#Y/N & therapist: valid

[wwrenwrites]

Premarital Counselling

Therapist: Jason, how would you rate your trust in y/n on a scale from 1 to 10?

Jason: 11

Y/N: Aw—

Therapist: And how would you rate your trust in the world?

Jason: -500

Therapist:

[il-miele-che-scrive]

you know what people are saying when a girl gets cheated on? go for his brother.

a/n not tryna offend anyone, I just love a lil drama

Part 2 here

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username1 Miss Y/n Y/l/n getting cheated on? No one is safe fr

↳username2 Yeah cuz how's he casually cheating on a literal goddess??

username3 they were together for almost 2 years😭

username4 My therapist will hear about this

↳username1 And Arthur is paying the bill

username5 that's it I'm NEVER trusting a man

username6 Isn't that girl Y/n's friend too? Poor girl getting cheated on twice

↳username3 yes it is 😭 guess Arthur got it from his brother

username7 Except Charles didn't cheat 😭 he's a homie hopper but he got morals

username8 I don't worry about Y/n, she's gonna find a new bf, but she wasted almost 2 years on him

yourusername excuse my state i'm as high as your hopes

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username2 Miss girl about to enter her hoe phase

↳username3 As she should tbh

charlottesiine Lots of fun last night🤍

↳yourusername nothing will beat an ex wags night out

↳username2 best ex wags fr 😭

yoursister Next time I'm going too to keep an eye on you wtf

username4 Wait so Y/n and Charlotte are friends? When did this happen?

↳username5 Yeah cuz we've never seen them hang out back when ChaCha was a thing and suddenly the girls are partying together?

↳username6 I mean it could be just a "we both suffered a Leclerc so let's hang out" kinda thing

username5 WE BOTH SUFFERED A LECLERC 💀 no okay but that's valid

username7 Am I the only one noticing this post was liked by Charles?

↳username2 He knows his lil bro messed up lmao

username8 Okay guys so what are we betting on - did Charles like this post because of Y/n or because of Charlotte? Also, isn't he in a relationship?

↳username3 Charles has been single for a few months now, he's free to like whoever he wants lmao

↳username9 It's just a like it's not that deep

arthur_leclerc You were my cup of tea but I drink vanilla latte now

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username1 The AUDACITY some men have

username2 and she was her best friend 😭

username3 I really want to believe they broke up before he got with the best friend but I don't think it's true

↳username4 Y/n and Arthur literally attended Charles' race a few days before we got the pics of Arthur with the other girl

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yourusername you don't mean nothing at all to me

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yoursister And I didn't even have to stop you from calling your ex

↳yourusername why would I even wanna call him anyways

yoursister Riiight, you were too busy getting to know some other interesting people:)

username1 What is Y/s/n talking about?

↳username2 Or rather WHO is she talking about?

username3 No Charlotte in the post but Charles is in the likes again 😶

↳username4 Have you seen what this one gossip page posted? Charles being in the likes isn't the thing I'd worry about here

username5 WHAT.

username3 Care to elaborate?

username4 Charles was also at the club with Y/n. It honestly looks like it was organized by a friend of his and he took Y/n there

username2 OH

username2 That's what Y/s/n is talking about

username5 Our girl Y/n is getting promoted from F2 to F1 and I love to see that

↳username6 LMAO it's so funny because it's true 😭

↳username2 Do we know who else was at this party?

username4 Allegedly the party was organized by Gasly, so obviously there was his gf Kika, but also some fellow drivers like Albon, Russell, Sainz, Ocon, Ricciardo and their gfs

username5 I was joking but now it looks like Y/n is actually becoming an F1 wag now lol

username7 Gossip girl on wheels I've been saying it for months

username8 But the caption SLAPS

↳username9 no because it looks like Y/n and Arthur are having a caption war lol it's funny

username8 It's childish but let a girl heal from a heartbreak in peace

yourusername karma will take it from here

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username1 MISS GIRL?? WHO IS THE MAN??

↳username2 We all know it's Charles (allegedly)

username8 Nah cuz I told yall she's gonna find another boyfriend soon

yoursister Loving to see you happy again ❤️

↳yourusername just needed a little upgrade

username3 I have no proof but I just know it's Charles

username4 Do we think she went for Charles because she genuinely likes him or just to get back at Arthur?

↳username5 Wait until someone starts a "she cheated on Arthur with Charles" gossips

username6 My two favorite red flags

↳username7 The homie hopper and the brother hopper, a match made in heaven

username6 The homie hopper is so real, Y/n recently hung out with his ex Charlotte 💀

username8 What kinda brother gets with his brother's ex?

↳username9 Imagine the next family dinner lmao

username10 Y'all it's not even confirmed that the man is Charles, y'all are crazy

↳username6 The post was liked by all the F1 drivers and their partners that were on the party from Y/n's previous post, it says a lot

↳username2 What @/username6 said and also Y/n is now followed by half of the F1 grid AND the wags

charles_leclerc Not your cup of tea, but my glass of wine

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yourusername KARMA IS MY BOYFRIEND❤️

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[atyourmerci]

To think I’d know it all

Therapist!ellie (read pt.1 here)

X

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, power imbalance don’t fuck your therapist, talks of degradation, lots of praise, Ellie watches r! masturbate, thigh riding, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: this is for @catfern if she likes it I die happy. Sorry this took so long I got a little overzealous, yet still it feels rushed so I’m dropping this and disappearing! I promise I’ll be going back to working on reqs now.

X

You think you know yourself, your highs, desires, triggers, your inner most depravities. but you don’t. Maybe it wasn’t your fault- the bliss that came from blatant ignorance so bitter sweet on your tongue. So comfortable in your own escaped reality, why would you try to face it now?

Half of the time you were lying to Dr. Williams. A white lie here, slipping through the cracks of reality by omitting the truth there. It’s not like she couldn’t read you like a book- she knew everything. Things you had never thought of, mysteries to you, solved in seconds by her.

You never gave her much of your true issues, deadbeat mommy leaving you at six for her new boyfriend that could be your brother. Never feeling academically competent, body issues, all the bullshit troubles any girl could dream of beating herself down over.

Thats what you told yourself she knew, the surface, pretty, palpable, easy to swallow, desirable.

But Ellie didn’t want palpable, she craved the chaos of your destruction. She wanted to watch the rage play out, dangerously close to her integrity. She wanted to pull the dirty guts out to feast on. Every last piece of you, torn out, then you would be easy enough to swallow for her.

-

The air only grew thicker. Suffocating your windpipes to choke on, making sure you felt every particle of desperation.

The session after she had cancelled. You thought she’d keep this up, realizing she had taken it too far, falling into her desires you had coaxed her into.

But yet there you were, back in your usual seat, legs crossed, throat dry as it eats at the hot pressure in the air. The buzz of a ring in your ear as you sit there silently. To talk of it, to progress, to regress back into the unknown- the lies, the omissions.

Would she guide you- like she did last time? would she make you do it yourself, pathetic and begging, longing for the validation that she did it for herself, even if only for a little bit.

“How have you been?” A formality, a principle, a greeting. She had to say it- what would she say outside the four walls of this prison?

“Alright,” came out as an unwanted sigh, subconscious as your body tells the truth before you can cut it off at the source.

“No witty comeback? did something happen with the girl?” Ellie furrows her brows at your change of body language. She takes note of how closed off it is, not desiring of visitors. You watch as the veins in her muscles twitch in her tank. rid of the cover of her modest blazer, shoulders now under the impression of your gaze.

“I stopped seeing her, Im seeing an ex,” you didn’t have to say that, could have left it at the end of your farce of a hookup ending. But this time it wasn’t a lie, you truly were fucking that cunt.

“Oh. Anything serious?” Ellie tenses, eager to unpack the dichotomy of the new woman. Why did you start seeing your ex again, what was she tied to, what did you have to gain from anyone but her?

“Just sex.” you shrug off. This was the truth.

“What drove you back to her specifically?” Ellie goes to write it down but once again find herself unable to find the words- lost in the craving the understanding of your mind selfishly.

“Comfortability- is that what you want to hear?” you taunt her, driving your eyes into a squint. What was her motive- what was your own?

“Well something in particular brought you back to her, no?” she pries, not letting you take control of the conversation. If she had to drag it out of you herself she would.

“She knows how I like it,” your attempt at intimidation, confidence in your own pleasure. Nothing but another beautiful farce covered in thorns. A hint of a smirk paints the doctor’s lips, mean and tortured.

‘Oh you think you know yourself so well you beautiful fool’ Ellie thinks to herself. You wouldn’t know satisfaction if it hit you in the face, but she was to help you- that was her job right? “And what is it…that you like?” Shrinking her face into a scowl, head tilted to the side, watching how your body twitches at nothing. How pliable could she diminish you to without touching you- she couldn’t, of course.

“She gets rough with me,” so knowing, as if you were breed for it. A toy of sorts, helpless under the hands of a predator.

“What entails rough?” Ellie probes, getting her scalpel out, ready to dissect your oblivion. Her flesh scorching with fervor as she coaxes more out of you. She had found her vessel.

“I dunno… hitting, tying me up, stuff of that nature.”

“What else?” You’d never know how eager she was, calm in her disposition, from what the eye can make out. Inside she pulses, her mind eating away at itself. To bite is still to touch- Instinctual and destructive. A morbid curiosity to drown herself in, held at the bottom of your mind with the weights of her own scrutiny.

“You wanna know that she calls me a fuckin’ whore?”

“Why do you think you like the degradation?” Ellie shifts forward, getting to the edge of her seat, splaying her forearms onto her thighs. A pissing contest, cruel and depraved.

“Probably my godforsaken mother- what are you get-“ you begin to question before you’re interrupted.

“Good girl.” Ellie coos, shifting her weight back into the seat, her forearms resting on the armrests as her legs are lazily parted. A test she knew she’d win- she knew you best didn’t she? Playing you like a puppet, taking matters into her own hands, unethical as it may be.

So abrupt you’re taken out of a haze. An uncalculated whine coming out of your throat, you attempt to cover it with a halfass cough but the damage was done- you were caught. Ellie just watches as you squirm, skin growing hot as she watches you knowingly, smug and cunning as you tip toe the ledge. “w-what?”

Ellie’s grin only widens, “that was a fair assumption, aware… you’re doing so well already.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, fire blazing in your chest ready to burst into ashes laid out like puzzle pieces neatly for her. A new sensation, uncharted and dense. Immensely ridged to obtain- the feeling of worth, accomplishment at its peak. Would you ever be able to fulfill the demand?

Ignore it, lie, get out of it.

“I like getting when she treats me like shit- gets me off…” you attempt, eyes casted downwards to your sweaty palms soaked from the heat of the air.

“No you don’t.”

“How would you know,” you laugh her off. You’ve built your wall, so high that not even you could see over it.

“Sure you want to be told what to do. But you also want to be acknowledged for your work. How pretty you look opened up. How good you are for taking more, taken whats asked of you. Don’t you?” Ellie doesn’t skip a beat, like shes rehearsed it, dwelled on your inner most necessities. The doctor asks but you both know it’s not a question, rather an admission of verity.

“Doctor Williams, please-“ the impending doom of your fate- the tip of the iceberg chiseling down each second. A ticking time bomb sure to go off. Your body pulses, heart racing. How much more could you take?

“It’s okay…tell me whats wrong” Ellie coos doe eyed, so forgiving in a breeding ground for destruction. A flower blooming in the midst of a tornado. To talk, to proceed, to regress.

“I cant control myself- listening to you…like that,” fist turning white grappling onto the armrests, breath shaky and wavering. Your hips subconsciously rocking into the thick leather of the doctor’s chair- a taste of salvation at any cost.

“Be a good girl and show me the mess you made on my seat,” a reckless invitation- one with grave consequences. Nonetheless too sweet not to bite, sink her teeth into and rip the flesh.

Shameful, degrading enticement. Shaky hands grasping the button of your jeans. How much time did you have left? What if someone walks in? Both your jeans and panties come off in one fowl swoop- fallen to the warm carpet on her floor. You wince as the naked, seeping flesh of your cunt reaches the leather, “Fuck.”

Ellie just watches, amused, stone faced as she understands the specimen. The way you hips rut without you letting them says more than your words, “Give yourself what you need.”

Your body comes back into consciousness with the approval for more. Give her whats shes asked of you. Nimble fingers beginning to circle the swell of your clit- the reoccurring ache of disappointment- the fate of inadequacy.

“Atta girl- just like that. Does it feel good?” the doctor mutters so sweetly- so proud of her specimen. She knew you needed it- the approval, the praise of accomplishment.

Your breath shortens and you pulse around nothing. Driving aimless circles around the bud as your head cocks back. Your cunt begs of her, pleads to be full of her- if shed ever let you have it. “n-need you, please Ellie.”

The doctor had never heard you speak of her name. Too casual for barriers, too comfortable for the tension. Something in her own mind switches at the words- the way they rolled off your tongue like you had said it many times before. Where had you said it, to whom? If not anyone at all. “I cant help you…but I cant stop you from helping yourself.”

Lust was a sin, but gluttony was a mere punishment. Overzealous in nature, depraved and lawless in practice. A reckless invitation- one with grave consequences. A walk of shame, magnets finding their match. She had made your bed, you were to lie in it.

Ellies hands on her armrest, sure to not budge- to uphold her ethics, principles responsible of her own will. She lets you climb her body, mount yourself up top her lap, positioning your cunt on her thigh.

The air. Thick, all consuming- so close, breathing her air, the breath of someone wiser, more understanding of your own mind. What a dangerous game, everything you need right there, yet taboo to drain every last bit of her. An inch given, a mile lacking. She keeps her eyes trained on you, her subject in testing.

“It’s okay, fuck yourself on me. You’ve been so good.” letting your cunt rake up and down the scratchy fabric of her slacks, hands pinned behind your back on your own accord.

The bubble in your stomach already ready to overflow, choking back whimpers drown in by your teeth. She made it so easy- she didn’t even have to fucking touch you.

“Let go. Let yourself come,” the doctor demands, she knew what you were doing. Ellie didn’t care how pathetic it was.

“I can-t not, not yet,” sweat dripping down your flustered face as your sticky white slick coats her covered thigh. The sight was so vulgar in Ellie’s eyes, watching you panting as you fuck yourself on her thigh. Thoughts of what she’d do in another world without laws.

“Do what you’re told.”

[pyrodolls]

can you write sounding with one of the yan boys or ignoring them because of something?

GIVING SUPERFAN! AND STALKER! YANDERE BOYS THE COLD SHOULDER HCS

WARNINGS: obsessiveness, sfw, some slight su!c!de references, bayani is basically a servant and victor needs a therapist, just overall unhealthy behavior cuz they're yanderes. (i do not condone yanderes irl and this is for writing purposes) gender neutral reader, no use of y/n.

