#I’m making his next few therapy appointments

[connecting-the-stars]

Carmy drawing Sydney with the same detail and dedication as he did the sketch for a beautiful dish he was brainstorming when.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

somebody to hold

pairing: könig x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4,884

summary:

König discovers cuddle therapy.

You discover König.

author’s note: i don’t play COD, i just have a mask kink. all translations are from google, so feel free to send me corrections if they are needed! translations available at the end of the fic

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), potentially bad German translations, mentions of König’s social anxiety, descriptions of scars, touch starved könig, oral sex (m receiving), size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mild breeding kink, choking, fingering, ab riding. Let me know if any are missing!

“Hey, your next appointment is here,” the voice of the practice secretary, Amy, says from the doorway of your office.

You look up from your computer, brow furrowed as you click around your calendar. “I didn’t think I had a late appointment?”

“Last minute add. And just…prepare yourself,” she says, eyes comically wide before she disappears.

You shut your laptop and head for the waiting room, curious about what’s got Amy acting so funny.

You stop short in the doorway. Perhaps it’s the veritable mountain of a man sitting in the tiny plastic waiting room chair fully kitted in military combat gear, including a sniper hood that only reveals two pale blue eyes that scan the room. His hands rest on his large thighs, fingers curling against the fabric of his tac pants.

You’re not unfamiliar with military clients. Your office is near a base, after all. You’ve had a few wander in before. But you’ve never had one quite like him.

“Uh, hi? Hi,” you say, clearing your throat. His eyes shoot to you and you swallow nervously. You give him your name, followed with, “I’m going to be your cuddler this evening. Do you want to follow me back to the session room?”

The man gives a single nod before unfolding from his seat. He absolutely towers over you, his build just as broad as it is tall, and he has to tilt his head down to look at you. He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to lead the way.

You lead him to the back session room, a space curated for comfort. It’s painted a deep blue and lit only with dimmable lamp lighting and string lights that can be turned on or off, depending on the client’s preference. There’s a large couch pressed to one wall, a sectional that has a hidden portion that pulls out to fill in the middle, essentially turning it into a bed. It’s perfect for both seated snugglers and the prone cuddlers.

There’s a snack and water station set up on a wood console table near the door, and beside it are cubbies for storing belongings. A large basket of soft blankets sits near the couch, along with an array of pillows.

You look back at the man that has followed you through the door. Those blue eyes take in every detail of the room before they land back on you. You toe off your sneakers, leaving you in your frog patterned socks. You wiggle your toes.

“Did Amy explain the rules to you and brief you on the terms and conditions?” Another silent nod. “Okay, well, everything we do is completely up to you, within those parameters. We can talk or touch as much or as little as you’d like for the length of your appointment. I can make some suggestions for positions, if you’d like?”

His hands fidget at his sides, fingers flexing and curling into fists like he’s not sure what to do with them. He stares down at the shoes that you’ve left by the door.

“You don’t have to take anything off, if you don’t want to,” you reassure him. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch?”

The man takes two broad steps before taking a seat, as instructed. You feel a weird sort of giddiness that a man clearly as powerful as him listened to your orders.

He sits with his back straight as a bar of steel, eyes trained on you for the next step in the process, hands placed on his thighs once more. You take a tentative step closer.

“I’m going to sit right here, okay?” You narrate as you sit down near him, a cushion of distance between your bodies. “Is this alright?”

He nods.

“Would you like me to be closer? Or farther?”

“Closer,” a deep accented voice says. It makes your breath catch, the quiet gentleness of it and the way it sounds rough from disuse. “Please.”

You scooch closer, the distance between your bodies shrinking but not yet removed. “Okay?”

“Ja. Yes,” he says. A pause. “Could you…closer?”

“Of course. Is it okay if our bodies touch?”

He nods. You close the gap between your bodies, your thigh pressed along his and your arms brushing with each breath. He’s tense, shoulders tight and fists clenched as he breathes rhythmically through his nose and out his mouth. You let him take a moment to adjust.

“What’s your name?” You ask quietly.

“König.”

________

You are very warm. König can feel the heat of you even through his gear.

He feels a bit ridiculous, sitting here on a couch beside a stranger who he has paid to cuddle him. And he can’t even reach that point yet. Even just having you sit beside him has him trying to calm his breathing.

In…2…3…4….Out.

“Would you like to talk about anything?” You ask. He glances down at you. Scheiße, you’re pretty. That fact certainly isn’t helping him keep calm.

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice to reply. You give him a small smile.

“Well, do you mind if I talk?”

No, he doesn’t mind at all. He’d listen to your voice for hours if he could, the way it's so soft to his ear compared to the shouts and commands he’s used to hearing day in and out. He shakes his head.

Your small smile grows, a bright grin across your face that makes your nose crinkle adorably. König finds his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit.

You tell him about your day and how you were looking forward to the weekend because there is a show that you wish to catch up on. You talk about your cat, a little orange tabby that you adopted three years ago named Toast and how he likes to perch inside the window and watch the birds outside of your apartment. You also mention that Toast has an entire wardrobe of sweaters for the winter that he hates, but you love putting him in them anyways.

Slowly, the tension leaves König’s body. He relaxes against the back of the couch and adjusts his legs, stretching them out in front of him. His hands, which once fidgeted in his lap, are now folded on his chest as he tilts his head back and listens to your stories.

“König?” You place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Our time is up.”

He blinks. Oh. He must have fallen asleep. He looks over to find you smirking at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bore you to sleep,” you say, voice self-deprecating.

“It was not boring, liebling,” he replies quietly.

______

The following week, you notice a calendar event labeled [CLASSIFIED]. You ask Amy about it.

“It’s the big guy from last week. He made a standing appointment,” she tells you. “But he’s all big, scary military so he didn’t give me a name to put down.”

You smile to yourself. You know his name.

It feels like a fun secret between the two of you.

You’re thrilled that he wants to come back. You hadn’t stopped thinking about his voice and those bright blue eyes all weekend.

When it's time for his appointment, you smile brightly at him in the waiting room. He follows you back to the session room, just as silent as the last time he visited.

You remove your shoes, just as before. He sits on the couch without being prompted.

“Would you like me to sit beside you? Like last time?” You ask. He nods.

You sit down, close enough that your limbs brush, just as you had the week prior. He seems a bit more at ease this time.

“How is Toast?” He asks. You beam at him, thrilled that he remembered you told him about your cat. You tell him about your weekend spent on the couch with your furry friend.

“Can I--,” he begins to ask, pausing uncertainly. He lifts his arm slightly.

You wiggle against him, settling against his side as his arm drops across your shoulders.

“Danke,” the man says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, König.”

______

It goes like that for four weeks. Konig sits on the couch and allows you to settle in beside him, your sides pressed together on the couch. You talk to him about anything and everything that comes to mind, and he listens intently.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you cling to his words. Especially when he slips into speaking in German.

And if you have to press your thighs together for relief during those moments? Well, you hope the man doesn’t notice.

On the fifth week of his appointments, König surprises you.

When you remove your shoes, König begins to unclasp the buckles holding his tac vest to his chest. You grin at him in encouragement as he sets it to the side.

“I feel…naked,” he comments with a small huff of laughter.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cheeky reply that ran through your head. He is a client, after all.

He sits beside you on the couch, just as all the other sessions started, but he fidgets with the strap of his leg holster. “Could—,” he starts, pausing for breath. “Could we….lie down?”

“Of course,” you murmur. “Do you have a preference for position?”

“You can…lay your head on my chest?” He says. You give him an encouraging nod, standing up so that he can rearrange his large body so that he’s laying on his back. You reach for the pull tabs of the middle section, sliding it into place. He looks at you in surprise. “That was neat.”

You giggle. “Yeah, this couch is the best,” you comment as you crawl onto the cushion and settle your body along his, your head pillowed on his hard chest.

“This is…nice,” he says.

“Yeah, big guy. It is.”

______

Two weeks into sessions where you lay beside König, he begins talking.

In a quiet, albeit deep, voice he tells you about how he struggles with social anxiety. Being as big as he is was never useful for him until joining the military. He was mercilessly bullied in school as a young boy. He wanted to be a sniper, but his size was a burden to the position. Not to mention, he can’t sit still. He fidgets constantly, and his mind tends to wander if his body is not in motion.

His heart beats quickly beneath your ear as he tells you all the things about himself that he’d been keeping close to his chest for the last two months. He doesn’t stick to just the serious things. He tells you that his favorite color is blue. He has a massive sweet tooth and would kill a man for some traditional Sacher torte.

The laugh that accompanies that particular bit of information might just be your favorite sound in the world.

You don’t mention when your time with him has come to an end. You let him keep talking, afraid to break the spell and return König to his more stoic state.

König ends up noticing that the time has gone past his scheduled appointment. His blue eyes go wide and he sits up abruptly, knocking you off his chest as he begins to apologize profusely in a mix of German and English.

You place a hand on his chest. “It’s okay, König. Really. I just…I like spending time with you,” you admit quietly.

He rests a large gloved hand over yours.

“I enjoy our time as well, mein herz.”

______

König doesn’t show for his next scheduled appointment.

Or the one after that.

Or the one after that.

By the fourth missed appointment, you start to lose hope that you’d ever see him again.

You just hope he’s okay.

______

A sharp knocking noise breaks through your heavy sleep. You roll from the bed, landing gracelessly to the ground and startling Toast, the tabby darting beneath the bed for cover. Another knock sounds through the apartment as you stumble towards the door.

You stand on the tips of your toes to peer through the peephole with bleary eyes. Fumbling with the locks, you pull the door open as quickly as you can.

“König?” You ask breathlessly.

______

The adrenaline from the mission still courses in König’s veins as he tries to wait patiently for you to answer the door to your apartment, but he’s about one minute from either kicking down the door or picking the locks.

He imagines you would likely not appreciate either effort.

But finally, finally, he can hear your soft steps on the other side of the door before the locks disengage and the door is pulled open.

“König?” You ask. You’re wearing a large t-shirt that hits the middle of your thighs, more skin on display for his greedy eyes than he’s ever gotten the chance to see before.

“Liebling,” Konig replies. He steps forward, tentatively crossing the threshold to your home. When you don’t stop him, he takes another step. You look up at him with wide eyes.

“Where…what—,” you stutter, moving aside so that he can fully enter the apartment. He shuts the door behind him.

“Please, liebling, I–,” he starts, words catching in his throat as he looks down at you, the emotions bubbling up his throat. “I need you.”

______

König keeps his eyes trained on you as he unbuckles his helmet, lifting it from his head and dropping it to the floor. Next are the protective braces on his arms and legs, followed by the heavy tac vest and thigh holster.

He lifts the sniper hood, revealing the black balaclava beneath. His chest heaves with harsh breaths as his wide eyes scan your face.

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing tightly, your head pressed to his chest as you close your eyes and inhale the scent of him.

“Missed you, König,” you murmur. His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you impossibly tight to his body.

Suddenly you’re lifted from the ground and you squeak with surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms circling the back of his neck, holding onto him like a koala. The position puts you face to face with the man. His eyes search yours.

“Is this okay?” He asks. All you can do is nod. “Where is your bedroom?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right,” you instruct. König abandons his gear by the door, taking broad steps down the hall in the direction you gave. He gives the door a gentle kick, opening it wide enough to enter.

Toast darts out from beneath the bed, sliding past König’s legs and out to the living area.

He sets you gently on the bed, standing between your spread legs. His eyes remain fixed on yours as he kneels, deft fingers tugging at the laces of his boots.

You could get used to a view like this.

König stands to his full height once he’s removed his boots. A broad, scarred hand cups your cheek tenderly, calloused thumb moving across your cheekbone.

“Mein Liebling," he murmurs. His hand leaves your face and works the fly of his pants open, tugging the rough fabric down over his thighs.

You try very hard not to look but when he curls his fingers into the hem of his combat shirt, you can’t help the greedy way your eyes rove the miles of pale skin.

You take in the muscular thighs that give way to a defined Adonis belt, the cut so severe beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs that you long to trace your tongue along the valley. His abs flex, guiding your exploration up towards his thick chest.

There’s a litany of scars across his body, from smaller bullet wounds to deep slashes covered in thick scar tissue. You reach a hand out, lightly trailing your fingers across one that spans from his collarbone to the middle of his chest.

His hand curls over yours, holding it still against his warm skin. You can feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

König’s free hand grasps the top of the balaclava and pulls, finally revealing the face of the man that’s occupied your every free thought over the almost two months you’ve known him.

Shaggy dark blonde hair falls across his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Thick straight brows over the ice blue eyes framed with long blonde lashes you’ve become so familiar with. A slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones that lead into a strong, stubbled jaw.

There are scars on his face, too. A long silver scar slashes through this eyebrow and across his nose. Another cuts across the high point of his cheek.

He is so beautiful.

You watch as his cheeks turn pink and you belatedly realize you’d said that out loud. You shift to your knees on the mattress, reaching for his hand and pulling him toward you. He plants a knee on the soft surface and you guide him up until you’ve reached the pillows.

Stiffly, he lays beside you, head turned to watch you with those familiar blue eyes. You lay your head on his chest, sighing at the heat of his skin beneath your cheek. You wrap your arm around his waist and throw a leg over his hips, squeezing him tightly.

König doesn’t speak. He has an arm around your body, fingers pressing into the grooves of your ribs to hold you close. You breathe in tandem and his tense muscles begin to relax in your hold.

You shift your leg slightly, eyes going wide as you feel his cock against your knee. Feeling brave, you shift again, dragging your knee along the side of him.

His breathing stutters and you can feel his abs tense beneath you. You slide your hand across his chest, skimming your fingertips across the tight muscles.

“What are you doing, Kleine?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest to look at him.

“I want…can I—,” you stutter, losing your words at the dark look in the man’s eyes.

“I would let you do anything you wanted to me,” König says. “All you have to do is ask.”

You swallow nervously. “Can I touch you?”

“You are touching me,” he replies, a little smirk tilting his lips.

You ghost your hand across his straining length in retaliation. The smirk drops so fast you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.

“What happened to all that cockiness, hm?”

“Do not tease.” His hips flex beneath your palm, grinding his cock against your hand. “I have very little patience for it.”

You sit up on your knees beside him, moving one of his thick thighs to the side with a press of your hand so that you can crawl between his legs. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes, an arm thrown behind his head to prop him up to see better. You curl your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Is this okay?” You ask. He nods.

Permission granted, you slowly work the elastic down until his cock bobs free, slapping obscenely against his abs. Your mouth waters at the sight of the thick, uncut length of him.

“Jesus Christ, König,” you mutter. “Where do you think this thing is going to fit?”

“Ideally? Down your throat and then your cunt,” he replies easily. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he grins so brightly you feel like you’re looking into the sun.

And you’d gladly go blind for it.

You lean forward, giving into the urge to dip your tongue against the divot of his hip, running it along the cut of his abs reverently. His hips jolt at the contact, a whine spilling from his plush pink lips.

“Scheiß,” the man growls. “Bitte, baby, please,” he begs.

You let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent vein there to the flared head. You swirl your tongue along the tip, gathering the bead of precum and swallowing it greedily.

König’s chest rises and falls rapidly with his heavy breathing, his large hands fisting your blankets so tightly you briefly worry his bones may crack. He watches you intensely, almost like he’s worried you may disappear if he so much as blinks.

“Relax, König,” you coo, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. “Let me take care of you.”

______

König has to think about the steps for disassembling a rifle to prevent himself from coming down your throat too quickly. The tight wet heat of your mouth feels so heavenly that for a moment, he worries that he may have actually taken a bullet to the chest on this last mission and he is actually in heaven.

