#my therapist will hear from me tomorrow

[idreaminmugiwara]

I am not okay.

[just-rogi]

.

[floral-hex]

Can’t tell if I’m so anxious because of drug withdrawal or it’s just because I have a bad brain 😓

[steddieas-shegoes]

four times eddie gets carried and one time he does the carrying

one

Eddie opens his eyes to chaos: a heartbeat under his ear that’s furious, a voice echoing just above him yelling profanities and directions, hands digging into his legs and side that should probably hurt.

But nothing hurts.

He can’t feel anything, actually.

Which is probably a good thing considering the last time his eyes were open, he was dying.

Maybe he is dead. Maybe this is Hell.

But he catches a somewhat familiar scent, and he turns his head towards the solid but soft wall holding him.

He must make a noise because the voice vibrating against his face stops, the movement under him stops, and a different panic ensues. He’s not sure what’s being said now, too focused on the comfort he’s feeling.

Maybe it’s not Hell. Maybe he’s found his way to Heaven.

But that’s Steve’s smell and Steve isn’t dead. Is he?

Eddie’s eyes open and he finds just enough energy to make a small noise, one that wouldn’t have been heard in the chaos, but definitely gets heard in the silence surrounding him now. He hates silence. He hopes if he’s dead, he can at least hear some music sometimes.

“Eddie?”

It’s definitely Steve’s voice, and Steve’s smell, and probably Steve’s strength holding him up.

“You don’t have to talk if it hurts, but can you tap my chest if you can hear me?”

Eddie could do that. He could.

His hand was already brushing against Steve’s chest as they walked, so he lifted a few fingers and brushed them against the material of Steve’s shirt.

“That’s good!” Steve sounded pretty thrilled about such a simple touch.

Eddie was familiar with being touch starved, but he didn’t think Steve could be this bad off with all the times he’s been practically glued to Robin.

“St-“ he tried to say his name, maybe get some answers for why he was being carried, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“It’s okay. I’m getting you safe. We can fix it,” Steve was walking still, but no other voices could be heard anymore. It was like the world had narrowed down to only them. “I promise I’m gonna fix it.”

“Mkay.”

Blackness clouded Eddie’s vision again as he lost consciousness.

two

Eddie’s physical therapy sessions in the hospital sucked, but the ones at home sucked worse.

At least at the hospital, no one was around to watch him struggle and fail except the physical therapist. At home, Steve was watching and making sure he did everything right, never more than a few feet away in case he needed help.

Eddie could walk with support, but he refused to use the stupid walker the hospital gave him. Wayne found a cane in his room from when he hurt his back a few years ago and told Eddie he could decorate it however he wanted if it meant he’d use it.

And he sure did.

He covered it in black paint, stickers, and had all the kids paint their names on it.

But he still hated using it.

So he was focusing on the walking movements the PT gave him, and Steve was constantly hovering beside him, waiting for any sign that he needed to stop.

“Your legs are shaking, Eds. We should stop for today,” Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, careful not to put any weight on him. “You can do more tomorrow.”

“No, I’m almost to the couch.”

The silence was loud as he looked ahead at where the couch actually was. He wasn’t almost there. He wouldn’t make it.

But he was stubborn, dangerously so, and he was gonna make it.

He took another two shuffling steps, then felt a shooting pain in his side and nearly collapsed.

Steve’s arms were under him immediately, lifting under his legs and supporting his back in a fucking bridal carry.

“Put me down!” Eddie squirmed, but Steve was strong. “I was almost there!”

“No you weren’t and you were gonna push yourself too hard. You would’ve fallen and got hurt and if you get hurt again, it’ll be my fault.”

Eddie’s mouth snapped shut before his argument could be said.

Did Steve think he was actually responsible for Eddie?

“Stevie, it’s carpet. I would’ve been fine,” Eddie said quietly as Steve walked them over to the couch. He didn’t set Eddie down though, just held him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not letting anything happen to you again.” Steve set him down gently on the couch, making sure his legs were stretched out so he could do some of his sitting movements. “I’m not letting you down again.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t let me down,” Eddie stayed frozen where Steve had set him down, unable to even breathe properly.

“I should’ve been there so you didn’t run back to distract the bats. You never should’ve almost died.”

“Steve…” Eddie reached a hand out, tugging on Steve’s hand until he was sitting on the coffee table across from him. “None of this is your fault. I’m an adult. I made my choices. I would’ve made them even if you were there.”

“But-“

“No buts!” Eddie smiled at him, ignoring another sharp pain in his hip. “You know how stubborn I am. Do you really think you had a shot in hell of stopping me once I decided to be a distraction?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then stop blaming yourself. You saved my fuckin’ life, man. You stayed by my side nearly every day since then. You couldn’t let me down if you tried, okay?”

“Okay.”

three

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, he knew he had.

But he was currently in Steve’s bed. Which is upstairs. He hasn’t mastered walking up stairs yet.

How the fuck did he get here?

It was dark except for a hint of moonlight streaming between the curtains and a glow under the door from the hall light that was always on.

He turned on his side and nearly screamed when he saw a black outline of someone else in the bed.

The body moved and Eddie could just make out the hair.

Steve.

He was in Steve’s bed with Steve.

“You okay?” Steve’s raspy sleep voice startled him, his heart rate climbing to probably dangerous levels.

A hand reached out and touched Eddie’s chest, right over his racing heart. Steve’s hand was warm and wasn’t moving away.

“Mhm. How’d I get here?”

“Carried you.”

He couldn’t see if Steve’s eyes were open, or if he was even properly facing Eddie, but he was grateful for the dark hiding his blush.

“I could’ve stayed on the couch.”

“Wanted you here,” Steve mumbled against his pillow, his hand bunching up Eddie’s shirt as he pulled him closer. “Sleep.”

Eddie could think about it tomorrow. Or maybe never.

Maybe this was a dream, or maybe Steve was still asleep and had no idea what he was doing or saying. Maybe he’d wake up and Steve would be gone and he’d never know for sure if he dreamt it or it was real.

But for now, Eddie fell asleep with Steve’s hand against his chest and his body heat keeping him warm.

four

“I don’t know why you picked a spot so far into the woods. Are you trying to murder me? You were just being nice for the last three months because it would be easier to trick me?” Eddie paused to catch his breath. He was admittedly very out of shape, but this trek seemed particularly difficult.

“Are you in actual pain or are you just tired?” Steve asked, not slowing down at all.

“Can’t it be both?”

Steve finally stopped and turned to Eddie, the worried set of his brow almost making Eddie feel guilty.

“We can go back, Eddie,” Steve offered quietly.

Eddie saw the disappointment on his face, though. And he was a little sore, but mostly from being tired, not from actually overexerting his muscles.

“No, I can make it. How much longer?”

Steve looked around for a moment. “Less than half a mile, but most of it is uphill.”

“I’ll just take it slow. Sorry,” Eddie apologized.

“Hey,” Steve was suddenly back in front of him, hands on his arms to stop him, to comfort him. “We can go as slow as you need. We’ve got all day. Need any help?”

Eddie didn’t. He knew he didn’t. He was doing a lot better than he expected, truthfully.

But if it kept Steve’s hands on him, he was obviously going to say yes.

Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him over a particularly large log.

They continued in silence, but Steve’s arm never left his waist, and Eddie’s breath never quite went back to normal.

When they were almost at Steve’s destination, Eddie lost his footing and nearly face planted into the wet soil. But Steve tugged him back just in time, until his back was flush against Steve’s front.

“Let me help,” Steve said against his ear.

His hands went under him, lifting him up in the familiar bridal carry that seemed like second nature for them at this point.

Steve held him close, made sure he had a good grip, then started walking forward.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie barely whispered. He felt a bit ashamed, that he couldn’t do something so simple, that Steve felt like he had to help, that he was a nuisance.

“I want to.”

Neither of them spoke again until they reached their destination.

Steve didn’t put him down at first, walking over to a clearing that looked out over the lake.

Eddie had no idea this was even accessible to people, had only ever noticed the cliff from the edges of the lake and assumed it was just untouched wooded area.

“This is a nice view,” Eddie said as he looked around. He could see a lot of the outskirts of town, even some of the surrounding areas that were mostly untouched by the events of spring break. “Can already see some stars.”

The sun was still up, but it was near dusk. The walk back would be dark if they didn’t leave soon.

“Yeah,” Steve finally set him down on his feet, but didn’t put any space between them. “Wanted you to see it.”

Eddie watched as Steve’s hands fiddled with his sweater, a nervous habit that he noticed back when he was still in the hospital. He’d never mentioned it, wasn’t even sure Steve knew he was doing it, but he always offered his ring-covered hand as a replacement.

Maybe it was a little selfish, but Steve never seemed to mind.

As soon as Eddie slipped his hand closer to Steve, he started toying with his mood ring, a gift from Dustin when he got out of the hospital so they could tell how he was before asking. It didn’t actually work, but they all thought it was fun.

“You come out here often?”

Steve shrugged. “Not as much since Vecna. Don’t really like being alone anymore.”

“Yeah. I know what ya mean.”

They stood there in silence again, looking up at the stars and out at the vastness of rural Indiana. Steve moved on to fidgeting with another ring, spinning it and twisting it every way possible.

“Wayne asked when you’d wanna move back in with him. Said he’s settled in the new trailer and can get your room set up whenever you’re ready,” Steve finally said.

Eddie turned to look at him, noting the shakiness in his voice. He was biting his lip so much, it was a miracle he wasn’t bleeding.

Something was off.

He’d been staying with Steve because it was easy, it was best for everyone to have easy access to a bedroom and bathroom while he healed, and Steve was the only one with parents who weren’t around. Wayne was stuck in the second floor of a motel, which wasn’t ideal for Eddie at all. But now he had a new place, and Eddie could handle stairs now, and it just made sense to go home.

So why did it feel like he’d be leaving his home if he went back to Wayne?

“Do you want me to go?” Eddie asked, bracing for the ‘yes’ he was certain was coming.

“No.”

Eddie pulled back in shock.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean no, I don’t want you to go,” Steve grabbed his hand again, tracing along the outside of his rings, making goosebumps pop up on Eddie’s arms. “I want you to stay. But I know you love Wayne and probably miss him. You should go if you want to.”

Eddie fishmouthed for a moment, unsure how to respond. He knew what he wanted to say. He knew he should probably think about this without Steve in front of him.

“And if I don’t wanna go?”

Steve searched his face for any hint of a lie, but Eddie knew he wouldn’t find one. He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay with Steve.

“Then you should stay,” Steve choked out, almost in as much shock as Eddie had been only a moment ago. “Stay. Please.”

“In the guest room?” Eddie pushed. He shouldn’t push, but he had to know if this was Steve acting out of fear of being alone or if Steve was feeling the same about Eddie as Eddie was about Steve.

“I was thinking you could stay in my room. My bed.”

Eddie smirked. Steve was a charmer, no doubt about that, but he was clearly nervous, in uncharted territory.

He leaned in, watched Steve’s eyes widen in surprise at the shift in control of the conversation.

“And if I get sharing bed privileges, does that mean I also get kissing privileges?”

Steve nodded, eyes still wide, still shocked speechless.

“Could I start that privilege now?”

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

Eddie had never enjoyed a privilege quite as much as this one.

+ one

“You said the front step was fixed!” Eddie screeched as they stood outside their new home. “Look at it. It’s depressed.”

Steve snorted. “It’s just a little…crooked.”

“It’s barely even attached anymore.”

Steve nudged his shoulder and held out the key. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Eddie shook his head. “Oh no, no. We had an agreement, didn’t we?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I’ve been training for this moment for over a year!”

“Throwing me around on the bed is not ‘training’, baby,” Steve smiled. “But if you really wanna do this, I’ll unlock the door.”

Eddie grinned and leaned over to pick Steve up into a bridal carry.

Steve yelped when he almost immediately dropped him, his hand fisting in Eddie’s shirt to try to keep from falling.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Eddie said, tightening his hold on his legs and shifting him up so that his face was level with Eddie’s. “You know what’s nice about living in the middle of nowhere?”

“What?” Steve breathed out, eyes darting down to Eddie’s lips.

“I can kiss you right here in the open and no one’s around to see it.”

“Then do it,” Steve challenged.

Eddie was always up for the challenge.

He kissed him, smiling into it as he realized this was their whole future. This house, this life, it was theirs.

Eddie carefully stepped up onto the porch, avoiding the worst of the step, and walked up to the front door.

Steve leaned over to unlock it, pushed it open, and waited.

He looked up at Eddie as Eddie stepped through the door.

“Maybe someday we can do this married,” Steve’s voice was quiet, nervous.

“You wanna marry me?” Eddie half-teased. He still couldn’t quite believe how much Steve wanted him, how much he loved him.

“I’d do it today if we could.”

“We could pretend anyway,” Eddie kissed his forehead before setting him down. “We’ve got a lot of rooms to christen.”

“Where do you wanna start?”

“The living room has a fireplace and I’ve had fantasies-“

“Fantasies? Seriously?”

Eddie tugged Steve to him by his waist, captured his lips in a heated kiss. “So many fantasies.”

Steve started walking them backwards towards the fireplace. “Show me what these fantasies looked like then.”

“You got it, big boy.”

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt6) | Leah Williamson

First rounds of Wimbledon note: Well,, I tried to wrap all on this part but it was taking too long to fit everything in one go, so next part is coming. The opponents' names are made up by the way warnings: fluff and slow burn, a bit suggestive(?) nothing really pt1 my masterlist

Music used to relax you, there was nothing better than blasting your ears with tunes at full volume while taking a little nap during a massage session. But now, that seemed impossible with Jane, your physiotherapist, working on your legs, pressing hard on your most tense spots.

“Fuck, Jane, are you sure you're a physical therapist? It feels like you're wrecking my legs,” you complained, wincing as you clenched your fists. You were lying on your stomach, your face sunk into the hole of the massage table. 

Jane just smiled, a mixture of amusement and professionalism in her expression. She would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy seeing you like this after all the frustration you caused by not listening to her advice about overdoing your workouts.

“Stop whining, this is good for your muscles,” she said softly, still working on your legs.

“It’s not whining, it’s just-” you started to say, but another particularly firm squeeze shut you up, and you let out a whimper. “Jane!”

Jane leaned over a bit and took off your headphones. “If you’d listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess. You told me you don’t want to have any problems with injuries, and for that, your body needs to relax and recover from all the overactivity you’ve had.”

You knew she was right. You sighed heavily, but you wouldn’t admit it. Jane knew that all too well. “Can you at least be a little gentler?”

“If I were any gentler, it wouldn’t be effective,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, you mentioned you want to be 100% for your game tomorrow. My guess is you’re trying to impress someone, but since I’m not a specialist, I’ll keep that to myself,” she added with a cheeky grin.

You managed a small smile despite the pain and her teasing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll shut up. But seriously, how much longer?”

Jane glanced at the clock on the wall, but when she saw your coach walk in, she didn’t answer.

“Hmhm,” Lucas cleared his throat, standing by the table. From where you were lying, you could only see his legs. “Can you explain what’s going on here?”

Jane’s hands stopped immediately as she turned her attention to Lucas.

“What’s going on now?” you asked, reluctantly sitting up on the table and facing your coach, who was holding a bouquet of flowers. “Since when does Wimbledon send flowers to players?” you chuckled, it was a pretty classy move, just right for an English tournament.

“It’s not from Wimbledon,” Lucas said, pulling out a small pink envelope from the flowers. “I haven’t read it,” he assured you, handing both the envelope and the flowers over. 

Lucas didn’t look happy, but surprisingly he didn’t seem mad either. His face was more a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“I think I have a guess about who sent them,” he said, glancing over at Jane.

“Was it you? Aww, how sweet! They say you get nicer with age,” you teased the woman, giving her a playful nudge.

“It wasn’t me,” Jane said, playfully pinching your cheek with a grin.

“Ouch! Don’t do that,” you said, rubbing your cheek and then looking at the flowers. They were perfect, not too flashy, not too small. With a smile you didn’t even notice you had, you figured out who must’ve sent them. It was pretty obvious.

You set the flowers aside on the table and opened the envelope, with your coach and Jane watching intently. As you read the note, your heart skipped a beat.

[Best of luck for tomorrow, darling. I can’t be there, but I’ll be rooting for you no matter what. Kisses, L.W.]

“Is she blushing?” you heard Lucas mutter to Jane.

“Tell me, have you ever seen her this calm? She almost looks like an angel,” Jane said, shaking her head with a grin.

“I’m hearing you loud and clear,” you said, trying to keep your cool, even though you could feel your cheeks warming up.

“So, who’s the flowers from?” Lucas asked again, crossing his arms and giving you a serious look.