A/N: hey guys i just found out my best friend might be dating my ex bf (that made me hide in my house for a year) which is funny bc he told me "not to worry about her" while we were dating. and my birthday is in 2 hours so it's quite an unfortunate time to find out that they've apparently been dating for a few months. if it's true, then whatever LMFAOOO now she's gotta deal with him and it ain't my problem. also thanks for 1k followers, you guys are awesome!! sorry for not updating much, i just don't have a lot of motivation these days

if you ignored bayani...

bro do you *want* him to jump off a cliff???

he is panicking. he is having a CRISIS

bayani lives to please you. if he's talking to you and you just ignored him for whatever reason, he would be heartbroken. absolutely crushed.

he would attempt to ask what's wrong, and fix it as soon as possible. as much as he enjoys being mistreated by you, he'd hate for you to be upset with him for an extended period of time.

his first instinct is to fix whatever he did wrong. he would automatically blame himself, even if it wasn't actually his fault.

he always seeks your love and validation. if you were to ignore him, he would literally sink into the floor and die.

if you forgive him and stop ignoring him, he would be overjoyed. and he'd be less clingy, and a lot more careful around you. he wouldn't want you to get mad at him ever again. that would be his worst nightmare. if you want him to return to his old self, let him know he can be clingy again. if you don't, he'll remain cautious around you for the rest of his life. he just wants you to be happy with him. he can hold himself back from showing too much affection if it means you'll approve of him.

if you ignored victor...

yeah no he's not having it lmao

he'd be so butthurt. and unlike bayani, victor would be very annoying and start hanging around you more. usually he lets you do the talking, or follows you around from a far distance. but if you started ignoring him, he'd become more talkative just to piss you off.

he hates being ordered around, so he's not gonna let you stop him from interacting with you. he's gonna keep talking to you and hanging around you no matter what.

it'd take about a week for him to get agitated. he'd wonder what he did wrong, and try to ignore his insecurities by pushing them on you. instead of drowning in his sorrow, he'd turn it into anger and blame you. you're the one being unreasonable, he did nothing wrong. of course he doesn't believe that, but that's what he would convince himself. he would rather take his anger out on you, the love of his life, rather than admit how unhappy he is with himself and how he treats others.

he'd find ways to punish you for your behavior. as much as he loves you, he won't accept any disrespect. he takes it as a huge blow to his (very fragile) ego.

BUT if you gave up and started talking to him again, he'd get a huge ego boost. of course you'd talk to him again, he's just irresistible! this was totally expected... even though he was crying in his bedroom every night wondering why you weren't talking to him and got very insecure, wondering what he did to make you mad at him. would he ever confess this, though? nope.

he's too prideful to admit that he missed your voice and attention, but he'd show how sorry he is by helping you with chores and work. if you bring it up, he'll say something along the lines of: "i'm not doing this because i'm sorry... i just think you weren't doing it right. i know how to do it better."

this insecure and bratty ass man child would rather sit naked on a hot grill than verbally say sorry lmao

[judesdrabbles]

The Cure (part 1)

Hello everyone, this will be the first part in my series ‘The Cure’, featuring my oc Vincent. This fic is quite slow, since I want everything to go quite gradually. I hope you guys enjoy. <3

yan!psychiatrist x reader

PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

word count: 1K

warnings: reader is afab, obsessive tendencies, reader has anxiety, Vincent is extremely apathetic here

Pens were portrayed in a neat line on his desk, next to his patients files and some square glasses. They were clean. Polished. Just how he liked it.

People always find things to obsess over. It’s only natural. Otherwise, you’ll get bored. Silly teenage girls and their crushes on fictional characters. The insecure male finding validation in the stock market. The lonely, middle aged woman and her fascination with her neighbor. The old man and his collection of train models. Obsession was the thread that tied humanity together.

Vincent understood this better than most. If obsession were an art, he would be its most devoted patron.

There was never a quick spark of interest for him. There had never been a ‘phase’ of anything. Because if he was interested in something, he would become consumed by it. Wanted to know everything about it until it’s laid bare, plucked dry of everything it once contained. He wanted to know, to understand.

Nothing is casual for Vincent.

That said, not much interested him either.

-

‘Um.. sir?’

The man, who is supposed to be your new psychiatrist, seemed to jump up from his thoughts and glances over at you. You were standing hesitatingly in the doorway.

‘I’m sorry, but patients are supposed to be waiting in the waiting room.’ The man says curtly. His dark eyes seemed to flash in annoyance.

‘Oh- Yeah, I know.’ You say, laughing nervously. ‘But I had an appointment at five, you see? It’s already thirty minutes past..’ You stay quiet for a bit. ‘And, uh, your door was open..’

The man looks over at a watch on his wrist. She was right. It was already 5.30. How could he be so careless? He gently takes the glasses from his desk and puts them onto his nose. He clears his throat and walks over to you.

‘Forgive me, Miss..?’

‘Y/N.’ You answer, pressing your lips together. ‘I hope those 30 minutes don’t get charged.’

He shakes your hand and a small smile forms on his lips. It was a cold smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Dr. Vincent, pleasure. And no, of course not, I’ll make sure of it.’ He gestures to a seat on the opposite side of his desk. ‘You can sit there, if you’d like. Or you can sit on the couch, if you’re more comfortable there.’

The office of Dr. Vincent was .. lavish. Only one glance and you could see that this guy had some money, were it to be for either the polished leather chairs, the hard wooden floors or the tall book shelves that covered the walls. And everything was neat. Almost too neat. It made you feel bad for coming in here with your normal sneakers and clothes instead of dressed up in a formal dress and heels. Especially since the psychiatrist himself seemed to dress impeccably, too.

‘I’ll sit on the chair, thanks.’ You say as you sit down. ‘It’s a nice office you have here.’

Dr. Vincent rubbed his hand on his suit, as if he just touched something dirty, and sat down opposite of you. ‘Thank you, Y/N.’ He answered. ‘Now.. it was a few days ago that I got your file in. I understand that you were referred to me since your old psychiatrist retired, hm?’

You nod. She had been such a sweetheart. You almost wanted to quit therapy all together when you heard she would retire. But she got a replacement. A new psychiatrist, moved from another town.

‘Yeah. We don’t have a lot of therapists or psychiatrists here, so I was genuinely shocked when they said there was a replacement.’

Dr. Vincent chuckles. He had his hand neatly folded in his lap, all the while looking at you. There was a slight flush on your cheeks. Nervousness? You didn’t seem nervous. Or were you good at hiding it?

‘Tell me what you worked trough with your previous therapist, Y/N.’

Dr. Vincent’s stiffness made you a little uncomfortable, and he seemed to notice that. He smiled reassuringly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes again. Was he bored?

‘We worked trough my anxiety.’ You say, looking past him since his dark eyes seemed to pierce trough you. ‘Social.. situations and stuff. How I can handle it.’

Dr. Vincents eyes seemed to light up with newfound interest. ‘Right. Did you feel like you made progress?’

‘I mean, I am here, talking to you, a stranger. That’s something; right?’

He nodded, though his thoughts began to stray. He didn’t get many patients in his old city. And the ones that did come, were boring. They were like the wallpaper in his office. Unremarkable- fading into the background of his mind.

Again, nothing really interested him. Not the common patient that came in with relationship problems. Not the grieving mother. No, he didn’t worry one hair on his head about it. The pens on his desk interested him more.

‘Seemed like you made some good progress, then. I hope I can become more for you than just a stranger, though. Otherwise these sessions might prove challenging.’ He says.

You chuckle softly. ‘Time will tell. Need to decide if I like you or not.’

Dr. Vincent’s eyebrow raises. A sudden spark in his eyes appeared, again.

There was something about you.

Something that intrigued him.

‘I’m sorry, it was a joke.’ You say awkwardly when he doesn’t respond. He just chuckles.

‘I’m not offended, don’t worry.’ He remarks, his voice low and measured. ‘In fact, I value honesty. So, please, tell me more, Y/N..’

[chlix]

treatment resistant

bf! chan x fem! reader: he comforts you during a mental health episode

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ANGST like seriously, turns into comfort at the end tho 🙏🏾

word count: 4.7k

warnings: graphic depictions of depression, anxiety/anxiety attacks, and psychosis (paranoia); self worth issues; general self-loathing

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting about six months ago and deliberated posting it, but it's almost the end of the year so i feel like i should release it. i used to feel so validated by fics where reader is depressed and gets comforted, but she was never as depressed as i sometimes was, so i drew a bit from life for this one. everyone please be safe and read the warnings <3

It doesn't start with the dishes. In fact, you think your therapist might tell you that it's not about the dishes at all, but about your own poor self-image, or lack of emotional regulation, or about a thousand other things that are wrong with the way you perceive yourself and the world.

The truth is that lately you've been sleeping way too late and waking up too early, and you're so tired that you can't eat, which makes you so hungry that you can't take naps. You're between jobs and the outlook hasn't been great, your best friend keeps blowing you off in favor of her new boyfriend, and just this week you found out that your favorite bakery is no longer making the souffles that you've been using as a pick me up since you moved into this building.

You don't do well with change, or rejection, or honestly anything, lately. You wake up stressed and you go to sleep stressed. You keep your phone on Do Not Disturb because you can't bear receiving notifications. Just today you've talked yourself out of taking showers twice, only to have a meltdown when you tried to sit on your bed because you felt too dirty to touch your own sheets. You sit on the floor instead. You eat a singular banana for lunch, just to make your headache go away. Your headache does not go away. You feel both unreal and painfully solid, sinking into the ground and on the verge of floating away.

Your boyfriend, Chan, keeps texting you updates about his day, and answering them feels like an exercise in performance art. You scroll through your previous texts to make sure you're adding the right amount of exclamation points, that you're using the same recent emojis. It's like cosplaying a happier version of yourself. A better version, a version that he could love, as opposed to how you are now: greasy and gross and plastered to the floor in your hallway. The idea of him seeing you like this fills you terror, or at least it would if you hadn't burned out your capacity for feeling things already.

A new message pops up.

Chan: Hey baby ❤️ Was thinking of swinging by tonight after work? I can bring dinner with me

Just the thought of eating threatens to make you vomit. You suck in a breath and hold it as you type,

You: If you want something specific go for it! I already started cooking but we could have it another time

Chan: I don't want to waste all your hard work. We can have what you're making. I'm sure it'll be delicious :)

You: I can promise edible. Delicious is up in the air rn 😭

Chan: I have faith in you even if you don't ❤️. I'll be there around seven today

You: Okay! I love you sm, see you then! ❤️❤️❤️

You lock your phone and throw it across the room. Why do you do this to yourself? "Already started cooking?" You haven't showered today.  Normally you try to deter Chan from coming over when you're having a freakazoid episode, but now you've basically invited him in? You have to be normal for an entire evening?

You fall on your back on the ground and put your hands over your face, blocking out the sunshine that insists on steaming through the cracks in the drapes. Your heart is beating so hard you worry you're going into cardiac arrest.

Get off the fucking ground, y/n, you tell yourself. You have to go cook dinner for your boyfriend.

"There is something very wrong with me," you say out loud, very quietly. The silence of your apartment swallows the words. They vanish, as if never said.

You get up.

It takes you two tries to make something even passing as edible. Your head is all over the place, and you burn batches of oil and veggies before you manage to stay in your body long enough to finish making anything. It takes an embarrassing amount of pans and spoons and bowls to make something that should be simple, and as dishes pile up in the sink you feel stupider and stupider. Why are you acting like you don't know how to cook? It's not hard to make some vegetables in stew. You don't know why it's taking every appliance in your kitchen and all of your concentration to execute such a simple task.

By the time you're done cooking, you've stressed yourself out enough that you're getting a tension headache. You close your eyes and brace yourself against the sink, rallying yourself.

Just do these dishes and then you can sit down, you think. Just one more thing.

You pick up a sponge.

You put the sponge down.

There is no way you can do these dishes.

It doesn't so much hit you like a train as the realization slowly creeps up on you. It's not that many dishes, really. It looks like a lot, because the pots and bowls are so large, but numerically there's very few items in your sink. It wouldn't even take 30 minutes to clean everything and leave it in the rack for later.

But that's not happening. The idea fills you with a cold and genuine dread, just as strong and perverse as when you'd tried to shower earlier, or sit on your bed. You can't turn on the tap because then the water will touch you, and it will feel Wrong, and then your whole body will feel Wrong, and then you'll die of Sudden Onset Wrongness. And now that you think about it, a lot of your anxiety today has revolved around water, and isn't that a symptom of rabies? Hydrophobia? Did you get rabies somehow? Would you know if you had rabies? Maybe that's the thing that's wrong with you- you're not depressed or insane or just a terrible person living a terrible life. You're just rabid. There's something eating your brain, and that's what's making you into such a fucking failure of a person.

While you're debating the possibility of brain-eating viruses, Chan comes home from work. You automatically turn towards him, a bright smile on your face, and rush to greet him.

"Hey, Channie!" you say, bouncing over to him with a pep you do not feel. "I'm so happy you're here!"

And you are, mostly. You love your boyfriend, really you do. He's loving and attentive, and he's never made you feel like anything less than the number one priority in his life. You have similar values and work ethics, which keeps you on the same page through most difficult periods in either of your lives and careers. You haven't been together long, but your bond is solid, and you really believe you're going to make it far together.

You also really believe you won't if he ever finds out what a complete nutcase you are. So you hide it. You grin at him and you appear light and joyful and easygoing and you brush off his concerns with adages and placations, and you redirect the conversation back to him, because you're a good listener and you love the sound of his voice and you much prefer that activity to any activity that involves you explaining how you laid on the floor for five hours and had an emotional breakdown while slicing cabbage. He has other things to worry about, other problems to solve without adding yourself to the list. You're supposed to be his respite, not another draining task. He doesn't need to know how hard it's been lately. You shouldn't have to say it.

So he doesn't. And you don't.

"Hey baby," he says. He sets his stuff down and kisses you in greeting. "How was your day?"

"Okay," you say. The answer feels curt, but you don't want to ruminate any more on your absolutely fruitless afternoon.

Chan doesn't comment on your strange answer. He takes his shoes off and hangs up his coat, and as he's about to walk past you he spots the mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

"Oh, were you about to do the dishes? I can do them if you'd like."

"You just got home," you protest. "You should go sit down."

"But you've been standing just as long cooking dinner, right? I should do my part."

His insistence is making something terrible expand in your gut. Instead of being flattered at his offer to help, his words feel like a violent condemnation. You should've done the dishes before he got home. You should've finished cleaning the kitchen altogether, so that he can relax in a clean environment. What kind of stupid fucking girlfriend are you, where you can't even do basic chores around the house?

"No, it's okay. I already psyched myself up to do them, so I'll do them."

Chan hums in a tone that's either playful or mocking, you genuinely can't tell which. "Okay, if you say so. Don't be afraid to tap out if the dishes get the better of you."