But then you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head of his cock when you draw up his length and he realizes there would be no sin as glorious as this in heaven.

You eyes catch his as you slide him to the back of your throat, your lips straining around him as you try valiantly to take more of him than your limit allows. You gag around him, throating tightening exquisitely before you withdraw for a gasp of air.

You return to your task with admirable determination, eyebrows pinched together in concentration as you work to relax your throat and draw him in deeper.

“Just a little more, liebling, you can do it,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, feeling the bulge of him in your mouth as his thumb traces the stretch of your lips around his cock. “Nimm das alles für mich.”

Your lips meet your small hand that is still wrapped around the base of him and you breathe deeply through your nose as you hold yourself there for a moment, throat fluttering around him. He groans, fighting the urge to flex his hips and drive himself even deeper.

“That’s it,” he whispers. Your eyelashes glisten with little tears, tiny pearls of wetness that speak to your efforts to please him. “That’s my baby.”

You moan around him as you pull back, his cock dropping from your mouth with an obscene pop. Your breathing is labored as you scramble up his body. König’s hands steady you with a grip around your waist as you reach for his face, tugging him into a messy kiss.

It’s a desperate clashing of lips and teeth and tongues that has König groaning, little whimpers slipping past your lips as he explores your mouth. Your teeth nip into his lower lip before trailing down his jaw and neck.

“Let me see you, Schatz,” he asks, a hand sliding up the back of your thigh to grip your ass and grind your body against his.

You flip beside him hastily, tearing your panties down your thighs and pulling your shirt over your head. Gloriously naked, you straddle his waist.

You’ve positioned yourself just out of reach of where he wants to feel you the most. His hands circle your waist, sliding up until his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts.

“So schön, meine liebe,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across one tight nipple. Your hips flex and roll across his stomach and he can feel the slick wetness drenching his abs.

“König,” you moan, blunt little nails curling into the hard muscle of his pecs. Your head drops back, the long line of your throat calling to his hand.

He gives into the impulse, wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, not constricting but merely holding. Your eyes go wide, hands gripping his wrist as you lean into the hold, your hips still grinding against him.

“You are making quite the mess,” König comments with a grin. You shudder in his hold. “Do not worry, liebling, I have never been afraid to get dirty.”

You moan, the sound vibrating deliciously against the hand he still holds around your neck. Your hips still over him as your release courses through you, your eyes fluttering shut.

König releases your throat and you sag against him. He runs a hand down your sweat slick back, over the curve of your ass until he can slip a single finger into your still fluttering hole. You gasp against his neck and he smiles.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, working his hand against you. You make little whimpering noises, lips working against his neck as you rock back against him. He eases a second finger into your dripping pussy, which earns him the sting of your teeth against his skin. “Scheiß!”

_______

You push yourself up on shaky arms, staring down into König’s dark eyes. His fingers slip from your pussy and you whine quietly at the loss.

“Wanna fuck you, König, please?” You murmur.

“I would love nothing more,” he says. He takes his cock in hand. “Take it, liebling.”

You lift your hips to position yourself over him, the fat tip of him notched at your entrance as you start your slow descent. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear, and it must show in your face because he drags a soothing hand across your thigh.

“That’s it,” he coos.

You slide another inch further with a whimper. “You’re so fucking big,” you tell him breathlessly. He chuckles, his cock pulsing inside of you and making you moan.

“Just think about how good it will feel when it is all inside of you, mein süße,” he says. “Filling every inch of you.”

You moan, your body accepting another inch. Your thighs shake with your efforts.

König’s hands grip your hips tightly, sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises that you’ll discover in the morning. On a deep breath, you lower yourself until you’re fully seated and stretched to your limit.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls. You meet his eyes, the blue nothing more than a thin ring around his blown pupils. His chest heaves as he breathes that same controlled rhythm you’ve watched him use before.

In…two…three…four…out.

You shift your hips experimentally, gasping at the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He wasn’t kidding about filling every last inch of you.

Pressing your hands to his chest, you lift your hips just barely off of him before dropping yourself back down. He moans, your name a curse and a prayer on his lips as you continue to build up a rhythm for yourself until you’re lifting almost fully off of him and slamming back down.

“Scheiß! Fuck!” König shouts as your pace picks up. “Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz.”

You lean forward to meet his lips, more of a sharing of breath than a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you still as he thrusts up into you.

“König!” You cry, the slide and stretch and dull ache of him too much and yet not enough. His powerful thrusts are so deep at this angle that your eyes well with tears. Each drag of his cock from your pussy hits a spot that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna cum, please, König, please make me cum.”

“Anything for you,” he promises through gritted teeth, his hips picking up speed as he uses a hand on your ass to help slam you down on his cock. He turns his head, his nose brushing against yours tenderly in direct contrast to the way his hips pound against you. “Cum for me, engel. Let me see you.”

With a cry, you do just as he commands, your whole body going taught before sparking like a live wire, your release rolling over you so strongly it's more like a tsunami than a wave. He moans against your lips, hips pounding in an erratic speed as he works you through your orgasm and into his own.

“Fill me up, König,” you slur. “Wanna feel you. Bet you’ll get it so deep with your huge fucking cock.”

He comes with a deep groan, pressing up so deep as he spills inside of you that you gasp at the sensation, the warm heat of him filling you to the brim.

You collapse against him, the sweat on your bodies cooling in the chill of your apartment. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I missed you,” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I will always come back,” he whispers, smoothing the sweat damp hair from your forehead. “So long as you are here for me.”

You tug the blanket from the foot of the bed over your bodies, snuggling into his side. You enjoy the quiet together, his fingers drifting up and down your back. The rapid patter of paws on the wood floor announces the approach of your cat.

The orange tabby hops on the bed, walking on light feet until he reaches the pillow König rests his head on. He curls up along the top of the man’s head, purring contentedly.

“Hello, Toast,” he says. His eyes flick to you. “This is a good sign, yes?”

“I’d say it was an excellent sign,” you reply, kissing the man’s cheek. He smiles.

“Good. Because I think I will be here a while.”

Translations:

Scheiße - fuck

Danke - thank you

mein herz - my heart

Mein Liebling - my darling

Kleine - little one

Bitte - please

Nimm das alles für mich - take it all for me

Schatz - treasure

So schön, meine liebe - so beautiful, my love

mein süße- my sweet

Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz - my perfect little darling

engel - angel

[spookysteddie]

Text Me The Details

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: gossip magazines, reader being horny on a live stream, cocky!Eddie, drinking, drugs mention

a/n: I kinda want this to be a series? So expect a part two at some point. But yeah this isn't an original idea so, credit to literally everyone who's done this before me. I gave reader a last name because if I have to write y/l/n one more time I'll sob. ANYWAY I hope you all enjoy and let me know if you like this!

WC: 1.2k

...

You are never drinking again. Ever.

Your management would agree after what happened last night. You didn’t mean to spill the secret you’d been keeping. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, however, you had an image to keep up. The party girl, the kind one, the one with lots of friends, the girl who had good grades in college, the one who always donated most of her fortune to various organizations. 

Now, every tabloid was writing articles about your celebrity crush. 

Party girl and influencer drunkenly admits she’d love to sleep with lead singer of Corroded Coffin Eddie Munson. Sources have said they’ve been together for a while but decided to keep it under wraps. 

The dating portion of that article wasn’t true and you silently vow to figure out who the fuck these ‘sources’ were. However, you admitting to wanting to fuck Eddie… did happen. You have no one to blame but yourself. 

Now, there are three reasons why you’re so stressed about this. First, even though you party all the time, you were good. You know, like only went out on the weekends, did every single assignment, tutored people on the side, was probably the most unproblematic influencer out there. Second, the last thing you wanted was Eddie Munsons attention. You had this thing where you didn’t want the people you were fans of to perceive you. 

Theoretically you knew they did, most of them followed you on social media. But there was a difference between being a fan of someone, and them semi-knowing you vs your actual crush who you own a poster or two of? That makes you want to throw up and pass out at the same time. 

But, finally, the third reason this stressed you out was because Eddie and his crew were not good. You know like, partied every single day, smoked a lot of weed and snorted coke off of his groupies and fans. It was all over the tabloids and the band has even posted about it a time or two. You didn’t do that. And if the tabloids caught you doing that, you’d lose everything you worked towards.

“So this is how we’re going to fix it,” Case, your manager, says from where she’s standing next to the fireplace in your apartment. “You’re gonna go back on live and say it was an accident.” 

You look up from the article you were reading, eyes finding his. “That is the worst idea ever. I was tipsy not black out drunk. No one will ever believe that was an accident.” You huff, locking your phone, “and I have tickets to their show next week.” 

You loved your team, but sometimes they made the most insane comments on how to fix the unfixable. 

You stand, pacing the room, “he isn’t one to read gossip magazines. And-and I’m not on the same level as his band. They’re A listers and I’m C list at best.” 

Your manager and publicist look like fish after what you said. Anna, your publicist speaks first, “I swear to god if you ever say that again I am uppin your therapy appointments. You hear me?” 

You huff, sitting back down on the couch, “I’m not kidding though. I’m not giving up this ticket. It’s one of the few things I’m looking forward to.” 

Case answers after rubbing her temples, “you better pray this blows over without him seeing it. You may party but his partying is a whole other level.” 

… 

The call came two days later, an unknown number popping up on your phone. 

You knew, you knew before you even accepted the call who’d be on the other end of the line. 

It felt like it started in slow motion, first came the gossip mags with the original story. Then came Eddie following you on instagram. He’d like a few photos and stories you put up. Then came his interview. The interview where he said, “of course I know who she is. I’m flattered really. I hear she’s a sweet girl.” 

Now, your phone is buzzing in your hand and you can’t bring yourself to answer the phone. 

“Yes just a fucking person. Just like you’re a person. Answer the phone.” You look down at the phone and are thankful it’s just you in your house. You tap the answer button, a fake smile on your face, as you put the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” you use your best interview voice, the one Anna has drilled into you. 

You can hear him breathe in before letting it out, long and slow, it’s clear he took a drag of his cigarette. Is he nervous too? There’s no way. Eddie always seemed to be this cool and calm guy, never afraid of anything or anyone. He gets into more fights in a week than you have in your entire 25 years of existence. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Asher.” You can hear the grin in his voice and it sends a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s Eddie.” 

He didn’t have to introduce himself to you, you’d be able to pick out his voice in a crowded room. But only because you’ve listened to his music so often… only reason. 

“Oh! Hi! I’m s-surprised to hear from you.” You cringe at the stutter that came out of you. You had more than enough practice dealing with any situation thrown at you. From the funny to the uncomfortable to the scary. You were trained for this and you were fucking it up. “How can I help you?” 

“The band and I will be in town next friday, we’re playing a show.” You know where this is going and it makes your heart beat faster, so fast you’re scared it’ll burst. “I was wonderin’ if you were goin’?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“I am, actually. Me and a few of my friends actually.” You rub your hands down your sweatpants, nerves making them sweat. 

“Oh! Well that is fantastic,” his tone is chipper as hell and you know he’s high. On what, you have no idea. “I was thinkin’ that maybe ya friends and you’d wanna join us backstage. VIP area for the show? What cha think?” 

All of sudden you forget how the english language works, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. This is what you’ve been wanting for so long. Well, in your dreams of course. But looking at it from a business perspective, it could bring his fans to your page and your fans to his page. It was kind of a win win. Well, win win lose because then Corroded coffin knows who the actual fuck you are and you arent just some fan. And that, terrified you,  

“Heeeeeeello? Are you there?” 

His voice breaks through your clogged mind, forcing you to respond. 

“Hi, sorry. I’m here! I um I got distracted. But, yeah that sounds great, actually. We-we’d love that.” 

“Good! I will have my people call your people, yeah?” 

“O-or you can just send me the information,” you say it before thinking and now you really want to punch yourself. 

He chuckles to himself, “okay, sweetheart, I’ll text you the information. See you next friday.” 

He hangs up before you can say another fucking stupid thing. You press the phone into your hands, foot bouncing on the floor with nerves. You can think of seven different ways that conversation could’ve (and should’ve) happened. One of which was with your entire team, another being with your friends, another being with your parents. Not alone to make a fool out of yourself. Your management team was really going to kill you.

[wheredafandomat]

Shrink - P1 | You need to get laid

Random short thing I thought of. It’ll probably only be a few parts.

Avenger! Loki x therapist! Reader

18+ | there will be some bad language and probably mentions of sex throughout etc. Also, this is a lil unethical

Next

With a long exhale, Loki rolled his eyes as he settled back against his chair, slouching as you continued to speak. He didn’t like being here, judged, therapized, forced to confront his feelings or whatever other taradiddles Thor had conjured up to get him here. He tried to look interested, gaze meeting yours as you paused before continuing when you had his attention.

“I personally feel your hostility and aggression towards the other members of your team may be rooted into something else.” You concluded as Loki narrowed his gaze questioningly at you. “Loki, I’m going to ask you a very personal question and I want you to answer truthfully.”

“Go ahead.” He nodded.

“Remember in here” you started, gesturing around the room “is a safe space.”

“Get on with it.”

“When is the last time you’ve had sex?” You questioned.

Inhaling and exhaling, Loki’s gaze began wandering around the room as he nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“Well there was—and— and I can’t forget—” he began mumbling to himself as you took a sip of water before he was looking at you again “if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say around a century ago.”

Gasping, you almost spat out your water.

“Relax, only a midgardian century, time moves very slowly here I’ve gathered.” He tried to console.

“I thought it moved faster here?”

“Perhaps” Loki shrugged “I don’t know, I was just trying to quell your shock and distress.”

“I wouldn’t say I was distressed, just” you swallowed thickly “surprised.”

“Well, I’ve not found anyone I want to be intimate with.” He spoke matter of factly.

“No one?” You queried incredulously.

“I don’t spend much time out. I’m usually helping my brother and his team of delinquents.” Loki explained.

“They’re the Avengers, Earth’s defenders Loki.” You countered.

“Well I hope your planet musters up a more capable team, sooner rather than later.” He mocked.

Instead of defending the organisation further, you kept your professionalism.

“Look, Loki, if I’m being honest with you, I don’t think you’re angry, I think you're sexually frustrated” you proposed. “it’d explain the irritability, the edginess and the dreams we spoke about last week.”

“Sexually frustrated.” He repeated, mulling over the words. “And how would one go abouts curing this sexual frustration?” He asked, earning a cynical look from you. “Right.” He realised.

“For you, this week's homework is to go out and get laid, safely.”

“Get laid?”

“Have some sex, do I have to spell everything out for you?” You huffed exaggeratedly.

“Right.” He smiled.

“So, same time next week?”

“Yes.” He agreed, making his next appointment before leaving.

Making his way back to the compound, Loki thought about your words. Could you quite possibly be correct? He didn’t want to admit it but he thought that there was potential for you to be right but then that’d mean that the whole concept of therapy wasn’t as useless as he had previously argued and he didn’t like being wrong. He despised it. Huffing to himself, he thought there was probably no harm in testing your hypothesis. Once he reached back, he was greeted by Thor.

“How was therapy?” Thor asked.

“Do you and Jane have sex?” Loki questioned causing Thor to swallow thickly, clearly taken aback.

“Yes, yes we do.” He answered. “Why?”

“Well Doctor y/l/n recons that I’ll be all better if I have some of the sex.” Loki explained, causing Thor to stand straighter.

“Well we must settle this at dawn, whoever survives will be the one Jane—” Thor began before Loki interrupted.

“What on Midgard are you going on about?”

“What on Midgard are you going on about?” Thor narrowed his gaze.