“The card doesn’t say,” you said, trying to slip the card back into the envelope.

“But you know who it is,” Jane said, her tone more certain.

“Nope.”

“Ah, well. We know who it is,” Lucas said with a smirk.

You stared at them, unsure of what to say.

“You’re just trying to get me to spill the name. I’m not telling you,” you said firmly.

“Oh, we know,” Jane insisted, her grin widening.

“Alright, then tell me who it is,” you said defiantly, crossing your arms and copying Lucas’s posture.

“Leah Williamson,” they answered at the same time. Lucas was dead serious, while Jane had a cheeky smirk.

You choked on your own saliva, realizing you’d just heard the name of the person who’d sent the flowers.

“W-what are you talking about? Have you both lost it?” you stammered, trying to cover up but failing miserably.

“We’ve seen her leaving your hotel a few times these past weeks,” Lucas said, staring at you with that intense, questioning look.

“Just a coincidence,” you said, turning your back on them, cursing yourself (and Leah for not being more discreet). “She could be friends with another player. The hotel’s packed.”

Jane giggled, and Lucas sighed, crossing his arms with a resigned look. “Yeah, right. And I’m the king of England,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I get what’s going on here. Just make sure you don’t mess things up. Focus on tennis during the matches. You can do all your talking and showing off with Williamson after you win your match. Got it?”

“Got it”

Wimbledon, day 2. Round of 128. Court 2.

The first match was usually the easiest since your opponent was often weaker, but tennis isn’t always about rankings and stats. Knowing that anything could happen made you a bit nervous. Even though those nerves hadn’t shown on the court so far, with a score of 1-0 and a pretty straightforward 6-3 win in the first set. But you still felt the pressure.

Your opponent’s first serve wasn’t the strongest, but you stayed alert. As the ball bounced on the grass, you got ready to return it. You adjusted your visor to block the sun, reminding yourself how crucial it was to stay focused between points.

When you saw your opponent toss the ball for her serve, you sprang into action, returning it with force. Unfortunately, you hit it a bit too hard, and it landed just inches outside the line.

The next serve was a bit stronger, and although you didn’t handle it perfectly with your racket, you still managed to get the ball over the net. Your opponent went for a volley but missed, giving you another point.

You glanced over at your team and saw Lucas grinning and giving you two thumbs up. You took a deep breath, feeling pretty relaxed knowing you had the match under control. You were almost there and could almost taste moving on to the next round.

The rest of the points were pretty smooth, though your opponent switched things up towards the end. She figured out that when she hit a low, fast ball, you had to work harder to return it.

On the last point to win the match, she did exactly what she’d been doing for most of the last set. When you saw that low ball coming, you rushed forward without thinking, got to it just in time, and smashed it across the court in the opposite direction your opponent was running.

And just like that, you’d made it through the first round.

Relief washed over you. You grabbed the gold chain around your neck, giving it a little tug as you walked over to your opponent. With a subtle smile, you shook her hand. She gave you a firm grip and a tired smile back. There weren’t many words exchanged, neither with her nor with the umpire.

As you waved to a few people in the stands, you couldn’t help but wonder if Leah had been watching. You really hoped she had.

“Great game, fast and on point. Nicely done,” Lucas said when you met after, giving you a friendly pat on the back.

“I made a bunch of unforced errors though. We need to work on that,” you said, handing him your racket bag.

“We’ll sort it out after the press conference,” he replied.

Leah was pretty nervous. She had no idea how you’d react to the surprise. After a match, she figured you’d be wiped out, and here she was, standing in your hotel room with dinner ready on the table. She’d made sure to keep it alcohol free, just as she promised Lucas early.

She still couldn’t figure out how she ended up with messages from your coach in her DMs. You hadn’t said much since yesterday, just sent her a selfie with the flowers she gave you.

Then she heard footsteps and voices outside the room. The door opened, and there you were, looking exhausted. You shut the door behind you with a bit of a struggle.

“Surprise,” Leah said softly, trying not to startle you.

You couldn’t help but jump when you saw her standing there. All that tiredness from the match seemed to disappear in an instant. You rushed toward Leah, and luckily, she reacted quickly, opening her arms just in time to catch you. As you practically threw yourself at her, she wrapped her arms around you, keeping you both from crashing to the floor.

“Leah! How the heck did you get in?” you asked, still stunned.

Leah didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, clearly taken aback by how close you were. Then, without missing a beat, she leaned in and kissed you. You closed your eyes, melting into the kiss as your lips met hers.

“Congratulations,” she whispered against your lips before kissing you again, this time with more intensity. She wrapped her arms around you, lifting you slightly so you could wrap your legs around her, holding you close in the air. “You were incredible today,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “Loved the new white outfit”

“Stop trying to flatter me while you’re kissing me,” you said, scrunching your nose with a playful grin.

“Why?” Leah asked, tightening her grip on your waist just a bit more.

“Because it turns me on, and I’ve got this no-sex-on-tournaments rule,” you explained, trying not to roll your eyes at Leah’s mischievous grin.

“You know that sex doesn’t actually mess with your performance, right?”

“It’s not about that,” you said, holding up your gold chain for emphasis. “It’s just bad luck for me, and I’m super into my rituals and all that.”

“Sounds kinda boring,” Leah said with a laugh, clearly enjoying teasing you. Then she set you down and, before you could say anything else, she cupped your face in her hands. She made you stand on your tiptoes and kissed you again, this time gently and tenderly. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” you said, almost against your will, as you gently pushed Leah away. “Now, without sounding like a stalker, how did you get into my room?”

“Well, it’s pretty much common knowledge that your coach knows about us now,” Leah said, giving you a knowing look. You nodded in agreement. “Well, he messaged me to thank me. He says your backhand’s gotten way better since we started talking”  she added with a smirk, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s got nothing to do with you,” you shot back, trying to play it cool.

“Anyway,” Leah said, brushing off your comment, “he told me I’ve got his blessing to be around you, especially now.” She playfully tugged at the laces of your joggers, pulling you so close you could feel her warmth and her breath on your skin. “He thinks I bring you luck.”

“It doesn’t,” you said, feeling your heart race and your stomach flutter from her closeness.

“Well, you won Roland Garros with me in the stands,” she murmured with a soft smile.

“I won because your mom was there,” you replied, trying to stay serious.

“Ugh, don’t mention my mum when we’re this close,” Leah said with a glare, giving you a playful shove. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way she tried to look frustrated while you both stood so close.

You’d never had company like this during a tournament before. Sure, your parents would show up for the big matches, but it wasn’t quite the same as seeing other players with their partners by their side throughout the whole tournament. You couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

“And besides,” Leah said, taking your hand and guiding you toward the table where dinner was set up. “I’m here to make sure you eat something decent, not just shove sandwiches down your throat.” She gestured at the table with a playful sigh. “It’s something light and flat- I didn’t pick the menu,” she said, wrinkling her nose at a plate full of vegetables.

Even though it was just a simple thing, having Leah here made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. It was something new and comforting that you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

“But it has the right amount of protein-” Leah started again, but you gently pulled her arm, making her turn to face you. Before she could say more, you leaned in and kissed her, your lips brushing against hers with a smile. She looked surprised for a second before smiling into it.

“I adore you,” you murmured against her lips, feeling the warmth of her presence make everything feel right.

Wimbledon, day 4. Round of 64. Court 3.

Having Leah in the stands was a whole new level of intensity. Sure, she’d been there before, but this was the first time you were fully aware she was just a few feet away, watching your every move. She was standing next to Jane, who was chatting away as you walked onto the court. You didn’t want to draw too much attention (though it was already a bit odd that the captain of the Lionesses was sitting with your team), so you just gave a casual nod and a small tilt of your visor to acknowledge her.

“Who’s the blonde?” your opponent, Feya, asked from her chair. You got along with her well enough, so it was more curiosity than anything else.

You glanced over at Leah as you opened your first bottle of water. She was wearing sunglasses, but her blonde hair was still pretty noticeable. However, in a tennis crowd, people would probably recognize a top 50 player faster than a female football star, so Leah wasn’t really standing out.

“Just part of my team,” you said, trying to keep it cool as you headed to the center of the court to warm up.

“She’s really locked in,” Leah said, nodding as the first set ended 4-6 in your favor. She’d been worried that having her here might throw you off, but it looked like you were totally on top of your game.

“You know,” Jane chimed in, still keeping her eyes on you as you rested with a towel over your face. “But Y/n can be quite... full of herself,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “She loves the spotlight and showing off. And trust me, having you here today is like adding fuel to her fire. She’ll be pushing herself even harder, wanting to impress you. When it’s over, she’ll probably act like it was easy, but she’s doing all this to catch your eye.”

“I don’t think that-”

“It’s not a bad thing. ” Jane said with a chuckle. “We’ve seen it before, I mean, trying to impress her parents. That’s why her coach isn’t bothered by you being here.”

Leah sighed, glancing over at you. You were hunched over, focused on a spot on the grass, completely in the zone.

“If she keeps this up for the rest of the match, she’ll have it in the bag. Let’s just hope it stays that way,” Jane said softly, her eyes full of admiration and concern as she looked at you.

The first few games of the second set had been going great. You were already 1-2 up, having just broken your opponent’s serve. Now it was your turn to serve, and you were locked in. You adjusted your grip on the racket, focused on your routine, bouncing the ball, eyeing the service box, and preparing to unleash a powerful first serve.

Just as you were about to toss the ball, the umpire’s voice cut through your focus. You glanced around and saw people talking and walking away, and the ball boys darting across the court. You muttered a curse under your breath, feeling a wave of frustration. Looking up, you saw a massive black cloud rolling in.

“Fuck me” you muttered, frustration thick in your voice. You looked up at the sky again, knowing what was coming. 

The umpire’s voice came through, barely audible over the commotion, “We’ll see if we can resume play in an hour.”

The din of the crowd grew louder as the reality of the rain set in. You tried to keep your frustration in check, knowing that any outburst could earn you a warning. You bit your lip, took a deep breath, and tried to calm your racing thoughts.

You wanted to scream, but you knew better than to lose it in front of everyone. You bit your lip and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You were playing some of your best tennis, every shot was spot on, and now rain was messing it all up. It was definitely going to give your opponent a breather, and you could practically see her smiling with relief on the other side of the court. 

Grumbling, you grabbed your stuff and headed back inside, your eyes almost blank. You didn't want anything to distract you. You put on your headphones, letting the music fill your mind and block out the chaos around you. You walked to the bathroom and locked yourself in. The echo of your footsteps bounced around the empty hallway, and every second of waiting felt like a hit to your concentration.

Inside the bathroom, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes and trying to keep your focus. You replayed every point won in your head, every strategy planned.  Hopefully, your opponent was the one freaking out during this break. But Feya had way more experience and probably knew exactly how to handle this situation. You, on the other hand, had only a couple of rain delayed matches under your belt and had lost all of them after the restart. The statistics weren’t in your favor.

Pacing back and forth, you tried not to get cold. Your heart was still racing from the match, and you didn’t want to lose that. This was only the second round of Wimbledon, and going home this early was not an option, especially not with Leah watching you so closely.

You took a deep breath, still leaned against the cold wall, and grabbed your phone. Without hesitation, you dialed Leah's number. It didn't ring for more than three seconds before you heard her voice.

"Hey..."

"Leah," you said, but then froze. Damn, you had to stay focused, you were still halfway through the game.

"I wanted to call you, but your coach said it wouldn't be a good idea."

You put the phone down for a moment and adjusted your headphones. Your breathing started to hitch. You brought your forearm to your face and covered your eyes.

"Why? Did he say it would be a bad idea because I might be upset?" you said, letting out a nervous laugh.

"He said exactly that."

"Well, he was right, damn old man," you said, laughing despite the lump forming in your throat. "Would it offend you if I said how much I hate England right now?"

Leah's laughter calmed you a bit. It seemed as if she was oblivious to the whole situation that had you on the verge of collapse. That helped. Maybe everything wasn't as bad as your head was making it out to be.

"It's not the first time I've heard that," Leah said. "But England has good things to offer too. You just have to give it time."

"I would if it wasn't for this damn rain," you mumbled. "I was sure I could win 1-6. I just wanted to finish the match, and now I don't even know if it will be over."

"Your coach says the weather isn't too bad. Just hang in there..."

"Leah, I think I'm gonna lose this round," you said, rubbing your face with both hands, frustration bubbling up. "I don't wanna go home." You didn’t want to cry, but the tears were already starting to fall.

"You're not going home," Leah said firmly. "Remember last year? You made it to the semifinals with no problem."

"Yeah, but... I didn't have any rain delays last year," you sighed. "I got lucky last year. That's what I kept telling myself throughout the tournament. But this time feels different... maybe it's a sign that things aren't going my way this time."

"No," Leah cut in, her tone sharp. "It's not different. You're more experienced now, you've just won a Grand Slam, and you've worked on your game and your mindset. Don't let a cloud ruin all that."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, letting Leah's words sink in. You needed that reminder, that spark of trust, to know she believed in you.

"Thanks, Leah," you whispered, feeling the lump in your throat start to dissolve. "I'm going to try."

"That's all you can do. Now, breathe, relax. You're in control."

"Promise me that if I lose... you won't leave," you asked in a soft, vulnerable whisper.

Leah was silent for a few seconds before she spoke again. "You won't lose. You'll win the next points, get through this round, and then we'll go rest."

"That's not what I asked," you said, almost pleading.

You heard Leah sigh. "I promise, I won't leave, no matter what."

Leah kept talking after that, slowly helping you keep it together, distracting you from the chaos around and within you. Her voice was a steady anchor, grounding you in the moment, making you feel like everything might just be okay.

An hour later, the game finally resumed. As soon as you stepped onto the court, it was clear you weren’t the same player from the first set. Your arms felt heavy, and your legs were shaky. The sky still looked threatening, and the air felt different from a few hours ago. You glanced at Feya, who seemed to be loving this new scenario, walking energetically to her spot while you felt like you were moving through mud.

Passing by your team's section, you couldn't even lift your head so you just shook it. You needed to pull yourself together. Unzipping your top a bit, you grabbed the chain around your neck. This was where you were supposed to be, and you had to push through. You wouldn't let Leah see you as a loser.

But thinking about it was easier than doing it.

Your serve was awful, like you had butter on your hands making the racket slip. You couldn't get any balls inside the lines. With each missed serve, frustration built up inside you, making it harder to rally and cheer yourself up.

As the match dragged on, you were piling up unforced errors, practically handing points to your opponent with every shot. You needed to pull yourself together before Feya completely wrecked your game.

"Focus Y/n," you muttered, adjusting your visor, sweat dripping from your forehead more from nerves than from running around. You took a deep breath, trying to channel all your frustration into your wrist as you prepared to hit the ball. Unfortunately, your swing lacked precision, and the ball ended up hitting the net.

The game was now at 40-15 to Feya. One more mistake and she would go up 4-2. You hadn't won a single game since the rain delay. Right now, you just needed to get the ball over the net, just that one simple task first. Trying to stay calm, you managed a clean serve. Luckily, Feya returned it weakly, and you seized the opportunity, smashing the ball with all your strength, aiming for the line.

The ball landed just behind Feya, and you heard the crowd cheering, but there was no time to celebrate as Feya immediately challenged the call.

"The ball never touched the line!" she argued with the umpire. Your stomach knotted up as you watched the exchange.

You knew she was right a minute later. 

“Game, Feya,” the umpire said into the mic, giving the point to your opponent. Feya was already celebrating, waving to the crowd.

You felt the weight of the match pressing down on you. It was a tough blow, but you couldn't let it break your spirit. You had to regroup and fight back.

Hearing the crowd go wild for Feya was overwhelming. Every cheer and clap made you feel smaller and smaller on the court. The cheers that used to lift you up now felt like they were weighing you down.

You glanced over at Lucas, hoping for some reassurance, but his face was as blank as ever, trying hard not to show any concern. Hesitating, you looked towards Leah, just a couple of seats to the right. She gave you a small thumbs up and a faint smile, a quiet gesture that seemed to offer a bit of calm.

“Come on!” Feya shouted after nailing another winning shot. Her excitement felt like a stark contrast to your growing despair.

When you went back to your chair, you took a sip of water and tried to calm your breathing. Leah’s words kept running through your head. 

“You’re in control”

But right now, it felt like that control was slipping through your fingers.

“Come on, breathe,” you muttered to yourself, but it felt like the air was stuck in your lungs. You shut your eyes and clenched your fists, feeling the sweat and frustration mix on your palms.

When you got back to the court, it was like your body was on autopilot. Every swing felt off, and your movements were sluggish. Your opponent was all over you, dragging you from corner to corner, wearing you down physically and mentally.