Great. He thinks you're so stupid you couldn't do the dishes if you tried.

You subtly regulate your breathing as you turn towards the sink. Chan disappears into the apartment out of view, and you give yourself thirty seconds to push your freak-out as far down inside you as you can.

"You're not an idiot, y/n," you tell yourself. "You can do some fucking dishes."

You reach under the sink and pull out some disposable plastic gloves. They make your hands look weirdly swollen and unfamiliar, as if they aren't your hands anymore. For a bizarre moment, you're convinced that they're genuinely not, that someone else's hands have been put on your body. You close your eyes so hard sparks fly in front of you.

Stop being crazy. Do the fucking dishes.

You turn on the water and pick up a bowl.

Chan reappears. You flash him a smile, but say nothing. Chan grins back, all dimples and crescent eyes. He's so handsome it makes you want to rip your own skin off. You thank God every day that you were born beautiful, because you could never have caught his attention with your personality alone. He'd be completely out of your league, and honestly, maybe he still is.

That thought gets shut down and pushed away. One crisis at a time. You don't have hands and you might have rabies, but you definitely have a boyfriend who loves you. There's no point in kicking yourself while you're down.

You turn back to the sink.

You cannot do these fucking dishes.

"Work was funny today," Chan says as he moves over to the stove and opens the pot.

"Mm?"

"Just some technical issues in the studio. Nothing serious, but it gave us some good bloopers."

You pick up a glass cup. You can see your reflection mirrored back at you in the curve, and your eyes are so wide. Have they always been that wide? Are your eyes drier these days than they normally are? You can't tell, because every part of you feels both dehydrated and submerged under water.

"This is really good, babe," Chan says.

You blink. "What?"

Chan holds up his bowl. "The stew. It's great. I told you it would be delicious."

You let out a pleased sound. "Thank you baby. Your encouragement really motivated me."

It was the wrong thing to say. You have no idea how, but from the way Chan's expression changes slightly as he looks at you, you know he's caught on to you acting weird.

"Is everything alright?"

Shit.

"With me? Yeah, I guess so. I've just been really tired lately."

"On the job hunt?" he asks sympathetically. It's like a stake in your heart.

"As always."

He wraps an arm around you and presses a kiss to your hair. "Don't worry, baby. You're super qualified in your field. You'll find something soon."

You need him to stop touching you or you'll start throwing pans at the wall.

"I hope so," is all you say.

"I know so. Just keep faith."

You hum again, noncommittal. It's like you're slowly losing the ability to speak. And the gloves are too tight and the water is so loud and you're nauseous and your head still hurts and it's probably not even the stress, it's probably the rabies, it's turning your brain into swiss cheese as you speak.

After another tight squeeze, Chan lets you go and retrieves his bowl from where he'd set it down. You hope he might leave you to go eat in the living room, but instead he hovers on the opposite side of the island, and continues telling you about his day. Normally, you'd love to hear the play by play of every crazy thing that happened with his group members and managers. Today, it's like nails on a chalkboard. The story is endless, keeps weaving around other anecdotes and tangents and you wish he would just shut up for one second so you can pull yourself together but you can't say that, because he isn't doing anything wrong, you're just being crazy, you're a bad and lazy girlfriend and you can't even put your own issues on hold long enough to listen to your boyfriend talk about his day. Everything is wrong wrong wrong, and you're Wrong and something is Wrong With You and it just keeps going it never stopswhy can't it all just stop-

"Y/N?"

Your name sounds like it's coming from a thousand miles away.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

You turn to look at Chan, see his eyebrows pinched together in concern. You have no idea how long he's been saying your name.

Very calmly, you strip your gloves off and lay them to the side. You turn off the water.

"Sorry," you say. "Give me one moment, please."

You walk past him and down the hall to your bedroom, where you very calmly and gently close the door behind yourself. You climb on to your bed, filthy clothes and all, and pull two of the pillows from the end to rest on top of each other. You tie your hair back with a hair tie, press your face into the stack of pillows below you so that your whole face is covered.

And you just start screaming.

Screaming is therapeutic, apparently. Or at least, it's on the approved list of emotional regulation activities your therapist had given you. As long as you aren't screaming at anyone, it can be an effective form of release. It helps you release the tension from your core and focus that nervous energy into sound and action.

You scream into the pillow as loud as you can. You aren't sure how much it's doing to muffle your sound, but the belief that it's helping allows you to let go. It's tearing at your throat, the intensity of it. Once you start it's hard to stop, you just keep going and going and going, as if you're expelling demons.

When you finally peter out, you pause for a moment, then push yourself onto your knees. You're dizzy. Blood is rushing in your ears. It's oddly hard to breathe, as if you can't get enough air in your lungs. Even the fact of your own body is too much for you. You wish you could abandon it, just for a moment. You wish you could observe this from the outside so that you would better know how to fix it.

Eventually, your breaths calm. The buzzing recedes, leaving room for rational thought. And your chest feels....lighter. No longer is there a bomb sitting in your sternum, waiting to explode. The pressure has equalized. You look down at your hands, fisted in your bedsheets, and they look like your hands.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

You think you can probably do the dishes now.

Gingerly, you climb out of bed and make your way to the door. You open it, prepared to put your smile back on and apologize for your rude exit.

Chan is outside your door.

His eyes are wide with alarm. He looks stiff, hesitant. One of his hands is outstretched towards the door, as if about to knock.

Your face goes blank, wiring short-circuiting as you try to figure out what to say.

"Hey, y/n," Chan says, slow, testing. "Are you okay?"

Your script restarts, and a big smile automatically draws itself on your face. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that. I just got a little overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. It's fine, though. Come on, you can finish telling me your story."

You grab his hand and try to pull him away from the bedroom. He doesn't budge.

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

You turn back to look at him. "Nothing's going on."

"Baby, I understand if you don't want to talk to me about it yet. But you don't need to pretend there's nothing wrong. You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"I heard you screaming in there."

Ice flushes through your body.

"Ah. Well, it's like I said. I got a little overwhelmed. I'm not hurt or anything. Sorry if I worried you."

"A little overwhelmed?" He's getting frustrated now, put off by your blase tone. "You look like you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

"No, I don't," you say, because you don't. You know what you look like when you get like this. You've trained your expressions so well that your face doesn't flush. Your eyes don't tear up. You have to look put together, because if you don't look put together then you can't convince yourself that you are put together.

"Y/n. I know you. I can tell when something's up." He sighs. "I've thought you were a bit distant for the past couple of weeks but I figured you would come to me eventually. But here we are, and you're having an anxiety attack right in front of me and you won't even admit it."

"I'm not having an anxiety attack."

"Love, I know what anxiety looks like. If you'd just let me help-"

"I'm not having an anxiety attack. I don't have anxiety. I would know if I did."

"Everyone has bad days and hard times, baby. You don't have to be defensive. I'm not accusing you of anything."

"You say you're not accusing me of anything after unilaterally diagnosing me with anxiety?"

Chan lets out a long breath. "That wasn't what I meant. I just mean-"

"You can't just assign me disorders when you decide I'm acting irrationally. You don't know my medical history. You don't even know me that well. You don't know if my behavior is normal or not."

"You can't be getting upset at me for 'not knowing you' when it's clear you're actively hiding things from me," Chan says, patience thinning. "I see you're in distress and you're picking apart my wording? I'm trying to help you."

"I didn't say I wanted your help."

"You're my partner! Of course I'm going to help you!"

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because-" You choke on it and slam your lips shut.

Chan's face is drawn in irritation. He makes a go on gesture. But you can't go on. It's like the words are trapped in bubbling tar.

Your silence stretches. Chan sighs and drags a hand down his face in exhaustion. He'd gone out of his way to come visit you and now he regrets it. You've wasted his evening and ruined his mood. It's only a matter of time before he realizes you ruin everything. Hell realize he's drowning in all your mess and decide to save himself, and then you'll be alone again.

You draw in a breath of your own, but you're still lightheaded.

"Why did you invite me over if you didn't want me to see you like this?" he asks finally. "You don't have to see me every day if that's not what you want."

All the anger is gone from his voice. He's being so patient that your own stubbornness is acrid in comparison. You swallow, hard. Every muscle in your body is tense. You have the pull the words out of your throat with hooks, one syllable at a time.

"I wanted to see you," you explain, stilted and pathetic. "I thought I could pretend for long enough."

"Pretend what?"

That I'm not crazy. That I'm not falling apart. That I'm normal and easygoing and a joy to be around and definitely not rabid.

It's impossible to say. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you know that something is. You can't do the dishes. And you can't do this.

Your knees buckle and you sink to the floor of the hallway.

"Y/n?"

You don't respond. You're just staring straight ahead, all your thoughts whirring so fast that you're having trouble parsing any of them.

"Y/n? Hey, baby, sweetheart, can you look at me?"

You blink, and he's in front of you, on your level. He's trying to look calm but you can see the panic in his eyes. It only makes your chest tighter. You're dragging him down, you're cursing him. He needs to get out or you'll have his blood on your hands.

"We need to break up," you whisper.

Chan reels back like he's been slapped. "What?"

"We can't- we need to break up. I shouldn't have invited you over. I'm sorry."

"I..." Chan is at a loss for words. "You don't mean that."

But you do mean it. With everything in your body. "We can't be together."

"Baby, I don't know what you're thinking, but we don't have to break up if you don't want to. I don't want to break up."

You feel sick with his sureness. How can he claim to know you better than you know yourself?

"You don't get it," you say. Your tone is unnatural, words strange on your tongue. "We just can't be together."

"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

"Just look at me."

"I am looking at you. And all I see is my beautiful, wonderful, perfect girlfriend who is having a very bad day and might be making some hasty decisions."

"Not a bad day. A bad life. I'm fucked up, Chan." The words come out with such a quiet malice that it shocks even yourself. "I can't even do the fucking dishes."

"I can do the dishes, love. I said it wasn't a big deal."

"No no no. It's not about the dishes." You're struggling to explain- the words are getting twisted, the thoughts all merge together- "I can't do anything. It's not about the fucking dishes. It's about- I can't-"

And you burst into tears

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm really sorry. I just-"

"It's okay," he soothes. "It's okay. I understand now."

He doesn't. He can't, and you know that full well. You shake your head, vision blurring from your tears. You're so embarassed and it's making you cry worse. You think you must look so ugly right now. He must be repulsed by you. You're repulsed by yourself, your own misery making your skin crawl.

"Can I touch you, baby? I want to hold you."

You shouldn't. You'll infect him. You'll ruin him and take away everything that makes him good. Why is he even still talking to you? Why doesn't he leave?

"You don't have to-to feel obligated. I can just- if you give me a second-"

"I don't feel obligated," he says, patient but firm. "I love you. I want to hold you all the time."

Something in your chest cracks. You're so weak. It's pathetic. But you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"Please," you whisper, defeated.

Chan reaches out and pulls you into his arm. You're both still on the ground, but he rearranges you so you can hide your face in his shoulder, and you do, too humiliated by your tears to be able to look at his face. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and your traitorous body relaxes without your permission.

"You've been struggling for a long time haven't you?" he asks. "You didn't want me to pity you."

You don't say anything. You can't bear to.

"Well, I don't pity you. I think you're very strong, trying to deal with this on your own. You made me dinner today even though you didn't really want to, right? That was very kind of you to do. You take such good care of me, baby. You light up my life. Isn't it fair that I should get to take care of you too? Can't I return the favor by helping you now?"

"It's not the same," you mumble into his shirt, because the magnitude of the two asks isn't comparable. You chopped up some vegetables and threw them in a pot. He is witnessing you have a mental breakdown in your hallway. You're not equally yoked. It's too much to ask of anyone.

"Whether it's the same or not doesn't matter. Love isn't transactional. It doesn't have to be equal effort every single time. This isn't a favor I'm returning. I'm comforting you because you're upset, and I hate to see you cry. Do you believe me when I say I want to see you happy and smiling? That I would do anything to ensure it?"

You finally pull away from him, wiping away your tears on your sleeve. "You might have to go find a new girlfriend then," you say, voice cracking from the tears and the weight of your despair.

"I don't want a new girlfriend. I want you." He's hesitant, but he continues. "There are ways of getting help, you know. We can try some things, like therapy, or medication. I can help you. You don't have to feel this way all the time."

You shake your head. "I'm in therapy and on meds already. None of it really....works on me. I have fewer bad days than I used to but they still leave me like...like this. And they just drag on....it turns to weeks and months, and I can't....I can't do anything." You let out a shaky breath and make yourself stop talking. Even after all this, the urge to hold back is engrained in you. "You deserve better."

"I think I decide what I deserve," Chan says. "I know it's hard to open up about things like this, but what's worse than you being depressed is you hiding it from me. How can we work on this if you're pretending it's not real?"

"I wanted to be good for you. I wanted to be...to be easy."

Chan leans forward and cups your face in his hands. He looks you right in the eyes, and you see that they're glossy with their own unshed tears. "I don't need you to be easy. No one is. I just want you to be you. And I want you to let me be there for you. In everything. Including this. I want all of you. Do you think you can do that? Can you try?" He wipes away your tears with his thumb.

You swallow harshly. It goes against everything in you, everything you've taught yourself. Chan loves you. He wants to stay. Even though it may all crash and burn later, even though he might still turn on you or reject you or give up on you and declare this all a lost cause, right now he wants to stay. He believes in you. And you want to hold on to that belief as long as it lasts.

"Okay. I'll try."

A relieved smile stretches across his face.

"That's my girl," he says, and presses a kiss to your forehead. It makes something like pride settle in your chest, as if the part of you that cracked earlier might not stay jagged forever.

"Let's get off the floor, hmm? I feel like you might've spent enough time down here today."

You definitely hadn't mentioned that. Maybe he really does understand more than you'd thought possible. You don't know exactly how to feel about that, but you allow a bit of gratefulness to come through as he stands up on his own and reaches a hand down to pull you up. You wipe your eyes one last time, let out a breath, and take his hand.

[samkerrworshipper]

beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl

leah williamson x reader, jordan nobbs x reader (wobbs as coparents)

reconciliation … the final part in this series x

2 months later:

“My name is y/n Williamson-Nobbs, and I am an addict.”

There are things you appreciate nowadays, more then you did before. Fresh air, the flowers blooming in spring, a strong coffee, smiles from strangers, a warm bed, hugs, being told you are enough, a classic movie, the sun, fruit, water, being clean.

“I didn’t ever take drugs to hurt anybody, or hurt anybody knowingly. I didn’t take drugs to have fun, or party, I didn’t get addicted because I liked it.”

You like taking your dog on walks, going and getting your hair done, floating in the ocean, lying in grass, being sober.

