind keeps replaying phrases like fragments of radio static.

I didn’t feel like I was allowed to talk about my feelings.

My glasses flew off.

I had to pretend I was fine.

He grips the steering wheel harder than necessary. Not because he’s angry at you never that. Angry at the situation. At the fact that you were fourteen and learned that saying no earned you a slap.

He knows that lesson. Different details. Same imprint.

He forces himself to breathe evenly at the next red light. He doesn’t want to storm in like a man on a warpath. You don’t need rage. You need someone steady.

By the time he pulls into the driveway, the sky has gone dark. Your living room light is still on.

Good.

He’s out of the truck before he’s fully killed the engine.

You open the door before he knocks twice.

Your eyes are swollen. Not dramatically. Just enough that he knows you’ve either cried recently or are holding it back with everything you’ve got.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

He just steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“You drove,” you say quietly, like it’s a question.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“You didn’t answer.”

“I know.”

He takes his gloves off slowly, gives himself a second to ground, and then he looks at you fully.

“I didn’t trust myself to text back,” he admits. “Didn’t want to fuck it up.”

Your mouth twitches faintly at that, but it doesn’t quite reach a smile.

The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Just fragile.

Simon steps closer.

“Can I?” he asks softly, hand hovering near your arm.

You nod.

He pulls you into him carefully, like you’re something breakable. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. The other rests firm and warm between your shoulder blades.

You go stiff for half a second.

Then you melt.

Your forehead presses against his chest. He feels the hitch in your breathing. The way you’re holding everything inside like it’s a dam about to crack.

“I’m here,” he murmurs against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

That’s when the first quiet sob slips out of you.

He doesn’t flinch.

He just tightens his hold slightly, grounding but not trapping.

You cry into him – not loud, not dramatic. Just the kind that sounds like something tearing open slowly.

After a while, when your breathing evens out a little, he guides you toward the couch. He sits first and gently pulls you down with him so you’re half in his lap, half curled against his side.

He keeps one arm around you.

“I didn’t think it would still hurt like that,” you say hoarsely.

“It’s not a deadline,” he replies.

You look up at him, confused.

“Hurt doesn’t expire,” he clarifies. “Doesn’t care how long ago it happened.”

You nod faintly, staring at a point somewhere on his shirt.

“She slapped me,” you whisper. “And I was more worried about my glasses.”

His jaw tightens again, but he keeps his voice even.

“That’s your brain surviving,” he says quietly. “Find something practical. Something controllable. If the glasses aren’t broken, the world’s not completely falling apart.”

You blink up at him.

“That’s… exactly what it felt like.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause.

He inhales slowly.

“My old man wasn’t exactly gentle either,” he says carefully. “Different reasons. Different… shit."

You stiffen slightly at the shift in focus, and he notices immediately.

“I’m not saying it’s the same,” he adds quickly. “It’s not. I’m not pretending I know what that felt like for you. Just” He hesitates.

Your fingers curl slightly into his shirt.

“I already froze when she slapped me,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “You did.”

He brushes his thumb gently along your upper arm. Slow, steady movement.

“That doesn’t make you weak.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“It makes you human.”

The room is quiet except for the hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the faint sound of wind against the windows.

“She said I had to go,” you continue. “And I went. And then I had orchestra rehearsal and I just –pretended. Like nothing happened.”

Simon nods once.

“That’s a skill,” he says quietly. “A shit one to have to learn at fourteen. But still a skill.”

You huff a broken laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

He shifts slightly so he can see your face better.

“When you said no,” he asks gently, “did you believe you were allowed to?”

You hesitate.

“I… I think so. I thought I was being reasonable.”

“And when she didn’t accept it?”

Your throat moves as you swallow. “It felt like I’d done something terrible.”

He nods slowly, eyes dark.

“That’s the conditioning,” he says. “You set a boundary. You got punished. Your brain learned that boundaries aren’t safe.”

You stare at him.

“That’s why I froze,” you say.

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why with…” You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t have to.

His arm tightens almost imperceptibly around you.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says firmly.

You don’t argue, but your eyes flicker with that familiar doubt.

He cups your jaw gently, guiding your face up so you have to look at him.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he repeats. Slower. Steadier.

Your breath shakes.

“I should’ve–”

“No.” His voice doesn’t rise, but it cuts clean. “Don’t do that.”

Silence.

He softens slightly.

“You reacted the way your body learned to react,” he says. “Freezing kept you safe before. It tried to keep you safe again.”

Your eyes fill again, but this time it’s different. Less sharp. More… understood.

“I hate that,” you whisper.

“I know.”

He rests his forehead lightly against yours.

“I hate that someone taught you that saying no isn’t allowed.”

You close your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you again.

“You saying no to me?” he says quietly. “That’s allowed. Every time. For anything.”

You search his face, like you’re testing the truth of it.

“And if I disappoint you?”

“You won’t.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I’ll handle my disappointment,” he replies calmly. “Not by hurting you.”

That does something. He sees it – the tiny shift in your shoulders.

“You drove here,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

A pause.

“I don’t like you sitting alone with that kind of memory.”

You lean into him again, softer this time.

“My therapist said I don’t have trauma,” you say quietly. “But probably have.”

Simon snorts softly.

“That’s the most useless sentence I’ve ever heard.”

You let out a small laugh against his chest.

“Labels aside,” he continues, “what happened mattered. It left marks. Doesn’t need a name to be real.”