By the last game of the second set, you weren’t even trying to win points anymore. You just wanted it to be over. You promised yourself you’d pull it together and make a comeback in the third set.

You sank into the chair again, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing thoughts. Taking a long sip of water, you glanced around. The sky was finally starting to clear, with the sun making a slow comeback behind the clouds. A gentle breeze brushed against your face, and you shut your eyes for a moment, trying to recapture the focus that had slipped away.

Man, if only the weather had been like this all day. Leah was right, you’d need some time to really appreciate this place, but you were willing to give it a shot, just for her. You daydreamed about hanging out with her, going for a lazy walk, or just chilling at her place,  breathing in her scent and running your fingers through her hair. If only you could wrap up this match and get to enjoy those moments, where you could kiss her, let her hug you, and hear all those cheesy lines of hers that make your heart flutter.

But first, you had to win this. You didn’t want Leah to have to comfort you; you wanted her to celebrate your victory and be proud to be with someone who had accomplished something great. You were determined to give her that.

The umpire called you and Feya back onto the court for the start of the third set. You knew you needed to grab an early lead to turn things around. Feya was looking pretty cocky, flashing a grin that made it seem like she was reading your every move. But you couldn’t let that get to you. It was all about focusing on each point.

You took your spot on the baseline, mentally gearing up for battle. The umpire's voice cut through the tension, announcing the start of the final set.

Feya served first, and the ball came toward you with impressive speed. But you were ready for it this time. It was the same serve you’d seen throughout the previous set. You sprang into action, positioning yourself for a powerful forehand return. You whipped the ball with a deep, precise cross court backhand, the kind you’d been perfecting ever since Leah had pointed out how well you were executing that shot in some or your previous dates. Feya managed a weak return, and you seized the opportunity, charging forward and smashing the ball into the opposite corner. Feya was left scrambling halfway down the court.

0-15

You felt a burst of confidence. You looked over at Leah and for the first time in the match, flashed her a big, genuine smile. It was like a switch had flipped, and you were right back in your element.

The next point turned up the heat even more.  Feya tried a serve and volley move, but you were quick on your feet. You lunged forward and nailed a backhand volley that just skimmed the net, landing right on the baseline. Feya had no chance of reaching it.

0-30

You could see Feya starting to lose her cool. She was slipping back to the nervous player from the first set, just like you were getting back into your game. Realizing she needed a new strategy, she started hitting higher and deeper shots to mess with you, but you stayed calm and took your time to set up your shots.

In one of the rallies, you spotted your chance. Feya sent up a short, high ball. You smacked a topspin drive that landed perfectly in the corner of the court.

court.

0-40

The game was slipping into your control. With every point you won, your confidence surged back. You knew you had to keep up this level of play. You took your position to receive the next serve, focused and ready. Feya tried an open serve, but you anticipated it perfectly, firing back with a powerful cross court shot. After a few intense exchanges, you decided to end it, pushing Feya into a tough spot. With a decisive forehand, you wrapped up the game.

“Game, Y/n” the umpire called out.

You celebrated with a big grin, clapping your hands together, just like Feya had done earlier.

“Williamson,” Lucas’s voice made Leah jump. She turned to find him with a serious look on his face. “What did you do to her?”

“Huh?” Leah was confused.

“Whatever it is, keep it up. My girl’s on fire.” Lucas said with a huge smile, almost with a hint of pride.

“I didn’t do anything, sir,” Leah tried to explain, as she watched you return to your spot after the break.

You had a serious look on your face, eyes focused straight ahead. Leah swallowed hard. You were a whole different player now compared to the previous set. Back then, she’d seen your hands shaking. Now, you were celebrating each point with passion, flashing her big smiles and winks after every great shot. Leah couldn’t help but think you were dedicating those moments to her, and she wasn’t wrong. 

All Leah wanted now was a cold shower, and if she could share it with you, even better.

The score was 2-5 in the final set, and it was your turn to serve. The whole court felt electric, with everyone hanging on every move, knowing this moment could be the game changer. Leah sighed deeply, watching as you neared the end of what had been one of your toughest matches.

You stood at the baseline, gripping your racket tightly, trying to calm the nerves buzzing inside you. You were determined to finish this match on a high note. You took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand, knowing that you could turn things around with the right mindset.

You tossed the ball into the air and served it with precision and power, landing right in the corner of the service box. Your opponent barely managed to get her racket on it, sending back a high, weak shot. You moved in quickly, taking full advantage and smacking a winning volley that left no chance for a return.

0-15

The next point was a real battle. You and Feya were just slamming shots back and forth from the baseline, moving side to side all over the court. Then, you broke the pattern with a killer cross court backhand that pushed your opponent into a corner. Desperate, she tried a smash, but it went wide.

“Out!”

0-30. You were almost there. 

The crowd was now buzzing with excitement, sensing the win was within reach. You took a deep breath and got ready for your next serve. This time, you went for a powerful serve to the corner. The ball shot off your racket and bounced before Feya could even react.

“Ace!”

You were on match point.

The court fell silent after a second, everyone waiting for you to close it out. This was your moment, the chance to turn things around and give the crowd something to cheer about after the previous set. With a grin, you adjusted your visor and shot Leah a playful look as you tightened your gold chain. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you hoped she did too.

You tossed the ball up again, locking in on it. Your serve was fast and right on target, aimed at the T. Your opponent reached for it, but the ball zoomed past her, landing perfectly in the corner.

“Ace!”

“Game, set, match,” the umpire announced.

You raised your arms up as the crowd went wild.

After all the interviews, press conferences, and autograph signings, you finally had time for Leah. You spotted her, she was chatting with Jane, and without a second thought, you sprinted over to her, not caring about the hours your legs spent on the court before. You jumped into her arms, knowing Leah would catch you, no matter what.

“Careful, darling!” she laughed, catching you with just one arm around your waist. You were drenched in sweat and out of breath, but Leah didn't seem to mind at all. “How do you feel?” she whispered in your ear. 

“Like I’m the best tennis player in the world,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“Hm, you might not be feeling that great tomorrow,” Jane said with a roll of her eyes, giving you a friendly shove to get you off Leah. “Let the poor girl breathe, she was on edge the whole game, and her legs must be killing her now.” she added, grabbing your bag and heading off, leaving you alone with Leah.

After you two were alone, you noticed Leah was carrying a huge bag and that’s why she’d only used one arm to hold you. “What’s in the bag?” you asked

“Oh, um… ” Leah’s face went red as she scratched the back of her neck. “Well, I had a lot of free time during the rain delay and... I was a bit nervous too, so I ended up going to the Wimbledon store.”

Before Leah could react, you snatched the bag from her hand.

“Damn, Leah,” you said, trying to hide your laugh by covering your mouth with your hand. “What the heck, did you bring the whole store?”

“Hey, I didn’t get to shop last year, and I needed some stuff,” she said, cringing as you started pulling things out of the bag. A lot of keychains, strawberry-shaped ones, little tennis rackets, and balls. “How many keys do you have that you need this many keychains?” you teased.

“Some of them are for gifts,” Leah said, quickly snatching them from your hands.

You reached in again and pulled out a huge green blanket. “What’s this for?”

“I was freezing! Unlike you, I was standing around and it was cold!” Leah said, her eyes wide as she almost panicked.

“Please tell me you didn’t get the Wimbledon socks,” you said, barely whispering, but Leah’s guilty look said it all.

“Don’t look at me like that! They’re absolutely my style!” Leah shot back, looking offended. “I can definitely pull them off!”

You thought about it for a second... Yeah, Leah had this way of rocking whatever she wore.

"Alright, you’ve got a point there, babe,” you said with a bit of a chuckle, feeling a bit defeated.

"Thanks," Leah replied, her smile warming up as she heard the nickname. “And I got one more thing,” she said, getting serious as she grabbed the bag and pulled out a giant tennis ball. “Here,” she said, handing it to you.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” you asked, eyeing the ball, it was one of those that kids get autographed all the time. “Leah, are you for real?”

Leah didn't say a word at first. Instead, she walked over to you and gently placed both hands on your waist. Leaning in close, she whispered, “What do I need to do to get my favorite tennis player’s autograph?” She gave you a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. “Is that enough?”

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, almost lost in the sensation of her breath brushing against yours.

Leah shook her head with a playful smile and cupped the back of your neck, guiding you into a deep, tender kiss. 

“Congratulations on making it through the round,” she murmured between kisses, her voice filled with warmth and pride. Your smile widened as you let the joy of her affection wash over you.

“Maybe you are a lucky charm” you whispered. 

[szczylpierdolony]

every interaction with my father is getting me a step closer to gouging my eyes out

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ this is honestly just a vent in the form of katsurei but i needed to get it out of my system.

cw // men being shitty, cat-calling, not proof-read

The rage bubbling inside of you was the equivalent of hot lava brewing in a volcano, waiting to erupt at a moments notice. You knew how stupid it was to feel so strongly over something so miniscule, and that if you dared to react, it would only make things worse.

Today, the anger got the better of you.

Katsuki was off in another aisle of the grocery store when it happened, searching for something he forgot to grab. You were minding your business, strolling in front of the various teas when a man approaches you, only stopping when he was uncomfortably close.

You knew something nasty was about to spew from this man's mouth. It was instinctual for women to get that gut feeling when a man approaches her in such a way.

"Need help pickin' out something?" he smirks, arms uncrossing as he leans toward the shelving. "I hear this one is great to calm women during their...you know."

Your nose crinkled in disgust, audibly scoffing as you turn to leave the aisle and find Katsuki. Before you knew it, his hand was on your shoulder, gripping roughly at the fabric of your shirt. "It's rude to walk away when someone's talking to you."

Spinning on your heel, you swipe his hand off your shoulder and cross your arms defensively. "Fuck off, you think that's a pick up line? Leave me alone, asshole."

You're turning to leave for a second time when he yells, "Suit yourself, whore. Go crawl back to your lame ass hero of a boyfriend! Dynamight should set you straight."

Red - everything blazes around you. Your fists ball at your sides as you stop in your tracks, momentarily debating on whether or not to let this strike a nerve. You're used to dealing with the shitty unsolicited opinion of "fans," but never something of this caliber. Did this guy follow the two of you into the store? Did he wait for you to separate just to insult you?

The image of your therapist pops into your head, reminding you that "it's better to walk away."

Sorry, but not this time.

"Get his name out of your fucking mouth, you piece of shit." Your voice is low, a warning that he should heed, but doesn't.

"Or what? You'll scream for help?" he walks around you in the aisle, purposefully stopping in front of you. "You women and your shitty views on men are what's wrong with this world."

Right as you're teetering on the edge of getting physical, Katsuki rounds the corner of the aisle and catches the glimpse of your tensed shoulders. He picks up the pace, power walking to your side before taking your hand.

"There ya are, let's get goin'," he grumbles, attempting to get you away from the situation before it escalated. Your fuse is extinguished for the time being, the man shouting nonsense at your backs as the two of you walk away.

"Th'fuck was that about?" Katsuki questions when you're out of the aisle. Angry tears are pricking the corner of your eyes, lips pursed and cheeks flushed with fury. He notices, choosing to save the rest of the questioning for later. "C'mon, let's get home. We'll come back tomorrow."

You couldn't hold it together anymore once you got to the car, bursting into tears over the stupidity of the situation.

"I can't believe I let that jackass get under my skin," you sob, embarrassed at losing your temper. "God, he was such a dick and I should've just-"

Katsuki reaches across the center console and tenderly squeezes your thigh. "Peach, s'fine, he should consider himself lucky you didn't swing." He chuckles to himself under his breath. "Or that I wasn't standin' with ya."

Sniffling, you sigh dramatically, batting the tears out of your lashes. "The store would've combusted. I just feel stupid, Kats."

"Don't. Shit happens, no need'ta feel stupid about it." He leans over and pecks your cheek, rubbing your thigh before letting go. "Screw dinner tonight, we'll order somethin'."

You nod as your shoulders deflate against the seat.

"That sounds nice."

some shitty dude in the grocery store approached me this morning, minding my damn business, and said some wild ass shit about women and how they're ruining the country cause i had tattoos and sweats on. i gave him a look and it took everything in me to walk away when he kept getting louder and followed me through the store. i knew kats would make me feel valid in my head.

[grlpartdoll]

GASP. GHOSTY IS LOSTENING TO HIS URGES!!! EBRYONE HIDE YO MAMAS, HIDE YOUR KIDS!!!

no seriously. 18+. Minors blocked on sight :D!!!

Part ?? Of bodyguard series <3 thankfully the cameras were off for the day but (⁠⊙⁠_⁠◎⁠) also this is not proofread at all.

Written with Afab reader in mind but no mentions of genitals for the reader so it's really up to u to imagine! Errrmmm yes I think that's it!

CW : ghost cock :] (it's big btw) ghost-big-huge-giant-hands-riley.

"Will you sit down?" Ghost growls for the uptenth time, though this time he sounds more serious — more worried.

You do, if only because you're starting to ache down the waist worst then you did after practice.

You settle on the edge of the bed, and Ghost kneels there beside it, going to remove your tiny kitten heels for you. They're off in seconds, with his expertise in the matter of shoe removal (you'd forced him to learn how by always forgetting to undress before falling into bed for a '5 minute nap' and never waking up)

"Take yor'shirt off."

You immediately cover yourself, and though youre not even naked yet, you heat all over, shaking your head hastily.

"I'll see my physical therapist tomorrow — it's fine."

He fixes you with a mean glare you've learned means a silent plea from him to just listen.

You sigh, blinking multiple times to try and rationalize the fact that you're about to take off your shirt in front of Ghost. In front of the man you'd been not so openly having secret fantasies about.

You nod, then, as he fingers at the edge of your cardigan. His oddly big hands drift, slowly, as though memorizing every slope and hill of your skin. He undoes the buttons with surgical precision, keeping his touch light and professional.

Then, the warmth of his palms rise, and he lays them down atop your shoulders — slopping down your arms gently as he removes the fabric off of your skin.

You sit there, in nothing but a bralette, breath stuck in your throat with Ghost's hands working softly on putting the cardigan away.

You wriggle a little uncomfortably, and his focus shifts to you, his eyes snapping upwards and away from the green sweater.

"S'just me." He reminds you.

And it is exactly because it is just him that you're like this — twitchy and covered in goosebumps.

"I know." Your voice comes away breathy, as much as you had hoped it wouldn't.

His pupils dilate a little. You think. But he doesn't seem to notice at all. Only focuses on the blue and black of your ribs.

Your dance partner for a special broadcast performance had dropped you during rehearsal, and you'd been left with a few torned rib ligaments and a bruised torso.

Needless to say Ghost hadnt been too happy to hear about that — especially since he had been taking his first break in a long, long while.

When he came back around during your lunch and you were sitting there with ice to your chest, he'd glared at your manager and demanded answers. You're only glad the dancer had already been gone when Ghost made it to you — and that the cameras had stopped rolling for the day.

"Does it still hurt t'breathe?"

You try it, and nod when pain prickles at your chest. You wince, trying to wind down the pain by exhaling.

"You're doin' good." He praised, pressing a terribly gentle hand on the bruise.

"Still ache when I touch here?"

A whole different type of ache ignites in you when his big hand covers half of your torso — but you shake your head.

"Good." His hand slips lower, below the ribs. At your waist.

"And here?"

A noise makes it out of you when he squeezes. It's not pain — and he hears the difference. Still, he removes his hand, something shifting under the mask. His lips move for a moment. Not a smile — you know because his eyes don't wrinkle like they do when he gives you that shit eating grin.

"What was that?" He asks, voice rougher than usual.

"Sorry. Your hands are just.. cold." You lie blantantly, trying to sound natural, and failing miserably.

His hands rise again, and he lets them hover above your hips. "Can I?"

Dangerous territory. But you nod.

His hands wrap around them — and though you've never been known to be the smallest, or the biggest, his hands wrap comfortably around your hips. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head when his fingers press into your lower back, and you notice just how near to each other they are. There was no way —

He pushes again. Yes. If he'd wanted, if he had squeezed a little harder, you're sure he could have touched finger to finger with his two hands wrapped around your hips. Not your waist — but your hips.

Somehow that is the thing that breaks the dam, and you find yourself melting against his touch, a god-awful noise being pried from your throat.

He's quiet for a moment — doesn't dare move in case he's hurt you. But it takes only a few seconds for him to make the difference between a noise of pain and one of pure unadulterated want.

His voice is almost teasing when he says, in a condescending coo ; "What was that, Lovie?"

You whine in humiliation, trying to push him away, but he pulls you back towards him, your knees making a brutal 'tock' sound when you fall on the floor with him, body to body.