“I took drugs because it made me feel whole. I’ve never felt whole in my entire life, everyday in my life I’ve used something to patch that hole up, during my childhood I tried to fix every single problem, I fixed myself by fixing everybody else in my life, my mom, my non existent dad. As I got older it changed, I seeked validation to patch the hole, it was healthy, but I think I’ve always been an addict and I always will be. I’ve been addicted to filling that hole, it was disguised as being healthy for most of my life until I switched the validation for drugs.”

You don’t avoid peoples eye contact as you walk along the street anymore, you don’t avoid your moms, you don’t lie to people anymore, you don’t put yourself in danger.

“It started with nicotine, because my mom enabled it. I think she was more scared for me then anything. I was spiralling, who wouldn’t be in this day and age? I mean any parent of a teen must be terrified in this day and age, I know I would be. The nicotine was good, but then I got introduced to weed, and it felt like every problem I’ve ever had was fixed.”

You talk about your feelings now, you identify every single thing that you feel and you talk about it with as much detail as your moms and therapist want to hear. You don’t study the different chemicals entering your body every time you shoot up anymore, you study the intricacy and meaning of what you are going through. You take medicine for your depression and anxiety, not drugs for your hopelessness.

“They say weed is the pipeline drug, it’s true. After weed, I felt on top of the world and there was no stopping me. Molly, LSD, coke, heroin, benzos, fentanyl, ketamine, oxy, speed, and eventually meth, which I now know to be the worst of all of them. I didn’t know it at the time, there wasn’t anybody in my life, or in the life I’d created forn myself that was willing to tell me how dangerous what I was doing was.”

Jordan moved back in, whilst you were in rehab. It had been two weeks, that’s what you agreed to. It was the worst two weeks of your life without any doubt. But when you were picked up, both your moms were there, both of them were there for you. They both took time off, time off to take you away, across to France for a week.

“Meth will always be the thing that destroyed my life. My parents don’t trust me anymore, I get why. I lashed out, I became devoid of everything, I was convinced that everybody hated me, and that I was the cause of everybody’s pain, including my own. I convinced myself that the people who loved me the very most didn’t, and that I was the bomb that had torn all of my relationships in my life apart. I was a kid though, I still am, and I’m trying to be better.”

The trust was a hard thing. Your therapist saw Leah and Jordan twice a week, and that was when they would discuss the things that they could start reintroducing you to. School was a no, for now. You were yet to be permitted to stay at the house, alone, for longer then an hour, so every training session, gym session, appointment, media duty, catch up with friends, you were dragged to. It had been tough in the beginning, but you understood, trust had to be earnt. Every week there was something to look forward to, Jordan had been teaching you to drive after you’d gotten out of rehab, and as of a week ago you were permitted to drive yourself to and from your NA meetings.

“Meth made me feel like I was on top of the world, even though i was at my rock bottom. I had bad friends, I fell into a bad group of people, people who took advantage of the fact that I was so vulnerable and hurt. I’ll never forgive them for that, I’ll never be able to forgive them for taking advantage of a girl nearly ten years younger then them. They were hurting too, but that doesn’t excuse manipulating another person. They hurt me, they enabled me, they assaulted me, they took things from me that I’ll never get back.”

The first thing your mothers had wanted when after you’d come clean to them about everything was for you to get a rape kit. You’d outright refused, you were protecting the people, you didn’t want to relive what had happened to you but also a part of you didn’t want Matt and Maya to go down, even if you could now recognise that they’d done unforgivable things to you. Eventually, you agreed to it. You were glad you did, Matt had passed on chlamydia to you, which you thought was some kind of sick joke, that even after he’d deserted you there was still parts of him that were hurting you from the insides. Karma came in the form of a sexual assault report, one which had the policemen heading to his home to arresst him, only to finds thousands of dollars worth of illicit substances.

“I’m not proud of what I did to get a fix, I don’t think any recovering addict is. A couple of months ago I would have ruined every single relationship I had with all of the people I loved just to get a hit of what I was craving, and nowadays I would probably do the same, but I don’t need to. Meth was the love of my life, I think it always will be, or maybe the craving for something to fill me up is what I crave, I don’t really know, I’m still working everyday to try and figure that out.”

Sometimes, as you drove home at night, around every corner towards the house, you considered taking a stop at a side street, one that you knew a dealer would be sitting on. Somedays, you considered driving the car off of the highway and into a tree. Somedays, you considered taking a blade to your throat so you didn’t have to do rehab. Somedays though, you felt so incredibly blessed to be alive. Sometimes, you would sit outside, in the sun and just feel, allow yourself to feel everything that you’d always pushed down out of fear that you’d be deserted if you let any true emotion show.

“We’re all human, we all have the same dignity, no matter who we are. I made some stupid choices, choices that I won’t ever be able to reckon with, choices that for the rest of my life will haunt me. Don’t we all though? Don’t we all lie awake at night worrying about the things that we’ve done, that are out of our control now?”

You’d come to not fear desertion, the people who you’d hated most in the world but also loved most in the world had deserted you. Your parents had deserted you, you closest friends, people you would have considered your found family, deserted you. It was something you had no control over, something that you would never have control over and focusing all of your energy on trying to fix that had become something that you’d give up on.

“I’m not perfect, I never have been, I never will be. I can guarantee though that nobody in this room feels like they are perfect. We’re all hurt people, everybody has something that they keep hidden from people because they are scared that somehow it is going to make people see them differently. I’m guilty of it, my whole life i’ve been hiding, I still am. I’m not ashamed to admit that coming here every night terrifies me, that somebody I’ve known at some stage of my life will walk through the same doors I do and I’ll be put face to face with that, but it’s life. We all make our own mistakes, we all pave our own ways.”

Leah and Jordan still fought, you were secretly glad. It was clear that everything between them was done, which you hated to be happy about, You weren’t ready for that to be back to normal, you weren’t ready to feel like you were able to go back to the way life was when they were together. Lia mediated them, she balanced everything out and the two of you had managed to build a relationship. She was like the older sister you’d never had and you were happier to have her around knowing that she was happy to support you in the same way your moms would, even if she wasn’t living in the same house as you all anymore.

“I will never be able to properly apologise for how I acted, I’ll never be able to repay the people that found me at my lowest and still showed uo for me. I owe my life to those people, and I will spend every single day of my life being so thankful for the opportunity they have given me to have a second chance.”

Life was better, everything was better, you were recovering, you were learning. You felt more connected and loved by the people around you in your whole life. You didn’t feel like you had to seek out love anymore, you didn’t feel like you had to do something to earn it. Leah spent every minute of everyday doing small things to make you feel loved, dragging you out of the house to get coffee with her, reading with you every night before bed, sitting through you when the cravings were making your day harder, driving you to the beach when you felt like you needed fresh air, dragging you to physio appointments so you could hang out with your aunties, buying you fresh flowers to put in your room to make the dark memories of it a little bit nicer, helping you redecorate the space, letting you sleep in her bed when the tendencies started to burn all over your skin.

“I have a disease, I have a terminal illness that will forever impair my ability to live life normally. I will forever be attached to my past, and that’s really tough, I won’t ever be cured of my past, I won’t ever be able to say that I am free of my addiction, I will forever be tied to my decisions.”

Your therapist was helping you weed out all the bad, helping you to identify the different patterns of self destructive behaviour that you chose, helping you to make better decisions for yourself, decisions that didn’t end in you destroying everything you’d worked for.

“I’m an addict, we all are, we all know what it feels like to be plagued with our past. We all get up here every week and speak about our demons, because we all get it. We get what it feels like to lose everything, we all understand the terror that crosses over a persons face when you overdose, or tell them that you’re using, or when they wake up across from your hospital bed. We’re all going through our own shit, we’re all struggling everyday. I struggle everyday, because I’m an addict, for the rest of my life I will struggle because I’m an addict, but there isn’t anybody who understands me better than all of you. I’ve been sober for two months, there have been relapses, there have been struggles, there has been pain and so much for me to be ashamed of. There has been so many positives though, there has been so much good, so much happiness, so many good moments. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, there is too much bad in this world for me to believe in that, but I do believe that this experience has made me a better person, it’s made me stronger, its made me more resilient. The past two months have been some of the best parts of my life, and i intend for the rest of my life to be the same. This chip means a lot to me, but it’s the progress that makes all of this better, knowing that I’ve left parts of me behind that will now stay behind me forever.”

You looked down at the chip in your hands, the little bronzey coin that was so small but felt like it was bigger then the world to you. You smiled at the group of people around you, nodding your head once again before walking towards you sponsor and giving them a hug. It felt good, like a big weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You’d never spoken much in meetings, you were more than happy to hear other peoples stories, but tonight had been special to you. You’d thought about what you were going to say, much of it being what you’d talked about with your moms earlier in the week during family therapy. It had been hard, talking to your moms so openly about how you felt, but it was something you were becoming better at as the days passed.

You stayed around for the coffee and biscuits, talking with the people that you’d grown close to over the past month and a half in the mildewy church which smelt a little bit too similar to your great grandmothers living room.

You stuck around until the first few people started to trail out, before you made the decision it was time to get home. You said your goodbyes, farewelling your friends before dismissing yourself and making the walk out to the carpark, towards Leah’s car.

Driving had become your one piece of real freedom, it was the only time where you got to think to yourself. A couple of months ago, you would have found solace in continuous loneliness, you would have sat in the car for hours and been happy. Now though, you found yourself navigating your way back home as fast as possible, whilst still abiding by road rules.

The gravel driveway underneath the wheels of a car used to make you nervous, if anything it now made you feel anticipation.

You jumped from the car with a hop in your step, the bronze chip still clutched in your palm, the metal now warm against your skin after the acclimation of the metal to your body temperature.

You used your key to enter the door, smiling at the warmth and scent that you were met with as you untied your shoes and left them by the front door.

Leah was waiting for you in the kitchen, she always was, every night you decided to go to a meeting. You knew that she still worried, that she spent nights awake worrying about you. You’d lost count of how many times on the nights you spent in your own bed how often she’d come to check to make sure you were still lying there. She probably always would worry, you wouldn’t blame her if she did, you’d put her through a lot.

She brought you into a hug, the same hug as every night, it always lasted for a little bit too long, but you never brought it up.

She would hug you tighter every single time, it was clockwork.

“Lia’s come over for dinner, she’s cooked spaghetti for everybody, but she made bangers and mash for you special, no pasta.”

You smiled at your mom, letting her press a chaste kiss to your forehead before you followed her into the dining room, where dinner was already plated up and Jordan and Lia were already seated at the table.

Jordan sent a smile your way as you sat down, things were still rocky between the two of you, it was never going to be perfect, it was never going to be as good as before, but you were both doing the work to heal bits of it and that was what mattered.

“Hey bubba, how was your meeting?”

Most nights you answered the same, with something simple.

“Good, I got this today.”

You pushed the chip onto the table, pulling your phone out of your pocket so you didn’t have to witness their raw reactions.

“Bubba, we’ve talked about this, no phones at the table.”

You frowned, pushing your phone back into your trackpant pocket, and looking up at your moms.

“This is awesome bubba, we’re both so proud of you.”

Jordan had picked up the coin, looking at it with glazed eyes.

There had been a lot of that since you’d come out of rehab, a lot of crying, a lot more than you were comfortable with.

“I want you to keep it.”

Jordan looked up at you, mildly confused.

“Bubba, it’s your token, your progress, your hardwork, you should keep it.”

You shook your head.

“Mom has my one month one, I want you to keep this one. I’m doing it for you two, I’m trying to be better for you two, and I want you to know that I’m committed to it and that without you guys I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

You could see tears pooling in Leah’s eyes from the other side of the table, jordan’s own ones beginning to drip down her face.

“Anyways, it’s not big deal, let’s have dinner, I’m sure whatever Lia cooked up is better than anything you and mom could have managed.”

You tried to pass it off with some lighthearted humour, but based off of the tears on your parents face, it wasn’t doing much.

Jordan and Leah both reached over, taking a hand in each of yours.

“You know that no matter what happens, no matter where you go, who you become, what you do, how you live your life, you will always be our beautiful girl.”

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Psycho Killer

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!GP!SerialKiller!Winter x Bttm!Therapist!Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Winter, a notorious serial killer, becomes obsessed with her therapist, Y/n, while attending sessions for childhood trauma. After killing Y/n’s untrustworthy girlfriend in a jealous rage, Winter, wearing her killer’s mask, breaks into Y/n’s home, ready to reveal her twisted devotion.

More: Masterlist

A/n: My mom grounded me, so I can only use my computer at school, so I wrote this at school.

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

"Is it always going to be like this?" Winter's voice was a cool breeze, devoid of emotion as she sat in the chair opposite Y/n, her therapist. She toyed with the ends of her ginger hair, her eyes a frosty blue that seemed to peer into the depths of Y/n's soul.

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes full of empathy. "Every session is a step forward, Winter. Sometimes it feels like two steps back, but trust the process." Her voice was a gentle coax, the room a cocoon of safety.

Winter's gaze sharpened. "You don't understand. The world outside is a minefield, and everyone's just waiting to blow me up." Her words were a stark contrast to the serene office, the walls lined with diplomas and the scent of lavender candles trying to soothe the air.

Y/n nodded, maintaining eye contact. "Your trust issues are valid, but let's explore them together. What happened in your past that makes you feel so… unsafe?"

Winter's eyes narrowed, a hint of anger flashing through them. "You're not special," she said, her voice a low growl. "You're just like everyone else."

Y/n remained unfazed, her expression calm and understanding. "I know you've been hurt, but I'm here to help you heal."

Winter's grip tightened on the armrests, her jaw clenching. "You can't fix me," she spat, a flicker of pain crossing her face.

Y/n's voice remained steady. "I'm not here to fix you, Winter. I'm here to listen and guide you through the healing process."

Winter's icy demeanor cracked slightly, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath. "Why do you even care?" she murmured, the question hanging in the air like a shard of broken ice.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because everyone deserves to live without fear, to find happiness. That's what therapy is about."

Winter studied her for a moment, then sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," she said, her voice softer. "Let's talk."

Their sessions grew more intense as the weeks passed, a dance of words and emotions that saw Winter slowly peeling back the layers of her armor. Y/n was patient, a beacon of light in the cold, dark labyrinth of Winter's psyche. The therapist's office became a sanctuary where the frosty facade of the killer melted away, revealing a girl desperately yearning for connection.

Winter spoke of her childhood, her words a frostbitten whisper of pain and betrayal. Each session chipped away at the wall she had built, the ice queen slowly thawing before Y/n's warmth. Y/n's empathy was a balm to her tortured soul, and she found herself craving the gentle touch of understanding that only her therapist seemed to provide.

One evening, as the sun bled into the sky, painting the horizon with crimson hues, Winter lay in wait outside Y/n's apartment. She had followed her from the office, curiosity and something darker coiling in her stomach. Through the crack in the blinds, she watched as Y/n's girlfriend arrived, her laughter too bright, too false.