You trace a faint line along his forearm absentmindedly.

“Do you ever feel stupid for still caring?” you ask.

“About old stuff?”

“Yeah.”

He considers.

“No,” he says finally. “I feel angry sometimes. But not stupid.”

“Why not?”

“Because it shaped me,” he replies simply. “Same as it shaped you.”

He brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“You were a kid,” he adds. “You deserved patience. And someone explaining things. Not a slap.”

Your face crumples again at that – not because it’s new information, but because it’s spoken out loud.

He pulls you fully into his lap this time, arms wrapping around you securely.

He sits with you like that for a long time. No pressure to talk. No demand to dissect every detail. Just warmth. Solid presence.

Eventually your breathing evens out fully.

“You’re not broken,” he says quietly, almost like he’s telling himself too.

You don’t respond, but your fingers tighten once against his shirt.

He presses a slow kiss to your temple.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he adds.

And this time, when you nod, it’s not out of habit.

It’s because you believe him.

jarofstyles

blurb: harry and yn get mobbed really bad and once they get inside/into the car harrys really apologetic and feels so bad that yn got shoved and hurt but she doesnt mind and says its ok and harry says you didnt ask for this and then yn says neither did you :(

just a soft one!

Aw omg let me do this one!

Warnings- being mobbed, anxiety, a self victim blame thought from H

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📫- send in requests, prompts, loose ideas or simply chat with us here

It was something that he fucking hated.

Despised, actually.

The flashing lights were annoying when it came to him, but fortunately- or unfortunately depending on who you asked- he was used to it. It had been a norm for him for years and years, something that he’d gathered enough of a tolerance for that he could slip into a different place into his mind as he weaved through people shoving pens at him, yelling his name in his ear, asking invasive questions and put cameras right in his face.

It was something that came with the job, and he knew that. It wasn’t something he had fully anticipated the scope of, but he hadn’t gone in blind.

Unfortunately, (and again, fortunately) Y/N had.

punkkture

hr simon riley. nuff said.

{ word count: 2070 }

.ೃ࿔*:· — it was a new job. the first real big one. one that actually could lead somewhere and you wanted to do good at. it's only been three months, and you think you're starting to get comfortable with where you're at. the only thing looming above your head is the two visits to hr.

the job wasn't hard, at least it didnt feel like it. sitting at a desk in an office. the hardest part was how much the environment had shifted from your previous jobs. men were crawling all over now. the brooding kind, the ones that take everything so serious.

and they took it very serious when seeing how short that one houndstooth skirt was.

that was the first visit to his office. just an email sent in the middle of the day, nothing to draw attention from those around the office waiting with open ears. it was simple, and you thought that was the worst part. how professional it was to get yelled at like that.

" subject: Human Resources. I've received a couple complaints today that I would like to go over and address with you. 1:15pm - please do not be late. Simon Riley Department Head of Human Resources Room 113-A, Building C Ext: 1072 "

whore4fanfics

Hard Way

Summary:

Y/N, one of the few women on base, faces isolation and hostility from some of the team. When Simon notices a bruise on her face during a briefing, he demands to know who did this to her. As Simon's protective nature emerges, Y/N starts to realize she can trust him, and a bond forms between them.

intakeofbreath

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ʀᴇꜰʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.

wc: {744} tw: explicit sexual content, fingering, praise, use of mirror. i'm literally in love with soft simon.

the room is dim. just the gold spill of lamplight and the hush of late hours pressing against the windows.

you're seated on his lap, spine drawn straight by the press of his chest against your back. both of you balanced on the edge of the bed, facing the tall mirror across the room—wide enough to hold the whole of you in its frame.

his arms are wrapped low around your waist, one hand resting just beneath your ribs, the other slowly traveling up.

achilles-rage

Protect You, Always

summary: you meet your boyfriend and the rest of the 118 at a bar after work. everything is going well until buck has to pry some creep off of you.

word count: 2.9k

request: anon- i wanna see sum protective buck kind of stuff, maybe the same as the twelfth chapter where’s buck is defending her, maybe with different plots

a/n: i am SO sorry this took so long anon!! i love protective buck, he makes me feral, so thank you for requesting!! enjoy!!<33

warnings: creepy man gets grabby, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

harrysonlylover

Insatiable*

A mini filthy blurb.

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: unprotected sex, riding.

Harry is ascending to heaven, he’s sure of that.

He must be one of the lucky ones who were chosen to be blessed in their lifetime. He can’t quite remember what good deed he did to deserve this—but he’s not letting her get away.

His ears were ringing and he felt dizzy, almost lost himself for a hot minute before remembering to keep his eyes on her. It would be a shame to close them.

purplecoffee13

The Silent Type*

Summary: “Harry, the quiet guy in the office, has silently admired you during your time working for the firm. Now that your work there is done, Harry finds that he can’t let you go just yet…”

Wc: 5k

Tropes: colleagues (ceorry/nerdrry)

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, daddy kink, switch sub/dom dynamics, oral, choking

A/N: SUP Y’ALL!!!! God I have just been waiting to be able to write again! I still have some exams coming up next week, but I spent all evening writing this one shot because I have been dying to get back into it😋 This is my first time writing a more subrry tinted fic, so I hope you enjoy it!

General Masterlist

if you want to support me more than liking or sharing, you can consider buying me a coffee!

************************************************

Harry has never been one to talk much.