Something hard and hot and heavy presses against your tummy, and you gasp, eyes shooting up towards his. That couldn't be his — no. That thing pressed against your tummy was far too thick, far too big to be anything of the nature. And yet. It was an unmistakable warmth buldging through his uniform pants, something that you could almost feel was throbbing at your nearness.

"Can't be making all those pretty little noises, y'hear me?"

"It's not m'fault—" you're muffled when he presses his hand against your mouth, the roughness of it mismatched with the plump, healthy skin of your well-taken care features. His fingers tighten around your jaw, and keep a hold of you effortlessly, only the palm being enough to cover the upper part of your face.

"M'gunna have to keep you like this when I check you up from now on? Uh?" His body moves of his own accord, careening forward, his length dragging itself up — and down. A rumble grows in his chest, but never comes out from his lips.

"Fuckin' cocktease." He curses quietly, tsk-ing when you nibble on his fingers, brows furrowed in something that's not pain, but not quite pleasure either.

"Ol'right, olright," he grumbles, removing his hand, but keeping it below your chin. "'M g'nna be nice t'ya, kid. Let you rest."

"No—" your hands scramble to touch him in a slight panic induced spur. But he pulls back, catching your wrists.

"M'not doing this with'ya while you're hurt."

"I'm fine!" You practically choke out, trying to fight his grip. Unfortunately for you, though, your strength never compares.

"Enough." He says, this time more serious.

Your bottom falling onto the heels of your feet, you pout at him.

"Dun't give me that look. Promise when you're better I'll treat you real nice." He nudges the sharp edge of your face, before picking you up in one languid motion, placing you back into your bed.

"Promise?" You says, a bit breathless.

"Yeah," he lays you down gently, and you hiss as your body locks up. He helps you on the way down, though, humming and fussing all over you, making sure you're comfortable. "Promise."

He leans in, his hand pushing a dent into your pillow. "Close your little eyes, bambi."

You do. Nothing happens for a moment, but then —

His lips are on your forehead. His lips, unfiltered, undisturbed by a old war-hewned mask. Rough and chapped, so carefully grazing your forehead you almost want to cry.

"When I take you f'the first time, kid, the only thing you will feel the next day is me." He speaks against your skin. "Not sum' pain in your rib from another man."

You want to protest — tell him that that is just ridiculous, that the partner you'd been assigned for all but a month had nothing to do with the molten fire in your belly.

But you remain quiet, and sigh, your lashes fluttering.

He pulls back, and you keep your eyes closed. When his footsteps retreat, and his beefy frame audibly falls into his reserved chair, you twist away from him under the cover, and open your eyes to the blank wall in front of you.

You so badly want to look at him. Want to see that familiar face he'd graced you with only once when you were sick. But you know he has his boundaries. And you know how to listen to a command when he gives you one.

"Goodnight, Simon." You whisper.

He doesn't answer, but you know he's there, watching over you. Always.

[bro-atz]

knots

in which: your coworker recommends that you see a massage therapist for your many, many muscle aches, and you do just that with massage therapist choi san

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 4k

content: smut, masseuse!au, table sex, massage, completely consensual!

apply for the permanent taglist here!

Thank god your thighs were fucked up. Actually, it sucks. Your thighs were eternally fucked according to every single doctor you’ve ever been to. They all said that you have incredibly large knots in your thighs and that you would need more than one session to bring your thighs back to normal. You didn’t really think about seeing a massage therapist until you threw your shoulder out working your day job like there was no tomorrow.

One of your coworkers from work always told you to see one of the massage therapists at the place that she goes to.

“They’re all really good! My go-to therapist is usually Yeosang, but Wooyoung filled in for him one day, and he did a good job as well. I’m telling you, they saved my life,” she explained to you while giving you their business card.

“Do they only have male massage therapists?” you asked, unsure if you would feel comfortable having a man massage you instead of a woman.

“They do... I think… I was the same way, too, but the person at the front desk recommended Yeosang for me because each massage therapist has different styles and pressures. Some of them can be really firm, but others have a light touch. I usually need medium to firm to bounce back.”

You nodded, still hesitant about the place, but after you left work and stepped onto the sidewalk wrong and feeling a way of soreness and pain shoot through your calves and thighs, you decided that you would go to this place that your coworker told you about.

Upon entering, you were greeted by a cute receptionist who looked like a massage therapist himself.

“Welcome to SPATZ. My name is Jongho. How can I help you today?”

“Uh…” you hesitated, unsure of how to go about asking for their services.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No…”

“Not a problem, we do take walk-ins. What kind of service are you looking for today?”

He opened his book and flipped through some pages while you thought about what parts of your body were in pain.

“Honestly, I have no idea. My doctors keep telling me about knots in my thighs, and today I threw my shoulder out at work… I guess my entire body?”

“And what kind of pressure do you prefer?” he asked without looking up from the book.

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

The man finally looked up from the book. You shifted slightly as you felt his gaze burn a hole through you and then let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he opened up another book and jotted down some details.

“Name?”

“Y/N.”

“Insurance and ID, please,” he asked you as he held out his hand.

You handed the cards to him. He scanned them then returned them to you as he continued to scribble away in the smaller notebook.

“Shoulder… Thighs… Your calves are a little tense, too… And your back is definitely stiff,” Jongho said to himself, but you were still able to hear him slightly. He raised his voice as he addressed you, “Luckily, we have our most versatile therapist available at the moment. Since this is your first time, you get to test out our service for free, and when the session is over, we can discuss scheduling future visits. For now, if you could just fill out this paperwork and have a seat.”

He handed you a clipboard, which you took. You didn’t take long to fill out the paperwork, but before you could get up and hand the board back to the receptionist, the door to the inside of the place opened, revealing a man who seemed more equipped to be a sports therapist than the receptionist.

“Y/N?”

“Yes!”

“Come with me.”

The man disappeared through the door, and you quickly got up, returned the board to Jongho, and shuffled towards him until you were walking right behind him. He opened another door and gestured for you to go in. You did so and stood in the room awkwardly as he shut the door behind you two. There was a table in the middle of the room and towards one of the walls was a bunch of cabinets and a countertop with a various collection of oils and lotions lined up.

“You can put your bag on this chair and have a seat on the table,” he said with mild amusement upon seeing your timidness.

You nodded and did as he instructed. There was a rolling stool near the counter and cabinets that he sat on and rolled on so that he was right in front of you. The stool was significantly shorter than the table itself, so when he rolled over, his head was near your knees. You swallowed nervously and held your legs closer together as you looked at this massage therapist.

He was beautiful. He smiled at you softly, slightly exposing his dimples which you know would go deeper the moment he laughed. He eyes were sharp, but his eyebrows were even sharper— they were definitely not sisters; they were twins. The shape of his nose accentuated all the sharp lines on his face, and his plush lips truly added to his charm. You felt your face get warm. You silently thanked God that you wouldn’t have to look at his face while he worked on your knots since he would most likely have you be face down for the most part.

“My name is San, and I’m going to be your massage therapist today,” he introduced himself. “Before we get started, what kind of pressure are you looking for?”

“I really don’t know. This is my first time getting any sort of massage, so I have no idea what kind of pressure would be best for me,” you answered truthfully.

“Okay, so what we can do is start soft, then if you need me to go harder, I can.”

It was the way he phrased that sentiment that made you shift slightly, trying to calm yourself down.

“According to Jongho, you want to work on your shoulder, legs, and lower back, right?”

You nodded. San opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a sheet. He shook out the sheet and nodded his head, indicating that you should get off the table. You did so, and he covered the table with the sheet. Then, he said, “I’m going to step out of the room for a minute. Undress, get under the sheet, and lay face down. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Your eyes widened. Why did he need you to remove your clothes? Couldn’t he just work over your clothes? San seemed to read your mind as he clarified, “To work out the knots and give you the best effect, working with skin-to-skin contact will be best.”

With a hesitant but understanding nod, you allowed San to step out of the room. You quickly removed your clothes and got under the sheet, worried that San would just step in when you were completely naked. You ensured that the sheet was tucked tightly around you so that you were only showing so much skin and put your face down. Several seconds later, San knocked on the door.

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

San entered the room again and closed the door behind him. You kept your head down as you waited for him to do his thing. You did not want to make eye contact with him at all.

The first part of your body that he uncovered was your shoulder itself, and you were suddenly aware that the side of your breast was exposed to the chilly air in the room. You pursed your lips and tried not to think about the fact that with one wrong move, San could see your entire naked backside. However, San remained professional. He didn’t pull any moves on you.

The session went really well. Your thighs had never felt such relief before. According to San, your thighs needed an insane amount of pressure, but the rest of your body needed a lighter touch. After your session, he recommended that you schedule your appointments with him if you planned on returning for their services. You did just that.

You had many, many, many sessions with San since that first time. You developed a sort of professional friendship with him in that time, and on your first anniversary since starting the services at the place he worked at, you got an email from the company itself celebrating that anniversary. To celebrate, you went for another massage.

“Can you believe I’ve been seeing you for a year?” you asked him, unaware of your choice of phrasing.

“You make it sound like we’re dating,” he responded jokingly.

Your face went red. The thought of you dating your massage therapist felt taboo in a way, but that wasn’t why you were blushing— if you ever got the chance to date someone as hot as San, you probably wouldn’t be able to function ever.

“So, what’re we working on today?” San asked as he laid out the sheet.

“I slept on my neck funny—”

“I told you not to sleep with so many pillows!”

“I’m not anymore! But I fell asleep on my sofa last night…”

“Y/N! Don’t do that! You’re going to make your condition way worse,” San lectured. “You better sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good. Undress and go face down. We’ll work on your neck and shoulders. Also, maybe your lower back. Your posture needs a little work.”

After undressing and getting under the sheet, San entered the room. He moved the sheet down so that your traps were completely uncovered then put some oil on his hands and rubbed his hands together to generate some heat. He started massaging lightly.

You didn’t know what was different about this time. He used the same lotion as usual, and he used the same pressure, but you were incredibly turned on— maybe it was because he was massaging much slower than usual. It didn’t help when San brushed your hair away from your neck, his nails grazing the nape of your neck almost making you moan. Your ears were burning as his fingers pressed into the sides of your neck and along your shoulders.

It was only when San traced a line down your spine and blew cool air lightly along the way did you confirm that he was definitely not doing his usual service.

“San…?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to call him out for not maintaining his usual style of massage, but you also didn’t want him to stop.

“Is everything okay?” San prompted since you didn’t respond.

“Y-yeah…”

“Want me to move onto your lower back?”

“Sure…”

San moved the sheet down further, exposing your lower back. He worked on your back, and his service went back to normal for a solid minute before you felt his hands work lower than your lower back. He was on your tail bone, then his hands went further. The sheet moved down even more, and the second he cupped your buttocks, you gasped and moaned slightly.

“S-san,” you said his name breathlessly.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“It’s a stress relieving massage. It’s meant to make every part of you feel good.”

You wanted to respond, but before you could, San squirted more oil onto your body and started rubbing your ass cheeks inwards. His firm kneading on your buttocks made your legs tingle. You had to hold onto the sides of the table to keep your sanity, your nails digging into the sheets. Small moans escaped you every so often, earning a throaty chuckle from San. The sheet completely slipped off you— rather, San pulled it off— and his hands moved to your thighs. They went from the back of your thigh to the inside, his fingers rubbing against your labia and clit over and over again. You couldn’t tell if you were wet because of the oil or because he was turning you on, but the one thing you knew for certain was that you felt the tension in your pussy build exponentially.

You gasped loudly when San’s fingers pressed into you ever so slightly, the tips of his fingernails grazing the inside of your pussy.

“You doing okay?” San asked, his voice reaching a teasing tone.

“Uh-huh,” you nearly moaned.

“So is it okay if I continue?”

“Mmhmm,” you responded, desperately needing him to help you reach your climax.

“Then flip over for me.”

San moved away from you, allowing you to turn so that you were now face up. He placed your arms and legs accordingly to assist with his massage, which meant your arms were pinned to the sides of you, and your legs were spread wide open, nearly dangling off the edges of the table. Before he resumed the massage, he poured more oil onto your body. You watched through narrowed, bleary eyes as he kept a stoic face while completely covering you with the warm oil until the bottle itself was completely empty.

The feeling of the warm oil hitting your bare skin was electrifying, and it only got better as he continued the massage. He first focused on your hip joints, your pussy still impatiently throbbing for him to satisfy you. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back as his hand neared your crotch once more, his fingers rubbing along the sides of your pussy once again while his other hand massaged your breast and played with your nipple.

Then, he drew circles over your clit. The circles started slowly at first, but they gradually sped up. Moans tumbled out of your mouth as your hands reached to push San’s away, but he had no intention of letting you interrupt his flow. He positioned himself so that no matter how you grabbed his arm to pull his fingers away from you, there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

The combination of him rubbing circles on your nipple and clit was too much for you, but you had yet to hit your climax. That was when San trapped your clit between his two fingers and rubbed vigorously, making you cum within seconds. You did your best to keep your cries of pleasure on the quiet side, but that was just not happening when San fingers slipped inside you.

“Wait, San! Ah!” you cried out as his thick fingers rushed in and out of you.

He barely gave you time to recover from your first climax, and with the added element of San’s fingers curled inside you as he pushed them in, you barely had time to resist cumming once again. You held onto San’s wrist with both of your hands, your arms weak from the pleasure. This time, you moaned loudly as you flung your head back, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure ecstasy. You prayed that San wouldn’t continue with this spectacular massage of his, and your prayers were answered. After you came the second time, San moved away from the table and grabbed a couple of towels for you and him.

“Your session is over,” San said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “However, if you would like to extend, I’d be happy to continue with the service when I get off of work.”

Despite cumming twice within the session, you wanted more from him. You nodded, your face still flushed, your words not formulating properly, and your eyes unable to maintain eye contact with him.

“I get off my shift in thirty minutes. Wait for me in the parking lot.”

San left the room, allowing you to wipe down yourself completely, dress, and head to the parking lot. You did as he instructed and waited for him in the parking lot, anxiety starting to prick at your skin. He got off his shift right as he said he would. He walked to his car and unlocked the doors. He opened the passenger’s side door and watched you fully sit inside before closing the door on your behalf and getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive was silent. This was the first time you had ever been with your massage therapist outside of the workplace, which made you realize that you practically knew nothing about the man other than some of his hobbies and daily activities— very surface level stuff. You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask him any questions; the sexual tension was heavy, and it felt like you were choking on it.

You arrived at San’s place. You walked into his apartment timidly, completely self-conscious about the fact that he was right in front you. He led you to his bedroom where you stood awkwardly as he disappeared into his closet. He emerged bearing a soft, plush robe. He handed it to you as he said in a low, quiet voice, “Go take a shower. You still need to wash the oil off.”

“Right,” you nodded and accepted the robe.

“You can leave your clothes in the bathroom for now. When you’re done, come back into my bedroom.”

Acknowledging what he said, you went into his bathroom and did as he asked. Your mind was in a daze as you cleaned the oil off your body to the best of your ability. The evening had moved so fast that you didn’t even know exactly how you got to be standing naked in San’s shower, and you even wondered if being there that night was even a good idea; but then, your mind flashed to how good the man in the other room made you feel, and you decided that being in his apartment was definitely going to be worth it. You quickly finished up in his bathroom shortly after that revelation. Wearing the robe, you left his bathroom and returned to his bedroom, where he was standing by the foot of his bed. He had changed out of his work clothes and into a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tank top. You felt your body heat up and your face burn upon seeing him.

“Did you wash everything off, Y/N?” San asked you as he turned his entire body to face you.

“To the best of my ability.”

“Hmm, let’s check then. Lie here.”

San gestured to the side of the bed he was standing near. You walked slowly towards him before sitting then lying on the bed face up. Before getting on the bed himself, San dimmed the lights in his room. He trapped your waist between his knees, his face hovering above yours as he brushed your hair away from your face. His fingers wiped the side of your neck as if he was actually searching for any missed spots, but it was definitely a ruse— his fingers trailed down the side of your neck across your collarbones and down the center of your chest. His hand slipped under the robe and began to feel up your breast. You tilted your head to the side, squeezed your eyes shut, and whimpered as you felt San’s other hand hold your waist tightly. You couldn’t help but yelp when San ran his finger over your nipple and began to play with your nipple.

Your hands clutched the bedsheets as if you were holding on for dear life, and your legs were pressed together as you felt your pussy get wetter with every passing second. Your eyes went wide open when San moved one end of the robe away from your breast, his lips planting on your nipple instantly. Your whole body lurched as he sucked painfully hard, his tongue flicking your nipple. He still had his hand on your breast, which he squeezed as he continued to lick and suck, nearly driving you crazy. Your eyes were shut once more as you flung your head back to fully experience this newfound ecstasy.