Winter's heart turned to ice. She knew the type—charming, manipulative, the kind that would leave scars. Her fists clenched around the handle of her signature knife, the cold steel a comforting weight. This couldn't stand. Y/n was hers to protect, to cherish. That night, as the shadows grew long, she made her decision.

The following session, Winter was unusually quiet, her eyes distant and haunted. Y/n sensed a shift, a storm brewing beneath the calm surface. She waited, letting the silence stretch taut between them, giving Winter the space to speak when she was ready.

"I had a… a disturbing dream," Winter finally said, her voice shaky. "It was about someone dying."

Y/n leaned in, her eyes searching Winter's face for clues. "Tell me about it," she urged, her voice a soothing lilt.

Winter took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was you," she said, her gaze dropping to her interlaced fingers. "Someone was hurting you, and I couldn't stop them."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. "It's okay," she soothed, her voice a warm caress. "It's just a dream."

Winter looked up, her eyes a tempest of emotions. "But what if it's not?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't control the monster inside me?"

Y/n reached out, her hand hovering over Winter's. "You're not a monster, you're just lost," she said firmly. "We'll find your way together."

Winter's eyes searched Y/n's, and she saw something she hadn't before—hope. It was a dangerous emotion, one she had long ago buried under layers of anger and fear. But here it was, pulsing through her veins like a trapped animal desperate to break free.

"I want to believe you," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Y/n nodded, her hand now resting gently on Winter's. "You can, Winter. We'll do this together."

But Winter's thoughts were spiraling. Her obsession grew with every beat of her heart, and she knew she couldn't let anyone else hurt Y/n. She needed to be the one in control. She needed Y/n to be hers and only hers.

That night, she watched as Y/n's girlfriend left her house, her eyes following the taunting sway of her hips. Winter knew what she had to do. With the precision of a seasoned predator, she stalked the girlfriend through the quiet streets, her rage a silent symphony in her ears.

The girlfriend's screams pierced the night as Winter attacked, her movements swift and methodical. The knife sliced through the air, and with each cut, she felt a piece of her own pain dissipate. The girlfriend's eyes widened in horror, realizing too late the gravity of her actions. Winter's face was a mask of cold determination, her heart a block of ice as she watched the life drain from the woman's body.

When it was over, she returned to her own apartment, the echoes of the girlfriend's screams still ringing in her ears. She showered, scrubbing away the blood and the guilt, but the feeling of satisfaction lingered, a dark blossom in her chest. Winter knew she had crossed a line, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Y/n was safe now, free from the clutches of a woman who didn't deserve her.

The next session with Y/n was fraught with tension. Winter sat in the chair, the weight of her secret pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. She watched her therapist with a mix of longing and fear, her eyes hungry for the warmth she knew she didn't deserve.

Y/n noticed the change in her patient, the subtle shifts in body language and tone. "Winter," she said, her voice a gentle prod. "What's on your mind today?"

Winter's eyes flicked to the floor, then back up to meet Y/n's. "It's nothing," she said, her voice a brittle lie. "Just… stress."

Y/n nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Winter swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in her throat. She had killed for Y/n, had become the monster she feared she was to protect the one person who had ever offered her kindness. Yet she found herself unable to speak the truth. "No," she said, her voice a hollow echo. "It's just… personal."

Y/n's gaze softened, her hand reaching out to cover Winter's. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Winter nodded, her throat tight. "I know," she croaked. But she couldn't. Not this. Not yet. The lie sat heavy on her tongue, a cold, dead weight.

The following week, Y/n noticed a newfound tension in Winter's demeanor. Her eyes darted around the room, and she was jumpy, her responses clipped and curt. Y/n's concern grew with every passing minute, her gut telling her that something was very wrong.

"Winter," she said softly, her eyes searching the other woman's face. "What happened?"

Winter's jaw tightened, her eyes flickering to the side. "It's nothing," she murmured, her voice a whisper of a storm. "I just… had a rough week."

Y/n leaned in, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "You can share anything with me," she said, her voice a warm embrace. "I'm here to help."

Winter took a deep breath, the walls of her heart threatening to crumble under the weight of her obsession. "It's just… I can't shake these thoughts," she admitted, her voice strained. "These… dark thoughts."

Y/n's eyes searched hers, a silent plea for her to continue. "Thoughts about what, Winter?"

Winter took a shaky breath, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Thoughts about… protecting you," she said, her voice a whisper. "Thoughts about what I would do to anyone who tries to hurt you."

Y/n's eyes widened, a chill running down her spine. "Winter, you don't have to do anything like that. I can handle my own problems."

Winter's gaze grew intense, her eyes burning with a fiery determination. "You don't understand," she said, her voice a low growl. "They don't get to hurt you. No one does."

Y/n felt a strange mix of fear and comfort at the possessive tone in Winter's voice. "Who are 'they'?" she asked, her voice a gentle coax.

Winter leaned forward, her eyes blazing. "The ones who don't deserve you," she said, her voice a deadly whisper. "The ones who hurt you, betray you."

Y/n's heart raced as she realized the depth of Winter's obsession. "What have you done?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Winter's eyes searched Y/n's, desperation clinging to every word. "I've taken care of it," she said, her tone final. "You don't have to worry about 'they' anymore."

Y/n's heart hammered in her chest. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"The session is over Y/n," Winter said abruptly, her eyes hardening. "Remember, It was all for you."

Y/n nodded, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. As Winter left, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled into her bones. The girlfriend's sudden disappearance had made the local news, but the thought of her being involved never once crossed her mind.

Y/n went home that night with a sense of dread coiling in her stomach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Winter had done something terrible, all in the twisted name of protecting her. The house was eerily quiet, the usual comfort of her sanctuary now feeling suffocating. She poured herself a glass of wine, trying to dull the edge of her anxiety.

As she sat at her desk in her bedroom, Y/n's thoughts raced. Her mind was a tornado of doubt and fear, swirling around the words Winter had left unsaid. The quiet hum of the city outside her window did little to soothe her racing heart. Her eyes fell upon the framed photo of her and her girlfriend, now a haunting reminder of a happiness that felt like a distant memory.

With trembling hands, she picked up the phone and dialed her girlfriend's number, the ringtone echoing through the empty apartment. It went straight to voicemail. Her heart plummeted. Something was wrong. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and she couldn't ignore the sinking feeling that her world was about to shatter.

That very same night, the masked Winter found herself standing outside Y/n's apartment, the cold steel of her knife pressing against her palm. The darkness whispered to her, egging her on. She couldn't ignore the siren call of her obsession. It was time to reveal her true self, to show Y/n that she was the one worthy of her love and trust.

With a silent prayer to the moon, she slipped inside, the shadows welcoming her like a long-lost friend. The apartment was a maze of shadows and memories, each step bringing her closer to the woman who had unwittingly captured her heart.

Winter moved with the grace of a ghost, the mask she wore a silent declaration of her intentions. Her eyes searched the darkness, seeking out the room where Y/n lay, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. Her heart thundered in her chest, a drumbeat of anticipation and fear. The need to be close to Y/n had grown into an obsession, a hunger that gnawed at her soul. She had to show her that she was the only one who truly cared.

As she approached the bedroom door, she heard the faint sound of Y/n’s voice, a whisper in the dark. She paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob, her breaths shallow and quick. The sound grew louder, and she realized it was Y/n's voice on the phone, desperate and fearful.

"Hello? Hello? Where are you?" Y/n's voice was a raw, trembling plea. Winter's heart clenched at the sound, a mix of satisfaction and guilt. She knew she had to act. She couldn't let Y/n suffer any longer. With the grace of a panther, she entered the room, the moon casting a silver glow across the bed.

Y/n jumped at the sudden intrusion, Winter's hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. She looked up to see the masked figure standing over her, the cold moonlight glinting off the blade in her hand. Her eyes grew wide with terror, the phone slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor.

Winter took a step closer, her eyes peering into Y/n's terrified gaze. Slowly, she reached up and removed the mask, her own eyes brimming with a fervent mix of love and fear. "It's me," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "It's just me."

Y/n stared at her, recognition dawning in her eyes. She pushed herself back against the headboard, the fear slowly morphing into anger. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice shaking.

Winter's grip on the knife tightened, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "I came for you," she said, her voice low and intense. "To show you that I'm the only one who truly cares for you, who will keep you safe." She caressed Y/n's cheek with the back of her hand, the cold steel of the knife a stark contrast to her warm touch.

Y/n's breath hitched, a mix of anger and confusion clouding her vision. "What are you talking about?" she spat out, pushing Winter's hand away. "You're just my patient. You don't know me like that."

Winter's expression grew pained. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice filled with a desperation that chilled Y/n to the core. "I know everything about you. Your favorite shows, your favorite book, the way you take your coffee. I've studied you, Y/n. I know you better than anyone."

Y/n's heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the madness in Winter's eyes. "What have you done?" she choked out, her voice trembling with fear.

Winter raised the knife, the blood stained blade glinting in the moonlight. "I've removed the one who didn't deserve you," she said, her voice a soft growl. "Your girlfriend, the one who hurt you. She can't hurt you anymore."

Y/n's eyes went wide with horror as the pieces fell into place. "No," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Winter, no."

Winter's eyes searched hers, a storm of emotions raging behind the icy facade. "You don't understand," she said, her voice a desperate plea. "I did it for us."

Y/n's eyes grew colder than the steel blade. "Get out," she snarled, her voice laced with venom.

Winter's hand wavered, the knife still poised dangerously close to Y/n's face. "But I did it for you," she repeated, the desperation in her tone growing stronger. "I couldn't let her hurt you."

Y/n's voice was like a whip cracking through the air. "Get out of my house, and get help," she ordered, her voice shaking with rage and fear. "You're not the person I thought you were."

Winter's hand lowered, the knife clattering to the floor. Her eyes searched Y/n's face, a silent plea for understanding. "But I love you," she murmured, the words a hoarse whisper.

Y/n's expression was a twisted mask of anger and fear. "Love doesn't mean controlling me or hurting others," she spat. "Get out." Y/n stood up.

Winter grabbed Y/n's waist and pushed her down onto the bed, her eyes wild with a fierce determination that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. "You don't understand," she hissed, her grip tightening. "You're mine now."

Y/n's heart raced as she stared up at the crazed woman she had once considered a patient. "Winter, you need help," she said, her voice trembling.

Winter leaned down, her ginger hair brushing against Y/n's cheek. "You're all the help I need," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. She claimed Y/n's lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender, her hands moving to untie the therapist's wrists.

Y/n's mind raced as she felt the knots loosen, her thoughts a tumult of fear and disbelief. Yet, as Winter kissed her, a strange warmth began to unfurl within her. The line between terror and arousal blurred, the intensity of the moment overwhelming.

Breaking the kiss, Winter whispered, "Let me show you how much you mean to me." Her eyes searched Y/n's, desperate for a glimmer of acceptance.

Y/n's breath was ragged, her body a battleground of emotions. But as she stared into the depths of Winter's eyes, she saw something she hadn't before—pain. A desperate, all-consuming pain that mirrored her own. She didn't know if it was fear or pity, but she found herself nodding, her body going limp beneath the other woman's touch.

Winter's eyes lit up with a feral hunger as she began to undress Y/n, her movements deft and sure. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of Y/n's soft, warm flesh, a stark contrast to the cold metal of the knife still lying on the floor.

Y/n's thoughts were a chaotic maelstrom, her body responding against her will to the surprising gentleness of Winter's touch. Her mind screamed for her to fight, to push the madness away, but something in those piercing eyes held her captive, a silent promise that she couldn't quite understand.

Winter's lips trailed down Y/n's neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, sending shivers down her spine. Y/n's body was betraying her, arching into the kisses, her breathing growing ragged. The warmth of Winter's mouth moved lower, her tongue tracing the curve of her collarbone, making her squirm with a mix of fear and desire.

Winter paused, her eyes meeting Y/n's, searching for any sign of rejection. But all she found was a strange mix of anger and need. Her own need was a living, breathing creature within her, demanding to be sated. She leaned back, her eyes never leaving Y/n's as she unbuckled her own pants, revealing the girl cock she had kept hidden beneath her clothes.

Y/n's eyes widened, a mix of shock and curiosity. Despite her fear, she felt a heat pooling in her stomach. She had never been with someone like Winter before, never felt such a primal, overwhelming desire from a woman.

Winter leaned over her, the tip of her cock brushing against Y/n's thigh. "Do you want this?" she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper. "Do you want me to make you feel good?"

Y/n's eyes narrowed, anger and lust warring within her. "I don't know what you think you're doing," she hissed, her voice thick with emotion. "But if you think this will fix anything, you're wrong."

Winter ignored the words, her gaze locked on Y/n's exposed neck. She leaned in, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of red beads in her wake. "You're mine," she whispered, the words a dark benediction.

Y/n felt a strange thrill at the possessive bite, the sting of pain mingling with the warmth spreading through her body. "You can't just take what you want," she growled, trying to push Winter away. But her protests were weak, her body betraying her with every shiver of pleasure.

Winter's eyes flashed with something primal, a dark need that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. "But I'm not taking," she murmured, her breath hot against Y/n's ear. "I'm giving." And with that, she slid into Y/n with a gentle, yet insistent pressure that made Y/n's eyes roll back in her head.

The pain was brief, replaced almost immediately by a white-hot pleasure that coursed through her veins like liquid fire. Y/n couldn't help but moan, her body responding to the intrusion with a wanton eagerness that shocked her to her core.

Winter took the sound as a sign of encouragement, her hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had Y/n's legs wrapping around her waist of their own accord. The room was a symphony of gasps and sighs, the only light coming from the moon outside, casting an eerie glow across their tangled forms.

Y/n's nails dug into Winter's back, her teeth clenched as the pleasure grew, a crescendo building with each stroke. The anger and fear were still there, but now they were mingled with a need so intense it was almost painful. Her body was a live wire, every touch from Winter sending electric jolts of sensation through her.

Winter's eyes were closed, lost in the feel of Y/n's warmth enveloping her. The tightness, the wetness, it was everything she had dreamt of and more. She whispered sweet nothings in Y/n's ear, her voice a soft caress that seemed to reach into the very core of her soul.

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the reality of the situation. But the sensations were too intense, too overwhelming to ignore. Her body responded to Winter's touch in a way she had never experienced before, her mind a haze of anger, fear, and a disturbing thrill.

Winter's thrusts grew deeper, more urgent, her own moans mingling with Y/n's. She whispered sweet, dark promises of protection and belonging, her breath hot and heavy against Y/n's neck. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice a hoarse chant.

Y/n felt the climax building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her. She wanted to hate it, to push Winter away, but her body craved the release that was so close, the feeling of being claimed by this woman who had invaded her life so thoroughly.

Winter's hand moved to Y/n's throat, her grip firm but not painful, the pressure a silent declaration of her dominance. Y/n's eyes flew open, a mix of anger and arousal in her gaze as she stared up at the woman who had become her tormentor and, now, her lover.