It is one of the reasons why he chose the career of software developing. Most of it, he could do on his own.

It wasn't so much that Harry hated people, he just preferred his own company. More people tend to complicate things, and Harry is a more logical guy.

That was until he met you.

lemoncrushh

What Happens In Vegas...

Summary: Your Vegas trip to celebrate your friend's birthday turns into a night you hadn't expected when you meet Harry Styles in the casino.

Warnings: Fingering, hand kink, gambling (well, it is Vegas). 18+ ONLY!

Word Count: 3533

A/N: One shot originally posted in 2017. Inspired by Harry's performance at the iHeart Festival in Las Vegas. Edited to be a reader fic. This is for the gals with the obsession with his hands. Also, rereading this, I realized you aren't that great of a friend, but hopefully you can look past that lol.

"Thank you," he said to the crowd. "I am a narcissist, so that will help my ego, thank you very much."

"Oh God," you rolled your eyes. "Like he needs any help boosting his ego."

You felt Simone poke you in the side, her apparent glare of disapproval burning a hole into your profile. You chuckled as you lowered your head. She'd drug you to this iHeart Radio concert in Vegas. You hadn't really wanted to go when she announced she had tickets, but because it was part of her birthday trip, you'd agreed to attend.

Harry Styles. Give me a break, you groaned. The kid had come out looking like a cross between a court jester and a Tim Burton character in his harlequin suit and nearly see-through shirt with a big bow at the neck, and you were supposed to swoon? Apparently so, you thought to yourself when you heard the crowd made up of mostly females fill the room with screams louder than any heavy metal audience you'd ever been a part of. And you supposed the bow was supposed to signify his desire to be a present you were to unwrap?

luvit

(afab!visual, minors dni 18+)

thinkin about simon fingering your pussy like this. it's too much, so much. you try to block off your clit because the heel of his palm digging into it might make you cum right around those thick two fingers lodged deep inside that cunt.

"wait, si," you groan while watching the quick flicking of his wrist. it feels so much more than it looks. even just by hiding your clit from him he manages to reach it from the inside.

curls his fingers so that way he can reach all your sensitive spots on the pads of his fingers. jerks his wrist to chase your hips when you try to squirm away. you can't take it, and he keeps moving his fingers in a 'come here' motion to coax you to cum all over his hand. don't you want that? why you trying to hide? he just wants to make you feel good. no matter. you'll feel good no matter what kinda handicaps you put in place.

"no runnin'. feels good, yea? don't you wanna feel good?" he grins at the way your hand twitches. can't control yourself and need to grip onto something. you're at such odds with yourself. keep trying to hide that pretty little clit from him.

or maybe you're trying to rub your own clit. is he not doing that good of a job that you need to take care of yourself? oh, baby. he'll coo at you and try to slap your own hand against your clit the way his hand moves over yours. or were you just trying to get yourself to cum faster so it'll be over quicker.

"s'too much," you plead. "go slower. i'm gonna-"

"tha's what i want. want you to cum all nasty over my fingers. you gonna give in and give it to me?" you can barely keep your hand in place from how much you move those hips. you also need something to grab onto as you ride his fingers. clenching your fist and nearly throw a hand down to his wrist or the sheets beneath you. simon grins and keeps up the endless assault of your poor pussy.

doesn't matter if he's rubbing at your clit or not. he's made a plan to get you to cum on his hand and he wants it messy.

justlemmeadoreyou

the hot-for-teacher fantasy (ta!harry x student!y/n)**

summary: when y/n discovers her charming, handsome college teaching assistant harry styles is also a porn star, it awakens intense lust and longing. one day, harry calls her for a private study session. she wonders what he'll teach her, oblivious that harry knows everything.

words: 4k+

warnings: flirting, fluff, smut. p in v sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kissing, dirty talk, creampie.

***

Y/N tried hard not to stare at her extremely good-looking teaching assistant during her Friday college lecture. But Harry Styles was just so hot, with his messy brown curls, bright green eyes, and perfect smile. His tight polo shirt clung to his muscular chest and shoulders. Y/N had to look away before she started imagining what he looked like without his shirt on.

"Girl, you're drooling again," her friend Liz teased in a whisper, nudging her.

Y/N blushed. "No, I'm not!"

Lately, she couldn't stop thinking dirty thoughts about the charming TA. His deep voice and confidence made it impossible for her to focus. There was something really familiar about Harry too, but she couldn't figure out what.

adore-laur

sorry if there are any mistakes english is not my first language!

dadrry idea - harry and y/n together with the children go to a get-together at a restaurant with friends and family and in the middle of the get-together the younger baby starts crying with hunger just as the food arrives and harry goes out of his way to help y/n /n to eat while y/n breastfeeds, and to help the older baby eat too! you can add something if you want

——

You were at a new restaurant Harry had picked out for lunch, and you didn't know if it was the humidity in the air, but you had two incredibly fussy children wanting to make your first outing as a family of four a tricky one. The outdoor seating area was packed with people taking advantage of the weekend's beautiful weather. You counted yourself lucky to have found any available seating at all. You suspected Harry might have pulled a few strings since he knew the business and employees well, but he kept his lips tightly zipped.