“I have to find someone in which I can have the sex with and then I’ll be all better. Don’t fret, I don’t want Jane.” Loki insisted.

“Oh splendid.” Thor clapped happily.

Meanwhile, you had just finished up with your last client before you heard a knock at your door, looking up, you smiled as you gestured Natasha inside who was holding food. Once she entered, she sat down as you both tucked into the meal.

“So, how’s your week been, any good client stories?” Natasha asked.

“Natasha” you exclaimed “if I were to share information about my patients with you, I’d be at risk of losing my license.”

“I won’t tell” she baited you “besides, I’m not asking you to be specific and use names, just give me the rundown, we used to share everything with each other.”

You couldn’t disagree with her, you became best friends when your office was based at SHIELD headquarters and she was a trainee agent.

“You’re a terrible influence, pour me a glass of that wine.” You relented.

“Soo, banging anyone?” She asked, both of you with glasses in hand.

“No, no one rocks my boat.” You sighed.

“What about that accounting guy?”

“We were at my apartment and let’s just say an encounter with a spider left one of us almost in tears and the other completely turned off.” You cringed at the memory causing Natasha to laugh. “I want a man Nat, he was always just so—”

“Weak?” She finished.

“I was going to say submissive and not in the sexy way. I guess I’m just done with always being the one making decisions, always being the one in control.” You rationalized.

“You wanna be dominated.” She figured.

“Yes.” You agreed.

“You should have just asked.” She teased.

“Very funny” you smiled “but yes, I think that’s it. Like if we’re having sex, I want him to hold me down and fuck me you know, not just cuddle and dry hump me until his boners gone down.”

“Accounting done that?” She interrupted you, aghast.

“He said he only wanted to have sex romantically.”

“What does that even mean?” She laughed.

“Who knows?” You shrugged. “Maybe it means after a date?”

“So then what did he do the times he was just at your apartment?”

“Not get rid of spiders” you laughed “he was more of a friend really. We just watched films together and hung out.”

“Wow, that’s crazy.”

“I know.”

“Girl you need to get laid.”

“I knowww.”

“So, what’s the plan?” She grinned.

“I’m looking for a man that can remove spiders from the home and pin me against the wall.” You giggled.

Next

Tags

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @evelyn-kingsley @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 6

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Dr. Crane wants to make some changes to your previous arrangement.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, kissing, hickeys, grinding, riding, praise, degradation, crying (but in a hot way), consensual sex, cockwarming?, he’s a simp lowkey, but he’s doing his best to hide it.

Words | 3k

Notes | I hope y’all enjoy! I’m doing my best to keep it consistent with how his character would act but it’s definitely a challenge lol

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 5

True to his word, he did return the next day with a few things. He stopped by your cell, rather than having someone bring you to him. When he handed you the bag, you eagerly took it and sat down on your bed to look through it. A sketch pad, multiple pencils- some colored- and two books that you haven’t heard of. 

“I hope it is satisfactory.” He said, emotionless as ever. 

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You beamed at him and he gave you a stiff nod, awkwardly looking everywhere but your eyes. 

“Would you like anything else?” 

“This is plenty.” You lied, not wanting to abuse his kindness. 

“Okay. Bring that whenever you come to my office just in case you need something to do.” He gestured to the bag in your lap and you nodded. “Shall we?” You weren’t sure why he was asking, but even with the items he gave you, having only a little decent human interaction is not enough so you agreed eagerly. 

“Do you have something planned?” You asked as you walked next to him, bag in hand. 

“Not exactly. I just have some questions.” That’s all? He’s just going to ask you things? When you arrived, you sat down across from him, waiting for his questions. 

“Are you eating?” He asked suddenly. 

“Uh- yes? It’s hard to, though. The food is… not what I’m used to.” You did your best to say ‘the food here tastes like shit’ without actually saying that. 

“And that is preventing you from eating even though you must be hungry?” His tone was clinical… neutral. 

“I’ve gotten used to the feeling by now.” You shrugged and he hummed in acknowledgment. 

“From now on I think it would be best if you ate lunch with me, in my office.” 

“What?” You choked out, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You are of no use to me this malnourished.” Is it really that obvious? You’ve only been here a couple weeks… “So I will bring you something and you will eat with me.” He said simply, as if his words didn’t have the impact that they do. He wants to not only bring you food, but eat with you every day too? 

“You can refuse, though I would highly frown upon that, given your current state of health.” 

“No, I- I’ll eat in here. Please.” The thought of actual food was already making your stomach roar to life. 

“Good. Starting tomorrow then.”

“Okay. Was there anything else?”

“When you offered your assistance, was that to satiate boredom or were you being genuine?” He asked casually. 

“Both. Why?”

“It might be nice to have someone to help with all of the paperwork so I can spend my time on more important tasks.” It wasn’t lost on you the way he phrased it as a statement, rather than him just asking for your help. 

“What would you have me do?”

“To start? Copying my notes onto forms, scheduling appointments, things like that.” While it didn’t sound like the most exciting job in the world, it seemed better than your current routine. 

“Sure.” He almost seemed caught off guard by your answer. ���During lunch? Or would I do it another time?”

“You need to eat so, no, not during lunch. It will vary each day so I do not have a specific answer.”

“Okay.” 

 “Have you thought about my other offer at all?” You completely forgot about that to be honest. Which he seemed to be able to read from your expression. “That’s alright. You can think about it now if you want and I can answer any questions you have.” 

“Okay… I do have questions.” He motioned for you to continue so you did. “What exactly would I be doing?”

“Sometimes administering the toxin yourself, sometimes writing down my thoughts. Depends on the day.” He shrugged. 

“Why do you want me to do this?” 

“There’s no catch, if that’s what you’re asking.” He said coyly— trying to deflect.  

“If there’s no catch, then why?” He let out a heavy sigh and looked away from you as he thought. 

“Normally when a patient outgrows their… usefulness… Well, you saw the state of some of them down stairs. And as of right now, your fears are trivial. Phobias of a person or an object are common, it’s not something I need to use you for.” 

“So instead of giving me enough toxin to drive me mad, you’d rather I help you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why can’t you let me go? If I’m not useful to you anymore.” 

“Do you want me to?” That made you falter. 

“I… I don’t want to leave you, I just want to leave here. I miss my bed, I miss real food and comfortable clothes.”

“You miss that… more than you would miss me. Is what you’re saying.” He almost sounded offended. 

“No, I just- I want to help you, but I can’t stay here forever. I’m miserable.” He looked down to the desk at your words. 

“And how do I know this isn’t just some plot to get out of here?” He said, looking at you again. 

“You’re the one with the psych degree, you tell me.” He narrowed his eyes as he examined you and you waited patiently for him to find that you’re telling the truth. He hummed in acknowledgment, seemingly not finding the right words. 

“Why do you want me to stay so bad? You said it yourself, I’m not useful to you anymore.” You asked softly, hesitantly. 

“Just because I don’t need to study you in my experiments, doesn’t mean you can’t help me with them.” 

“That’s the only reason?” You could already feel yourself deflating from his words. 

“What other reason would there be?” You bit your lip and looked at your lap. 

“Nothing.” You smiled dryly, looking back up at him. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, whatever I do is up to you. You’re not going to let me go and you don’t want to use me in your experiments so there aren’t many options.” You shrugged, not wanting to draw this conversation out so you can avoid any other tactless remarks. 

“Fine. Regarding your… treatment, that will be up to you.” Did he not want to do that anymore? You don’t want to say you want to keep doing it if he doesn’t actually want to. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” You tried to sound normal and not desperate or sad. 

“Do I want to keep raping you? No, I don’t.” 

“Oh,” You didn’t mean it like that. Honestly it’s hard to think of it as that now. “Okay, then… we can stop.” You said quietly. 

“Is that what you want? Or are you just saying that because of what I said.”

“It doesn't matter what I want if you don’t want to. That defeats the whole purpose of discontinuing the rape.” He eyed you curiously before responding. 

“If it wasn’t rape, would you want to continue?” He asked, looking at you through slightly narrowed eyes. 

“I mean… it’s- I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. 

“It’s a yes or no question.” He said teasingly with a glint in his eyes. 

“You answer first then!” You said defensively. 

“Would I want to keep fucking you consensually? Yes.”  He said lowly, making your breath hitch. 

“Okay well maybe I want that too.” You said, once again, defensively. When he didn’t respond and let you stew in your answer, you rambled out more. “And by maybe, I mean more than maybe.” You watched his lips turn up into a smirk at your rambling. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like- like that!” You exclaimed, pointing at the growing smirk on his lips. 

“Would you want me to consensually fuck you right now?” He asked casually, making your eyes widen. You tried to stammer out a response, but he granted you mercy by continuing. “Come here.” As he took off his glasses and set them on the desk, you stood and slowly walked over to him, waiting awkwardly once you were by his side. He grabbed your hips and rolled his chair back a little, giving you room to straddle his thighs. Once you were settled, he placed his hands on the arms on the chair, making you frown. 

“It’s only consensual if you actually give consent. So far you haven’t.” He explained, raising his brows as he waited for your response. 

“Yes. Fine- I want it.” You muttered, embarrassed. 

“What was that?” 

“I want you to fuck me. Please.” You weren’t able to maintain eye contact as you spoke. His hands grasped your hips, pulling you forward to grind against his bulge, making your breath hitch. You lifted your hands to place on his shoulders, but froze, not sure if it’s okay. He seemed to sense your hesitation because he gave you a nod to your silent question. As your hips maintained the movement without him needing to guide you, your gaze drifted down to his lips. You’ve never seen a man with such pink, soft looking lips. You watched them curl up into a small smile, making your eyes snap up to his. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asked, eyes fluttering down to your lips. 

“Yes please.” You whispered, subconsciously leaning closer. It hasn’t even been very long but you already miss the feeling of his lips pressed to yours— the way he eagerly swallowed down your sounds. 

He leaned up a little and captured your lips in a kiss, making your hips stutter. This kiss was less desperate and hungry than the previous one you shared. Instead, it was slower, more gentle. He removed one hand from your hip and placed it over your covered heat, rubbing your clit through the layers of clothing, making you gasp into the kiss. 

“Please.” You whined against his lips as he continued to tease you. That seemed to be enough for him though and he pulled away from the kiss to free his cock before pulling your pants and underwear down just enough to free your drooling cunt. 

“Tell me what you want.” He prompted, stroking his length to full hardness. 

“Please fuck me.” You whined, hips squirming, trying to maneuver yourself onto him. He relented, lifting your hips enough to line his cock up with your entrance, then pulling you all the way down. You let out a choked moan, brows furrowing and eyes slightly watering from the stretch— maybe I should’ve let him tease me a little more, you thought, trying not to wince. He seemed to pick up on that though and he let you remain buried on his cock, not moving yet. 

“Relax.” He said softly as his hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You whispered, willing your body to just hurry up and adjust. “I’m okay… You can move.” You said, holding your breath, preparing yourself for the stinging pain to worsen. Instead, his hand moved to your clit, rubbing slowly to build your arousal. When your walls fluttered around his length, the only indication he gave that he was affected was a slight hitch of his breath. 

His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you into another kiss. Your hips started rocking slowly and he pulled back from the brief kiss to remove your shirt. He leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, not even teasing you first, and you gasped as your hands found their way to his hair again. The hand that wasn’t on your clit, moved to your other nipple, lightly pinching and rolling it between his fingers. After another few seconds, he pulled back with a wet pop, then switched to the other one. The stinging in your core was replaced with a dull ache by the time he had finished. 

“Fuck me.” You whispered, hips rocking greedily. He had to look in your eyes to be sure, but once he was satisfied with your honesty, he moved both hands to your hips again and slowly lifted you before letting you drop back down with a startled moan. He continued the slow, teasing pace, you started to whine impatiently as you pulled on his hair. You could tell that he was having an internal battle of whether or not he should fuck you like you wanted or punish you for being greedy and you did your best to hide your smirk when he chose the former. 

He grabbed your hips tighter and planted his feet to start thrusting up into you, but he only lasted a few seconds before his chair started rolling back. He cursed under his breath and stood up, making you grab onto his shoulders as you let out a startled sound. Holding you up by your thighs, he walked you over to the couch, then sat down and almost immediately started bucking up into you. 

“Shit-“ You said through a breath at the suddenness of his thrusts, but he paid no mind to it. He just held you still and fucked you with an intensity you didn’t know he had. 

“That’s it- just take it. Just be a good girl, sit nice and still, and fucking take it.” He growled, making you whimper. 

“Please.” You cried, holding onto his shoulders so tight that your fingers ached. 

“Tell me what you’re begging for.” He said lowly, but his voice was starting to get breathier. 

“I- I don’t know… please!” 

“Poor thing. I fuck you for just a few minutes and already you’re too cock drunk to even know what you’re begging for.” He cooed mockingly, making you whine and clench around him. 

“Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, eyes filling with tears of desperation. 

“I wonder how long I’ll have to fuck you for until you’re permanently cock drunk.” You sobbed out a moan at that, feeling the knot of arousal in your stomach grow even tighter. 

“Please!”

“You want that? You want me to turn you into a cock drunk whore? Just a little sleeve for my dick?” You let out an embarrassed whine, feeling your cheeks heat up as you nodded. 

“I bet you do.” He chuckled breathlessly. “I bet you just want to be turned into a proper fuck toy— you don’t need to think, you just need to be fucked and bred.” You let out a choked sob, his words feeding into your kink enough that the fear was at the back of your mind. You nodded again with a whimper. 

“If you want something, you need to ask for it. And quickly too, otherwise I’ll have to pull out. You don’t want it to go to waste do you?” He frowned, making you mirror the expression. 

“No… Want your- I want your come, please…” You whimpered, eyes burning with tears of humiliation. 

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up? Say it.”

“I- I want you to- to fill me up... Please, Dr. Crane.” When the tears started falling, he removed one hand from your hip to wipe them away as he shushed you. 

“There’s no need to cry. I’ll give you what you want.” He said softly and you sniffled in response.  

“Thank you.” You whimpered. 

“Ready?” You couldn’t respond, not as his grip became painfully tight on your hips and he fucked even rougher. All you could do was nod. “Rub your clit.” He said through a breath. You moved a shaky hand between your legs, rubbing fast circles over your clit as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. He let out a low groan as your walls spasmed around his length from the pleasure, then forced you all the way down, the tip bulging your stomach a little. You let out a choked moan, feeling his cock twitching inside as hot come painted your walls. Through your moans you could hear him groaning and panting, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his orgasm. When he stilled, you whimpered painfully, feeling close to your own orgasm. 

“Please.” You cried, hips trying to rock against him even though he was mostly holding you still. “Please, I wanna come.” You whined, eyes filling with tears once again. 

“Go ahead.” He said simply, removing his hands from your body and settling into the couch with a small smirk. 

“But I want your help.” You frowned. 

“I’m giving you my cock. Would you rather I let you hump my leg instead?” You let out a long, needy whine as you pouted. 

“…No.” You muttered. 

“Then go ahead.” You whined, but started rocking your hips faster, continuing to rub your clit. “That’s it. Put on a good show for me.” The emotion in his voice was new to you— even if it was just smug amusement. You moved your hips faster, rubbed your clit harder, eagerly chasing your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” He was teasing you, mocking you, but you still let out a strangled moan from the praise. Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, making your whole body tremble as you rode it out, sobbing out moans from the pleasure. When your sounds died down and your body stopped shaking, you sagged in exhaustion, hissing as his cock went even deeper in your now sensitive cunt. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked up at him through your lashes, sleepiness clear in your features. 