Winter felt the tension in Y/n's body, the way she arched into her touch, and knew she was close. She leaned down, her teeth grazing Y/n's earlobe as she whispered, "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, the anger and lust warring within her. But as Winter's thumb traced circles around her clit, she couldn't hold back any longer. "I'm yours," she gasped, the words torn from her in a mix of anger and pleasure.

Winter's eyes lit up with triumph, her strokes becoming more intense. "That's right," she murmured, her voice a dark purr. "You're mine to protect, to cherish."

The words sent a shiver down Y/n's spine, her body responding in ways she never thought possible. She felt the orgasm building, a wave of pleasure that threatened to consume her. Winter's eyes bore into hers, the intensity of her stare almost as overwhelming as the sensations that rocked her body.

"Winter~," she choked out, her voice a desperate plea.

Winter's eyes widened, the sound of her own name on Y/n's lips like a sweet symphony. She leaned closer, her cock driving deeper into the therapist's wet heat. "Say it again," she demanded, her voice a mix of lust and possessiveness.

"Winter," Y/n gasped, her body trembling. "I'm yours."

The admission seemed to push Winter over the edge, her hips moving faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure consuming her. She felt Winter's climax building, the other woman's body tightening around her, and she knew she was close.

With a final, desperate thrust, Winter came, her body shuddering with the force of it. Y/n's own orgasm followed, a wave that crashed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies tangled together in a mess of sweat and passion.

Winter leaned down, her forehead resting against Y/n's, their breath mingling in the heavy silence. "You feel so good," she murmured, her voice filled with awe. "I knew you would."

Y/n stared up at her, the anger and fear now tempered by the raw intimacy of the moment. "What now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Winter pulled out of her, a look of satisfaction and possessiveness etched on her face. "Now," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "you're mine."

[giannan04]

Hiii, can you please write a Yandere San X reader fanfic? Maybe where he’s her therapist and he gets her to break up with her bf because he’s been obsessed with her? 🙏🏽make it dark pleaseee? Tyy in advance

Thanks for the request!💕🫶🏻I hope you like it, I tried to fit everything in the best I could 🥹🫶🏻I hope it’s dark enough for you 👀

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Pairing: Therapist Yandere! Choi San x afab! Reader, Mention of Jung Wooyoung X afab! Reader

Genre: Yandere; thriller

Warnings: Manipulation, mentions of a toxic relationship, slight smut, character death, very slight gore.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 🔞

-

Dr. San Choi's reputation preceded him. He was the therapist everyone seemed to swear by. Patients praised his ability to get results where others failed, and he was known for treating some of the most complex mental health cases in the city. When your relationship with Wooyoung started having problems, your best friend Mingi suggested therapy. You were hesitant at first, but when he specifically recommended Dr. Choi, someone who had worked wonders for him, you decided to give it a try.

“Trust me, San’s the real deal,” Mingi said, leaning in with that serious look he gets when he really means something. “He helped me when I was going through one of the darkest periods in my life. If anyone’s gonna help you figure out what’s going on, it’s him.”

That’s how you found yourself meeting with San in his warmly lit office multiple times a week. From the start, Dr.Choi had a way of making you feel truly heard, like every word you said mattered. He never rushed through sessions and even went as far as canceling other appointments just so you could have more time when you needed it. He never told you that you were wrong, no matter how messy or complicated your relationship issues sounded. Instead, he listened with that same calm, reassuring expression that made you feel understood and validated. Over time, he even gave you his home address, offering to meet there if you ever needed to talk outside of office hours. You didn’t think much of it—you just figured he was incredibly dedicated to his work and to helping you through this tough time.

Over the weeks, San subtly guided you into believing that your relationship was toxic, that Wooyoung was holding you back. He never said it outright; instead, he asked questions that made you second-guess everything. "Do you feel like you're truly happy?" he'd ask, his voice gentle but insistent. "Sometimes, we stay in situations because we're afraid of being alone, not because they're right for us." Little by little, you found yourself reexamining your relationship with Wooyoung.

San’s advice seemed to play on repeat whenever you fought with Wooyoung. The tension between you two had been getting worse for months, with minor disagreements escalating into major arguments. Every time you argued with Wooyoung, you couldn’t shake the feeling that San’s words were right there with you. Even though part of you still hoped things could improve, the truth was hard to ignore: deep down, you knew San was right, there was no saving your relationship. It felt like there was no way to fix what had become broken, despite your hopes that things could somehow get better.

One night, after another argument left you in tears, you found yourself at San's apartment instead of your own. You needed someone to talk to, and San was the first person you could think of. You had caught Wooyoung with another girl, and you didn’t want to be alone. You needed to let everything out. Your heart was broken, and you know the only person you could talk to was San. You hadn't planned on it, but he'd always offered you to come to his place,and before you knew it, there you were, standing outside his front door.

When San opened the door, pleasantly surprised to see you. His brows furrowed as he glanced at his watch. “Y/N? What happened? It’s almost midnight,” he asked, concern replacing the confusion in his eyes as he noticed that you were sobbing. Tears covered your face, and you were so hurt and anxious that you were shaking. San’s heart broke seeing you like that. Without hesitation, his expression softened, and he gently took your trembling hand. “Come in,” he said, his voice soothing as he pulled you into the safety of his home.

You sat on his couch, trying to hold back more tears as you told him everything—how you found Wooyoung with another girl, how you felt like your relationship was falling apart. San listened intently, never taking his eyes off you, nodding with genuine empathy. When you finished, San leaned in closer, brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “You deserve so much better than this, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and comforting. “You deserve someone who would never even think of hurting you like that. Someone who truly values you.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at his words and the way his hand lingered on your face, the soft caress sending a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. His touch was tender yet firm, making you feel safe; cared for. You haven’t felt that way in a while. You caught your breath as he leaned in just a bit closer, his other hand gently resting on your thigh, as if waiting for your permission. “I can show you what it feels like to be treated right,” he murmured, his gaze darkening with desire. Despite the hesitation you felt at the back of your mind, you couldn’t deny the lust and attraction you felt in that moment. You leaned into his touch, your body responding before your thoughts could catch up.

His lips were dangerously close now, and there was no more space between you. All the tension, all the confusion, all the heartbreak you were feeling—everything faded away as his hands slid further up your skirt, placing his hands on your ass, pulling you into him with a gentle firmness that felt intoxicating. “Let me take care of you, Y/N,” San whispered, his words making your body tingle and heart flutter. And before you could even think to resist, you found yourself nodding, your body betraying you. In your head, you knew this was wrong, but your body felt so right. And you needed, no, deserved to be loved and cared for. It was about damn time.

“I want you, San… I need you. Please, take care of me,” you told him softly, never looking away from his brown almond-shaped eyes. That was all San needed to hear-the very words he had been waiting for since the moment you stepped into his office. San smirked, as he began undressing you with a deliberate slowness, savoring every second. He took in each sight of your beautiful body, pleased that it belonged to him.Before you knew it, he was fucking you right there in his living room, each touch, each kiss, each thrust leaving you wanting more. For the first time in months, Wooyoung and your relationship problems vanished from your mind, replaced by the warm sensation of San's hands on your body, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. The way his dick filled you up, the way he kissed your body was he made love to you.

The only things you were thinking about was how you never wanted San to stop making love to you. And San knew, finally… you belonged to him. San's hands rested possessively on your waist as he thrusted deeper and deeper inside you, your ass slapping against his thighs. You moaned uncontrollably, never wanting him to stop. You wanted to show him he had complete control over you. San’s eyes never left the sight of you, he loved seeing what a slut you could be for him, and how only he could make you feel this way. Smirking, he bent down close to your ear, whispered sweetly to you. "See? You feel it, don't you? How good we are together. You don't need him, Y/N. I'm the one who understands you, who can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, and more. Only I can make you feel this way. You belong to me, and I’m never letting you go."

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the curtains, but the warmth in the living room felt oddly suffocating. You noticed a heavy blanket was draped over your naked body. You must have fallen asleep after what happened last night, so San must’ve brought a blanket out for you. You glanced over and San was still lying beside you, sleeping peacefully. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist. Yawning, you reached for your phone which was on the floor next to you. You unlocked your phone, and your heart nearly skipped a beat when you saw a text from Wooyoung: I know I fucked up. But I love you. And I want us to work on things. I don’t want to lose you. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.

Your heart fluttered with a sense of hope, but before you could respond to the text, you felt San's eyes boring into you. You looked up at him, not realizing how closely he was watching your every move. You didn’t even hear him wake up. His expression remained calm, but the slight clenching of his jaw told you everything. He was furious. He must’ve seen you open the message on your phone when he woke up.

"Oh. Wooyoung texted me. He wants to fix things," you said, a little too eagerly, not noticing the anger settling into San's expression.

San's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

"That's... nice," he murmured, though his voice didn’t reflect that. He actually sounded pissed, but you could tell he wasn’t trying to show it. San stood up, wrapping the blanket around him as he walked towards his bedroom. “I have to get dressed. You can stay here as long as you need, Y/N. I actually have to head out for another appointment, but make yourself at home, alright?"

You nodded. “Okay, thank you,” you said sweetly, ignoring the tension.

San drove in silence, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. He replayed your excitement over Wooyoung's text in his mind, a bitter taste settling on his tongue. How could you be so blind? After everything he had done to get you away from Wooyoung, after showing you what real love felt like, you still had the nerve to be excited about that cheating scumbag reaching out! Pissed off didn’t even begin to describe how San felt. He was so angry his eyes twitched and his hands shook as he drove. He had to do something, he was about to have you all to himself until that mother fucker sent you that text.

His thoughts darkened further as he arrived at the home you shared with Wooyoung. His plan formed in his mind, making him feel only a little better. He knocked on the door, his face wearing the mask of a friendly, concerned therapist. Really, he was the furious therapist who wanted to fuck somebody up.

Wooyoung opened the door, blinking in surprise. "San? Aren't you YIN's therapist?"

San let out a cheerful laugh. "Yeah, I am! My office is getting renovated, so I thought I'd stop by and see how things are going. I know Y/ N's been having a tough time, and I wanted to touch base."

Wooyoung relaxed slightly, shrugging. "She's not here right now, but come in. We can talk about how she's been doing. Ive been wanting to talk to you, anyway. Maybe you can give me some insight."

San stepped inside, carefully observing every detail of the house, the place where you once tried to build a future with someone who never deserved you. They moved throughout the home and as Wooyoung started talking, San could feel his blood boiling but he knew he had to remain calm. Wooyoung would get what he deserved shortly.

Wooyoung led San into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “Want some?” he asked, holding the bottle up. “No, thank you. I’m just here under professional circumstances” San smiled, watching as Wooyoung shrugged and opened the bottle. “Suit yourself,” he said, taking a sip. San and Wooyoung sat at the table, ready to discuss sessions. Which was what San wanted Wooyoung to think, anyway.

"Ever since she started therapy, it's like she's blowing everything out of proportion.

She's been acting like our problems are way bigger than they actually are, like she's ooking for an excuse to leave. I don't know, man... it feels like she's being pushed into seeing the worst in me." Wooyoung stared long and hard at San.

San's eyes darkened, his smile slipping for just a moment as he watched Wooyoung ramble on. How dare he accuse him of manipulating you? Wooyoung was the one who had been lying to you, hurting you, cheating on you, and who knows what else. Hell, this dick was the whole reason you needed therapy in the first place! And yet here he was, acting like the victim.

"You really think so?" San's voice was low, dangerous. He took a step closer to Wooyoung, who didn't seem to notice the shift in San's tone.

"Yeah, it's like she's-" Wooyoung was cut off by the sudden pressure of San's hand around his neck. Panic flashed in Wooyoung's eyes as he struggled against San’s grip.

“San, what…what the hell are you doing?" Wooyoung croaked, trying to break himself free. He managed to break out of the hold, shoving San back with surprising strength, but San's fury was beyond reason now. The therapist quickly regained control, his movements turning brutal as he rained down punches, each one fueled by the sickening memories of everything Wooyoung had done to hurt you.

"This is for Y/N," San hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes wild as he struck Wooyoung with relentless force. San began to stop on Wooyoung, not caring that his blood was getting thrown into the air.

"For every tear she shed because of you."

Wooyoung's resistance weakened as blood dripped from his split lips and broken nose. San's breaths were ragged as he lifted Wooyoung's head by his hair, glaring into his fading eyes. “Pl-please, man…don’t do this. I love Y/n. I never hurt her that much. Believe me”, Wooyoung tears mixed with the blood covering his face satisfied San beyond reason. “Sorry, but with you gone, Y/n will be happier. If you really loved her, you wouldn’t mind dying.” With a final surge of strength, San twisted his hand, the sickening crack of Wooyoung's neck snapping echoing in the room as he tore his head clean off.

The lifeless expression on Wooyoung's face was frozen in terror as San calmly wiped his hands on a towel he found in the kitchen. The sight of Wooyoung's head dangling by his fingers didn't faze him-in fact, he was feeling a sense of satisfaction

San returned to his apartment, already mentally preparing to tell you to ignore Wooyoung’s text, that he didn’t deserve you. But when he entered his home, he found you pacing the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

"San, I've been thinking... maybe I should give Wooyoung another chance," you blurted out. You didn't notice how San's entire demeanor shifted, his smile growing unnervingly cold.

"Why would you even consider that, Y/N?" San's voice was sharper than you expected, laced with barely-contained fury. You thought your therapist would’ve been happy for you, that you were ready to work things out. “After everything he's put you through, why would you care? Especially after what we did last night."

His words cut through you like ice. You hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction from him. Your face turned bright red and you avoided his gaze. "I... I don't know. I guess I was just confused. I just wanted to feel loved but I’m in love with Wooyoung, and it’s hard to let go of someone you cared about for so long."

San's eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "You shouldn't have even cared when he texted you. Do you think that was fair to me? Letting me be the one to comfort you, only to get excited over him? And then you let me fuck you-" His words dripped with venom as his eyes blazed with barely-restrained anger. “You’re a worthless whore. Disgusting… I don’t know how I’m even looking at you right now. I shouldn’t have felt bad for you all of those times you came to my office, crying about him. You deserve to be treated like shit!”, his words dripped with venom, his face turning red as he screamed in your face. Your ears throbbed and you broke down in tears. San was scaring you, and the things he was saying to you hurt.

You took a step back, sobs shaking your body. San... I didn't mean for things to get so complicated… please stop yelling at me, you’re scaring me!,” you put your hands in front of your face, just in case he was going to starting hitting you.

San's expression hardened, and without another word, he grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the living room. "I think it's time I show you something, Y/n.

You nodded, unsure of what he had to show you. For some reason, there was a feeling in your stomach, a gut feeling. Something was off. The unease grew as he led you to a trash bag that was sitting in front of the front door. “What’s that?,” you asked, confused. Why on earth was he showing you a trash bag? Did he want you to take the garbage out?