Going to a restaurant used to be an untroubled experience before you had kids together. It was a simple sequence—sit down, order drinks and a meal, and talk without any disruptions. When the first baby came, supervising a newborn in any public place hadn't been without its fair share of stressful moments. Many trips to the bathroom to breastfeed or change a diaper made you feel prickly with anxiety. There was also the crippling fear of your baby having a piercingly loud meltdown and potentially annoying the people around you. It was why you relied on Harry to make these trips with you, whether it was grocery shopping, a stroll through the park, or going out to eat. You needed him to be the calming force. You needed his gentle methods of diffusing the cries.

When the second baby came along while your first was at the peak toddler stage, the mere thought of going to a restaurant or the store by yourself was daunting. Horrible thoughts battered your brain, like: What if a temper tantrum happens? What if I lose one of them? What if they get kidnapped right in front of my eyes? Progressively, the thoughts became more unrealistic, but they successfully kept you from venturing out alone with the two vulnerable halves of your heart. You wouldn't risk their safety by selling yourself as overconfident in terms of your motherly capabilities.

cntloup

18+ MDNI

crying during sex

sometimes all the overwhelming feelings come crashing down on him, the depth of intimacy and the utter trust he has in you.

it's simply too much to handle that it makes him shed silent tears as he hides his face in the crook of your neck while thrusting deep inside you.

he hates to look weak in your eyes, but he feels your arms wrap around him lovingly as you whisper, "it's ok, si. don't need to hide from me."

it makes his heart melt. he lifts his head to see that loving expression on your face and his breath catches in his throat as he gazes at you through glossy eyes.

he kisses your lips passionately, the seething fire of love burning in his heart, rupturing through his chest and reaching you as it engulfs you both in a burst of roaring flames.

and he makes you cry as well at the sheer pleasure as he rolls his broad hips into yours, his aching thick cock reaching far and deep inside your sensitive slick walls, filling you up to the brim and stretching you out to your absolute limit.

you squeeze your eyes shut as droplets of tears silently flow down the sides of your face, nails digging into the skin of his back as he embraces you tightly while making sweet love to you, cherishing and worshiping your body.

and he kisses your tears away and coos soft praises in your ear as your lovely moans float into the air and your supple thighs tremble around his waist as the overwhelming euphoria takes over your body.

gumballavocadoharry

Estrangement:

*This is a POV of you and Harry's daughter Kaitlin. Yn= you and ofc Harry is your husband. Mentions of mistreatment towards their child. Not physical abuse but emotional neglect and somewhat abuse I guess.*

The wind shoved up against my curtains and the open window that let out a surreal glimpse into the real world. The California cotton candy sunset flashed it's colors in the sky, as the darkness of the soon to come night sky would befall it all. There I laid in bed, on my laptop checking out the Instagram friends I had for over the 2 years since I finally decided to create an account. I never posted anything, but it was an escape from the inhabitable environment of home.

Ah to be the middle child-the second to the oldest that was adored and loved by all the family. That was Kimberly. Our parents started the trend of naming us all with the letter K. Kimberly, Kaitlin, Kylie, Kameron and Kristopher (My brothers) and youngest named Kira. All six of with the letter...K. Although despite my name with the familiar syllable...that still didn't make me fit in.

Kimberly had her honors, her trophies hung up as prized possessions for achievements inside and outside school, Kylie had her art that she drew, even having an art wall put into her bedroom because....why not? Then the twins had their sports, the athletic side that earned them several trophies and praise from mom and dad, and then there was Kira. The baby of the family...she didn't have anything except cuteness that came as a surprise to everyone when the twins turned 6. She didn't have to work hard for attention, it came to her whether she wanted it or not.

Then there was me. In everyone's shadow. I liked poetry...I wrote some whenever I could find inspiration...but that didn't matter to anyone. My parents could care less. Kira appreciated it, so I would always doll out time to write about a mystical pony in the sky or a rainbow spotted cheetah that ran on the stars nighttime dust just to have a moment with the little girl before her bedtime.

My hair abruptly blew from the evening breeze that signaled it's reign. I typed away on the keys of my stone colored laptop, hoping one of my friends was up to chat. It wasn't often this peaceful in the house besides my bedroom, where laughter filled the hallways or the downstairs, or screams and cries echoed throughout bedrooms, mostly by the screaming toddler that didn't want to go to bed while all her siblings stayed up into late hours. That's where I'd come in with a story that sent little Kira right to sleep, hugging her stuffed moon pillow with the cutest little innocent face on it. Mom and dad never appreciated my efforts in putting my sister, their child to sleep. Almost like I was the ghost haunting the house just doing random deeds that no one felt the need to acknowledge.

Except for Kira, I was alone. The earthy sky and the now booming stars showed as my nightly companions if I happened to be up into late hours like tonight.

No reply from the instagram friends. The internet people from behind a screen that could live a thousand miles away from the scorching California summer, that despite the burning temperatures, still managed to give that bohemian summertime aesthetic all year round. Fall was a favored season of mine mostly due to the summer's temper finally cooling down for the year where sweat jackets were all anyone needed to step a foot outside.

My brown strands that were mixed with a honey blonde, laid neatly on my shoulders as I contemplated going downstairs to grab a drink. Maybe I'll be able to strike up a conversation with Kimberly about what type of tricks I can use to get the professor to lighten my load in my assignments. I was just kidding myself....goody two shoes will run to mommy and daddy and spill the beans, leading to a stern lecture about being honest and doing what's required of me in all I do in school despite never having the help I needed.