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt his lips and hand release your breast. You watched his chest heave with every deep breath he took. Your heart fluttered as that broad chest of his lowered so that it was nearly pressed against yours. He tilted your chin so that you were forced to make eye contact with him, and you felt yourself get turned on all over again. His lips parted momentarily, as if he wanted to say something or ask you a question, but he settled for running his tongue over his lower lip before bringing his lips to meet yours.

San’s lips were sweet and warm, but his kiss was rough and hot. Your hands found his forearms and held onto them tightly as you pushed yourself further into his amazingly intense kiss. His lips were magnetic. When the kiss ended, you wanted to return to him so quickly, but he instead sat up. He had the most intense and sultry look on his face as he gazed at you.

It was only when San took his tank top off did you realize how muscular he was. Sure, you saw his biceps and triceps when you first laid eyes on him in the tank top, but you weren’t thinking about what his body looked like underneath. He remained upright as he tossed the top to the ground. You could barely count the number of abs you could see on him in the faint light, and before you could figure out the number, he took your hands in his and neared you once more. He placed your hands so that they were on the back of his neck.

“Keep your hands right there, okay?”

You nodded. You were expecting him to kiss you again, so it completely took you by surprise when his fingers untied your robe and pushed it aside, his hands forcing you to spread your legs. He rubbed your pussy lightly before checking his fingers, his tongue running along the tips of his fingers to taste. You desperately wanted to cover your red hot face in embarrassment, but you did as San told and kept your hands firmly planted on the back of his neck.

“You did a good job cleaning yourself up,” he told you, a slight smirk appearing on his face.

San lowered himself and placed his lips right by your ear, his hand returning to rubbing your pussy. You let out little erotic gasps as San’s thumb pushed lightly into you as he rubbed. You moved your head towards his, your hand slipping from his neck to his cheek. You guided him gently to kiss you as his fingers continued to make your pussy wetter.

It was when San let out impatient grunts did you begin to feel a little restless. You desperately wanted something in you whether it be his fingers or his cock, and you knew that he was reaching his limit; so, you moved your hand down to his waist and cupped his crotch, the bulge in his pants immediately getting bigger. San’s breathing hitched as he moaned your name.

Without a second to lose, San stripped himself down completely before ripping the robe off of you. You were both completely naked, and while San had seen you naked plenty of times in the past, this was the first time you ever saw him in his entirety. You couldn’t really gauge how big he was when you felt him up just moments before, so you certainly were not expecting to see a massive weapon at his disposal. Reaching towards his nightstand, San grabbed a condom and swiftly rolled it on. His hands reached for your waist and pulled you towards him gently, his lips near your neck as the tip of his dick pressed lightly against your entrance.

“Breathe in,” San whispered as if you were lying on the massage table.

You took a deep breath in, and when you exhaled, San pushed his way into you. Your exhale turned into a loud cry, your hands automatically reaching for his neck once again. You held him close to you as he began to move, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt his length reach all the way inside you and his girth stretch you out completely.

San’s thrusts slowly sped up. He was being rather gentle with you, which at first made you want to demand more from him, but when he slammed his pelvis into yours, you decided to keep your mouth shut— he was incredibly strong and big, so him being gentle was a courtesy. Loud moans left your lips as he continued to speed up, the bed underneath the two of you slightly squeaking as his fully body force moved the mattress upwards, your eyes still glued shut.

“Y/N, look at me,” San said with a rough grunt.

You blinked a couple of tears out of your eyes as you barely made eye contact with San. He wiped the tears from the corner of your eye, his other hand still firmly grasping your waist. You felt time come to a standstill when you stared into San’s deep, beautiful eyes. Just looking into your eyes was enough for him; San let out a deep shuddering sigh as he slammed into your waist loudly, his dick quivering inside you. Seeing San bite his lower lip as he came made you cum as well, a whimper leaving you as your cries of pleasure died down.

Silently, San got off his bed. He removed the condom, tied it up, and threw it away before joining you on the bed again. He laid down right next to you, his arm snaking around your waist and bringing you closer to him. You pressed your ear against his chest and listened to the sound of his beating heart as the two of you calmed down.

“How was that for you?”

“Heavenly… But San, I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

You both leaned away from each other so you could see your faces as you conversed. You unconsciously rubbed your knee against his dick, causing him to flinch and pull away from you a little bit more; you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction.

“Why?” You asked him your question.

“Why what?”

“Why did you sleep with me?”

“Because I wanted to,” San said matter-of-factly.

“But why me?”

San let out a light exhale. His fingers brushed past your ear as he cupped your face gently and brought your face the slightest bit closer to him.

“I thought you were cute from the moment I first saw you last year, Y/N. Then, I thought you were incredibly sexy the second I saw your body.”

“You’re lying,” you said with a scoff.

“No, I’m not. Every session is always difficult for me because I always wanted to do unspeakable things to you. You know, I don’t do skin-to-skin contact with any of my other clients. Only you.”

You went silent upon hearing this confession from him. You felt your heart rate go up the tiniest bit while you asked quietly, “You really like me that much?”

“Yes, I really like you that much, Y/N.”

“So then why now of all times?”

“I finally broke today because, like you said, it’s our one year anniversary. Happy anniversary,” San stated simply as if the two of you were celebrating a romantic anniversary.

He kissed the top of your head and hugged you closer, his bare skin making yours feel fiery hot. You also felt him get incredibly turned on as his waist pressed into yours, his hips rotating slightly as he pushed himself closer to you.

“Let’s go again,” you told him, your lips right at his ear, causing him to shiver.

San pulled you on top of him in an instant, your knees on either side of his waist. He had a breathtaking smile on his face before and after you left a sweet kiss on his lips that made your heart flutter even more. He held your waist as he nodded and said, “Again.”

[sophie-frm-mars]

Hi, ex-supporter here. Genuinely hope you’re doing well. I have been tempted to start up my support again because you genuinely are a talented writer/creator and I do enjoy your work.

I hope you understand supporting your Patreon is somewhat fraught. Your private life should be none of our business, but sadly it is relevant here. Moral action, both private and political is central to your work; you have called out plenty of people for abuse & morality drives your politics. We know abuse took place on your end, but that’s all.

A lot of people like myself might be emotionally rooting for you to bounce back from this, but are unable to support you right now because that moral dissonance has not been resolved. We really don’t know if you are like other ‘cancelled’ leftist influencers and just use leftist values to deflect attention away from abuse, or you are actually trying to do better and working on yourself.

You don’t owe us anything. However, many of us who are eager to support you are forced to hold back because trust has been damaged, and there has not been any real sign of reparation or reconciliation. Maybe you think those kind of questions are invasive, maybe you don’t think we are real fans for not sticking by you despite the allegations.

I don’t know, I just want you to know that there are plenty of people who do want to support you, but feel they need to trust you first. And that can’t happen without addressing some things.

Anyways, best wishes. Take care.

Hiya, thank you for speaking to me on this.

Before I say the rest of what I say I want to be clear that between me and the people I was involved with in 2023, there were some instances where I was responsible for harm, there were instances where I received harm and there was also a general pervasive ecosystem of harmful behaviours in the community I was in. This includes people who signed the statement against me, and in one instance one of them did something which everyone to whom I have described it has agreed is sexual assault, though there is more besides.

For the time being I'm not talking publicly more about what happened because it was a very messy situation, and although I have been seriously harmed by issues in my personal life being litigated in public in this way, I don't want to give my full account of my relationships with everyone involved because I don't want that type of harm to be done to other trans women. There are plenty of complicating factors as there often are in real life that social media isn't really capable of parsing. I have made it clear repeatedly that I am open to hearing anything that people involved want to say to me, and I talked in this post in January about that and about what I would be doing to ensure that I put in the work and make sure I don't cause harm like it again

https://x.com/sophie_frm_mars/status/1745414530455261531

I think that that post says everything I would like to say for now, although I regret saying I agree that my behaviour was abusive, because with more distance and perspective I don't think abusive behaviour was actually described to me.

As I understand it via the support that my therapist and friends have offered, my problems in 2023 were that: I wasn't taking my mental health seriously, I didn't learn good kink practice, I had very little appreciation of my own boundaries and when I shouldn't be doing something that someone asks me to do, and I was high basically all the time. I am in therapy and doing DBT and taking my mental health deadly seriously, I have done a huge amount of reading assigned by my therapist about kink, sex, relationships and mental health, I am working in an ongoing way on learning how to effectively communicate, know my boundaries and understand myself well enough to not be in the kinds of situations that risk harm, and I'm no longer high all the time.

(If anyone is interested in those book recs, so far I've read: Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again by Katherine Angel; The Right To Sex by Amia Srinivasan; Screw Consent (I hate this edgy title) by Joseph Fischel; Playing Well With Others; The Loving Dominant by John and Libby Warren; I Hope We Choose Love by Kai Cheng Thom; The New Topping Book by Dossie Easton and Janet W Hardy; and Dissociation Made Simple by Jamie Marich. There have been some others, and I've written a bit about them in the book club channel on my discord as I've been reading)

I haven't heard from the people involved. The last I heard from anyone was one of my exes calling me a pathological liar and saying that they just want to move on with their lives, so while I'm doing the work to make sure I act better in future I am just trying to get on with my life and let them get on with theirs. I hope this clarifies why I have not talked further about the situation.

I will say that the last few months have been hellish for me. I have been frequently suicidal, I spent Christmas and new years alone, I lost a tooth because I couldn't afford proper dental treatment, people from within the community I've been ostracised from have been putting pressure on my remaining friends to cut ties with me, Keffals had my abuser on her twitch stream, a bizarre exaggerated and monsterised version of my personal life has been publicly gossiped about by trans people, fash and "leftist" drama streamers alike, I have been doing other work to make sure I can still pay rent and afford my bills and my HRT, and to survive. As I've been getting more stable and more able to focus on things besides this, I've been working on new writing because all I want with regard to my work and my channel is for my writing to help people. I don't want to talk about my private life, but I do understand that some number of people will feel after what has been said about me that they can't move forward with me without hearing the full details. Lots of people in my life have repeatedly encouraged me to publish a full account of everything that happened but I know how the Internet works and I don't want other trans women to be harmed in the ways that I have been harmed.

[guitarstringed-scars]

how to lose a guy in 10 days- t. oikawa

masterlist

day five

somehow, yui has done it, and you sink into the cushioned sofa. toru sits down next to you, crossing his legs. yui has on thick glasses, and her short hair is slicked back.

“so, how long have you been seeing each other?” she asks.

“hm… well…. five days.” you say, placing a hand on torus back.

“five days. interesting.” yui says, writing into her notebook placed on her lap. ”is it too soon to be seeing a therapist?” toru asks.

“well, 5 days isn’t like a lifetime or anything-” you start.

“its less than a week.” toru cuts in.

you sigh.

“did you hear that tone?” you ask, turning to yui. “how can we not fight when he speaks to me with a tone like that!”

“how are things between you two sexually?” yui asks.

“we haven’t had sex.” toru says.

you breath in sharply.

“well toru has a itty bitty problem!” you say, demonstrating with your fingers.

“i don’t have a problem.” he defends himself, shaking his head.

“yes you do!” you say, smiling sweetly. ”no i do not have a problem.” ”yeah.. its a big problem.”

“thats enough.” he says.

“y’know, i’m sensing a lot of anger here. it seems to me, that you might be ashamed of y/n.” yui says, peeking over the rim of her glasses.

you gasp.

“i knew it. you are ashamed of me!” you start to fake cry, covering your face with a tissue.

“no no no i’m not.” he says.

“then prove it!” you start to ‘sob’ into the tissue.

“i will! i’ll take you to my hometown tomorrow and you can meet all my family and friends.”

“now thats a positive idea!” says yui. you bite your lip. you don’t really want to do this.

“it is?” you say.

“yes! how about it y/n!”

the two of you leave therapy soon after.

“i was serious.” he says, after a moment of silence.

“about what?” you ask.

“taking you to my hometown tomorrow. it’s not far.”

“sure.” you agree, sure to regret it. there is no way you can keep up the act in front of his family.

the two of you split off from each other, heading to your respective apartments.

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@sereniteav @iluvmang @wyrcan @azharyy @kunihaver

@cherrypieyourface @walllflowerrrsss @mylahrins @ryuverse @nana7nana777

@cyenac @garfieldissocool @chris-continues @acowboykisser

[ggwritesstuff]

At Your Service

pairing: single dad!austin butler x fem!babysitter!reader

warnings: FILTH. SMUT. minors get lost. references to reader being petite i guess? breeding kink, spanking, sexually frustrated austin, dom austin, a splash of size kink, etc. reader calls aus Mr. Butler and i explode prob missing some. read at yalls own risk.

a/n: i’ve been working on this for weeks in between all my school work and i’m very proud of it. shoutout to @headfullofpresley for the title and the lovely mood board!! and for the rest of my hog cult girlies for your support and encouragement <3

tags: @eliseinmemphis @headfullofpresley @aconflagrationofmyown @woundmetender @foreverdolly @babylovepresley @purejasmine

It was only about ten o’clock when you heard the rustling of keys against the front door. You weren’t expecting Austin to be home so soon, but the exhausted sigh he let out as he kicked his shoes off at the front door told you that tonight was just another one of his unfruitful dates. His keys clattered against the marble countertop in the kitchen, you left your spot on the couch to check in with him.

“Hey, Mr. Butler,” You started. His back was turned to you as he scanned the fridge for a beer, popping the cap off with his ring and carelessly discarding it in the sink. “How was your night?” You asked meekly. He’d been going out on these dates a lot lately and you could see he was growing tired of the routine.

“I’m home at ten p.m. on a Saturday night. That’s how it went.” He huffed after taking a swig from the bottle.

“Oh.” You almost whispered. “Um, the kids have been asleep for the last hour or so. They had dinner and we got through bath time without a fuss.” You told him, trying to change the subject.

Austin pried his gaze from the beer bottle, his eyes were now fixated on you. The kitchen lights were off, but the moonlight seeping in through the window behind him illuminated his figure. You’d never noticed how beautiful his eyes were until this moment; arctic blue irises sparkled, nearly piercing you to the center of your being. “Thanks, hon.” He said. Your cheeks began to burn as his gaze never waivered.

Austin seemed like he was in a haze for a moment until he realized you were probably standing there in front of him, waiting to get paid. He frantically patted himself down and panic flashed in his eyes when he realized he didn’t have his wallet on him. “Dammit!” He nearly yelled as a heavy fist landed on the countertop. “I-I must’ve forgotten my wallet at the restaurant.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I can stop by tomorrow or something.” You assured him. He sighs again.

You realized that dating must’ve been hard for him. Once these girls hear he’s a single father of two and a young divorcee, it seems like they’re just running for the hills. Especially the girls he goes after. Most of them are around your age; freshly 21 and ready to take on the world. They didn’t want to become a stepmother. Not yet, at least.

“Sir, are you okay? I mean, is there anything I can do to help?” You asked hesitantly, slowly walking towards the counter.

Austin let a bitter scoff leave him. Silence lingered in the air for a moment as his head rested in his palms. “Unless you know anyone who’d let me use them ‘til they’re stupid, I don’t think so.”

For reasons you’ll probably have to ask a therapist about, his words made you dizzy. “You can use me, if you want.” The words came hushed, you couldn’t believe you actually said them.

You’d have to be a blind fool to ignore how beautiful Austin was. He was damn near irresistible with those gorgeous blues. Throw his soft, blonde locs and those perfectly pink lips in the mix and he’s just good enough to eat.

He set the beer on the counter and straightened himself out, a hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Darling, as much as I appreciate the offer, you’re too damn little to take the beating I have to hand out right now. Wouldn’t wanna break you.” His comment on your size made a warmth swell between your legs, you chewed on the inside of your lip as he stared you down like a predator stalks its prey.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it, though. I have. A lot, actually.” Austin began to ramble a bit. “Sometimes I think I’m fumbling these dates on purpose. I’ve got a pretty young thing back at home that would probably beg me to touch her, use her how I want.” He rounded the counter to make his way over to you. He towered over you, “I just don’t think she can take it.” Austin slipped a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him.

“I can take it, Mr. Butler.” You said shyly, unsure of whether you were being truthful or not. He was so close to you now, you could smell the beer on his breath.

Austin took your hand into his, he marveled at just how small it felt in his hand. Your legs almost gave out when he guided your hand down to his pants and pressed your palm to his length, “Y’sure, hon? I’m not like those boys you’re used to. I just don’t know if you’d be able to handle it.” His tone almost sounded mocking.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intimidated by his size just from palming him through his slacks, but you were already in too deep. “I’m sure. Just wanna help you. Want you to use me.” You were shocked by the words coming out of your mouth, and Austin seemed to be too. He quirked an eyebrow when he heard the last bit of your sentence and his jaw dropped a bit in surprise.