“Good girl. Did that feel good?” He said softly and you nodded, not even attempting to talk. You wanted to lean forward against his body, lay your head on his chest and let your heavy eyes fall shut. But you knew there wasn’t even a slight chance that he would react any way other than negatively. So you placed your hand on his chest, forcing yourself to stay up and not give in to the sleepiness. 

“Are you tired?” He asked and your eyes fluttered open again, not even realizing you closed them. 

“Yeah.” You did your best not to slur the word. 

“You can rest here before returning to your room. I have quite a bit of work that needs done so I’ll be here a while.” 

“Mhm.” You nodded, giving him a small smile that you swore he almost returned. When he grabbed your hips and started lifting you off his cock, you whined. 

“I know.” He said quietly. Once you were sitting normally on his lap, he pulled your underwear and pants back up, then gently set you on the couch. When he stood up and walked away, you frowned, but he quickly returned, holding your shirt. He slipped it on over your arms and head, then let you lay down, resting your head on your hand as you curled up on your side. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, not able to keep your eyes open long enough to wait for a response. 

Part 7

[ghostlywhiskey]

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Angel

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,301

Warnings: PLEASE BE AWARE - This one-shot mentions blood & implies suicide. I know this is a touchy subject, so please do not read if this will not sit well with you. Your mental health matters. 🤍

Summary: You, Simon and Soap were injured in a crash. A few months have gone by and Simon is having a hard time with the aftermath of his injuries. 

Notes: I’m so sorry in advance. I actually sobbed writing this. Any errors or mistakes, please forgive me. I couldn’t reread through the tears.

find my masterlist here

The sound of ringing bounces around your head, the dirt on the ground pressing against your cheek. Pushing yourself up, smoke surrounds you as you cough. Soap is groaning next to you, propping himself up on his elbows. “Oi, fuckin’ ‘ell.” He hisses, glancing down at his leg that has a large gash cutting through his pants. You glance over at Soap, quickly crawling over to him. “Soap.” The name coming out of your mouth more as a way for your brain to register he’s alive. The radio on your vest makes an effort to check your status, but your brain is still only just processing Soap is alive. 

Soap uses one hand to press his radio, “Copy. Price, this is Soap. We’re down.”

“Copy. This is Angel. With Soap.” You respond to your radio.

You. Soap. Simon? Where is Simon? 

“Ghost!” The shout echoes out into the abyss of the forest. Any ounce of strength in you felt knocked out from the impact of the crash. Fuck. Where was he? Soap needed help first. Crawling over to Soap, you sit on your knees and examine his leg. Blood, so much blood. Not my blood. Not your own. The reminder echoes through your head, if it wasn’t yours, you could handle it. Grabbing the tourniquet attached to your uniform, you yank it off and quickly tend to Soap's leg. Soap hisses as you tighten it on his leg, “Son of-”. “I know, I know.” You say, coughing again from the smoke. “You’ll thank me when this heals.” You say.

Simon? Where is Simon? 

Once Soap’s leg is attended to, you slowly push yourself off the ground and stand up. As you go to walk, you wince as your left foot goes to walk forward. Just a sprain. You���re fine. Letting out a shaky breath, you limp as you move through the crash site. “Ghost!” You call again, no response. 

“This is Angel. We don’t have eyes on Ghost. Over.” You click the radio, glancing around. Where are you? Come on, Simon. 

“Hard copy. Locate him if you can. Working on a rescue team now.” Price’s voice slips through in one ear and out the other.

The corner of your eye catches a glimpse of a leg under a piece of helicopter debris. No. No. No. Rushing over, adrenaline spiking in your body as you go to try and flip the piece of the helicopter. “Simon!” You shout, not even realizing his actual name left your lips, pulling the debris back. Ghost laid there, motionless. Blood, too much blood. Not my blood. Your fiancé’s. “Simon. No. Simon.” You dropped to your knees beside him, obvious wounds to his arm and leg. But, as you got closer you could see his chest rising and falling faintly. 

“Price this is Angel. Ghost is critical. We need a medic. Over.” You pull your composure together over the radio, but the strain is noticeable. 

“Roger. Keep calm, Angel. Do what you can until rescue arrives. Over.” Price states. 

“Copy.” You speak, completely zoned out as you try to tend to Ghost.

The apartment you shared with Simon was quiet. Standing in the kitchen, you worked on dinner as he was at his physical therapy appointment. The only sound came from the TV that was unwatched, the light from it illuminating the living room. 

The past four months were far from easy. Ever since the crash, Simon had been to multiple doctors and regular physical and occupational therapy appointments. Out of you, Soap, and him, Simon suffered the worst injuries that day. Specifically, his left leg has been doing the worst in terms of healing. The one appointment he did let you come to, the occupational therapist mentioned their concern of Simon not hitting certain marks, but tried to keep their tone hopeful. But, Simon wasn’t thinking in terms of hopeful or possibilities, he was banking on perfection. Complete recovery. 

But, how do you tell a man in the process of trying to heal that complete recovery was unlikely? How do you tell him that without it destroying him and possibly leading him to giving up trying all together? I have no idea. 

Your thoughts were clouded as your body made dinner, as if on autopilot considering you weren’t even thinking about what to do next, you were just doing it. The front door opening turned your brain off autopilot and back to manual. Footsteps, in unison with a crutch tapping the floor, made their way to the kitchen. 

The presence behind you radiating warmth as lips kiss the top of your head. “Hey.” Simon’s voice filled your ears as you felt his hand not grabbing his crutch rest on your waist, face leaning down to nuzzle your neck. “Hey, baby.” You say softly, stopping what you are doing to turn and face him. “How was the doctor?” The genuine and simple question that could set the mood for the entire night. “Same as always.” He responded, his hand moving to brush a piece of hair behind your ear before he leaned down to kiss you softly. 

Weird. That is the most calm response he has ever given after an appointment. Maybe you are being paranoid? 

Kissing him back, you reach a hand up to place on his neck and pull back gently. “How about you go shower? I’ll be done with dinner by the time you get out.” You smile up at him, the hand on his neck sliding down to his chest to pat him gently. He doesn’t protest, nodding to your suggestion as he heads to the bedroom. 

As he walks away, you resume cooking dinner. You hum softly as you move around the kitchen, trying to avoid letting your worries plague your mind. 

After a few minutes, you hear the sound of something falling on the floor followed by a thud. Your head shoots up as you look towards the bedroom door, the knife in your hand dropping on the counter as you rush towards the room. 

“Simon?” You call out, pushing the bedroom door open. At first nothing looks out of the ordinary until you turn to look at the bathroom door. The crutch lies on the ground, half in the bedroom and half in the bathroom. Simon sits on the bathroom floor, his back against the wall and head tilted back as he winces in pain. “Simon.” Your voice strained, the concern laced with it as you walked over to him and kneel down next to him. 

“Fuckin’ hell!” He snaps, his good leg using the sole of his foot to hit the cabinet in frustration. The action makes you flinch as you reach to turn his face towards you. “Si, are you okay?” The question was laced with hesitancy. “No. I ain’t fuckin’ okay. My fuckin’ leg is shit!” Simon growls his hand reaching for the crutch and throwing it with one arm into the bedroom. The sound of the crutch hitting the floor leaves you unphased as you expect it coming. 

“Simon, you need to give it time.” You say, your hand resting on his thigh and moving it soothingly back and forth against the fabric of his sweatpants. “The fact you’ve made progress is a win in itself. But, you need to give it time. That’s why the therapy appointments are important and listening to what they tell you. Like using the crutch.” The tone of your voice is soft, but serious. And you knew him, the crutch was used around you. It didn’t mean he used it when you weren’t around. You knew better than to take his word for it that he used it, he was too stubborn and thought a good day meant he didn’t need it anymore. 

“Yeah, I’ve made progress, but it means shit.” Simon muttered, his eyes looking down at your hand on his thigh. “I’ve made progress that would be exciting in two months, not four.” He states, his voice cold and distant. “The constant fuckin’ pain and feeling like it’s gonna buckle as any moment is always there.” He huffs, resting his head against the wall. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, angel.” His eyes looked up at the ceiling, before his head tilted towards your direction. 

Simon was tired. He was the kind of tired that doesn’t go away no matter how much you sleep. The stress of his leg, the anxiety that tormented his mind from the crash and aftermath, now finally catching up to him. Everything he bottled up, exploding out as the bottle finally broke. At this moment, on the floor of the bathroom, he was broken. His eyes, the one way anyone could ever tell his emotions behind the mask or not, had the look of complete exhaustion. 

You go to speak, but no words come out. 

What do you say to someone when they feel like this? When all roads have been taken towards getting better and nothing helps? I have no idea.

So, you do what you know how to do best. Just be there. You move his legs gently apart, moving to kneel between them and in front of him. Your arms reach out to pull his body forward by his shoulders, instantly putting your arms around his neck and resting your head on your arm by his head. “Baby,” You whisper, one hand placed on the back of his head to scratch it since you know how much he loves how your nails feel. “You’ll get through this. I’m here for you. We’ll figure it out together.” 

Simon’s arms snaked around your body, pulling you close and holding you tight. His own head resting on your shoulder as you felt tears dampen a spot on your shirt. He pressed himself against you, letting the warmth of your body soothe him. It was something he had always craved, your heat.

"Everything hurts." Simon mumbled, the tears making the spot on your shirt larger. "Everything hurts." He repeated. The contact of your body easing him slightly, the exhaustion settling in as his body relaxed, his muscles relaxing for the first time in who knows how long. A sob bubbled out of him as the words slipped out.

"I want it all to stop. Help me."

Sitting cross legged, you sat on the picnic blanket next to Simon. The fall air was cool against your skin, your leggings and one of Simon’s older hoodies you borrowed once and claimed as your own from that point forward keeping you warm. You always loved his clothes - how oversized they fit on you, the scent of his cologne, pine and even the faint smell of cigarettes that lingered. Most people would hate the lingering smell of cigarettes, but it comforted you. Especially the combination it was a part of. 

“Remember when we both said we would leave the force at some point? I’ve been thinking about it recently.” Your voice is soft, almost hesitant to share the information because saying it out loud makes it real. “I’m thinking about getting a teaching degree instead. My mom is a teacher and I’ve visited her a few times to help out and the little kids are so full of life and bright. Pure and oblivious to the world around them.” You speak, playing with the string of the hoodie.

“I wonder what our kids would have been like. Do you think we would have one? Or maybe three? If I could pick, I would want two boys and a girl, I think.” The question you ask comes out strained as you stare at Simon, waiting for his response. But, there hasn’t been a response in a year. The headstone of his grave looking back at you.

It was exactly one year. One year since you got the call while you were out grocery shopping. You don’t remember much from that day, you just remember falling to the ground of the store and everything went black. Part of you thanks your brain from blocking out the day, shoving it to the depths of your subconscious in a box to never be touched and opened.

“I miss you.” Your voice has dropped to just below a whisper. “Why’d you have to leave me? Why was I so oblivious that you weren’t doing better? Why did you tell me you were fine?” You choke out, tears spilling down your cheeks. Delicate fingers are going to reach for the dog chain around your neck. His dog chain with his wedding ring dangling next to it. Your own wedding ring on your finger paired with your engagement ring. 

The wedding rings you bought on a whim one day and promised yourselves to each other for the rest of your lives.

“Angel, let’s go get married.” Simon said, the two of you laying in bed. It was a rainy day and you had spent the morning so far in bed. “Today?” You said, confused by the sudden suggestion. Plans for your wedding had been on hold since the crash, not wanting to add any stress to the current situation. “Today.” He confirmed, slipping out of the bed to get ready. “Come on.” 

That was at 10:00 AM.  Then by the time it was 3:00 PM, you had the last name Riley. 

And two months later, you were a widow. 

“I love you, Simon Riley. I’m sorry if I never said it enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” The tears hitting the hoodie as they drip from your jaw. A sniffle leaves your nose as you stand up, grabbing the picnic blanket to toss over your arm. You kneel right in front of the headstone, placing a kiss on it.

“Thanks for being my angel now.” You whisper, standing up to walk back to your car.

[mvltisstuff]

you found me - e.b

summary: coming home with buck after a long 24-hour shift on your first day back post injury.

evan buckley x reader

the tightness in her sore leg ricocheted up her side. her strength had been built up daily for months. the physical therapy, the doctors appointments, the surgeries, the casts, had all led up to an exhausting day.

for some reason, she still felt better than ever. being surrounded by her true family, in her true home. station 118 was her happy place, and she fought these past few months in recovery to be back with buck in their home.

after several calls filled with chaos and lifting, her head was ready to roll off her neck and leg about to snap off. it had felt good all day, but toward the end of the night, the day had caught up with her. the adrenaline of the calls keeps her up.

everyone was ready to go home after a long day and a party for y/n at the beginning. they got her a cake and watched in awe as she and buck stood close to each other all day. the banner, the friends, the family.

buck had been the real crutch through the whole process. from finding her stiff body on the ground, to helping her get from room to room. every headache, every painkiller, and every bandage was dealt with out of pure love and affection.

he handled her like a wilted flower, ready to fall over. she was like glass in his hand, and he was the glue that put her back together. since the day she first arrived at work, he didn’t leave her side. as things progressed, he knew nothing was going to change. they knew the rules, forbidden relationships among first responders. but when has buck ever been known to follow a rule?

he was her siren and her knight in shining armor. he fought her battles alongside her every night in her dreams. waking up, screaming in pain and fear, his burning eyes from tiredness barely crossing his mind. his hands holding onto hers as his forehead touched her damp one.

“y/n, glad to have you back.” bobby stops her from running into the locker rooms. “always tough not having you around.

a thin smile grew up on her face, pinking her cheeks. “thanks, bobby. i’m really excited to be back to work.”

“if you need anything, please ask.”

“i will, always.”

“alright. now go home, get some rest.” he smiles. “enjoy the day off tomorrow.” he shuffles back up the stairs and y/n walks into the glass room.

the whole team was lurking near their lockers, tired and hungry. y/n noticed a discomfort in her leg, as she sits down and runs her hand down it.

“you doing ok, y/l/n?” eddie asks.

“yeah, i’m good. just a little sore here and there.” she replies, not making a big deal out of anything.

“we can get going soon,” buck plants a soft kiss on her forehead, bending over. hen and chimney exchange a playful look, smiling at the two. “little bit of buck 2.0 magic and you’ll be good as new.”

“gross, buck.” henrietta says. “i’m heading out, karen’s waiting. nice to have you back, y/n.” she gives a soothing smile and a hug before grabbing the rest of her things. chimney and eddie walk out soon after, leaving the couple alone.

y/n sighs out, rubbing her eyes. “hurts.”

“i know, baby.” buck sits down next to her, pulling her in. “but it’s the first day back, it’ll get better.”

“i know, it’s just hard. but at least we have the day off tomorrow.” she smiles, looking up at his softened eyes.

“cmon, let’s get you comfy at home.”

buck unlocks the front door of their shared apartment building, her hand draped in his. he leads her into the building, holding her hand up the stairs and sitting on the bed. “i’m gonna go start a warm shower for you since i showered at the station.”

the warm water engulfs y/n’s soreness and eases her pain of the day a bit, washing it away with each droplet. meanwhile, while she scrubs her day off, buck is cheffing away in the kitchen, preheating a singular box of rice from y/n’s favorite chinese restaurant.

y/n pulls on the clothing buck left on their shared countertop in the bathroom. an oversized LAFD tshirt of bucks and a pair of shorts. she slides on a pair of socks and places a heating patch on her leg. “alright, patient 0, here are your gourmet leftovers, and lovely medications.” bucks sets them down in front of her, leaving a wide grin on both their faces.

they ate their food together, refilling their abandoned stomachs due to the business of the day. “you know you can take a few more weeks, if you’re not up to it yet. you can’t rush a recovery.”