But to my luck, school was almost over and soon I'll be able to apply for a job that will land me into a steady track of a good income. I can say that I did this all by myself. My dad. The college professor at one of the most prestigious schools in the country couldn't even lift a finger to help me with any work even when I've asked. Long nights spent at the library, studying through every English literature book I could find is what pushed me up to the top tier. My mom being no better was a nag. She nagged me about nothing being done right with my chores all because I was 'studying' too much and was actually talking about me wanting to drop out.

I pushed them all away and forged a path on my own with the help of ambition and black coffee on those all nighters. I decided against going downstairs and just focused on my poetry. Little footsteps crawled through the mellow lit hallway and a soft knocked appeared on my door.

I carefully tiptoed to the door and spotted my little sister, sucking her thumb and finally suckling out about how she wanted another story read. I rubbed my strained eyes with some upcoming dark circles growing under them like a raccoon and invited her in. She took a seat on my bed as I read to her from a book of my poems that I had made myself.

Kira giggled as I imitated the voices of the characters I had imagined for them. "And then the big horse said-"

"Kira what are you doing out of bed!?" Mom came in, eyes instantly reverting to me as if I had somehow forced Kira out of bed to listen to my somber poems filled with deep angst and bitterness that I dare not squawk out to dispassionate family. Not even Kira knows the depths of emptiness I feel from a day-to-day basis from the excruciating nonchalant parents I have that force me to swallow myself whole and shield myself yet at the same time whenever I can feel disapproval coming on strong. Only me, never Kim, Kam, Kris, Ky or Kir thank goodness. I couldn't bare my youngest sister going through the pains of not having someone. And when I'm gone, I dread to see just how much of that nightmare is true.

Mom swept Kira off the bed like dust being swept in a dustpan and sweetly carried her back into her bedroom. But not before letting me have it, like she saw me as some villain trying tear apart her family. "Kaitlin! You are not supposed to disturb your sister when she's sleeping! You know better!"

"It's okay mommy, I went into her room," Sweet Kira insisted. "It's okay honey, let's just get you back to bed." The woman's eyes diverted themselves back to me. This time with more coldness. "You stay in your room and be quiet. I don't want to hear a peep from you." She sneered. She whisked Kira away and that was that. I listened closely by the doorframe of my bedroom, only to hear exaggerated kisses coming from Kira's bedroom. A smile snuck itself onto my face somehow, maybe for the sake of Kira getting all the love she deserves.

Coldness covered my back like a blanket, as I could see mom leaving Kira's room. She stared at my room with a deep glare before continuing on downstairs. I quietly got up and went back to my bed, staring at the half read story that was written for Kira. My eyes gazed back to the stars that had now showed themselves with their yellow glares that shined down on my hazel eyes. One day....it'll all be over. I tucked myself into bed after doing a french braid and laid back in the purple and gray covers that kept me warm until dawn. My opened window still let in that summertime breeze that swished the sweat from my head and the tears from my eyes.

Then darkness. I was asleep.

I woke up to the sun glaring through my bedroom window, it's fumy glow rested on my face as nature's alarm clock. I rubbed my tired eyes to notice the window was still open from last night. The fresh morning dew air tickled my nose as it swirled around the sunlight sherbet sky. The curtains swung back and fourth to the rhythm of the wind that captured a cool breeze into my room that made it less sufferance than yesterday's furious heat that left everyone's tongues out panting like a dog.

I made my way downstairs, finally getting ahold of some orange juice before the breakfast rush came in. Peace and quiet, my personal serenity from the other seven residents living in the perfect big house on a white picket fence hill. I swallowed harshly at the thought and continued pouring my orange juice into a big glass cup with pretty little designs on it. I sat in the kitchen nook taking in the summer morning that allowed me my peace and happiness even if it was to be temporary.

I closed my eyes and let my mind take me into my safe space, my personal little bubble that kept me sane, happy and wanted. Bouncing on bubbles type of happy, sunflower kiss happy, swimming in a bed full of lavenders happy. I breathed taking it all in, letting my brain fill with all sorts of dreams. Maybe I could catch them if I just....

The atmosphere changed. Dad had entered the room...I could feel it. The deep dive I had taken into fantasy world, was now tethering me back up to the main land. The somber reality of it all.

I opened my eyes, only to be met with distant and cold green ones that were so close, yet so far away. Hm, reminds me of Kristopher. He acted just like dad....only a little nicer. I was more accepting of his behavior because he's my brother....and siblings are supposed to tease each other right? But father's and daughters.....well dad's was more brutal...more condescending. It was inconsolable at times. The bright crimson sky had now metaphorically turned into an ugly black and grayish one filled with nightmares and turmoil.

He didn't even say good-morning. And well neither did I so we're even. "Good morning." I said finally grasping myself from my biased rudeness. No sense for me to be a jerk as well. Still no response just a "Mhmm." It wasn't until Kim joined in that he greeted her with a kiss and a "Good morning" as usual. Once again, alienated. Pretty soon the whole crowd started coming in and I was sitting in the kitchen nook still alienated from the residents.

Loneliness engulfed me like a wave washing over sand and leaving it moist and crushed, as the pack started rolling in for the breakfast rush. I ended up making some toast, coffee and cereal and took it all upstairs to my bedroom to eat and relax. But as my luck had it, I heard my dad's voice shift from the living and then eventually to the staircase. "Kaitlin! Come here now!" He yelled with a repugnant sneer.