Suddenly, you had whiplash. Austin pushed you against the wall before he smashed his lips onto yours. The taste of beer lingered on his tongue and the smell of his cologne invaded your nostrils. He had one hand cradling your face, and his fingers were so long that you could feel them in your hair. It took you a moment to shake the surprise before you eventually melted into the kiss. You felt his hips grind into you slightly, and your legs nearly gave out again. Your senses were entirely overwhelmed, flooded with him.

He broke the kiss for a brief moment. “Arms around my neck.” He mumbled against your lips before connecting with them again. When you didn’t comply, he pulled away again. “I said, arms around my neck.” It finally registered that he was asking you to do something and you quickly scrambled to do so. Austin bent down a bit to grab your legs and once he picked you up, you almost instinctively wrapped them around his waist. He carted you off upstairs with such ease before he sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping you sat in his lap. The kiss resumed with the same depth of desire, and the way you were straddling his lap allowed you to really feel how hard he was. How massive he was. A shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of him pressed against you.

You kept your arms wrapped firmly around his neck for stability when he pulled his hands away to start unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor once he finally got it off. His skin was soft and warm as your hands wandered around his back, feeling the firmness of his muscles. You felt him pawing at the hem of your shirt, telling you to move your arms so he could tear it off.

Now bare chested, Austin yanked you flush against him. His chest kept your breasts trapped against him as his hands fell to your hips, using them to grind you down onto his still clothed length. The fabric of his pants caught your panties in a way that made a soft moan tumble from your lips. “Gotta keep quiet, baby, don’t wanna wake the kids.” He scolded, you simply nodded, biting down on your lip as the friction against your clit was already intensifying. Your pleasure was rudely interrupted when he flipped you onto your back and he stood upright, undoing his belt and shedding his pants. Your eyes widened at the sight of the tip of his cock just barely peeking out of the waistband of his boxers, red and leaking with precum. Austin chuckled at your reaction as he looked down at you sprawled on top of his mattress, “God, you really are a little bit of a thing, aren’t you? Never been with a girl so small. Gonna have to open you up a bit.”

In one swift movement, Austin pulled your skirt and panties off and discarded them to the floor. His hand trailed down your thigh until he reached your core, letting a slender finger swipe through your wet folds. “Really want me to use you, huh?” He questioned just before slipping two fingers into your tight, weeping pussy. You bit your lip so hard you swore you drew blood, trying to choke back a moan as your walls fluttered around his long fingers. Austin laughed, “So fuckin’ tight, god damn. Never thought the girl who takes such good care of my kids was such a slut.” He emphasized his last word, slut, with a curl of his fingers, brushing against your g-spot.

“Fuck, Mr. Butler, feels good.” You whimpered softly, staying conscious of the fact that the kids were asleep down the hall. Austin’s eyes darkened in an instant at his title. Mr. Butler. It sounded so pretty coming from your mouth, the pace at which he was pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy quickly increased. “You want me to use you? You think you’re stretched out enough to take me? Still feelin’ real tight around my fingers, baby.”

“I can take it, Mr. Butler, promise. Use me, please, want you to use me, Sir.” You babbled, overwhelmed with pleasure already.

Austin pulled his hand away despite the way your walls clamped around him in protest. He rid himself of his boxers and your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of his length. He grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed, perfectly aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance. You spread your legs a little further to allow him in your space. Calves wrapped tightly around his waist, his head nudged you open and he began to sink inch by euphoric inch into you with a string of swears about how tight you were.

“Ho-fuck, I knew you’d be tight, darlin’. God, you feel like fucking heaven.” Austin grunted as he finally started to thrust into you, still moving slowly at first. “Been thinkin’ about this since I hired you. Seeing you with the kids just makes me wanna take you all for myself, split you open on my cock like a good little slut.”

His thrusts picked up in speed, you bit into his shoulder to keep your moans at bay as your nails anchored into his skin. Somehow, Austin was still forming coherent sentences. “Taking me so good, baby. You on the pill?” He asked, his face buried in the crook of your neck. With a nod, you affirmed that you were and he groaned loudly at your response, the frequency sent a vibration through you and you shivered at the feeling, “Ngh, fuck- wish you weren’t. You’d look so pretty all round with my kid.” All you could do was mewl in response. You could barely comprehend what he was saying with the way his cock was slamming into you with such a delicious force.

Austin’s gaze shifted from your face down to your abdomen and his jaw dropped at the sight. He had to stop himself from cumming right then and there as he saw his cock in your belly with each thrust. “Oh, fuck, look at that, baby.” He drawled, placing your hand over your stomach. “Feel that?” He grunted, thrusting harder, if that was even possible. Your eyes rolled back when you felt him through your stomach. “You’re doin’ so good for me. Taking me so well in this pretty little pussy. Feels so good, baby, I might just have to ruin it for everyone else but me. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

“Aus-, Mr. Butler…” was all you could choke out. He surrounded you entirely, all of your senses were on fire just for him. Austin abruptly pulled out and stepped back for a moment, catching his breath just enough to speak.

“On your hands and knees, you’re getting too loud.” He ordered. “What, are you so cockdumb that you can’t hear me? I said, on your hands and knees. Don’t make me tell you again.” Austin seethed once you didn’t respond to his command.

You were grounded just enough to form a snappy response, “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Austin nodded slightly as he bit his lip, a sharp exhale sounded through his nose. He was caught off guard by your sudden attitude, maybe even a little pissed off.

Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been presented with anything he wanted in a long, long time. A hardworking man such as himself could rarely accept anything if he hadn’t earned it. He didn’t expect your off hand comment to incite such a strange feeling within him. All he knew was that he needed to assert himself as the strong, dominant man he is. He needed to show you that he earns his keep.

“Alright,” he said quietly, turning to his dresser and opening the top drawer. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it sure wasn’t a fucking paddle. “You wanna be a brat? I’ll treat you like a brat then.” He sat on the edge of the bed, roughly pulling you over his thigh and flipping you on your stomach effortlessly.

You were caught off guard by the first slap of the paddle and you couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped you as the searing pain radiated throughout your entire ass cheek.

“Count.” Austin demanded. Your blood was pumping so hard that it muffled your hearing, you didn’t even realize what he said until his fingers threaded themselves into your hair and harshly pulled on it, yanking your head up and looking him in the eye. “I told you to count.” He gritted through clenched teeth, accentuating his frustration with another tug at your hair when he said his last word.

“One.”

“Awh, she knows how to listen.” He cooed mockingly before delivering another smack.

“T-two.”

He placed the paddle down to use his hand to smooth against your ass, grinning to himself when he felt how hot they already were. “Still wanna be a brat, honey? I could do this all night. You look so pretty bent over my knee like this.” Austin kneaded one of your cheeks in his hand as he spoke, providing a sliver of relief before landing another smack to it, now using his hand.

“Three.” You whimpered. You felt his cock twitch against your abdomen when he saw that his hand left a mark that covered your entire cheek. You were so tiny to him, and he was certainly taking advantage of that.

Austin landed several more hits to your ass, your cheeks were tear stained and your thighs were slick by the time he decided he’d punished you enough. As if to say “truce”, he leaned down to press a kiss to the heated, stinging skin of your ass as he massaged the other cheek with his hand. “You gonna behave now?” He whispered against your skin.

“Mhm, yes, Mr. Butler, ‘m sorry.” You whimpered into the now mussed bed sheet, the fabric muffling the sound.

“Good. Hands and knees now, princess.” Austin directed, giving you one last pat on your ass to encourage you up. You gathered all the strength you possibly could and lifted yourself to your knees, leaning down on your elbows. What resembled a growl sounded from behind you as Austin drank in the view. He’s never had such a pretty, young pussy; he couldn’t get enough.

Not of the way it felt sucking his fingers in so greedily. Not of the way it glistened with the blend of your arousal and his. Especially not of the way you felt so tight and warm, wrapped up around his cock like you wanted to keep him there forever. He doesn’t think he’d be able to resist if you asked.

You winced in pain when his hand came into contact with your recently abused ass, but your focus shifted once you felt him slipping back into you from behind. He slowly sank himself inside you until he bottomed out, allowing you to fully feel the stretch. God, it burned like hell. But if this is what hell felt like, you’d spend the rest of your days as a sinner. He filled you so effortlessly, the sensation had you burying your face into his pillow to muffle your moans. You felt him lean over you as you hid your ecstasy, he pressed a kiss between your shoulders, “There’s that good girl,” he muttered against your skin. “I know, it feels so good that you just have to cry out like that. ‘S alright, baby, just muffle those pretty moans into the pillow.”

Slowly at first, Austin thrusted into you, letting you feel every inch and every vein; relishing in the way that your walls would constrict around him with every stroke of your g-spot. As muffled as they may be, he still listened closely to all the precious sounds you were making. He let them engulf him wholly. It was like the most beautiful symphony he’d ever heard; every strangled moan of his title, Mr. Butler, beckoned him closer and closer to his breaking point. Unbeknownst to you, he was still holding back. His subconscious mind knew you were small and fragile, likely easily breakable. But his restraint was fading and it was becoming evident as his thrusts picked up in speed, grabbing you by the waist tightly.

Months of pent up sexual frustration were bursting at the seams. You let Austin take what he needed from you. That’s how you found yourself face down, ass up in his bed in the first place.

He finally began putting some truth behind his thoughts spoken in desperation. Austin finally allowed himself to use you. It was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. From this angle, he was hitting spots you didn’t know existed. You didn’t even think it was possible to feel so good.

Until he hooked a toned arm around your waist, hoisting you up on your knees. You could feel his heart pounding against your back as he held you to his chest, mercilessly rutting into you. A cry of pleasure threatened to escape and you frantically tried to release Austin’s grip on your throat to bring it up to cover your mouth. “Such a good girl, stayin’ quiet for me.” He grunted between thrusts once he realized what you were trying to do, peppering the shell of your ear with kisses as he snaked a rough and calloused hand down to rub circles around your swollen clit.

Before you could even realize, your orgasm was quickly approaching. Austin actually realized it before you did and leaned in to whisper against your skin. “You close, princess? I can feel it, squeezin’ me so tight. Go ‘head and cum for me.” He punctuated his command by nipping at the skin in the nape of your neck. The warmth of his breath fanning against you was all it took for you to come undone.

You were sure you looked pathetic; frantically grabbing at Austin’s arm for purchase and barely able to keep yourself upright, all while muffling your cries of ecstasy into his hand. He wasn’t far behind you, his thrusts became more urgent; nearly insatiable until he buried his cock deep inside you one last time. With an obscene groan that you felt vibrate against your back, Austin filled you with his cum. His cock twitched, triggering a flutter of your walls that incited a moan from behind you.

Your chests heaved in time as he came down from his high. His forehead rested on your shoulder while he recovered, placing a few featherlight kisses to your back every now and then as he kept you full of him.

Austin wrapped an arm around your waist to settle you back on all fours on the bed before pulling out. A shiver ran down your spine and you whimpered as his cum quickly poured out of you, he watched as it flowed and chewed at his lower lip. He was entranced by the sight; his sweet babysitter laid all fucked out on his bed, leaking his cum.

“You alright, honey?” He checked once he could form the words. The way you simply nodded into the mattress made him laugh. “C’mon. Let’s wash up.”

Austin led you to the shower where he gently cleaned you of the sweat, spit and cum.

“Feel better now?” You joked as he rinsed you off.

Austin nodded with a gentle smile and brushed a damp strand of your hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek to hold you to his chest. “Thank you, dear. You have no idea how bad I needed that.”

“Happy to help, sir.”

And you were.

Anything to help Mr. Butler.

[cxsmicbaby]

something nice - 1

CHAPTER ONE OF A SERIES 

pairing : miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings : smut at the end! cursing throughout. enjoy :)

you and hobie play a prank. miguel doesn’t like it, but he can never stay mad at you. 

                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“And then... my uncle died.” 

“Mmhm.” The smell of hot coffee grows stronger. It’s mere inches away.. I just have to suffer through this for a moment longer. 

“And I realized. I’m not even real! I’m just a clone of the real Peter. And that totally destroyed me.”

“Oh wow,” I say, nodding. Ben, or Scarlet Spider, continues to go on about his tragic backstory, somehow still managing to flex his biceps as he begins to well up in tears. 

Finally, the spider in front of me finishes filling their mug and it’s my turn. God, if I had to stand in line with this melodramatic asshole for a second longer I think I would’ve tried to cut my own ears off. He’s still talking as I fill my cup with coffee, but this time I’m not listening. It’s probably some variation of the same things I’ve been through, anyhow. I wonder how Miguel is able to sit through thousands and thousands of these things whenever he recruits a new spider. He’s not a very patient guy. 

Miguel. He walks through the lobby at 5:30am, every morning. I woke up early today so that I would run into him. Not like I said anything to him; I walked past him, smiling, and he just grunted. Just about what I expected. But I still woke up early to see him. I feel a little stupid thinking about it. I’ll probably do it again tomorrow. 

“Yeah, Ben, that really sucks. Maybe you should see a therapist.” I turn and give him a pat on the shoulder, smiling as genuinely as I can. He nods, and wipes his teary eyes. This guy cries way too easily. 

I swing off into the main lobby. Thank god, I can be free. I don’t know what the plan is today, but I’m always up for an adventure. 

“Oi!” I hear, and behind me Hobie is swinging forward, his mask already on. That must mean there’s something happening. Regardless, I’m always happy to see him. He’s probably the only person I really talk to here; other than Miguel. 

“Hey! Got anything for me?” I ask, as we land on a free platform. Hobie pauses for a moment before he starts digging around in his pockets, and pulls out a bag of my favorite snack from his universe; unfortunately, it doesn’t exist anywhere else, so I depend on this not-so-dependable guy to bring them for me. 5/10 times he actually remembers it. 

“What’s with the drink? I thought you hated coffee,” he asks, plopping himself down on the edge of the platform. I do the same, and we watch as the spiders swing and climb all over the place, like a jungle gym. Every time I take a step back from this whole thing like this, it always amazes me. Just a few weeks ago, I was stuck in a universe where I was the only one, and now I’m in a place where everyone is just as corny as me. It’s lovely. 

“I do,” I start, taking a sip of it. I fight the way my lips threaten to purse in disgust. “I needed a pick me up.”

“Ah.” Hobie pulls at a loose thread of his shirt and smiles deviously. “Up all night thinking about Miguel, huh?” 

Hobie is far too observant for my liking. There’s nothing that gets past him, which is great for combat, but not great for me. 

I swallow hard, and shake my head. “No. And you should stop saying shit like that! What if someone overhears? They’ll think something weird is going on.”

“Like?” Here we go. 

“Like. They’ll think I’m in love with him or something. We’re just friends. He’s cool. I’m cool. Everything’s cool.” I sound like an idiot, and I know Hobie thinks the same when I hear him laugh. It’s like I’m a fucking teenager again, gossiping about my crush in the locker-room. I hated high school. 

“Cool, cool. Everything’s cool,” he teases, mocking me. 

We’re both quiet, basking for a moment in the odd sort of peace that comes out of this chaotic place. 

Hobie snickers softly, shaking his head at something that he’s thought of. “Heard some of the others talking bout how Miguel’s pickin’ favorites. Guess who’s the favorite?”

I sigh, and down the rest of the disgusting black liquid. “Whatever. I’m not his, uh. His favorite. He talks down to me like all the rest.” 

Hobie is quiet. That’s rare. When I look over at him he’s just staring down, a weird sort of smile still on his face. His fingers are drumming against the platform. 

“Hey, what’re we gonna do today? Please say you’ve got something fun.” 

That seems to get him, because his head perks up and that teasing expression is replaced by one of excitement. Thank god. If I had to talk about Miguel for another second it would not have ended well—I tend to get a little loose with the things I say the longer I’m forced to talk about them. 

“Something fun, eh? I’ve got something fun. But only if you’re up for it.” 

I smile. “You know I am.” 

Compared to a lot of the others, I’ve been here for a very short time. Still, I’ve learned the ins and outs, the dos and the don’ts. Like, do listen to what the higher ups (and Lyla) say. Don’t make fun of Miguel’s tediously slow entrance on that weird platform thing. Do make friends. Don’t be an ass. And for god’s sake, do not pull any pranks. 

The thing about spider people; we tend not to really listen to rules. 