“says the guy who practically sued the city for not letting him back.” y/n retorted back.

“ouch, ok, not my best moment, i’ll admit. however, maybe the new buck would take the advice i’m giving you.”

“it was just a long day, i need to rebuild my schedule and get back out there. i’m just tired, buck. it’s scary going back out there. i could’ve died on that call and it’s a lot being out there.” y/n admits to her only. “but there’s nowhere else i want to be.”

he smiles, finding a glimpse of himself in her. that’s probably why he’s so attracted to her. they say opposites attract, but buck was instantly attached to a woman he felt really understood him. she was his other half, his lifeline, the flame to his fire.

“well, we should get you to bed. your chariot awaits, my love!” he scoops her up in a bridal style and carries her up the stairs like royalty. he places her down on their bed and hands her the remote. “your pick, tonight.” she smiles and pulls the blankets over her.

she scrolls through the episodes of their shows, landing on a comforting finale of the office. something easy for them to sleep to, since she doesn’t like the silence anymore.

“i’m never leaving your side, babe.” he says, pulling her onto him. “i love you, more than anything.”

his arm wraps around her back, draped on her waist and her legs interwoven together with his. his other hand rubs her face, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“i love you so much, ev.” he lets out a goofy smile at the nickname that he acts like he’s never heard. “i’m so lucky i found you.” she laughs out.

“go to sleep, sweet girl.” He holds her tight, making sure she doesn’t go anywhere, and in his grasp, her pain stops existing. as long as he’s with her, the only thing she feels is pure admiration.

[josphitia]

TigerCow HRT

Jo always had a dual fascination with two creatures that would never intermingle in nature: Cows and Tigers. But Jo had never paid it much mind. After all, everyone had animals they associated with. And Jo bristled at the confines of so-called “polite society.” It was not kind to those who existed outside of the binary. But living in the city, Jo started to see more and more people with animalistic features. It was the odd ears at first, surely just a good cosplay Jo assumed. But it was hard to ignore when a literal dragon walked out of a coffee shop and drank 4 cups whole at once. Jo did some internet sleuthing and found that there was a specific doctor who it seemed all of these creatures were seeing: A Dr. Theodore Erian. Jo booked an appointment and waited anxiously for the appointed day.

On that day Jo arrived in the office to a room of animals at all stages of their transition. Slimes, Avians, and Snakes seemed to be the favored species. But there were a few others such as an Anteater girl in the corner and a few dragons. Jo waited patiently on their phone until Jo’s name was called. “Jos-” “Jo is fine. Thanks.” “Oh, okay. This way!” Jo followed the nurse down the hall into a room that was intimidating in its lack of furnishings. “Dr. Erian will be in shortly” the nurse said as she closed the door.

It wasn’t long before Dr. Erian walked past Jo and took a seat behind his desk. “Oh! Hello, we’ve met before, no?”

“No. Jo has never met you before. Jo is here for first appointment.”

“No, no, I’m pretty sure I treated you before. Although back then you had brown hair instead of red…”

“Again, Jo has never met you before.”

“Well you look just like a young lady I treated before… Are you two sisters?”

“No! Jo is not lady. Jo is Jo. They/Them pronouns, please.”

“Alright, alright… Well, how can I help you Jos- er, Jo.”

“Jo wants to get on Humanity Removal Therapy.”

*Sigh* “Okay, Miss, er Mister, er… sorry. Jo. What animal are you deep inside that body?”

“Tiger-Cow.”

“Tiger…Cow? As in, both at the same time?”

“Yes. Jo is TigerCow. Both creatures intermingled into one form. Both are perfect in their own ways, but both only halves of what makes Jo whole. Jo wishes to be whole. Not choose one side, can’t.”

“Alright… Well that’s a very specific request you’re making young…Jo. It will take some time for it to be completed. But I can begin working on the formulae, there have been other ‘Hybrids’ that I have helped. While yours is a rather unique combination, I have faith I can make it work. Yes… I’m actually rather intrigued by the proposition myself. You will be quite the unique specimen. There will be complications however. The fusion of Herbivore and Carnivore is a particularly troublesome endeavor to overcome, but not just for me. There will be many obstacles you, yourself, will have to overcome if this is truly the species you are. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes. Anything. Jo wants to become the TigerCow Jo has always been.”

“Excellent. My nurse will draft the paperwork for the medical release, terms and conditions, standard stuff for these kinds of medical interventions. Before I get to work, are there any other requirements or suggestions you have?”

“Just one.”

“Yes?”

“Jo wants to be purple.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

TigerCow HRT

First|Previous|Next

Thank you for reading. Jo wanted to write A-HRT story regarding their own species: TigerCow. Jo is excited to also try writing a whole story with Jo's own manner of speaking. Hope people enjoy.

[specialagentlokitty]

Hannibal lector x reader - unravelling

Part 1:

Sitting down on the back of the bench, you rested your arms on your knees as you glanced at the man next to you, taking the coffee cup from him to drink some.

“You know we can’t survive on coffee alone, when are you going to actually eat a proper meal?”

“Shut up Kyle.”

He grinned a little at you, taking the coffee cup back to take a sip from it.

“You coming by later?”

You nodded your head, grabbing his arm so you could take a look at his watch.

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“So you’re not blowing off your boss? Or your therapy?”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t even go into it.”

“I won’t, but I reckon those three might.”

He pointed to the side and you turned to look at the three men walking over and you sighed heavily, snatching the coffee cup from him, downing the rest.

“Come on! That was mine!” Kyle whined.

“I’ll buy you another, I’m going to need it trust me.”

He hummed a little bit, standing up, holding his fist out to you.

“Catch you on the other side.”

You nodded, tapping your fist against his, and he mock saluted to three that had stopped just in front of you before he walked away.

You turned to the three that had came over.

“What?” You asked.

“Hannibal says you’ve been avoiding your therapy sessions.” Will frowned.

You shrugged a little bit, running a hand through your hair, climbing down from the bench in front of them all.

Crossing your arms, you turned your attention to Jack, narrowing your eyes a little bit.

“Told you I’m not part of the FBI anymore, stop getting involved in my life.”

“We’re concerned, we’re your friends, we want to make sure you’re alright and we can’t do that if you keep declining all of our calls.”

“Yeah, well maybe you should’ve thought about that before you sent me on a case alone without backup.”

Walking past, you stopped by Hannibal, offering him a small nod of your head.

“Doctor Lector, I’d appreciate if you cancelled all future appointments.”

“Perhaps we could talk about this beforehand?” He asked.

You didn’t say anything as you walked away, making your way to the bar you had began to call a second home, sitting yourself on a stool.

“The usual?” The woman asked.

“And a cigarette if you’ve got one Anna.”

She smiled at you, sliding a glass over to you, and you took a sip from it, taking the cigarette she had just lit.

You took a drag, and pointed to a few of the bottles behind her.

“Might wanna hide them.”

“Doves?”

You shook your head, pulling your phone out of your pocket to show her all of the missed calls and texts from everybody.

She nodded, placing all the things under the counter, and she leant over it, taking your phone so she could read through everything.

“You ever thought maybe therapy could help?”

“With that? It isn’t going to lead me to the person I’m looking for.”

She gave a small nod.

“Maybe not, but come on (Y/N) we all know what you’ve been through. It could help make everything clear. You’re so hell bent on this you’re going to get yourself killed doing it.”

You glared a little bit at Anna.

“I don’t care, the asshole that fucked my life deserves the same amount of shit that I’ve been through.”

She sighed softly, pulling at your longish hair a little bit.

“Can I at least give you a haircut, this is getting out of hand and you look like you live in the wild.”

“What you thinking?”

She hummed a little bit, walking around the bar and stood in front of you with her hands on her hips as she tilted her head to the side.

“I’m kind of thinking a mullet, you know like shave around the sides, you can still style it however you want. Plus I really want to see if it’s gonna grow back white or (H/C).”

You laughed a little, shrugging your shoulders.

“Go nuts Anna, do whatever.”

She grinned brightly, and dragged a chair over to the middle of the bar, and you sat on it while you waited for her to finish with your hair.

You were just having a small talk with her while she cut your hair, and when she finished she ruffled it, handing you a mirror while she cleaned up.

You looked at it, brushing your hair aside to look at the shaved sides, and you stood up, setting the mirror on the chair.

Bending your head down, you ruffled your hair for a few seconds before standing up, brushing it back with your hand.

“I like it, it’s refreshing to have a new look in a way.”

“Wasn’t a hairdresser for years for no reason.”

“It’s still weird you decided to open a bar for ghouls instead but you do you Anna.”

She laughed, going back behind the bar and held up your phone that had started to ring again.

“It’s your therapist.”

“Decline it.”

She hung up on Hannibal, and you stayed there for a few hours, meeting Kyle there for a little while before heading back to your apartment.

You went for a shower, and stood in front of the covered mirror as you dried your hair, tossing the towel aside as you pulled a sweater on, trying not to look at the large scar across your stomach.

Leaving your bathroom, you went to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee, and you walked to the living room to turn on the Tv while you waited for it to be ready.

“Hey.”

You turned to the front door, looking at the slightly beat up man that walked through.

“Doves?”

“More and more out each day. Here.”

He tossed your a neatly wrapped package in brown paper, and you caught it, heading to the kitchen to put it on a plate.

You grabbed your coffee and plate, sitting down to eat while you watched whatever was going on with the world at the moment.

Finishing the food you were given you set the plate down, picking up your coffee cup, taking a couple of sips as your roommate came back out.

“Seriously don’t leave that shit laying around.”

He took your plate, going to wash it for you.

“Sam?”

You heard him hum a little bit.

“Anna said I should stop hunting the man who did this to me.”

“Do you think you should?”

He walked out from the kitchen, leaning against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“No. I mean come on, if he did this to me then who knows how many he’s already done this too, or how many more he’s planning.”

Sam nodded his head.

“Do you think he’ll do it again?”

“You’ve got to be seriously fucked to put ghoul organs in a human just to see if it would work.”

Sam sighed a little bit, walking over to sit in front of you on the table.

“All I’ll say is don’t act rashly (Y/N), with the doves crawling about, on the hunt for ghouls, trying to track down members of the hell hounds. Which means you’re in twice as much danger.”

You sighed, nodding your head as you slumped back into the couch.

“Look, I’m going to do whatever I have to do Sam, plus you didn’t have to follow me.”

“Considering you’re still pretty new to our world, and you’re currently running ranks in the biggest ghoul organisation in the state, and you just took over three wards of the city, I’m going to say I did.”

You smiled a little bit.

“You’re a good friend.”

He shrugged a little bit.

“It’s easier to pay rent with you living here, so can’t exactly have you dying on me.”

“Wow, okay and I thought we were friends.”

He scoffed a little bit.

“Yeah, liked I’d be friends with a once human. That’s gross.”

“Aw come on Sam!”

You reached out to hug him and he pushed you back down on the couch, standing up as there was a knock on the door.

“Get away from me.”

You chuckled a little bit, watching as he went to answer the door, and you got up to go make yourself some more coffee.

You took a deep breath, and froze slightly, turning your attention to the doorway as Sam and Will appeared.

“Visitor.”

“Thanks Sam. Coffee?”

“Going to the bar.”

You nodded, turning to Will, gesturing to the coffee and he nodded his head so you made him a cup as well, handing it over to him.

You walked back to the couch, sitting down, and he sat down where Sam had been sat a few minutes ago.

“You cut your hair. Why?”

“It was about time, it was getting in the way. Why’re you here Will?”

He set his cup down.

“Because you need help, your accident was nearly two years ago (Y/N), you quite the FBI just over a year ago, now you’re abandoning your therapy?”

“I don’t need therapy, I’m fine.”

“You went missing for three months.”

“Needed time away.”

You took a sip of your coffee.

“You moved apartments, changed your whole friend group, appearance. I know you (Y/N), I grew up with you and this isn’t you.”

“Look Will, I got my life you have yours. Leave it at that.”

He shook his head.

“No. No something is off about you. Different.”

“Yeah, I was in an accident were I was in a horrific car accident. I think that kind of shit changes people Will.”

“That’s why you need to talk to Hannibal, come on please. The FBI are paying for it, so you don’t have to worry about that. You won’t talk to me, so please talk to somebody.”

Will looked at you, white hair, emotionless (E/C) eyes, you looked paler and skinner than the last time he had seen you a few months ago.

“I don’t recognise you anymore…” he whispered.

“Yeah. Maybe it’s for the better.”

You downed your coffee, and went back into the kitchen hoping that he would get the hint and leave, but he didn’t.

He walked into the kitchen, standing against the counter.

“Please just come by Hannibal’s office tomorrow evening. Think about it (Y/N), we all want to help you.”

Will gave you a small smile and he left, leaving you to think about what he had said.

You spent the whole night awake thinking about it as you sat at your desk, going through your medical files like you did every night.

Nothing ever changed, you never saw anything different, but you kept looking just in case.

You didn’t leave your room at all the following day, your phone kept lighting up with texts telling you to meet Will and Hannibal’s office.

As evening rolled around, you finally left your room, making your way into the living room where Sam was sat on the couch.

“Some dude came looking for your earlier, told him you weren’t home.”

“Will?”

“Jack Crawford. Wanted to talk to you about the accident.”

You hummed a little, grabbing your jacket.

“Going out.”

Sam pushed himself up, grabbing his own jacket as he trailed after you, hands stuffed in his pockets as he followed you out to the street where you melted into the people walking by.

“You don’t have to follow me.”

Sam didn’t say anything, and you glanced back at him before going back to walking about.

“Seriously? You called Kyle?”

“Not letting you walk around undefended in this state of mind.”

“I have to agree with hardass here.” Kyle said.

You sighed a little, crossing boundaries into the ward that had been overrun by ghouls.

It was mostly abandoned by people now, and as you emerged on the otherside of the alleyway you pulled on your skull mask, pulling on your gloves.

A few ghouls stopped to glance at you but didn’t do anything, and you carried on walking to the old fountain, and you sat down.

“Don’t often see you around these parts.” Someone spoke.

You flicked your gaze up to the hooded figure, and you shrugged a little bit.

“Have you found anything?”

“Nothing new, got some inside intel about the doves wanting to do a takedown of this ward, but they can’t organise a task force big enough. They’re spreading into the fourth and fifth wards though.”

You nodded your head.

“Keep away from them, don’t interact unless you have too. Got it?”

“That’s no fun.”

You stood up, turning to face him.

“Listen to me, do. Not. Interact. Got it?” You said lowly.

He grumbled a little bit but nodded his head, agreeing with you.

“Whatever you say Grimm, I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good, if I heard about anyone fucking with the doves on purpose I’ll personally deal with them.”

“I expect nothing else.”

You carried on wondering around for a little while until you finally left the ward, hiding your mask in your jacket again as you made your way back into normal public.

Kyle and Sam were still close behind you, and you turned to Kyle.

“Can you ask Anna to keep an ear to the ground?”

“Yeah, will do.”

He wondered away, and Sam stepped in line with you.

Neither of you said anything, but when you went to walk back home he grabbed the back of your jacket, directing you down a different path instead.

“What the hell?”

“Get your ass into that damn therapists office, I can’t be having them coming by every day.”

He pushed you into the building and you sighed, walking to the office you had been avoiding and knocked on the door.

After hearing Hannibal call for you to come in, you pushed the door open, walking in with Sam behind you, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall.

“I see you brought a friend.” Hannibal said.

“I see you brought two.”

“We just want to talk, that’s all.” Jack said gently.