I traipsed downstairs but was stopped midway by my dad putting his hand up. "What's this?" He said with a condescending tone. I looked down to see some spilled milk from when I was taking my cereal upstairs. "Milk," I answered. "I want you to come and clean this up." He finished, venom practically spilling from him lips. Dad pursed his lips and gave a strong grisly glare as I continued on down the stairs and made my way to the kitchen to grab some paper towels. As I returned, dad made me get on my hands and knees while he towered over me like a heavy rock threatening to crush it's little twigs that lie beneath it. He wanted me to feel powerless and patronized..that's where he got his second wind.

I cleaned up the mess and just took the paper towels upstairs with me to my bedroom, so I could tend to my soggy cereal and toast and cold coffee. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I took a sip from my cold watered down coffee. My small breakfast was ruined thanks to my dad who became livid over some spilled milk. I could hear him laughing it up with the rest of the family, not even caring that I wasn't to take delight in the family breakfast. I was too timid to even bother going downstairs and heating my coffee up, so I just took it as it was and left it at that.

My lips quivered as I took a bit from my toast and another from my cereal. I stomached through it and then tarnished the remains once I felt it safe to enter the kitchen. Kylie, Kimberly, Kristopher, Kameron and Kira were all the ones mom and dad seemed to truly love. The way mom flashes her natural motherly smile at them, they way dad grins as he shares his fatherly wisdom with them, encouraging them to give it their all and be the best version of themselves.

It was like seeing everyone's happiness through the eyes of a ghost. The only thing I focused on was throwing away my garbage and heating up a new cup of coffee. That's what I was getting because I deserved better. My spirits kept me afloat, through a complete tug-of-war with my heart and despondent thoughts. The beep of the microwave didn't stop anyone from their chatting, so I took my hot cup of coffee and made my way upstairs to my bedroom to drown myself in some school work. The sooner I graduated, the sooner I would be getting that job as a writer. I plugged in my headphones and drowned myself in writing my essay to send into the teacher.

Trade school was like that. But it was less stressful then college so I took that over any day, the last thing I needed was more heartache to add to what I was facing at home. My endurance was tested everyday with new and different things. I should be grateful. It's made me a stronger person I guess.

Later that afternoon, I asked mom if I could go to the library to study. I prayed she'd let me go because in her eyes, it would get me out of the house. Of course she said yes, probably thinking the same thing just in a more strident way of thinking. I grabbed my backpack and dashed out the door. The last thing I needed was another setback like the one dad gave me this morning.

The library was finally peace and quiet. It reminded me of the tranquility of relief I felt this morning. Just me and the other 4 people scattered across the section. Disappearing for me felt freeing, no one could hurt me, no one could say anything that breaks down the brick wall that has encased me inside. I pulled a few promising books from the shelf before diving right into to a computer and finishing my studies there. My eyes moved back and fourth from the bright screen, then to the basic pages of the book. I was chiefly more focused on the book and writing notes into my online notebook to clear the clutter of having scattered flash cards or notebook pages that were trailed into different sections that after awhile became confusing and only gave me the bare minimum of what I needed.

My head was consistently shoved into a book for 3 hours straight until I decided enough was enough and that I needed to catch a break from all the studying. So I grabbed my backpack, swung it over my shoulder and left the library for some coffee. I walked along the sandy colored pathway to the nearest downtown coffee shop, only to see the line was overwhelmingly vast. The galling amount of customers was going to be too much for me to handle if I hadn't noticed the blonde haired boy serving the drinks. I quickly plopped myself in line, anxiously waiting to be served by the charmer making the lattes.

To my one in a million break, the line moved rather faster than when I had looked in the window. The varying customers left one by one out of the line with their espresso treats, while I was only three customers in from meeting fate in a green apron and a dimpled smile. My cheeks burned when I swore he made eye contact with me. These hazel eyes really captured his attention?

I was already rehearsing my order in my head for when I got to the counter as not to choke on the right words from a pretty face making direct contact with me. An iced vanilla latte with whipped cream and caramel drizzle.....and maybe one of those fudge brownies that look so delicious?

Finally was up to the line after the woman in front of me got her regular hazelnut coffee that she too impatient to drink once she was out of the line. I cleared my throat and looked confidently in the barista's eyes, despite his matching hazel ones being intimidating ample. "I-I would like an iced vanilla latte with whipped cream and caramel sauce. And a fudge brownie please." I politely requested.

The blonde haired boy typed in the order and asked if there was anything else I would like. "No that'll be all." He smiled and waited for me to hand him my card. With shaky, infatuated hands, I gave him my card to swipe. "Alrighty, you're all set." He smiled and immediately got to work on my coffee and snack. I blushed deeply as I remembered his fingers touched my hand as he took my card. I shuffled my card back into my wallet as a partial excuse to shield my face from his seeing me scarlet stained cheeks from his encounter.

Pretty soon, I saw my coffee was served right in front of me along with a packaged brownie cake and a handsome smile that farewelled me with; "Have a nice day." I smiled back and repeated those words to him before grabbing my coffee and brownie and then leaving. I shoved my phone into my pocket to enjoy my brownie and iced coffee as I walked along downtown and sight see all the different tall buildings that and the short offices that still added depth to the anomalous city. I finished my brownie, now it was just my coffee that needed my attention I sipped along to when I spotted a large building that sent phobic chill up my spine. My heart raced at an irrational but sensible speed the more I walked past it.