Hobie and I are perched on a bar above the lobby. We’re trying to figure out the best way to go about things. Me, I think he should take charge, but he seems to think nobody really likes him, so they won’t listen. He thinks they’ll all fall in line with my beguiling feminine charms and do whatever I say. I think that sounds like bullshit, but I don’t really wanna do the other thing, so I agree to it. 

I drop down smack in the middle of a group of spider-people in a conversation. Immediately, I put on the most panicked expression I can muster and start running around frantically. 

“Jessica’s gone into labor! I repeat, Jessica is giving birth at this moment! Help her get back home so she can go to a hospital... or something!” I shout, trying to get as much attention as I possibly can. Of course, everyone loves Jessica, so everyone starts rushing to her aid. None of them actually know where she is, but they just launch into help-mode, as Spiderman does. Soon, the lobby is basically empty. Sometimes, I think about how gullible I must be if I’m really just a variation of this same person. 

“Coast’s clear,” Hobie calls, dropping down from above. “We don’t have a lotta time, gotta make this quick.” 

I frown. “We? But you said all I had to do was get them out!” 

“Yeah, that was a lie.” Hobie shrugs and tosses me a spray can. “Now, you gonna help or not?” 

The idea of getting caught spraying painting the building Miguel has built specifically for us makes me queasy. The idea of being caught doing anything that would make him upset makes me queasy. But if I back out now, then I just made a fool of myself for no reason. I don’t mind looking stupid, but it’s gotta be for a reason. 

I sigh, and reach up to tug my mask over my face in case someone realizes that Jessica is not even here right now, and decides to come back. I mean, not like I would really be hiding much, considering everyone knows what my suit looks like, but there’s no harm in it. 

The moment I pull it down, the room is doused in red light and an alarm starts blaring. Fuck. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, mate,” Hobie groans, tossing his head back in frustration. “That old man did not just sound the alarm ‘cause we’re pulling a goddamn prank. Might as well do as much as we can before the rest of ‘em come back.” 

That does not sound like a good idea. If Miguel is angry enough to turn on the alarm that signifies intruders, he will definitely not like us continuing in spite of his obvious warning. But Hobie’s already swinging up, spraying bright purple in a strangely elegant ribbon across the walls. I start to hear footsteps, but they’re far enough away that I think I have some time. So, despite my better judgement, I follow Hobie, tagging wherever he’s painted with a green design of my own. Gotta admit, it looks pretty dope. That assuages my fears somewhat and I find myself letting go a little, whooping in excitement as I swing around the lobby. 

Then, I hear it again. Footsteps, but I know these very specific footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry. My stomach drops and I land, turning to Hobie to see he’s still painting away. He probably hears it too, he just doesn’t care. I wish I could be as carefree as him. Especially when it came to this sort of thing. 

But I can’t. In fact, once Miguel actually appears in the room, hair slightly disheveled, face twisted up in an almost scary amount of anger, I freeze in place. God, he’s fucking fuming. His eyes sweep the room like we just painted Miguel Sux! in somebody’s blood. And then his gaze lands on me, and I feel myself shiver; in fear, in anticipation, in... something else. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Miguel bellows, and that catches Hobie’s attention. Before he can say anything else, the flake is gone. Typical Hobie. Saving his own ass. I can’t even really be mad at him, because if it weren’t for the annoying way my feet were sticking to the ground I would’ve done the same. 

The alarm shuts off, and the room goes deadly quiet. I’m still staring at him as he approaches me, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. He needs to see a therapist, I think, but don’t have time to even smile at my own quip before he’s looming right above me. 

“Do you get joy out of causing this type of shit? Out of wasting everyone’s time?” Miguel spits, and I know I’m supposed to be hurt by what he’s saying, but god if I don’t wanna just pounce at him right here, right now. 

So I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t seem to like that. His fists are clenched tight at his sides as he studies me. 

“You know, if I knew you were gonna be such a fucking nuisance, I would never have brought you here.”

Ouch. That one sort of hurts, so I take off my mask and I look up at him, trying to keep my composure. I frown. “It was just some harmless fun, Miguel. No need to get so mean about it.” 

That was not the right thing to say, apparently, because his eyebrows furrow even deeper. Before he can open his mouth to say something that will probably make me cry, I force a smile and swing up to the wall. 

“And it looks great! Don’t you think this place is too... I don’t know. Sterile? Everyone’s gonna love it.” I hope he can’t hear the way my voice is trembling. When I hear my words echo back to me, I’m relieved to find that I sound quite confident. I’ve always been good at that, faking like I know what I’m doing. I think that’s a Spider-man thing. 

Miguel doesn’t speak. He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales deeply, hanging his head. 

“You are going to clean this shit up. Understood? And when I find that little shit Hobie, I’m gonna tell him the same thing.” 

I think that’s the closest I’ll get to him saying he isn’t really that mad about it, and that’s good enough for me. I swing back down to stand in front of him, and this time when I smile, it’s real. 

“Are you sure? I’m telling you, it looks super—”

Miguel’s eyes narrow and I feel my stomach twist. “Don’t test me.” 

I straighten up and salute him, fighting the urge to run as Miguel’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes, sir!” 

I swear to god, he almost smiles, before he just shakes his head. 

“Don’t do shit like this again. I won’t go so easy on you next time.” 

                                                       𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“You don’t let yourself have anything, do you?” 

Miguel pauses. He finds himself looking up at you, despite the desire to remain stoic and focused and uninterested. It’s always hard to do that, with you. 

“What?” he says, his voice slightly biting. He means it to be. He wants to scare you away so you will leave him alone, finally. It’s been mere weeks since you joined them, and in those weeks, you have made it your mission to annoy him more than anyone ever has in his life. It’s like you live to bother him. He should hate it more than he does. 

He should hate your stupid fucking pranks and your dumb, unfunny jokes. But he doesn’t. He knew it was you today, even before he got to the lobby, but for some reason he wasn’t that mad. And then the fact that he wasn’t mad about it made him mad about it, and he was mean to you. He wants to apologize, but that’s not like him. Everything he does or feels when it comes to you is a contradiction to the person he has built himself up as. The whole thing is just so muddled up he’d rather ignore it. 

You sit on a metal box to his left, swinging your legs back and forth as you scrutinize him. Miguel doesn’t like how you always have this knowing look on your face, like you’re waiting for him to discover something you’ve already found out. Frankly, all the Spider-people have that sort of glint in their eyes, but with you it’s different. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself not to look away. 

“I mean, you don’t let yourself have anything nice, or fun. The closest you get to letting yourself feel happiness is those empanadas you make me bring you.” 

You smile at him, and he thinks to himself that he wishes you would do it more, but the moment the thought passes he stamps it out with a frown. 

“And even then, you always scowl when you eat them.” You cancel out his grimace with a little laugh that makes Miguel fucking furious.

“You know, it’s not in your best interest to keep talking about this. If causing a useless ruckus is fun to you, then yeah, I don’t fucking do that.” He practically spits it, and swivels his head to focus again on his work. He doesn’t know if he wants you to apologize or if he wants you to just go. Apologize? He’s kidding himself. You would never. 

He can’t help but listen carefully for your movements, wanting to hear if you’ll leave or not. But he hears nothing, and he turns again to see you just sitting there, swinging your feet. Still smiling. 

“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have shit to do?” Miguel asks, narrowing his eyes at you. He notices that his tone lacks the sting he meant it to deliver and chooses to ignore it. 

You boost yourself up from the box and stand. “Not really. Can’t I just stay? I won’t make any noise, promise.” 

Miguel frowns deeply. “That’s impossible.” But he doesn’t tell you to leave. 

You sigh, your body swaying side to side. Miguel thinks its a subconscious thing you do when you’re standing; most people would just be still, but he’s noticed that you cannot possibly remain perfectly in place for more than a few seconds. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna get some sleep. You should too.” You send him a small wink and turn, walking off toward the exit. You stop briefly, turning to face him with an expression he can’t quite read.

“And, uh. Sorry about today,” you call, and he says nothing. You turn again and he watches you leave. 

Everything has changed since you showed up, and if anything can be taken from his obsession with anomalies, it’s that Miguel hates change. Especially when it seems like there isn’t much changing for anyone but himself. 

It was him that found you. He went on a mission to a universe he had not yet traveled; a rare occasion, because it wasn’t to destroy an anomaly, but because something was telling him to go. It wasn’t like a voice, or even a sense. More like a feeling. There was something there for him to discover and so he went without saying anything, hoping he’d be back before anyone noticed. 

Miguel found you on the roof of a museum. You were sitting on the edge, swinging your feet back and forth, just staring into the streets. You had your mask off, which he remembered thinking was incredibly stupid, seeing as it was still light out. Your suit was nothing to gawk at, nothing too different than the hundreds of others he had seen, but for some reason he knew it was you he was supposed to find. You, he had been called to. For what, he didn’t know.  

You noticed him before he intended you to. When you saw him, you didn’t look shocked, or scared; you looked happy. No one had been happy to see him in a long time. 

“How long you been standing there?” you asked, turning your body to face him. You crossed your legs and watched him approach, staring up at him like he was someone you knew, someone you had been waiting for. 

Miguel was quiet. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. 

“You know, one of us is gonna have to change.” And you laughed hard at your own dumb joke. Your laugh made him uncomfortable, how truly happy it sounded, how real it felt. You seemed like you hadn’t yet experienced the tragic things that came with being a Spiderman. You seemed innocent. Like you needed to be protected. 

And by god, you were beautiful. The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

The thought startled him and he stayed quiet.  

“Your suit is super cool. Kinda cyberpunk.” You stood and you watched him carefully, walking slowly around him in a circle. Miguel’s eyes followed you, his body on guard as if you were going to suddenly lunge at him. 

“Why aren’t you... surprised?” Miguel finally said, his tone accusatory. But you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did you didn’t mind. You stopped in front of him and stuck your hand out, inviting him to shake it. 

“Welcome to Earth-72, Miguel. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And that’s how he found out about a Dr. Strange, and how you knew about Miguel already; in fact, you were expecting him. The idea made him irrationally angry. Someone like you, obviously flippant and probably reckless, with knowledge about something as dangerous as the multiverse? You were most likely new to your abilities, to the mask. You were too naive and carefree not to be. 

But Miguel was wrong. You had long been bitten, lost your uncle, your sister, your best friend. You just seemed to lack that bitterness that he saw in the others, in himself. You were happy. 

Like most things, that also made Miguel angry. 

You begged him to let you join the Spider Society. You said you had known about it for a while, and you dreamed of being apart of it, of something bigger than yourself. Your words exactly. He was slightly impressed by that, but didn’t show it. In fact, Miguel wanted deeply to say no. But he didn’t, for reasons he’s not quite sure of himself, and that’s how he ended up with a permanent, relentless distraction. He was starting to wish he never brought you back in the first place. 

If you were more like him, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have this problem. But you’re not. You’re almost the exact opposite. It drives him fucking crazy.

Miguel shook his head, grunting in frustration at his own inability to focus. It seemed even when you weren’t there, he was plagued by the thought of you. 

And think about you he did, for hours on end, sometimes. When he would lie awake in bed, his body aching from the strains of the day. He wouldn’t be able to close his eyes, because the image of you was always waiting for him. Smiling, laughing. Looking up at him with those eyes of yours. He would find himself imagining what it felt like to be close to you. Your skin would be soft, he knew. Your lips would be softer. Your hands, calloused by years of fighting, swinging, winning, losing. How they’d touch him. How they’d hold him. 

How he would touch you. Make you feel good. Make you think about him, just like he thought about you. Make you want him. 

Miguel always lost himself in thoughts like that, and he was usually able to bring himself back to reality. When he got back to his room that night, though, he felt as though he couldn’t push it down. He didn’t let himself have anything nice. And god, did he want something nice. 

The water ran over his taut back, soaking his hair and running down his cheekbones. One hand, splayed against the tile wall, and the other by his side, just inches away from an itch he is fighting not to scratch. His cock is aching. He swears he can see it pulse with every second that passes, every drop of water that lands on his shaft, veins prominent and throbbing. 

Miguel imagines that you’re there with him. That you stand in front of him, and that instead of the wall it’s you he’s touching, your skin slick with water and sweat. That your hands are on his chest, your nails scratching him just the slightest bit, and god, those eyes, staring into his like he’s the only thing that has or ever will matter to you. 

When he finally wraps his hand around his cock, it takes his breath away. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, slowly stroking himself, gripping so tight he’s sure his fingertips are white. It’s not enough. 

Miguel closes his eyes, and immediately he pictures you. He feels almost guilty to think of you this way, on your knees, with your lips wrapped around his dick. But he can’t stop. His breathing grows heavier as he imagines you taking him deep into your throat, gagging on him, your nose brushing against his pelvis. He thinks about what he’d say to you. How he’d tell you how good you were doing, how perfect you were. He grips himself impossibly harder and is unable to stop himself from relentlessly jerking his cock, his hand pushing so hard against the wall he’s afraid it’ll crack. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice breathy and deep. More water drips onto his shaft and immediately he thrusts desperately into his own grip, envisioning that it’s you, spitting on him before you take him in your hand, running your tongue over his tip, looking up at him. 

He thinks about what you’d say to him. He knows he would be too big for you. But you’d try to take him all, because that’s what you do. He’s sure your hand wouldn’t even wrap around his entire length. And you would tell him how big he was, how beautiful you thought he was. You’d probably tease him too, about how quickly he’d been reduced to a mess, how eager he was. He’s surprised at how close that thought brings him, and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting out a shameful moan. 

When Miguel comes, he says your name. It’s not loud; it’s more like a plea, a prayer. His body caves in on itself and he shudders with the force of it, his legs trembling ever so slightly as he tries to bring himself back to reality. He stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, feeling a little ashamed at how quickly he finished. He hasn’t had the time to do anything like that in so, so long. He hasn’t let himself. 

He washes himself off and gets out of the shower. 

When Miguel lies in bed, he’s haunted by the thought of having to see you tomorrow, knowing what he’s done. And then he grows angry. You did this to him. And you’re not even trying; you’re just there. What a nuisance you are. 

He tries to close his eyes, but he finds himself plagued by you still. 

                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

CHAPTER TWO

[changbinsboobs]

what is something u came to learn abt each skz member that really did surprise u or that u might not have thought abt if u were just observing them as a fan?

I def want to answer that again in the future when i have done more readings on them but for now its this:

1. how easy going I.N is. Tbh i though he's pretty stuck up and kind of a snob😅

2. how sneaky felix is. He seems like an innocent sunshine but i think he has a very different side to him that otherwise stays very well hidden.

3. how girlypop chan is. He has a more of a daddy/therapist perona within the fandom and other than that seems very serious and workaholic so i thought his energy would a very "no bullshit" kinda energy but he's very very cool and as i said gives me "girly pop, tea" typa energy.

4. how stuck up hyunjin is. Tbh i did sense that already when watching 2 kids room but i thought its just a small part of him, as we see so much of his fun creative side, but after doing multiple readings on him i believe he's a VERY difficult person to have an relationship with (platonic/romantic whatever, just very difficult)

5. how family oriented seungmin is. Very very mature. If tomorrow news cane out if him having a wife and a 3 year old child, with another in the way - i wouldn't be surprised AT ALL!!!

6. han being much more stable than i thought. Honestly i thought he's a mess and definitely has big problems mentally - doesn't seem like that at all tho in my readings. Gives off a pretty stable energy at least comparing to what i thought before.

7. for leeknow i dont have much as he seems pretty similar to what I've picked up on him beforehand - aside from the fact i thought he's way spicier than he actually is. Now it makes total sense to me, and i actually see where that come sfrom through his behaviour in interviews and more insight that we've gotten about his prsonal life etc, but somehow back then i still thought he would be spicier, being a double scorpio (or scorpio gemini) and all.

8. for changbin theres nothing that surprised me as I've picked up on his energy soooo strongly from the moment i started stanning the group. He's actually the reason i started using tarot, because through him i found out i actually have a gift for things like that. Like i would be cooking(or doing something), and suddenly i get a weird urge to like vent and ramble(with like really specific details), and feel so annoyed and hurt and i keep seeing him and like getting an urge to be held - even tho I have never had thought and feelings of that kind before. Idk how to explain it - u just know its not yours. And i endure it for a few 10-20 minutes, and it doesn't go and suddenly i decide to look if something's happened and then i see a certain live or a video or whatever and everything I've been feeling and hearing suddenly makes perfekt sense. Also had periods of times where he's in my dreams, but disguised and its like really intense. But yeah anyways I've went into too much detail😂 basically everything I've found out about him through tarot, i already knew before. I became interested in tarot primarily because of him and the intense energy I was CONSTANTLY picking up on.