San laughed, but it wasn’t humorous. With a single swift motion, San tore the trash bag open, revealing the gruesome sight inside.

Wooyoung's severed head stared back at you, lifeless eyes wide open in horror. His olive skin had turn a sickly gray color, and a stench burned your nose. Your breath caught in your throat as you stumbled back, terror freezing you in place. You screamed, your hands covering your eyes as you dropped to the floor. “Why… why would you do this?”, you covered your face, as you choked on snot and tears. Your body shook and between the crying, the smell of rotting flesh, and the sight of the love of your life’s body-less head was all too much. You stared up at San. Someone you trusted with your problems, someone you felt safe with, was a monster. San looked at you, a twisted grin on his face.

"Now, Y/N, tell me... are you still confused about who really cares about you?"

-

I’m still taking requests everyone, I’ll write anything🫶🏻❤️

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Sixty Nine)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Sixty Nine: Y/N and Cillian remain united despite their difficulties, and Clíodhna's presence is their glue. They delight in her small changes, and it keeps the worst of the worst at bay. But they discuss the small things that lead to big things, and promise to do better. A small leak in their privacy makes Y/N nervous, but Cillian knows Clíodhna's meant for good things. [Anxiety/Mentions of premature babies and care required/Sexual suggestion]

@cherrycilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01 @meadowshelby

“Cill, look…” you whisper, though you're not sure why. Having been talking to one of the nurses, Cillian approaches and stands behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, and looks over your right shoulder with his face close to yours. In perfect silence, standing beside the incubator, you watch as Clíodhna's tiny pink hand opens out a little, and then watch her draw her eyelids open slowly. Her eyes look like tiny, dark pools of midnight blue. Your granted glance at her eyes is fleeting as she closes them slowly again, but she flexes her tiny right hand once again, spidering out her little fingers. “She's so beautiful.” You whisper.

Cillian moves his hands from your shoulders, and for a moment you think he's closed himself off again. But he wraps his arms around your waist from behind you, and settles his palms gently against your healing stomach. “She is.” He says quietly, resting his chin down against your shoulder. “And they're going to keep a close eye on her to be getting that tube out. We'll be able to see her little mouth.”

You smile sadly, and you wonder if your thought is a strange one to have. “We’ll be able to hear her cry.” you frown at yourself. Turning your head a little to be able to see Cillian's face slightly where he rests on your shoulder. “Is that a sadistic thing to want to hear?”

He frowns and shakes his head without raising his chin. “No, because it's not that you want her to be upset, it's because it signifies that she's progressing. And it's her voice - of course you want to hear her.” He says, and you feel instantly validated that he understands your meaning. “She'll be yelling at us for grounding her before we know it.” He says, and you can hear the smile that tugs lightly at his lips.

You cup your hands over Cillian's against your waist. “I love you.” You say gently.

“I know,” he whispers. “I love you, too.”

“I'm really sorry.” You say, and as soon as the words leave your lips you can feel your chin begin to quiver. “I'm sorry I focus on things that my head makes up, I'm sorry I blame you for it, I'm sorry I can't accept my own blame.” You sigh. “I'm sorry I pushed you too far yesterday. I'm sorry I haven't done anything to try and help myself. The only things in my life worth anything are you and our girl. I don't want to hurt you, and I never want to hurt her. I know that I do though - that I hurt you, that I make it harder for you… I don't mean to. And I don't want to. I love you. I love you so much that my life has become wrapped up solely around you, and I don't think that's healthy for either of us. I want to love you this much, but I need to loosen the grip a little, and I need to find something outside of you. I have Clíodhna now, I know, but I mean something else. I need to find something, and I think before I do that I need to go back to therapy.”

Cillian adjusts his chin against your shoulder and turns his head to gently kiss your cheek. “Thank you.” He says quietly, his lips still close to your skin. “If you want to go back and see the therapist, I am right behind you. Okay? I'll back you the whole way. I love you so much, and when you find a way to help yourself, I'll help you do whatever it is you need to do to help yourself.” He says, his voice soft and hushed. “You'll always have me and this wee one here, you know that? We love you, and if you do what it takes, I'll be here doing what it takes, too.”

You take a deep breath and grip your fingers around his wrists, drawing them down. You turn and face him and he gives you a mild look of confusion. “I want us to get married as soon as we can.” You say, your eyes flicking side to side as you watch for his reaction. “Not without Clíodhna, but as soon as we can when she's stronger, when she's home. You, me, Clíodhna, your boys… your whole family if you want. As long as you still want to marry me.”

He cups his hands around your face as soon as you utter your final word. “Of course I want to marry you. I love you.” He pushes his lips firmly down against yours, and you realise it's the first actual kiss he's given you since he came home. It felt significant. You don't doubt he still feels a type of way, and you know that once you go home there'll be things to talk about, but it feels so good to know he wants to kiss you. He keeps his hands around your face as he breaks the kiss. “Y/N, I'll marry you wherever, whenever.” He says in such a soft tone it makes your eyes well up. “Hey, don't be crying.” He sticks out his bottom lip. “I know we've fucked up the last day or so, and I know you know how much your words hurt. But that hasn't made me stop loving you - Jesus, after seeing you the night Clíodhna came…” he shakes his head, “...you went through so much, and you're standing upright and apologising, and you're working on taking accountability, and making fucking plans for our life. Of course I still want to fucking marry you, you idiot.” He drops his hands from your face to instead wrap his arms around you, and he pulls you in close against him. “You made everything so much fucking better when we met, and you let me in when you didn't want to, and you've accepted my boys… things are rocky, but they're not damaged beyond repair, Y/N. You've given me this wee girl, and I can't even find the words to tell you how much that fucking means. I mean, look at her? She's amazing.” He squeezes his arms tighter. “We’ll fix the shit, alright? And we'll get married, and that little legend in there will be there to witness it.*

You sit back and watch and Chloe leads Cillian through a delicate nappy change for Clíodhna. He wanted to do it before the two of you leave for the evening, and you found yourself absolutely fascinated by the continuation of his gentle way with Clíodhna. He keeps looking up at you, turning down the corners of his mouth comically, and snaps back every time Chloe says anything. As he fastens the nappy close around her tiny waist, he gently places his hand over her slowly rising and falling belly. “Now, leanbh.” He whispers. “We'll be back first thing in the morning,” he tells her gently. “Okay? No surprises overnight now, missus, are you listening?”

Chloe smiles softly, “I'm sure if there's any surprises, they'll call you. But she's sailing along nicely. So go on, get yourselves home and rest for a while.”

You get to your feet as Cillian walks away from the incubator, and step closer to it so you can say goodnight. You don't say a word as you reach inside and gently take hold of Clíodhna’s tiny hand. You slide your thumb back and forth across her fingers and then let her go. You feel emotional tonight, more so than yesterday, and you're not sure why. Is it the anticipation of what Cillian has to say when you get home, or what the whole conversation might entail, or is it down to the rush of emotions over the last two days in general. As you turn away, you see Cillian pulling on his jacket and he softens his expression when he realises that you're crying.

“Don't be crying,” he says quietly, and opens out his arms. You instantly fold yourself against his chest, comforted by the way he wraps you up and the scent of him filling your nose. “We'll be back first thing, and if there's anything to worry about they'll call us.”

You nod your head, “I know. It's just been…a long couple of days.” You dismiss. He squeezes his arms around you and rests his chin on the top of your head.

“C’mon, we'll head home.” He rubs his left hand up and down your back, then taps gently against you. “Youse will call with any problems?” He checks with Chloe, and she nods her head immediately.

“We will, of course. Go on, go and get some rest. I'm not in tomorrow but Imelda and Sheena are so they'll be delighted to see you both, and see how much this one has got on since their last shift.” Chloe smiles. “Go on, don't be coming back here at an ungodly hour, now. Get some sleep, get some breakfast in the morning. And see what that does for your milk supply, Y/N,” she says kindly. You'd been fairly impressed with the repeated fifty millilitres you'd pumped again today, and she had been too.

“She'll be growing like a weed before we know it.” Cilillian says as he touches his hand against your shoulder. “Keep fuelling her like that, she'll definitely be in the All Ireland Finals.”

“Ah, you don't have her already down for camogie, do you?” Chloe laughs.

Cillian grins back at her as he draws his hand away from your shoulder, “Sure, what else?”

“Maybe she'll want be to a dancer, or a musician, or follow in your footsteps?” Chloe suggests.

“A little nepo baby?” You say, raising your eyebrows.

“Ah, sure, plenty of time for all that. And she can make county as a teen.* Cillian laughs. “C’mon,” he looks back at you and jerks his head. “Let's get home.”

Though he holds your hand as you walk, right up until the car, you don't speak much. It feels awkward at the same time as feeling comfortable, and you're not sure how to define it. He drives home in relative silence, too, with the car radio playing quietly. But his mood shifts a little when he answers his phone as he pulls the car to a halt on the driveway.

“Aran? Y'alright?” He asks, killing the engine. You undo your seatbelt but you don't get out of the car. “Ah, fuck, really? No, it's…it's alright, it's unavoidable I suppose. Yeah go on, I'll look at it. Yeah she's here… we're only after getting home. She's fine, son. Yeah.” He's smiling as he talks, but you can tell that the initial part of the conversation wasn't so bright and you think you can work out why. “I'll take a look. Grand, Aran. I'll see you tomorrow maybe, yeah? Night.”

As he hangs up the phone he turns to look at you, and you sigh. “There's something online isn't there, about Clíodhna?”

Cillian nods his head slowly, “Aran's sending it over, so we can look at it. He said it's not particularly detailed, just that it hints that the baby's here.” He holds up his phone as the message with the link Aran promised comes through. “We'll look at it inside?” He says.

You nod slowly, “Can we talk first?” You ask. “My anxiety is going to eat me alive if we don't talk soon.”

Cillian sighs softly, “We've said most of it by now. But yeah,” he nods, “We’ll talk, and fucking listen to one another, and then we don't drag one another through shit like this ever again.”

You smile sadly. “Never again.” You insist.

“C’mon, get your arse inside. We'll get a cuppa and get our heads straight, yeah? But just…whatever we go over, you have to fucking remember, I love you. I'm here, yeah? I'm going nowhere.” He says, and he's frowning. You know he knows you're finding it difficult to grasp onto that, despite the evidence he consistently gives. He reaches out and touches his hand down against yours, where they're wringing together in your lap. “Whatever the fuck your head is telling you isn't the truth, right? I love you, you fucking pissed me off but I love you. I'm going nowhere. I'm here for you, for Clíodhna, for our family. Right?”

You watch his hand over yours, feeling instantly calmer, and look up at him again. “Yeah, I know, love.” You nod slowly.

He smiles, but it's small. “C’mon - tea, lay all this to rest, and see what the fuck the internet thinks they know, eh?” He draws back his hand and climbs from the car. You follow suit, and drop onto the gravel noisily, and the stretching of your abdomen puts a little tension against your surgery site, making you wince. You follow behind him to the front door, and leave locking up and setting the alarm to him as he takes the task on anyway. Yet again, being home without your baby girl feels wrong. You make tea for you both and, for some reason, take a seat at the island stools rather than the sofa. You don't know why - it just feels right. With your mug before you, you give Cillian a soft smile as he frowns at your choice of location but sits on the stool opposite you and takes the waiting mugs gratefully. “Go on, ask your questions because I know they're swimming around in there.” He says, and while you can hear a slight edge to his voice his eyes are soft.

You shrug and take a deep breath. “You went to Yvonne's after…the hospital.” You say, “Was it to see her or to be with the boys?”

“The boys,” Cillian says immediately, swallowing a mouthful of tea down first. “She's going to be involved forever, Y/N, she's their mother, but I went there to be with my kids. You wouldn't let me back in near Clíodhna… I needed to…” he stammers.

“No, no it's okay. I get it.” You accept immediately. “I was a complete bitch and I wanted to hurt you, because you'd come in and you were…”

“I was being a wanker.” Cillian nods, “I know, I don't think I deserved what you gave out, but I know why you did it. You wanted to hurt me and you fucking succeeded, but you did it because I was being a prick.”

“Why did you come in like that, making comments like that, when you know it hurts?” You ask, shaking your head, but you're surprised at how well you manage to keep your tone level.

“Because I was being a prick.” He says again. “No other reason. You'd fucked me off and I wanted to fuck you off, and in return you damn near fucking ripped my balls off… I get it. We just know too well how to piss one another off, and we can't be doing it.”

“No, we can't.” You agree immediately. “But… you stayed, Cill. Why did you stay? Why didn't you come home?”

He shifts in the stool, then shrugs his shoulders, “I don't know,” he admits. “Yvonne came back, she made dinner… I was telling her and the lads about Clíodhna, next thing I know it's stupid o'clock in the morning and I'm on her sofa. She'd sent a text explaining you'd called and she answered it, and I rang you. There is nothing more in it. I felt like shit and I wanted to see my sons, and then I crashed out. I'm sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, no - when you explain it, it's all reasonable to expect, to understand. Just my…my head goes to the worst cases, to the most self-hating parts, and I can't help it.”

Cillian reaches his hand across the table and cups his fingers over your wrist. “I understand. It doesn't make it fecking easy, but I understand. But the biggest thing is we can't treat each other like this again. Me winding you up, and you using that wee girl against me… I can't cope, you can't do it, Y/N.”

You nod your head feverishly. “I know.” You try to hold off sobbing. “I'm sorry.”

“I know. I'm sorry too.” He nods firmly. “Don't be crying,” he says and slips down from the stool. He stands before you and immediately envelopes you in his arms. He's good at that - an all encompassing hug that sets the world back on its axis. He needs the touches, you know, but it fixes things for you, too, when he gives them. Knowing he wants to touch you, needs to touch you, reassures you things are okay. When he releases his arms, he cups his hands around your face and gives you a firm lipped kiss, holding your face still. “I love you, and I'm sorry, and I know you're sorry. And we've got to work together on this - our relationship, Clíodhna's health, yeah? That's the important shit.”

You nod your head in his hold. “I know,” you sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He whispers back, and then he plants another kiss, but this time he is passionate, gentle, and loving. It's not an apology kiss this time, it's loving. You snake your hands around onto his slim waist and hold tightly. He breathes heavily when he breaks the kiss and pushes his forehead hard against yours. “We don't go over this again, okay? It's done.”

You nod slowly. “Done.” You agree.

He kisses the top of your nose softly then breaks himself away, and you can see he's emotional when he takes a moment before he sits back down on the stool opposite you. But when he does, he draws out his phone. “C'mon, let's see what damage is done. At least we can work out how long it'll be before we start getting calls and texts from people asking questions.” He fiddles about on the phone for a moment then draws up the link Aran has sent to him. “Right… eh, oh it's an Irish site…” he mumbles. “There's a picture of you and me leaving the hospital, and it says… ‘Cillian Murphy and fiancée Y/N were seen leaving the Rotunda in the late evening after being spotted entering says before. Sources who wish to remain anonymous claim that the couple’s baby girl was delivered via C-section over eight weeks earlier than expected and is currently being cared for in the neonatal ICU…’.” He looks up at you and shrugs. “I mean, it could be worse.” He shakes his head.