My father's school where he worked. Sure he was a hit with all the kids that he shared his immeasurable knowledge of life and of science with. Word on the street was Professor styles is a excellent teacher and his skills are astute! Even I had to agree with it to a perspective...dad was one very intelligent man. But a horrid father to me. I decided to suck in my hostage breath and face a very inhibit fear of mine that shouldn't even began to exist. I walked through the tall brownish red doors that led me to the highly lavish main floor of classrooms and lockers that were attached to the ornate walls. I chugged my coffee down anxiously as I wandered through the exquisite college that I felt out of place at.

My feet dared not turn to the cursed third floor, room 109 where my dad taught his classes there only to those who were desirable in his eyes...which was everyone but me. But my inquisitive brain was in full control of my feet that took me straight to the elevator, and pressed the third floor button almost as if it had some macabre pleasure in seeing myself become jaded and disgustingly humiliated from the elective situations I sometimes put myself in involving my parents. It was obvious that I just didn't have that type of relationship with them...I just didn't have it.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a still expensively decorated hallway and classroom door. My stomach grew into knots as I tiptoed down the quiet hallway nervously sipping my iced coffee to it's ending. My throat became dry and hollow and my lungs grew bitter the more my eyes darted across the different classroom door numbers.

107, 106, 108...109.

My lips became dry and chapped as my now pale skin grew more and more white as shivers sprinted inside of me. My hands literally shook from wanting to open the door to the large college classroom styled like an auditorium just to sit in and maybe listen to a lecture from which my dad had rehearsed specifically for the class. Sweat introduced itself into my forehead as I thought about the consequences if I were to be seen by him. The embarrassment that I cause him might make his class lose respect for him which would then make him furious with me, leading to him making my life more of a living hell.

I decided it wouldn't be that bad since the lecture hall was so big, that it would be a in a million of him spotting me. Maybe, I just could ponder on one or two words that incited percipience in me. I opened the door and took a seat at the top that was hard to spot from a below point of view. I finished my coffee and listened intently to the lecture dad was giving on science and humanity.

"The human heart is a vital organ in the body that gives us life..it allows us to run and walk and jump and survive even in the most tedious situations. But what about the heart of the mind? The one that allows us to feel, to think, to see not with our eyes...but with our perception?"

I was so invested into the conversation that I didn't even realize the worst....I had been spotted.

Dad's eyes, once full of insight and deep logic...now were glacial, passionless and aloof. I swallowed hard to lubricate my throat from the tense dryness I felt all until now. Should I leave? I wondered turning away from the gelid professor. I stood up and walked out of the lecture, not even caring what anyone else thought. They were probably too focused on the 'world's best teacher.'

I exited the school and ran as fast as I could outside, to get lost in the day-to-day of downtown.

Back at home, I entered the house barely making eye contact with anyone and hurrying myself up to my room and locking the door behind me. I didn't come until later when I was called downstairs in a callous voice.

I demurely opened the door, stepped outside in the cold wooded floor hallway and walked down the matching icy wooded steps. There dad was sitting...waiting for me with resentment deep inside his expression.

"Hey dad, mom says dinner is almost ready," Kristopher interrupted to my gratefulness. "Thank you bud, I'll be right there." A completely different man! So warm and gentle and was completely placated in his temper. But he switched it off when his eyes darted towards me. I came closer and sat across from him, almost wanting to intimidate him.

"Why were you in the college today?" He said quietly with a hiss to his words. His illiberal tone made me rethink my answer that was drowning in my paralyzed throat that was dead to speak. "I-I heard your speech....I mean....I wanted to hear your speech because it was so good and I had just come back from the library and- "

"Isn't studying your own topic enough for you?" My dad sneered bitterly. "What are you taking these classes for if you can't even have the passion to listen to them?" I blinked back tears and swallowed hard as to not choke out a sob. "I don't want you doing that ever...again. Understood?" Dad looked at me with abhor, building deep in his eyes the more his eyes stared deeply into mine. I nodded before retiring to my bedroom and missing dinner that was waiting for everyone downstairs. My stomach growled harshly as the only thing I had eaten was a brownie and an iced coffee for the past few hours.

But my intemperate bitter sadness nested itself around me, as I cried into my pillow, tears puncturing wrinkles and damp spots into the pillowcase. I sobbed loudly into my pillow, not allowing room for any shallow breaths to escape my lungs that were too busy spilling out bottled up fuming emotions to care. It wasn't until a soft knock on my door interrupted my emotional fest. I doddered over to the door, wiping my face careen hoping the red eyes would be seen as an allergy.

I cracked open the oak colored door to see the little girl with the pigtails and two chocolate chip cookies in her hand, anxiously waiting for the door to open to her invite. "Hey Kira, what are doing?" "You didn't come down for dinner, so I brought you these cookies so you wouldn't be hungry."

My heart stung with hope. Someone...someone cared after everything that went on today. I meekly opened the door and invited Kira in. I shared the other cookie with her maybe as a subliminal award for caring. And because, I was deeply grateful for her generosity. As much as I tried to hide it, the sweet 7 year old noticed my teary trails and my red burning eyes of sadness. "Why are you crying Kaitlin?" She had that innocent little lisp that foiled her from saying my name in it's clearness, but I fully understood what she meant.