[lookinglass-fic]

A bit personal, and also cw/tw for mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation//

I lost my best friend to suicide two years ago. And I can't lie, the themes in OFMD season 2 are hitting hard. Ed is definitely my comfort character, and I love him so much and just want good and nice things for him and want him to be happy.

The sucide themes are... heart-rendingly accurate and make total sense, in ways that I feel certain that someone(s) in the writing team and/or crew have had experiences with this particular thing.

It's bringing up a lot of grief and some unearthed trauma for me, I think. But I think it's also a great opportunity to talk about what you can recognize in friends and loved ones who might be having ideation.

In re-watching episode 2, I noticed some things. The day after the cake topper incident, the morning where Ed tells Frenchie, "I had a very rough night last night, but I think I got all of the poison out of my system," he's cleaning up the cabin. He's cleaned himself up. He's chipper. It's the same morning he gives the gun to Izzy, the same night that he goads the crew into killing him.

And please note, I am not an expert. I'm not a psychologist or therapist, I'm not qualified to dole out real advice. I've just become... intimately familiar with warning signs of suicide the past few years after joining some support groups and being part of discussions and hearing dozens upon dozens of stories from the people left behind. And this is just advice from one human being to others who might need to hear it.

People who have long-term ideation can tend to have a sudden upswing in the day or two immediately preceding death, and it's because they've made the decision to go ahead with it.

My friend had seemed to be getting better. He was chipper, sending photos of things he liked and generally texting/calling people in a cheerful mood. The day it happened, he was on a hike sending me pictures of rabbits and magpies.

If your loved one is going through an incredibly rough patch and has a sudden upswing in mood, if they start cleaning up by giving things away or making big changes, it's time to check in. It's time to find a way to break through to them and see if there's anything at all you can do to stop them from going through with it.

This show brings so much attention to so many things, and they get so many things right. I'm in a kind of a weird mental place right now just because this is bringing up a lot of feelings for me, but it's only because it's so accurate and hits so close to home. If this can help even one person, then it's worth me being weird on the internet about it.

And for anybody out there struggling... just find one thing. Just one thing to keep you here until tomorrow. Just one thing to stay for. Warmth. Food. Intercourse. Anything. Just please stay.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 1: Pre-Contemplation

Chapter 2 here | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | main masterlist |

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap) Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel, survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma. A/N: I cannot say enough thank you's to the number of lovely humans who encouraged this idea and supported me as I embark on my very first fic! And what better Pedro character to be the guinea pig for this idea? Lots of this story draws on my personal knowledge as a social worker, as I am working towards becoming a certified equine assisted therapist. Consequently, there are lots of horsey terms, therapy terms, and vivid descriptions of trauma at certain points. Feel free like, comment, or reblog if you enjoy it :)

Taglist (for now): @beskarandblasters, @pr0ximamidnight, @theewokingdead, @atinylittlepain, @prolix-yuy, @swiftispunk, @harriedandharassed, @amywritesthings

If anyone wants to be on the taglist please let me know! If you don't want to be on it then also let me know lol.

~~~~~~~

You sat up taller in your chair, arching your back and rolling your shoulders in an effort to stretch out your spine, exhaling softly as you heard the cacophony of crunches and protests from your muscles. You had been hunched over your notepad for over an hour, eyebrows scrunched together and your mind running on autopilot, as you caught up on client notes that you had fallen behind on for the last couple days. The downside of having a small therapy practice, hell any therapy practice, was that there was a never ending litany of documentation to fill out. Seeing as you were the only therapist in the tiny commune of Jackson, there was never a shortage of clients and consequently, never a shortage of session notes that you had to write. 

“Hun.”

You hear your name spoken in a warm tone from behind you. You barely look up from the page as you try to rewrite the word ‘diagnosis’ after what feels like the fifth time. The word has basically lost all its meaning at this point. 

“Honey, c’mon, the sun is about ready to set and you can wrap that up tomorrow.” The cover page to the notepad closes on top of your hand and you look up to see your assistant, Tracey, giving you a knowing look and then glancing towards the front of the office. You follow her gaze to the front windows and take in the deep ember orange hue washing over the business faces and windows on the opposite side of the street, signaling the end of another day. Sighing softly, you lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest with a frown. You know she’s right and yet you still have the same dispute every day. 

“Trace, you and I both know that if I don’t get them done today, they will just be added to tomorrow’s to do list, besides this is the last one I swear,” you say to her with a smirk, as if she has not heard that excuse before. 

You were never the kind of person to half-ass your responsibilities at your job, including client documentation, even if there was no longer any governing body or association to uphold professional social work standards. You did your job with integrity, even the mundane administrative tasks that involved more writing than actual talking with clients. Tracey knew this of course, it was something she admired about you, how suited you were for this line of work. It was clear that you cared deeply for the clients that you supported. But it doesn’t mean it was not a fight when the end of the workday rolled around and she had to tear you away from your desk and practically shove you out of the office door. 

She rolled her eyes at you and her lips curled into a small smile as she headed towards the door with her coat and bag in tow. “Promise me you will at least be out of here before the night patrol starts?” She points her finger at you as she stops just ahead of the door. You nod and wave her off as you turn your focus back to the notepad, smoothing your palm over the words etched into the cover ‘Restorative Reins.’ 

You had only been in Jackson for roughly over a month, though it felt like much longer. Much like everyone else who had survived the outbreak and came to find refuge in the small settlement after the world went to shit, you were grateful to accept any basic decencies of normal life that were afforded to you. Warm meals, warm showers, hell running water in general was a miracle in and of itself at that point. So when you actually arrived in Jackson, you were dumbfounded to see how much normalcy surrounded you. Children running and playing in the streets, storefronts of various thriving businesses, sheep being rounded up in a nearby corral - hold on, a fucking MOVIE THEATER? 

While it took some time to grow out of the perpetual fight or flight mode that you were entrenched in from life on the road, you did eventually fall into a good pace in Jackson. Especially after getting involved in the community and taking up the job as the local therapist, you had never been busier, and you loved it. 

The world felt unflinchingly obsolete post outbreak, but being able to support others with their mental health never failed to bring you joy and an unshakeable sense of purpose. You wanted to help others as they navigated their pain and broke down the mental blocks that entrapped them in their trauma. You wanted to help them realize the innate strength that they possessed. Sadly, you never got the chance to practice long term, as you finished up grad school just before the outbreak happened. But that didn’t seem to matter now as you had an endless stream of community members that you saw on a weekly basis at your practice, all with their own pain and struggles, seeking support.

It was crazy to think about the short period of time that had passed since you started at the job, how much you had done for the residents, how much more that you wanted to do. You were pulled from your memories when the office phone rang, internally groaning as you looked at your watch.

4:58 p.m. Of course. 

Steeling yourself you picked up the phone, praying that it was a quick call.

“Restorative Reins Practice, how can I help you?” you answered.

“Oh! hi ma'am,” a warm, mellow Southern drawl greets you on the other end. “Are you the local therapist that has been helpin’ folks out around here with their mental health?”

"That's me,” you reply warmly, “what can I do for you?”

The man hesitates briefly, “Well, I was uh wanting to know a bit more about the business I guess, how the therapy process works, fees and stuff for someone who was interested in getting help. Not me though, it’s not for me, it’s for my brother, Joel. My name is Tommy by the way,” he mentions quickly. 

“No problem Tommy, I can explain the basics to you including the different types of therapy I offer and how the process works,” you reassure him. You explain to him the different services, how the equine therapy worked, walk in hours, session lengths and so on. 

“I should probably mention that my brother ain’t keen on getting help and reaching out to others when he needs it, he’s too damn proud to acknowledge it, so he really doesn’t think he has any issues and thinks everything is fine… but he’s having a real tough time settlin’ down here. He’s so haunted by his past and he’s been acting differently lately, more temperamental, well, more than usual,” Tommy adds. You smile to yourself and nod, as you’ve had many clients before who were stuck in similar struggles and closed off to therapy initially.

“I can definitely understand that,” you sympathize with him. “It sounds like your brother has been through a lot and you just want him to get some support, which is great. Therapy isn’t for everybody but I have worked with many individuals like him who were going through similar situations, and they found great success.”

“That’s great to hear. That’s all I want for him is to get some help,” Tommy states.

“Now with that being said,” you continue, “therapy is voluntary, I cannot force someone to attend, but if your brother would agree to a consultation with me, I could chat with him more about where he is at, the kind of support he could benefit from and go from there. No pressure to commit to anything,” you propose to him.

“Hmm, I think he could be persuaded to try that, now that you mention it like that,” Tommy chuckles, sounding pleasantly surprised. 

“Awesome! You can tell him to stop by the office any time and we can discuss it more. We’re open from 9-5,” you tell him, silently relieved that it was an indeed quick call. He thanks you and hangs up. 

Something else akin to curiosity creeps into your mind as you recount what Tommy briefly told you about his brother. Maybe more so intrigue. You wonder how resistant he is to therapy, what happened in his past to hurt him so deeply, but you catch yourself before your thoughts run away from you further, either way you look forward to helping another person in need. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tommy, I swear to god if you bring up this damn therapy shit again, I won’t hesitate to shoot you next time we’re out on patrol,” Joel growled through clenched teeth, as he walked away from his brother into the kitchen of the house. 

“Boy, it ain’t like I never heard that before,” Tommy quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he followed Joel into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as he leaned against the frame, hands shoved into his pockets. He observed his brother's rigid stance, the tightness in his shoulders, as Joel stood over the sink, looking out the window. 

This felt like the umpteenth time that Tommy had broached the subject of Joel getting help and talking to a ‘shrink,’ as he dismissively described it, for the issues that he was struggling with. Joel was fine. He didn’t have any fucking issues. He was doing just fine and didn’t need some professional to scrutinize him, reduce him to his vices, and open old wounds from his past life. He was encouraged to go to grief counseling after Sarah died but by some grace of God, or whatever godforsaken omnipotent entity existed at that point, the outbreak occurred. Forget mental health, physical health and survival became the only focus.

Tommy exhaled softly. “Listen, I'm only suggestin’ it because I care about you. Ellie cares about you. You both have been through hell and back in the last year, I mean shit, we all have. But it seems like everything y’all went through is still affecting you, holding you back from letting your guard down and settling in here,” he states plainly, sadness lacing his tone. 

“That’s bullshit Tommy and you know it,” Joel snaps, turning to face his younger brother and leaning back against the counter, arms crossed in defense. His gaze narrows.  “I go out on patrol don’t I? Pick up extra shifts wherever it’s needed, help out with the contracting jobs, go out with Ellie in town.” Joel stood up taller, puffing out his chest, challenging his younger brother. Tommy shook his head, running his hand over his face with an exasperated expression. Heaven forbid Joel did anything for himself that did not involve contributing or providing for someone, period. He just couldn’t shake that from his identity, and it broke Tommy’s heart as he watched his brother’s stubborn pride, ridden with guilt and trauma, swallow him whole. 

“Man when are you gonna fuckin’ do something for yourself Joel?!” Tommy asserted, his frustration reaching a boiling point. “Forget the damn commune, forget the community, forget Ellie for a sec and think about the last time YOU did something for yourself, the last time YOU reached out for help goddamnit.” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the threshold of the kitchen as he strode towards Joel.

“You’re not on the run anymore brother. You don’t have to just survive. You can have a life here. You can sleep without keepin’ one eye open and relax without lookin’ over your shoulder. Don’t you want that? Don’t you think you deserve that?! Don’t you think you deserve this?!” Tommy said as he gestured around the cozy kitchen and fixed his older brother with a pleading stare. 

Joel’s eyes widened as he tried to step back, the edge of the counter biting into his lower back as he took in Tommy’s weary face, the pain in his soft brown eyes, mirroring his own. His younger brother rarely raised his voice anymore. The outbreak took its toll on his hot headed temperament that never seemed to simmer down, even after he was discharged from the army. Joel knew that Tommy cared about him, hell he knew how deeply his brother loved him, after all they had respectively been through in the last twenty years, it had to be serious for him to raise his voice. 

Joel opened his mouth, ready to bite back but his brother raised his hands in the air in surrender, “Look, this is the last time I will bring this up, I swear. But yesterday I called up the therapist in town who’s been helpin’ folks out, and asked her about the therapy process and she seems real nice, and supportive. She said you could come in for a consultation and talk to her and see if you’re interested,” Tommy said quietly.

Joel’s gaze narrows as he scrunches his eyebrows together in incredulity, “You-”

“I had nothing to lose Joel. Absolutely nothing. And neither do you,” Tommy cuts him off, raising his chin in defiance. “At least go talk to the therapist, if you don’t like her or you’re not feelin’ it, then I’ll drop it and let it go. Okay? The office is on the main street, just beside the clothing store, adjacent to the stables and they’re open everyday from 9-5.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ Tommy,” Joel leaned back as he looked up at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse in on him. Gotta love that brotherly love.  

“Look I should be getting back now, Maria will be waiting for me. Here’s the number and address for the business. I’ll see you around okay?” Tommy patted through his pockets and retrieved a small piece of paper with writing scribbled on it, placing it on the counter beside Joel. He gave him a last placating look before he walked out of the kitchen, the front door closing behind him with a soft click. 

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply before turning back around to look out the kitchen window. He hung his head in defeat, rounding his back as he rested his elbows on the counter and glared into his matte reflection in the sink. He didn’t need any help. He was doing fine. He’s still upright and breathing, with blood coursing through his veins isn’t he? Albeit, he's not jumping out of bed like a sprightly thirty year old anymore. His knees pop and crackle when he gets up from crouching over machinery for too long, his joints protest the next day when he pushes himself too far, moving slower than usual on job sites. 

Hell, even his memory is starting to get cloudy around the edges. If it weren’t for Ellie some days, he’s sure he would leave the house without pants on, what with her always reminding him where things are in the house, special events that are coming up in the community that he forgets about. He had been a bit more snappy than usual, as Ellie so lovingly pointed out one day, but that’s nothing compared to his normal demeanour. 

“You’re becoming a grumpy motherfucker y'know that? Jeez, who shit in your cornflakes this morning?” She grumbled at him with a mouth full of cereal, after he snapped at her reminder that it was parent day at the local school. Parent day, P.A. day, Joel hadn’t dealt with any of this shit in over twenty years since Sarah was in school. Even then he managed to swiftly neglect many of the parental events, seeing as Sarah was the perfect student, with nothing but glowing reviews from her teachers. The fact that Ellie was going to school amidst a fucking apocalypse was enough for Joel to be content. 

But still, he’s doing fine, right? Just fine. 

“Maybe talking to someone that’s not related to you would help you, y’know? Being able to talk about shit that you can’t talk to me, or Tommy, or anyone else about you know?” Ellie proposed to him later that night.

As luck would have it, she was already home when Joel and Tommy spoke in the kitchen and she had heard pretty much the entire conversation. And like Tommy, she only wanted Joel to get support because she cared about him. 

“Think of all the shit that we went through in the past year, forget the infected, and the raiders, and FEDRA, and almost dying,” she casually listed off on one hand as if she was reciting a grocery list.

“There's so much shit that we’re both carrying with us, demons from our past, and it’s gotta come out one way or another. Look, therapists aren’t there to judge you, or analyze you,” she continued, “they’re kind of like a sounding board for you to bounce your thoughts off of, and they help you process shit you’re going through. You never know unless you try it,” she said matter of factly. 

“Like Tommy said, you got nothing to lose man. Plus the whiskey and pills will only help you numb reality for so long, you’re gonna go insane eventually,” she said, fixing him with a knowing look as she leaned back into the couch beside him.

Joel just grunted in response and frowned. Damn this kid for being too insightful for her own good.

Ellie might be young but she most certainly wasn’t naive. And as much as Joel would have liked to assume that her easy transition into life in Jackson was on account of her youthfulness, it really wasn’t. It was just the fact that she had never known a normal life, as heartbreaking as that was. She never had the chance to experience such normalcy before everything turned on its head. But she developed friendships with a few of the other teens in the community, namely one girl Dina, who she hung out with after school, went to the movies and other community events with.

She didn’t have to actively try to fit into Jackson, she just did. Joel would never acknowledge the pangs of jealousy he felt gnawing at his insides when he saw her getting on so well, but it didn’t mean they chipped away at his morale any less. 

Ellie smirked at his lack of response, knowing he was mulling it over in his mind. With the relationship they had developed over the past year, she was grateful to be able to talk to Joel and actually get through to him.

“Damn maybe I should be a fuckin’ therapist, that was good advice wasn’t it?” she grinned at him, elbowing him in his side.

Joel snorted and shook his head. “Christ, I must be losing my mind for real this time if you’ve got me considering it.”

“Now c’mon,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him, “you owe me at least a few games of Boggle for that pep talk,” she said triumphantly, holding up the weathered board game that was on the coffee table.