You turned around to look at Sam, and he left the room, leaving the four of you alone and you walked over, sitting down in the chair Hannibal offered you.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Your spiralling path into self destruction.” Jack sighed

[honeyjars-sims]

3.27 The Pretender

Once I leave work, I head over to Khadija’s office with my mind racing. I’d managed to avoid Lexie as much as possible for the rest of the day, but I know I can’t keep that up forever. There are so many thoughts crowding my head that I can’t decipher what I’m actually feeling. 

For a second my mind goes to Carina. I could unblock her number and invite her over. We'd do a bump and then I’d undress her and let her body distract me for at least a little while. I know that’s not actually what I want, though, and it would only make me feel worse. I push the thought out of my mind.

When I’m called back for my appointment, Khadija doesn’t engage me in small talk like she usually does. I guess the last minute appointment request is enough indication that things are not going well.

“So,” she begins as she sits down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

As much as my mind was racing on the way here, now it’s suddenly blank. I don’t even know where to begin. “Lexie…” I start to speak, but I trail off.

“What happened with Lexie?”

“She works with me now. Her and her friends.”

“I see. It must have been quite a shock to see her unexpectedly.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“How did it feel to see her?”

“I don’t know. I kind of panicked I guess. I had to show them around and I just acted like they were strangers.”

“And how did they react to you?”

“It was just awkward. No one knew what to say. Lexie looked uncomfortable…everyone did, I guess. And then Lacey and Lilly came over to us and it was just too much.”

“What about that interaction felt like it was too much?”

“I felt exposed. There’s this whole other version of me that the people I work with have never seen. I’m afraid now that they’re going to see me for what I really am.”

Khadija leans forward. “You say they’re going to see who you really are. Do you not think the version of you that they’ve seen is the real you? The hard worker who shows up every day and does his job well, the one who makes friends easily and tries new things–is that not who you are?”

“Sometimes I feel like it’s not, like I’m just pretending. I’m worried that I’m always going to be the person who cried and begged for someone not to leave me, who quit school on a whim, who does drugs and uses sex as a way to avoid my feelings.”

“At the end of the day, both of those versions of yourself are still you. What matters is that when you realized you were emotionally overwhelmed you contacted me instead of turning to old habits. You’re putting in the work.”

She’s right. While I still have urges, I haven't given in and I've been using what I've learned in therapy. “I just don’t want to end up back in that place again,” I say.

“I’d love to tell you that your struggles are over and life will be easier from now on, but that’s not how things work. The difficulties of life can’t be avoided, but the good news is you’re better equipped to deal with them now than you were a few months ago.”

“I guess I am.” It seems weird to think about who I was a few months ago compared to today. Maybe Khadija is right and there's more to me than who I am in my worst moments.

“So what are you going to do about Lexie? She works with you now, so that’s something you’re going to have to face.”

“Ugh,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I feel. I'm embarrassed about how I acted when she broke up with me, plus I feel a little guilty that we haven't talked. But I don't know if that means I'm not over her.”

“Well, these things aren’t always black and white. You may feel like you’ve moved on one day and then the feelings pop back up the next. The feelings will visit you less and less often until eventually they’re gone. So what happens until then?”

“I guess I just have to be an adult about it. I can keep focusing on doing my job well and put my personal feelings aside for now.”

“That would be a good start! The last time we talked you were excited about an outing with your coworkers. How did that go?”

“Oh, that’s a whole other problem." I almost want to laugh when I think about how ridiculous I was acting on our hiking excursion.

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing too bad, I just made an ass of myself trying to impress the girls. There was this other guy there who they were paying a lot of attention to, and I guess I felt like I needed to prove myself. But it totally backfired.”

“I see. Is that maybe because you're interested in one of the ladies you work with in particular?”

“Maybe. I mean, Lacey and I get along really well. She’s really pretty, too, and she's totally my type. But the thought of dating right now still seems scary. Especially when my ex just showed up.”

“I imagine it's hard to escape the fear of rejection when you're face-to-face with a reminder of how bad it can feel. I think there's more work to be done before you're ready to date again. I'd like you to start by exploring the beliefs you have about yourself that lead to those insecurities. How does that sound?”

I agree that it's a good idea. Khadija gives me some worksheets and I agree to start writing in my journal again. I leave her office feeling a little better. I just hope I still feel the same when I face Lexie again tomorrow. 

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[outro-jo]

skz helping you through your chemo treatments

pairing: skz members x reader

type: headcanon? scenario? i can’t tell the difference sometimes

warning: medical shit, mentions of chemo (obviously), mentions of food, mentions of being sick/having a hard time post chemo, mentions of needles

notes: once again i’m being self indulgent but i’ve just come back from a chemo treatment myself. this isn’t just for cancer (though it can certainly apply) but autoimmune diseases and other illnesses that require chemo therapy 🤍 if this applies to you, just know i’m sending you love. this shit is brutal!

NOT TAKING REQUESTS AT THIS TIME

masterlist | info

———————————————

chan- the second he finds out about your next appointment, he schedules to be off work and this happens EVERY time. he just has to be with you. he can’t even imagine you being all alone to deal with this yourself (even if you have before), he doesn’t want you to ever have to. before the appointment, he listens intently to all it entails so that he can prepare the best for you. the amount of time it takes doesn’t bother him at all. he packs a clean blanket, snacks, a sandwich, water/electrolytes, a hoodie of his, his laptop to catch up on the show y’all are watching. the man is over prepared and he’s perfectly fine with that. his hand is in yours the entire time unless the medications knock you out, then he’s perfectly content to work on some beats on his laptop. chris is your rock.

lee know- minho has found a way to be at every appointment with you. he even went on a temporary hiatus because your health has been such a problem. all of your symptoms were so concerning and holding your hand at the appointment where you finally got your diagnosis was bittersweet. on the one hand, it was a relief to finally have a name to all those symptoms you had and that you weren’t going crazy. you spent so many nights crying in pain and confusion that it seemed like your body was turning on you and minho held you every time, even crying with you a few nights. on the other hand, hearing there was no cure and this would be a long, marathon to the eventual end of your life was so daunting but minho assured you every time that you haven’t been and would never be alone. so while you took a shuttle for your first hospital stay and treatment, minho went back to your shared apartment to get everything you would need for the stay. the ride was anything but quiet or leisurely. minho was pissed. why you of all people? you’re the most precious thing in the universe and now you had to deal with this? for the rest of your life? the brunette screamed, cried, beat the steering wheel, needing to get out his anger and frustration so that he could be the best for you, and of course he was. as soon as he was back at the hospital, they started treatment and he didn’t let go of your hand or your side for a second.

changbin- anxious didn’t even begin to cover it. it didn’t matter how many times you reassured him that it wasn’t a big deal and that you’ve done this before, he was still a mess. not to mention he was a MENACE to the nurses, asking what everything was for and how long it would take, the process of everything, and how it should effect you. once your treatment started, you got to see everything he brought with him in a literal duffle bag. a heated, massager eye mask, snacks for a whole week, kimchi and rice his mom made, blankets and pillows, slippers. this man truly brought everything. also he had called ahead of time to make sure you had a private pod to make sure you weren’t disturbed by anyone but your nurse. he’s insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. he was your binnie and he wanted to make sure you had the absolute best care. what’s funny is after a few treatments with you, he knows exactly what to expect and seems so cocky about everything. “you sure that the right pre-treatment medication? we used x last time.”

hyunjin- unfortunately, hyunjin is squeamish when it comes to needles. he’s tried before and each time you’re the one supporting him through it. he decided that he was better off supporting you through facetime which worked out because he had to work but the boys didn’t mind also keeping you company. even when the meds inevitably knocked you out, hyunjin admired your tired features to still be there with you while waiting for his turn to record. which was fine until you woke up to seungmin staring at you. “you snore.” the real support came after you were sent home. it can be a little rough in the days after treatment and hyunjin finally got his chance to shine. chan let him go home early so he could pick you up from the treatment center as soon as the nurse said they were wrapping up. he helped you out to the car and then up to your apartment to help you get clean and in bed. he made sure to cook or get only the foods that didn’t make you anymore nauseous and he forced you back into bed when the steroids kicked in, giving you more energy that you would ultimately pay for later if you used it. his favorite thing was just cuddling with you and watching your favorite shows, jumping at the chance to help any way he could.

han- jisung did everything he could to be there, as he usually was, but the comeback was important and he just couldn’t get out of dance practice and recording. he was antsy all day, his knee is a perpetual state of motion. normally this would bug minho and he would jab his rib cage for him to stop but he refrained out of compassion for his friend. jisung was constantly checking his phone and texting you, checking in on you or encouraging you through the lengthy, grueling treatment with promises of giving you all the cuddles and kisses you could stand when it was over. though you’ve managed on your own before, you missed him being there and holding his hand through everything. jisung was your rock and he intended to continue being that for you the very second he heard from chan that he could go for the day. it was very late when he finally arrived at your shared flat and he found you curled up under a mountain of blankets, no doubt exhausted from the day. he offered a sympathetic pout to no one in particular before crawling into the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms and kissing your temple gently.

felix- he’s honestly the best person in the whole world to bring with you. felix is sunshine and positivity but he’s also extremely lowkey about everything. he knows that your probably stressed enough as it is so he just wants to be a good support for you. so, he just brings his laptop, some snacks, water, and his hoodie; just a few basics to keep you comfortable. then the two of you sit and watch asmr or your comfort show to keep pass the time. every time you look over at him he just smiles wide and kisses your temple. your hand is his the whole time and he rubs soothing circles onto the back of it. when you both get home, the apartment is fully stocked with all your favorite foods and post treatment pain meds, the sheets on your bed are fresh and clean, and he’s ready to support you any way he can until you’re back on your feet again. “angel” is an understatement.

seungmin- he’s so weirdly fascinated by everything, starting with your diagnosis. as soon as you told him, he wanted to do a deep dive on what it was, how it effected you, and what the treatment was that you needed. by the time you arrived to the center, he was telling you everything the nurse was doing (like you didn’t already know). it would have been so annoying if he wasn’t so incredibly cute. even though he was flexing his knowledge the whole time, he was still supporting you in other ways. learning about the treatment, made it easy for him to know what to expect so he was well prepared. when the nurse first prepared the infusion sight, he pulled you into his chest to have you look away from the needle. he told you a funny story about the boys when they took your blood pressure to keep it low and a few hours in, your stomach started growling and he pulled out a snack he had minho make and some water. he really thought of everything he could and you were so grateful for him.

i.n- jeongin was devastated when he found out that tour was scheduled when you would need a treatment. though he wasn’t a huge fan of hospitals, etc, he still wanted to be there to support you. so he did everything he could while he was away. that morning, you awoke to a flower arrangement at your door, then he hired a cleaning person to come in and clean while you were gone, and even had lunch delivered during the treatment. he also texted, sent voice memos of encouragement, and videos of sound check and backstage before the show. when he was finally home, he didn’t allow you to lift a finger. anything you wanted or needed, he was there for you, especially when you needed cuddles.

[incompleteth0ts]

(S)he likes your butt and fancy hair

Day 6 of Hadercy week: Hades and/or Persephone read TLT written by adult Percy and find out that Percy thinks Hades is attractive

@hadesxpercy-events

Percy hated therapy.

Okay, maybe that was a lie, but he did hate his therapist.

…Okay maybe that was a lie too, but what he did hate was not being allowed to hide from his problems.

Percy’s mom had managed to convince Percy to take the next big step months ago. She had practically begged him. Curled up on the floor of the emergency room, holding the limp hand of her only son.

“Please don’t die, baby. Mommy can’t live without you.”

That had been one hell of a sign, if any.

It was harder than Percy expected it to be. New York wasn’t known for its abundance of therapists, and demigods rarely lived long enough to make it to college. When Percy found his first therapist, a legacy of Athena, Percy was grateful enough to offer Athena an offering at dinner.

Every day, Percy regrets offering her that piece of steak.

The legacy was self-licensed with a diploma that might as well have been painted onto the drywall.

Percy had been approached by the legacy after leaving his last class at NRU. The man had been as old as dirt, with dirty blonde hair and a face as friendly as the average son of Ares.

Percy had been incredibly skeptical of the man when he first approached him, but his mom had been so ecstatic when Percy told her about scheduling his first appointment. He’d already broken her heart once; he couldn’t do it a second time.

So, off to therapy, he went.

The first appointment was…rough.

The man knew a lot about him. Percy figured it came with the title of hero, but it was unnerving having someone who was supposed to be his last chance at a fresh start know so much about him before he even sat down.

It became very apparent that his ‘therapist’ was more of an overgrown fanboy than a medical professional. Percy did not schedule another appointment with him after that.

The next few therapists were the same. Nobody legacies who wanted the bragging rights of ‘saving the hero from himself’ and a free autograph.

If it wasn’t for the fact his mom had such high hopes for him finding ‘the one’ he would have given up before he even started.

Luckily, the fates had taken pity on him. A once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity is in the form of a pop-up ad.

The computers at New Rome University were nearly as ancient as the school itself. Big blocky computer screens that ran at a snail's pace. The ad had taken up the entire screen and nearly crashed the whole appliance, but there it sat, as clear as day.

‘For the people who can no longer care. I care for you. Dr. Laura Hill, registered psychiatrist.’

At the bottom of the screen was an address and phone number. Grabbing the nearest pen and tearing off a corner of his anatomy homework, Percy wrote the number down in a messy scrawl. Something told Percy she was his last stroke of hope; if she couldn’t help him, no one could.

Percy shoved the piece of paper in the back pocket of his jeans and prayed his gut feeling was right.

Percy didn’t call the number until three days later.

He was nervous, ok?

Percy gripped the landline as though he was scared of it running out of the booth instead of him.

Percy cursed every time he messed up the number and had to redial it. By the time the phone rang, Percy was ready to give up. He only had so much hope in his body.

“Hello?”

Percy dropped the phone. He cringed at the loud bang that echoed in the booth as the telephone swung on its cord, bouncing off the window pane.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m sorry I just dropped the phone.” Percy held the landline between his cheek and shoulder to wipe the seat off his palms.

“That’s ok, hun. Are you calling for an appointment?”

“Yes. I saw an ad for a Dr. Hill. Is this the right number?”

“It sure is. Is this your first time making an appointment with her?”

Yep. Can’t you tell from the clumsy fingers and the chattering teeth? If my bone shook any harder, I’d start an earthquake.

“Yes.”

“Alright, just give me a moment to take a look at her schedule…how are you today?”

Percy wiped his hands on his shorts a second time. The glass was beginning to fog up a ridiculous amount.

“I’m fine. I’m just really nervous. This is the sixth therapist I've been with, and I’m starting to feel hopeless.”

“I’m sorry to hear that hun. Dr. Hill is one of the kindest women I know, you’ll love her. I can just feel it.”

Over the line, Percy could hear the robotic typing of a keyboard. He hoped, Dr. Hill wasn’t flooded with traumatized teenagers to the point that she couldn’t fit in one more.

“Well, would you look at that! It seems like one of her other clients canceled their 1 o’clock appointment for tomorrow. If you’re available, can I schedule you for then?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m available. Thank you so much!”

“Alright! Can I have a name for this appointment?”

“Perseus Jackson.”

___

Percy sat as patiently as he could in the colorful waiting room of Dr. Hill’s office. Maggie, a bubbly-spirited daughter of Iris and the receptionist Percy had spoken with yesterday, had handed Percy a lollipop when he entered the room.

Percy hoped that this therapist was truly the one he thought she was if that meant he got to keep collecting candy.

“Perseus Jackson?”

From around the corner appeared a blonde lady in a beige cardigan. Standing up, Percy waved his hand like he was waiting for him to call on him again.