I sniffled, chocking back a pathetic cry as to not let a 7 year old know every painful detail, detailing the atrocious events of tonight. "Katie's very sad because she had a bad day." To put it simply. Kira nuzzled herself over to me and hugged me tightly in her little arms. Her puny little body, filled a warm sensation of love that was describable in this moment. If I could pick her up and move her with me when I go, I would no doubt about it.

After everyone had retired themselves upstairs for leisure or sleep, I snuck downstairs to the kitchen where the leftovers were stored away and plopped a reasonable portion of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and asparagus onto my plate that I heated in the microwave oven for a measly 3 minutes. I had poured a glass of lemonade and made a neat napkin with a fork and then moved quicker than light upstairs with my dinner once it was finished.

I ate silently in my room, concentrating on each bite that I collected with my fork and hungrily shoved into my mouth. Once my dinner was finished, I set aside my plate and got to work on some more assignments. The sky was a peach rose-colored that struck awe with me. The subliminal stars appeared in the sky as the day was soon about to hand it's shift over to a mystifying night that would have more of jovial breeze than the burning summer's eve. The weather shouted California as the summer gained more reign through the months.

I still admired the way the heat itched my skin, and the way the sun slapped it's sunny glow onto my face in the morning. It just felt so earthy and sweet, refreshing as I would say taking a walk into the woods where the sun played peek-a-boo behind the tall lanky trees and that ignited the gentle birds to tweet their song like melodies with such grace.

A prompt I had used for my writing assignment earned me a meritorious A+. I remembered the last time I had showed my parents an A+ I had received from a class, their reaction was that of a nonchalant wind blowing the green grass in the midday. "That's nice Kaitlin." Mom said with distance. "Nice." Dad had barely looked up from his cell phone. That was more important. "Had I offended them?" My 6 year old mind thought. But no, that was just their initial reaction....their typical reaction.

I was used to giving myself pats on the back for a job well done or from a unwonted teacher who would praise me and give me a reward for my hard work. Usually it was those ones who showed up to my recitals, to my plays and to field day where I showed off any talent I had in those categories. I just focused on that. Not the reality of my parents shoving us all in the car to see the twin's soccer games, or Kylie's art shows or Kimberly's extracurricular college activities. I sniffled while writing the last sentence of my writing assignment. I sent it in and then logged out for the night, wanting to catch up on some well needed rest.

I woke up the smell of bacon cooking. My tummy growled as I thought about the sweet meal that was waiting downstairs. I knew I would never be apart of it, but nothing like that was going to faze me seeing at how I was only two assignments short from graduating. Everything was set, my money, empty boxes ready to be filled with every belonging I had ever owned in this room and a present for Kira. She needed it, after all....I wasn't ever coming back. Exhilaration climaxed through my body as my pins and needles tongue finally licked my lips to motivate them to open in a delighted open smile that flashed my deep dimples and my cherry sour lips.

Rent for an apartment was going to be no problem as I had already started creating my resume. All I needed was the degree that would set it all on track for me. I had saved some energy bars away in my desk and nibbled on them before grabbing my backpack filled with the most important books and raced downstairs. "Hey," I interrupted as the room fell silent. Not with grasping attention toward the speaker because of the importance of their words, but because of the murk hue that spoiled the family's breakfast. My siblings looked at me with confusion while my parents looked on with a sullen glower look.

"Could I go to the library? I really need to study," As if they needed an explanation. Mom looked to dad, waiting for an answer. "Be back by 5....it's your brother's soccer match tonight." I nodded gratefully and escaped the house as they continued their lovely meal. In a feeling a nostalgia, I practically skipped to the library for the last time in a sense of studying. This was it...the moment I had been waiting for my entire life! My ticket to self freedom. Finally setting myself free from the sinkhole of my home. Or should I say current place of residence.

I hopped on the computer and completed the two assignments with such ease, that I wondered if I was really that lucky. The words; Congratulations Kaitlin! You have officially completed your course in creative writing. Your graduation date will be posted to your home page along with the expected arrival date of your diploma.

Tears...tears fell freely from my eyes looking back and fourth at the screen of my success. I celebrated with a coffee and trip to the store to buy myself a beautiful locket in remembrance of this day.

As promised, I was home by five cautiously coming through the door, and wiping my sneakers off on the welcome mat as routine. My backpack tiredly slung over my shoulder tracing itself down to my elbow as I shut the rounded shaped blue door soundly to announce my punctual presence in the house. Confusion stabbed me as to why they would want an 'outcast' at the soccer game when they didn't even want me at the dinning room table?

I walked upstairs and changed clothing not realizing the house being suspiciously quiet. "Mom, dad? I'm home!" Those words cringed well with me. I checked everyone's bedrooms, but no one in sight. I called their cellphones, but no answer. I sat in my room, staring up at the ceiling in what to do next. The white colored plastered ceiling didn't give me any idea as to where everyone had gone. To the store maybe?

Hours passed until the sound of the door unlocking grabbed my attention. I rushed to the stairwell to see the whole gang coming in with Kristopher and Kameron holding their trophies while being cheered on by everyone for a great game. It still didn't register with me that maybe the game started earlier and they didn't have time to call me? Or was that giving them too much of an inch?

It was simple....they didn't want me there.

It shouldn't have hurt by now as I already knew I wasn't part of the family, but that didn't stop me from racing back to my bedroom and crying my eyes out in my pillow again. There was no questions about it anymore....

It was time to go.

Part 2 will be posted soon!!!!!

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