“Hi. I’m Perseus. You can call me Percy, though.”

“Right. Let’s head back, shall we, Percy?”

Opening the tiny gate that separated the waiting room from the private offices Percy waved to Maggie and followed Dr. Hill down the hall and into a room with lilac walls.

“It is nice to meet you, Percy. I hope you didn’t have any problems with getting here.”

Percy reached out to Dr. Hill shook her outstretched hand. She had a soft grip and cold hands. It was kind of like shaking hands with a zombie.

“None at all, I live around this area, it’s a surprise I haven’t heard of you before.”

Dr. Hill uncovered a dark purple armchair that was hidden under a baby blue sheet and sat across from it in a matching red chair. Accepting the seat, Percy sank into the velvet chair.

“I recently relocated offices so I could be closer to the city square. Enough about me, Percy. We are here to talk about you. Where do you want to begin Percy?”

For the first time since seeking out therapy, Percy felt like he was finally on the path to a fresh start.

__

Percy hated therapy.

Okay, maybe that was a lie, but he did hate his therapist.

…Okay maybe that was a lie too, but what he did hate was not being allowed to hide from his problems.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Laura.”

Percy slid the journal his therapist had placed in front of him back to her side of the table. Laura grabbed the journal and slapped it down into Percy’s lap.

“Just think about it, Percy. Doing this won't hurt you.”

“What would I want to write down all my trauma for? This is why I come to you once a week!”

Laura, for all her patience, looked ready to smack Percy upside his head. For the past three weeks, she’s been trying to get Percy to ‘write down his life’. She claimed that it would help him come to terms with his past, but it just felt like one big trauma scam.

“You come to me for solutions to a problem. I provide you with answers and potential solutions. It is up to you to figure out the rest.”

Percy sunk in his seat and picked up the journal. It was a simple leather-bound notebook. On the cover, Laura had printed out a stick with his name on it and a second one of a dolphin. It looked like the kind of notebook his mom would write her rough drafts in.

Percy’s never been much of a reader, preferring it when someone verbalized a story for him, he had a flask drive at home loaded with audiobooks and old podcast episodes, not to mention the most writing Percy has ever done was argumentative essays that were worth a fourth of his grade.

“Your mom writes stories, right? Instead of seeing this as a chore, you need to do to make yourself feel better, think of it as a bonding activity that the two of you could do together,” Laura reached over and put her hand on his knee. Laura was touchy for a therapist, not that Percy’s ever had an issue with it, but right now, the last thing he wanted was to be coddled like a toddler. "Write it down. Turn it into a story."

"My trauma isn't entertainment."

"You're right. It's not. What it is is tragic. Show me what happens to those who survive the unsurvivable.”

Percy left Laura’s office with a blueberry lollipop in his mouth, and the leatherbound journal tucked under his arm. Spring break was around the corner. Before he walked back to his dorm, Percy stopped at one of New Rome’s phone booths and called his mom. If he was going to do this, Percy refused to do it alone.

__

Percy sat at his mom's dining table, bouncing the tip of his pencil against the blank sheet of paper.

Behind him, Estelle was singing along to an episode of Bubble Guppies. She unfortunately got her singing skills from him.

“Are you okay, honey?”

Percy clutched his mother's hand in his empty one. She had gotten more grey hairs over the last year. Percy felt awful knowing that most of them had come from him.

Sally held on to Percy’s shoulders like she was scared he’d disappear from the kitchen table if she let go of him.

“I’ve been trying to journal, but I don’t think it’s for me. I’ve been making so much progress, Mom. Why can’t I do this?”

If Percy wasn’t such an emotionally stunted man, he would have teared up, sank into his mother's arms, and wept about how unfair his life was.

In the living room, Percy could hear Estelle rush to the bathroom. She was getting so big, and Percy was missing all of it. Just yesterday, she was learning how to crawl, and now she was running around the house.

“Maybe you should take a break for today. It’s perfectly fine if nothing comes to mind right now, all that matters is that when you do think of something to write, it’s something from the heart,” Sally pressed a firm kiss to Percy’s temple like she wanted to do nothing more than fix whatever mental barriers were attacking her son. “How about joining me in the kitchen? I want to have spaghetti for dinner.”

Percy closed the journal and forgot about it for the rest of the night.

The next day, during breakfast, Percy bounced the corner of the book against his knee. In the living room, his mom was trying to wrestle a shirt of his little sister.

“Estelle if you want to go to the park, you need to put a shirt on.”

“But old man Dan doesn’t wear shirts to the park!”

“That is because Mr. Dan is an adult. You, however, are not, so put the shirt on missy.”

Besides Percy, Paul watched his wife and toddler arguing about what made a person an adult until Sally finally managed to pull a shirt over the five-year-old.

“Be kind to your mom, Estelle. You wouldn’t want her to cry, would you?”

At Percy’s comment, Estelle let out a scandalized gasp and grabbed onto her mothers leg.

“Don’t cry, Momma! I’ll wear a shirt,” Rushing out of the living room and over to the laundry hamper, Estelle pulled out one of Paul’s button-ups. “I’ll even get old man Dan to wear one. Hurry!”

Rushing to the front door, Estelle grabbed her Ariel shoes and shook them at Sally.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait to see Estelle try and put a shirt on Dan. I’ll see you boys later.”

Sally pressed a kiss to Percy’s cheek and a matching one to Paul’s.

“Have fun at the park, Sally.”

“Later, Mom.”

Percy watched as Estelle dragged their moma and one of Paul’s shirts out the door and down the hall, standing up Percy closed and locked the door, hoping Estelle hadn’t taken one of Paul’s nicer shirts.

“She’s gotten so big, it’s crazy to think that she’s already five and hates clothing.”

Paul laughed at Percy’s attempt at a joke. Paul’s hair was starting to grey, too. He hoped it was from his students and not from him as well.

“She’s already hopping off of furniture as well and giving me and your mother chronic heart attacks.”

Percy picked up his still-empty notebook and flipped to the front page. Percy felt like Spongebob trying to write an essay. Percy had wanted to write down at least one page before his next appointment. Laura truly was a huge help, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Are you still having trouble with your writing?”

Paul had migrated to the kitchen and began to boil a kettle of hot water.

“Yeah. Mom told me to try and write something from the heart, but I have no clue what that means.”

“Hmm.”

Paul began to gather two empty mugs from the cabinets and four bags of tea. This was one of the many things Percy liked about Paul, he wasn’t like his past teachers who pushed Percy to think of solutions to problems on the spot, Paul was more than willing to sit in silence and wait for an answer to come naturally to him.

Once the kettle began to whistle, Paul began preparing their tea. He worked in silence, so Percy took it as a cue that the conversation was over.

When Percy was given his mug of tea, he didn’t fight back the smile that twitched on his face. The tea, just like his journal and mug, was a deep shade of blue.

Butterfly pea tea. Paul had bought it for Percy after he was released from the hospital. It had seemed like such a silly gift at the time, but it had quickly become one of his favorite drinks. Paul only brewed it when Percy came home from college.

Maybe Percy could write a paragraph on tea.

“I hate olives.”

Percy looked at Paul from over his mug. Paul was circling his spoon around the lip of his cup.

“Not because I’m allergic or because they taste bad, but my sister ate a jar of them when I was six and developed a rash. We had to take her to the clinic and get her cream. Ever since I’ve hated olives, I even wrote my college essay about it.”

Paul placed a firm hand on Percy’s shoulder, looking at the demigod as though he couldn’t be any more supportive of him.

“Just because it comes from the heart doesn’t mean it also comes from a place of love. I hate olives because I love my sister. I also hate them because I hate rashes. If it’s easier, try naming something you hate and then go from there.”

Paul patted Percy on the back and went back to grading papers like nothing had happened.

Percy picked up his ballpoint pen and began to write down all the things he hated.

I hate the taste of olives.

I hate seeing Mom cry.

I hate waking up before 8 AM.

I hate quests.

I hate being a demigod.

‘Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.’

Percy spent the rest of the afternoon writing.

When it was time for him to drive back to New Rome, he was buzzing in his seat, counting down the hours until he could show Laura all he had written down.

When he had presented the journal to Laura, he distracted himself with the bin of Legos she had stored on a shelf in her office.

When she had read through it, she snapped the book shut and dropped it on the table.

“Percy. Look at me.”

When Percy looked up at the older woman, he hadn't expected her to be teary-eyed.

“Have you ever considered becoming an author?”

By the time summer started and school was out for the season, Percy was on his way to publishing his first YA novel.

‘Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.’

When Percy had brought home the first copy under the alias, Rick Riordan, and had gifted it to his mother, there was no stopping the tears from either of them.

Once Percy had published the first book he had begun writing the second. Then the third. Then the fourth and fifth. Based on the feedback he was receiving from his editor and publisher, two twin sons of Calliope, students across America were loving it.

Percy hadn’t told any of his friends about his new side career, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t found out about it.

Grover was the first one to come up to him about it, clutching, The lightning thief, in his hands like it was precious treasure.

Percy had told Grover about everything he had missed when he was traveling. Laura, the journal, the next four books he had lined up, and even Paul’s story with the olives. Grover had stayed over that night, both men curled up on his mother's living room floor whispering about all the crazy things they had gotten up to following the story of Percy’s first quest. Before Grover left the next morning Percy had signed his best friend's book and promised to send him a signed copy of the second one.

The next to confront him was Annabeth. She had wanted to talk to him about so much. Gabe, her actions towards him, his time at Yancy, Luke. Everything that Percy didn’t want to talk about.

Percy did not tell her about the rest of the series.

The next person to approach him was Nico.

The son of Hades had snuck into his Mom’s house just before lunch.

“Hey Percy, or should I say Rick?”

Percy pulled Nico into a rough side hug. “That’s Mr. Riordan to you young man.”

Nico swiped half of Percy’s Italian sub off his plate. “What kind of name even is that?”

“It was my great uncle’s name. The one my mom took care of.”

“Hmm.”

Nico did not ask Percy anything else concerning the book after that. Instead, he stuck around to play pretend with Estelle and eat dinner with the Jackson-Blofis family.

“Do you want to stay the night Nico?”

Nico was in the kitchen helping Sally clean the dishes despite her protests.

“I’m sorry Sally, but I promised Father that I would be home tonight. Thank you for the dinner though.”

Once the dishes were washed and dried Sally put together a to-go plate for Nico and waved him out the door.

When Percy went to bed he picked up the copy of his book that Nico had brought with him. In between the pages was a purple bookmark. Opening the book to the page Nic had left off on Percy blushed when he saw the note Nico had left behind on it.

‘Tempted to take a nap at my dad's feet? As lithe and graceful as a panther? You are a mess, Percy.’

Percy wanted to take a very long nap in a very dark room.

The rest of Percy’s summer went by in a breeze. It was rejuvenating to spend so much time with his family again. When the summer was nearly over and fall was on its path to begin Percy wasn’t ready to say his goodbyes but his marine engineering degree wasn’t going to earn itself.

Percy was also excited to see Laura and Maggie again. He hadn’t been to the office since school ended, but they’d been skyping once every two weeks over his Mom’s laptop.

While Percy sat in the waiting room of Laura’s office making small talk with Maggie, he tried not to make it obvious that he was ecstatic to see one of the other patients reading his book in the corner of the room.

“Percy?”

“Laura!”

Rushing to greet the woman Percy couldn’t hold back the bounce in his step. For the first time in a long time, Percy was happy with what his life had become.

When Percy opened the door to his condo after his appointment with Laura, he was overwhelmed by the smell of sun-bleached bones and pomegranate.

“Nico, are you here?”

Rounding the corner, Percy gasped when he saw that it was not Nico waiting for him. In the middle of his living room, flipping through his first journal was Hades.

“Hades! What are you doing here?”

Percy watched as Hade opened the notebook and read one of the lines from it.

“I was tempted to take a nap at Hades' feet. Curl up here and sleep forever,” Percy was starting to regret including that line. “For the past three months your brother has been promoting this book of yours, it’s been driving the rest of us crazy. Especially Zeus and Ares. I wonder if your father has made it this far into the book though.”

Percy really regretted adding that sentence.

“Tell me Perseus, do you still wish to take a nap at my feet or would you prefer I ordered you to do something else?”

Percy cursed Laura for handing him that notebook.

“I…I’m…sorry?”

Hades, honest to god laughed.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about Percy. Show me your bedroom, allow me to repent for all that I’ve done to you.”

Percy couldn’t be more grateful to Laura for handing him that notebook.

[thewriterghost]

More platonic Bucky x reader please omg too cute. I’m a sucker for softie Bucky *heart explodes*

Thank you so much for requesting! I had a few ideas thanks to another anon today, but I would appreciate it if you include a plot next time as I don't know if you're going to like my idea or not. Hope this one is okay!

Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Summary: Reader drives Bucky to his therapy appointment

*****

"You know, you don't have to drive all the way here." Bucky's voice fills your ears as you turn the wheel to the right.

"I know." You glance at him for a moment. He takes his cup from the cup-holder of the car and sips his coffee. "But I wanna make sure you're cooperating."

He doesn't answer for a while, eyes scanning the streets you pass. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's also not without tension. He puts his cup back.

"I just want to make sure you go and get the help you need." You add softly. You're not looking at him, but you can feel his baby blues turning towards you.

"It feels like a waste of time." He shrugs. "I know what she's gonna say." His deep voice doesn't reveal much besides the fact that he finds the therapy agreement quite unnecessary.

"That doesn't mean you don't need to actually hear it, Buck." You say. You know he is aware, but you also know what he's been through is not easy to talk about.

You park the car outside of the building. Your eyes meet his.

"Call me when you're done and we can get something to eat or something."

He nods, a sigh escaping him. He opens the door to leave, but turns back at the last minute. Your mind races to find what he forgot in your car for him to turn back. A smile creeps on your face as he puts a kiss on top of your head, light as a feather.

"Thanks." He mumbles with a smile of his own, before leaving you by yourself in your car. You watch as he walks in to the building, his coffee cup left in the cup-holder.

[carnivorousyandeere]

Everytime I'm reminded Marcus exists I fall all over again, wish I had a clever ask about him, but I guess... what if darling just... stopped showing up to appointments with no explanation, maybe a friend realised what marcus was doing and told them its not healthy or something like that :þ

You haven’t seen Marcus in weeks— nor have you replied to his emails reminding you to schedule your next appointment.

Your friend had warned you about him when the two of you talked about therapy. You didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe you were really so gullible. But the more they reasoned with you, the more you began to feel they might be right. After all, you felt so low and useless without Marcus’ praise, his attention. The days between your sessions with him were increasingly meaningless and dull. Surely… surely it isn’t healthy to be so reliant on your therapist…

Conflicted and scared, you withdrew. You didn’t know what to say to Marcus— you knew if you talked to him, he might just coax you back with his mind games, back into his arms, his unyielding and suffocating embrace.

But you didn’t want to talk to your friend either— the painful reminders of your gullible nature so easily uncovered by them fill your mind when you’re near them. You almost feel like they blame you for falling for Marcus, too… falling for his manipulations, that is!

Above all, you’re tired of people telling you what to do and what to think. You need time and space to figure it out— but your feelings only grow more confused, anxiety dragging days into weeks without leaving your house, calling sick from work and ignoring your friend’s texts. Barely eating, barely sleeping, beginning to hallucinate shadowy figures in your place, outside your windows.

The shocking news of your friend’s death— an untimely, tragic car accident— is what finally draws you out. You can’t stand the thought of not saying goodbye to them.

Their funeral service is packed with mourning friends and family. The day is rainy and cold, much like the day your friend’s tires lost traction on the road, and their breaks failed. It’s crowded inside the funeral home, overwhelming— you pay your respects, unable to look at your friend’s near-sleeping visage for more than a moment, it’s them but so obviously not them anymore— and make your way out to the covered porch for a breather.

The gnawing dread in your gut explodes in your body, drawing you tight and stiff as a drawstring— Marcus, leaned over the railing, hears you come outside and straightens, turning to look at you. His eyes are bloodshot, a wet handkerchief in his hand.

Marcus reaches to you as if he wants to say something, but pauses at your expression. You stare at his outstretched hand, unable to bear his crestfallen look. His hands and fingers, his lined palms, so familiar to you, so steady and comforting, tremble where he draws them back to himself. He turns back over the railing, letting his fingers catch a few stray raindrops.

“I…” Marcus clears his throat. “I should say sorry for your loss, but that feels…”

He clears his throat again, voice thick with emotion. “It feels wrong when we’re mourning the same person.”

“You knew them too?”

Marcus furrows his brow, glancing your way. “They didn’t tell you? We have… a complicated history. I… I regret that we weren’t able to clear the air.”

He pauses, turning to you again, watching you curl in on yourself as best as you can standing. Arms wrapped around yourself, expression forlorn. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say things like that while you’re mourning too.”

Marcus stands, wiping his hands on his pants and taking his suit jacket off. “Here,” he whispers, stepping close enough to wrap the jacket over your shoulders, smiling sadly when you let him. “We should get out of here before the service ends and everyone gets on the road. Why don’t you come over to my place, let me make you something to eat?”

His hands rub your shoulders comfortingly, and you can’t help but nod, gripping his coat to curl into yourself more.

Marcus gently, quickly, guides you to his car, shielding you from the rain and being hit by a few droplets himself. He tilts his head ever so slightly, letting the rain hit his face. He should’ve thought of this sooner— he’s lucky you didn’t notice his eyes were dry before.

[lizzyscribbles]

An Exercise in Futility (Part 2)

Not entire sure where I plan to go with this, but the pen calls to me and who am I to deny her?

(Part One)

Some days Yoichi felt good enough to take the stairs, but unfortunately the awkward shuffling alone was already proving too much. After the second time around, he’d been forced to plop down in one of the puffy, plastic chairs and catch his breath. In his mind, he could hear his brother scolding him for pushing himself, but he knew his struggles probably had more to do with the fact he’d neglected his morning medications and therapies. Soft coughs rocked his chest, and with a trembling hand he reached up to rub it.

To be fair, he had fully intended on continuing any prescribed treatments at home when he’d started skipping appointments–it was one of the only ways he could convince himself to go through with the lies–but after a few weeks the piles of pills and heavy masks had seemed less and less appealing. 

So he’d just…stopped.

Thankfully, his brother hadn’t seemed to notice yet. The last thing he wanted was another freak out and hospital stay like he’d had earlier in the year. The scars on his chest still ached whenever he thought of the incident, urging him to rub over the freshly healed marks. Hisashi hated that particular habit of his, resorting to physically pulling his hand away whenever he did it within view of the other. Yoichi was never sure why the scars seemed to bother Hisashi more than they did him, but he’d stopped wearing the low cut, loose shirts he’d favored after he caught his brother staring at the thin, white marks with that look on his face one too many times.

Yoichi didn’t remember much of the most recent scare. He’d been in bed when it’d started, chest aching as it often did, and he’d gotten up to get some water. The next thing he knew, the toilet was painted a deep shade of red and Hisashi was at his side, gripping him like if he let him go he’d just disappear as he screamed through the manor. The rest of it was a blur, but the several months he’d spent in the hospital afterwards were burned into his mind forevermore. The wailing machines, the constant surveillance, and the lack of freedom to when pee by himself made him shutter more than the pain ever did.

He’d never say it to anyone out loud–least of all Hisashi–but after the last incident, he’d told himself that if it were to happen again he’d just let himself go. 

Yoichi didn’t want to die, per say, but he didn’t want to live either, especially not like that.

Being sick was exhausting. 

His watch buzzed, drawing him from his thoughts. Lifting it, he found Hisashi’s name displayed across its face. 

The car is waiting outside when you’re done, don’t forget to have the receptionist give you a copy of the notes from today. 

Yoichi smiled wryly, sending a little thumbs up and an “almost done!” for good measure. He sat for another minute or two before easing himself up from the chair and shuffling over to where his favorite nurse, Helga, sat behind her station. She smiled as he approached, grabbing a pen out of its holder, an appointment card at the ready. He smiled back, giving a half-hearted wave.

“How’s my favorite nurse today?” He rasped, leaning against the edge of the station for support.

Helga giggled. For a seasoned nurse well into her career, she had the laugh of a middle-schooler who’d been approached by her crush. “Yoichi, baby! It’s good to see you! How’re you feelin’? Your appointment go okay? You here for my autograph again?” 

“Sure am,” he quipped, “got the pen ready for me?”

She nodded, “you know I do. Whatcha got for me today?”

“November 18th, at 2PM.” He replied easily.

“You got it.” She was already neatly transcribing the information onto the little piece of cardstock. “I keep telling you the lovely lads and ladies over in Dr. Millard’s office would be happy to write this down for you, baby, you just gotta ask when you make the appointment.”

“Sure, if I actually made an appointment, I’m sure they would.” He thought to himself, instead choosing to say. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have a reason to come see you, would I?”

“You don’t need a reason to see me, baby, you know that! I’m always happy to say hello to my favorite patient.” She hummed, neatly signing the bottom of the card with a little flourish and a smiley face. “But there you go, I’ll see you in two weeks, okay? Oh, well, hm, no maybe I won’t…”

Yoichi’s heart jumped a little, but he swallowed his panic and smiled. “Oh? Why not?”

“My actual baby is getting married! We’re traveling up north for the wedding, so I’ll be out for a few weeks, but like I said, everyone else would be more than happy to help you!”

Yoichi nodded, pulling his lips into a little smile as he resisted the urge to sigh. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Helga left for good. There was only so long he could use the “I lost my reminder card” excuse with the other staff. Eventually, someone would look him up in the system and realize that his last actual appointment was six months ago and he’d canceled every single one since. Then they’d call Hisashi, since his older brother was technically his legal guardian, and all hell would break loose.

Yoichi couldn’t risk that, he was already pretty sure his brother was starting to suspect something–Hisashi always had been frustratingly good at reading him–so Yoichi had to make sure he had no reason to do so. Next time he’d have to bite the bullet and actually schedule a real appointment, then cancel it as soon as he’d opened the reminder text in view of his brother. That was usually enough to quell any suspicions Hisashi had.

He thanked Helga, wishing her the best and congratulating her on her kid’s marriage before making his way down to the ground floor and out the door.

[nerdieforpedro]

Questions and Confessions

Chapter Two of A Safe Place for Us

Dieter Bravo x Aisha Smith (black plus size AFAB)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Aisha is firm on her plans on having a baby by way of a sperm donor. During a FaceTime call, Dieter is honest about what he really thinks.

Warnings: last time we're mentioning sperm donation I swear, pregnancy kink (I dunno where it came from and why it is still here, but yeah), mentions of cum, Dieter rumors

Word Count: about 1.7k

Notes: I dug in hard with the friends to lovers/idiots and love and there's one more trope we'll see next few chapters. 🤭 It starts next one.

Main Masterlist/ Dieter Bravo Masterlist/ AO3 Link

As an Oscar winner, one would think Dieter would know how to fake his way through most situations. 

“I need five shots of tequila to even entertain this conversation Aisha, especially with you calling me while I’m filming.”

“When else am I supposed to tell you? I didn’t want to tell you over FaceTime, but you’ve been avoiding me during this whole process. You said you would come with me. I’ve rescheduled twice already.”

An exasperated Bravo leans back in his rolling chair in front of the desk in his hotel room. He can’t keep avoiding it. He told Aisha he’d go with her, but has had press and such he’s been doing. Really they could have waited but in a very un-Dieter fashion, he jumped at the chance to do them. Much to his agent and manager’s surprise. That way he would have a legitimate reason for not going with his friend to a sperm bank. The more he thought about it, he can’t watch her thumb through binders of other men and pick one to be her baby’s daddy. Can he tell her that? Be honest? His therapist suggested he should be but he’s gotten no indications for Aisha over the years that she’s thought of him as anything other than a friend.

“I was doing some press stuff Ai. It’s not that I didn’t want to.” That was the entire reason, he’s lied again.

“I’m making another appointment and I’m going. I’m in my mid-thirties. I want a kid. And you just said you were filming.”

“Shouldn’t you have the kid with someone though? Like not even just for the making of, just as support for you and the baby?” Maybe he can talk her out of it, but she caught him in his lie.

“I haven’t found anyone good enough for that. That I would even want to be with long term, let alone have a child with. I’m not subjecting myself to shitty relationships anymore Dee. You know that.” He does know that, it’s why he knows in the last two years since that failed engagement, she’s dated but it’s been nothing substantial. Bravo’s proud of Aisha for that. Knowing her worth, but does that mean he wasn’t even a thought? A possibility?

“So am I not good enough? I wasn’t even considered? God I’d thought I’d been doing a hell of a lot better. Being sober and all. I could be a good father Aisha. Better then some asshole in a binder.” There was silence. Why wasn’t she still talking? Fuck…he said that aloud didn’t he? Welp, he can say he’s been honest now. He can’t look at her, she’s likely disgusted. Who thinks about putting a baby in their best friend and tells them like this?

“Dieter what do you mean?”

He says nothing. His hands are covering his face. It’s mortifying. So much more therapy. She got to hate him now.

“Dieter. Explain.” Aisha’s voice is stern. “Look at me please.”

He hangs his head as he places his hands on the desk. It feels cool, he’s not even wearing his robe and he’s burning up. Dieter feels like he’s on fire, he might be re-considering what he’s about to say, but he’s already gone this far. “I…could be your sperm donor.” He finally looks at her. She looks shocked, which is reasonable. Her arms are crossed, also reasonable. “I just don’t think you need to go through all these hoops and money when I’m right here Aisha. Ready and willing. I can give you a baby.”

She doesn’t say anything. Dieter’s scared that he’s lost her. Maybe she’ll tell him never to speak to her again. This was one relationship outside of his career he hadn’t fucked up. Now he had. He can’t come back from this.

“H-How would that work? What does it look like?” Is what he hears her ask. Timid. He hadn’t gotten that far. Now he has to improvise, is it still improv if he’s just honest? “I hadn’t thought of asking you Dee, you’ve never mentioned kids. You’re not less than. I just didn’t think you wanted anything to do with it.” Her assessment isn’t wrong. Dieter did not want anything to do with Aisha being pregnant by a sperm donor. Being pregnant by him? He wants everything to do with that. Too many dreams about rubbing her round belly and then picturing a small burrito wrapped baby on a bed between them. Him smiling because it’s better than all the blow, molly and Kit Kats. Though when able, he would have the kid start eating Kit Kats and he might even share.

“Well I wouldn’t want it to be artificial insemination. We would do it the natural way, though we’d keep track of when you’re ovulating. I could keep my schedule a bit more open or fly you out to me in case I just can’t leave. Then when you do get pregnant,” He left no room for ambiguity, his mission would be to get her pregnant. Dieter finds it best not to dwell on the getting her pregnant part. His eyes haven’t left her face and she hasn’t looked away. Maybe there is a small universe where this is okay. “We’d go to your appointments together and come up with a birth plan. You are going to need to be out of that studio apartment. I know you love it, but you and our kid are going to need more room. Maybe a townhouse or a single family home. I don’t know if you just want to have one or more Aisha. But I’ll be there through all of it. You shouldn’t be doing this alone.” Dieter pauses knowing this is a confession, but it’s gonna all spill out. “We’ll co-parent some smart goofy ass kids Aisha. Maybe they’ll even be into the arts like us. I want to give you that. You deserve the world, but I know you know that. Kit Kat.”

Aisha is crying. It had been difficult to reconcile that she’d be choosing single parenthood. But from incompatible guys she’s been meeting on apps and her traitorous fiance, it seemed like the only option. It’s not like she was blind to Dieter’s charms. They’re only friends, it’s what is best for him. When Dieter starts blurring lines, he gets into trouble. He’s healthy and she doesn’t want to take that from him. She could tell he hated the idea, but much like when she sat him down to watch Grantchester he suffered through it for her. But now he’s talking about an entire life together with her and it seems like he’s thought about it a great deal. Would she be able to just co-parent with him? And not have him to herself? She’s happy he’s willing but she can only accept him with other women now because he’s just her friend. Anything else and she wants him to have only her while he’s suppling the seed and support. He didn’t mention anything about love or a relationship romantically.

“Dieter I…It sounds wonderful but I can’t.”

“Why won’t you let me give it to you Aisha? I just said-“

She holds her hand up to the screen. “I can’t co-parent. I’d want you there. As much as I could have you. I’m selfish and using you like this would be so mean to you and to myself. I can’t. Thank you for offering it to me. Good night Dee.” Aisha says his name softly as she concludes the call. 

Turns out in all his honesty, Bravo forgot to lead with the most important part, the entire reason he painted such a picture of their lives wasn’t just because she wanted this. It’s because he loved her and wanted to share it with her. “I’m such a dumbass.” Lamenting, he calls his driver and offers him a grand to get him to her address. He needs to make it clear. Let her know why and also ask her if that’s what she meant by ‘I’d want you here. As much as I could have you.’

Aisha goes to take a shower and can’t sleep. It’s horrible. The life he mentioned sounds perfect. It’s what she would want, when she got out, she applied lotion to her sepia brown skin, curious when she rubbed her flabby belly what it would look like pregnant. “With Dieter’s kid…oh.” She felt it when he was describing their possible life, he didn’t take his eyes off her. The entire time she felt guilty for her arousal while he was talking, even before when he said he wanted to be her sperm donor. That alone went right to her clit. He’s her friend who’s trying to help her out with something she wants. Dieter’s always been generous with her. She shakes her head and puts on her nightgown and robe, normally she doesn’t wear underwear in the evening when home alone. She grabs some ice cream and plops down on the couch, turning on Dateline. It ends up just noise as her mind wanders back to less than an hour ago. 

Into part two of why this seemingly happy wife murdered her husband and ran away with his mistress, heavy knocks are at her door. “Aisha! Open up! We need to talk! Aisha!” Panicked, she rushes to the door and pulls him inside. Her neighbors like their quiet.

“Dieter you can’t just yell and bang like that?!” Aisha is now yelling and talks a moment to calm herself. “There’s nothing to talk about.” She retakes her place on the couch. Bravo sits next to her.

“There is and it’s the reason why I told you what our lives could be.” He turns off the TV and holds her hands. Aisha looks up at him, he’s making her arousal worse. “The only reason I would think this hard about having a child is because it’s you Aisha. I love you. I wouldn’t want to have a kid with anyone else. And I don’t want you having a baby with a man who isn’t me. I want to be the one to put a baby in you.”

Aisha stands, not letting go of his hands as she makes her way backwards to her bedroom. “Then we’re starting now, Dieter. You’re going to pump me full of cum. I’m ready, get those sweatpants off. I can tell you’re not wearing boxers.” If he’s willing then she’ll see if he can really have sex with her. Given the rumors about Dieter, Aisha has always been curious if they’re well founded or not. 

Now she’ll be able to find out herself if any of them are true.

Names in the binder:

@megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @rosecentaur1916 @westside-rot

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @schnarfer @yorksgirl @guelyury @readingiskeepingmegoing

@survivingandenduring @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @gwendibleywrites @pascalsanctuary @yorksgirl

Chapter One. Chapter Three