“This is the part I hate.” You admit.

He nods his head, “Yeah, me too. But they know nothing. And if important people are in touch that for whatever reason we haven't told yet, then we be honest, but otherwise… it's nobody's business, Y/N.” He shakes his head. “We focus on getting her to where she needs to be. Let the world say and do as they fucking like.”

You sigh and close your eyes, feeling like the world is heavier than it should be. “I just want her to be strong enough to bring her home.”

“She's getting there.” Cillian says earnestly. “She's a little rebel, that girl. She's a fucking fighter. She's going to change the fucking world somehow, just you watch.”

Opening your eyes, it takes a moment for you to make sense of your surroundings. It's early morning, and Cillian is in the bed beside you, but it's in those few moments of making sense of things that you realise what is going on. Cillian's breathing is a little laboured, and then you realise that he seems to be taking matters into his own hands - matters you'd not even thought about for days. You are lying with your back to him, and his left hand is resting against your hip whilst you're fairly certain that his right hand is gripped tightly around his penis. You don't want to embarrass him - it wouldn't be the first time he has done this, nor would it be something you'd want to make a big deal out of - but at the same time, you half wonder why he didn't at least lay the moves on to see how far you felt like going before he did it himself. True, you have no desire for sex - you're still bleeding lightly and sex is very far from your mind - but you're not unwilling to lend your hands should he want them, and it bothers you just a little that he hasn't asked. It's tempting to move and let him know you're awake, but you don't want to cause a problem where one needn't be. So, you lie still and wait for either confirmation that what you think is happening is happening by the act of it finishing, or for something else to occur. You hear his breathing change a little, and his left hand pushes down against your hip a little harder, followed by the sound of him moaning ever so slightly in a high pitched sigh. You were right - and again, you wonder why he didn't at least try to initiate something, something you would have gladly provided in some way. In a way, it's flattering - he's touching you whilst he's touching himself, and that's somewhat sexy. But it feels a bit weird, too. As he draws his hand back from you, you keep still. You keep your eyes closed as he leaves the bedroom and only open them when he returns five minutes later. His cheeks are red, and he smiles at you softly.

“Sorry, did I wake ya?” He whispers into the just light bedroom.

You shake your head in the pillow, “No, it's okay.” You resolve to say nothing, and to maybe just instigate something ‘handsy’ at a later point to quietly show him it's alright to ask. “Sleep okay?” You ask him and follow him with your eyes as he walks back around the bed and climbs in on his side.

He nods his head and takes a deep breath, “Not bad. You?”

You turn down the corners of your mouth. “Dreaming a lot.” You admit.

“Bad?” He asks as he snuggles down beside you and wraps his arm around your waist. He places his hand against your belly gently, then moves it in a second thought, seeming to remember he should be more delicate. He hadn't hurt you, but you appreciate the kindness.

“No, not really. Just vivid.” You say. “About Clíodhna grown up, at one point. She was just like you but she had this big load of curly dark hair,” you laugh lightly. “And she smiled like Aran.”

Cillian chuckles, “Probably premonitions… she already looks a bit like him.”

“She's all you,” you say softly, “That little nose, what we can see if her little mouth… God, she's like you reborn. I wonder if she'll be all freckled like you are.”

He chuckles again, “Ah don't wish that on her.”

“Stop it,” you say, turning awkwardly in his arms to lie face to face. “Your freckles are beautiful - all over your face, and your arms, and your back…” you smile. “It'll be just as beautiful if she has them too. I want her to have them!” You smirk, “All over her face, all over the place. Just like you.”

“Is it not bad enough for the wee thing she looks like me?” He laughs quietly.

You shake your head and move your face closer to his. You steal a kiss, all morning breath and squashed noses, then smile. “I'm glad she looks like you - Clíodhna Murphy, daughter of esteemed actor Cillian Murphy…” you laugh lightly. “And doesn't she look just like him!”

“If being my daughter is what follows and defines her her whole life, then we've done something wrong.” He says. He reaches his hand up and cups it over your left cheek. “You seem happier,” he says in a quiet tone. “It's lovely.”

“Things don't feel as heavy.” You admit. “I mean, I'm still petrified something is going to happen, that something is going to hurt her… but it feels further away.” You explain in a whisper.

.

“I know, it's scary seeing her all wired up like that. It's scary that she's even here.” He says, and you see his eyes flash something you're not sure of. “But she's so strong, isn't she? She's fighting so fucking hard to be here.” You snuggle down the bed a little and wind yourself in against his chest. He's warm and comfortable, and he immediately encases his arms around you. “She's amazing, and you're coping so much better than I would have expected. I know things have been difficult, I'm sure they're gonna be difficult again, but you're strong for her and that's fucking amazing. She's amazing, you're amazing…” he gushes. It makes your throat tighten to hear the love in his voice, to hear the emotion in his tone; you feel anything but amazing, but you feel stronger than you ever imagined you could be, and that is amazing.

[brnesblogposts]

bucky barnes what a man

bucky barnes fic i had no idea what to name it but yeah

bucky barnes x gn ¡ neurodivergent reader

warnings: none! there’s no use of y/n or any gender or racial descriptors of any kind so this can be read by anyone! if i’ve made any mistakes please let me know! but this is safe to read no matter your identity :)

——————————————————————

Bucky was sat on the couch opposite you glaring broodingly into the distance, you stared back at him hoping to catch his attention but didn’t have any luck as he continued to have the thousand yard stare, he was in his head most likely which is not good.

“What’s up sunshine?” You broke the silence, Bucky simply shrugged and then got up and walked away. You couldn’t figure out what was wrong, you wanted to be able to help. Quickly getting up and catching up with him you ask “what’s got your panties in a twist?” To which he says “it’s nothing” you don’t buy it — “are you sure” furrowing your brows, but you know Bucky isn’t one to talk about his feelings unless it’s with his therapist so your hopes aren’t held high that he’ll tell you what’s bothering him.

Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder you say “If you change your mind and want to talk about it, you know where to find me.” Your words sincere, he nods and responds with a quiet “I know” before wondering off again. After that you go about your day and are sure Bucky goes about his and your paths don’t cross again. As you’re on your way to your room you pass Natasha, “hey, Nat?” Your voice quiet “You okay, sweetheart?” She scans your features, “i’m okay” you reassure her “do you know what’s up with Buck?” Natasha informs you that “he’s in a mood today” and you nod understandingly, “just give him some space and i’m sure he’ll be okay, he’ll come round eventually.” She smiles and strokes your cheek before excusing herself and you continue to your room.

——

Lego batman is playing on your tv while you lay on your bed both laughing at the movie but also thinking about Bucky and hoping he’s okay. A faint knock on your door catches your attention as you hear a familiar voice say your name on the other side “Bucky?” You respond and a few moments later he’s opening your door and walking into your room. There’s a look of worry on his face as he speaks “Can I talk to you for a second?” You nod and pat the place next to you on your bed signalling Bucky to sit, which he does.

Bucky takes a deep breath “I just want to apologise for being distant and a moody broody ass,” he looks down at your comforter and he speaks, you reach out and put your hand over his “That’s okay, we all have our days.” He looks up now to see a soft reassuring smile gracing your face “Thanks, I just had a bit of a rough day but i’ll be alright, i’m okay.” He is reassuring you all of a sudden and you just want to hug him, you meet his eyes for a couple of seconds before looking down at where your hand covers his;

“You don't need to lie to me, it's okay to not be okay. You of all people have every right to feel the way you do, with everything you've been through. You're a survivor and a warrior and it's normal to have rough days. There's no need to apologise for feeling down, your feelings are valid” You squeeze his hand. You look up a little to see he’s now smiling softly “thank you. It’s just I had a few flashbacks to my time at HYDRA, it’s kind of hard to shake those feelings that arise when i’m reminded of that time in my life.” He glares at the ground as he gets what has been bugging him off of his chest, “sorry to hear that Buck.” You’re squeezing his hand again “hey do you want to hang out and watch the rest of this movie with me?” He takes a second before nodding as you shuffle along your bed to allow him to lay down, he does so and you automatically nuzzle into him and he wraps his arms around you while leaning his chin on your head.

“You ever seen lego batman?” You ask from your place beside him he announces“I have not.” At this you sit up and gasp “Your life is about to change for the better.” He laughs at your dramatics and motions for you to lay back down “I’m excited now so hurry up and press play!” He teases.

Everytime he hears you laugh at the movie a warmth spreads in his chest and he can’t help but smile and laugh along with you, he can see why you like this movie it’s right up your alley. You absentmindedly start playing with the hem of his shirt, using it to stim, at this Bucky smiles admirably at you “You’re cute when you stim” He practically whispers not wanting to disrupt the movie too much. He feels you move to hide your face in his side and can’t help but smile, he plays with your hair “Nothing to be embarrassed about, doll, it’s cute” He states matter-o-factly placing a kiss on the top of your head. You whisper a thanks and continue to hide as a blush takes over your face “I love you, you know that right?” He’s still playing with you hair until you sit up a little “I love you too, Buck” You smile. Nuzzling back into his side a thought pops into your head “Hey, Buck?” You ask inquisitively “Yeah, dollface?” He responds enthusiastically “would you still love me if I was a worm?” You’re playing with the hem of his shirt again as a light laugh escapes him “Yeah,” he kisses your temple and you smile “why?” He asks “just curious” you shrug. Bucky smiles again “I love you whether you're a worm, or a squirrel, or even if you're an inanimate brick.” At this a grin breaks out on your face as you sit up and respond “as i would with you!” He cups your face “awww thanks, gorgeous,” this time his thumb is stroking your cheek as his hand cups your jaw so you can’t hide the blush that creeps up your neck, Bucky loves making you flustered and only smirks at your reaction. You slap his hand away and lightheartedly say “Shut up” which only earns you a whole hearted laugh from the man next to you as he puts his arm out for you to lay back down.

A little while later you let out a yawn and burrow into Bucky even further, he’s like a human furnace. He moves the hair out of your face with his cool metal hand “you tired, angel?” You can only mumble an “Mhmm” as speaking would be too much energy, “go to sleep then, sweetheart. i’ll be right here when you wake up” Once again a kiss is placed on your forehead as sleep takes over and Bucky watches you for a few moments smiling at your soft features and the little sounds you make as you sleep before he closes his eyes too.

————————————————————-

reblogs appreciated !

[wwrenwrites]

Hyper Independence

Therapist: Y/N, do you find it difficult to rely on Jason?

Y/N: A bit-

Jason: Lies

Y/N: What?

Jason: You walk into the street while using your phone all the time without looking because you assumed I'd stop you

Y/N: But you do !

Jason: You forget your wallet at home because you assumed I had mine

Wren: Okay, that was once—

Jason: You also stared at me in the car while ago and did not move from your seat. Waiting for me to open the door for you.

Y/N *mumbling*: …. That’s valid though

Therapist *smiling a bit more*: Interesting

[sunflowerhae]

Ch. 6 Wattpad Fanfiction

“Love is the opening door, love is what we came here for, no one could offer you more..do you know what I mean? Have your eyes really seen,” you silently hummed the lyrics under your breath while cutting your brownies for your neighbor. To be honest, at first you weren’t sure why you needed him to like you. Jaemin - ever the wannabe therapist - suggested it might be a psychological response of needing strangers validation, due to your job. Giselle offered the idea that maybe you want more friends in your apartment complex. Both ideas, you have to admit, are sound arguments - and probably have a lot of truth behind them.

Once you really had time to think about why you need your neighbor to like you, however, you discovered it’s sadly much more embarrassing.

He’s cute.

And that’s really saying something, seeing as you only saw his eyes. In those two seconds the both of you locked eyes, a blush found its way onto your cheeks, and you were at a loss for words. Maybe that’s why you subconsciously found yourself cutting the brownies into heart shapes. Maybe that’s why you threw in some strawberries (also in hearts), why you double checked your appearance before stepping out the door, and why the blush once again finds its way to your face as you knock on his wooden door, anxiously praying that he really was just having a bad day initially and doesn’t have some personal vendetta against you.

God, you really need to get laid. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you recently. It’s like a title wave of ovulation symptoms passed through your system and you’ve been a walking love machine - waiting to find a lone victim to poor your adoration on. And almost like someone splashed cold water on your face, you suddenly find the situation you’re in at the moment completely ridiculous. Heart shaped brownies? Blushing cheeks? Walking love machine? What wattpad fanfiction did you just stumble into?

Just as you found it in you to laugh at yourself and turn to walk away, you hear the swinging of a door opening and feel a blast of cold air knock on the side of your body facing your neighbors door. Turning your body back around, you find yourself face to face with your now unmasked neighbor.

And God help you, he’s even hotter than before. Moles line his cheek like constellations in the sky. He has lush and full lips, puckered open just slightly enough to give him an air of innocence that drives you mad. And your favorite feature - his eyes - stare wide at you in curiosity and wonder, like the last possible thing he could have expected would be you at his door, but that he can’t wait to hear the reason why you’re there. He wore a huge, oversized black jacket with the hoodie pulled up and clear glasses wrapped around his face, paired with grey sweats and slippers. He looked like cuddling personified, to be quite frank. And it took you a solid minute to even join Earth long enough to realize you knocked on his door and stood there staring at him in silence. You felt like an idiot, and mentally kicked yourself before getting out, “sorry, hi! I’m your new neighbor, y/n. I know we briefly met the day I moved in, but it was so hectic we didn’t really get to talk. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself and give you a gift to say thank you for dealing with me moving in, and just to say hi and introduce myself!” You finished your ramble by practically shoving the container in his hands, and waited for him to say something..anything..back.

After a beat and a half of him just staring at you with an unreadable expression, he literally shook his head and a small smile appeared, along with an outstretched hand your way, “Thanks for the brownies, y/n!” You both shook hands, then stood again in silence. Should you leave? Should you invite him for dinner like you originally planned? You can’t even look him in the eyes, your own finding solace in just about any place other than his face.

“Sorry, what was your name again?” You finally settled on asking.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m ha-“

“Haechan?” A voice called out from behind you, and you both look to find one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen walking up behind you, a confused expression written on her face.

“Rin, hey” Haechan answered back, and you looked over at him, just to see him nervously scratching the back of his neck while looking between the two girls in front of him.

“Uhh, y/n, this is Karina. Karina, this is my new neighbor, y/n.” At the word “neighbor” Karina’s eyes went wide in almost shock, and she quickly bowed to you. You bowed back with a smile, before turning back to haechan.

“I won’t bother you anymore, but enjoy the brownies!” You rushed out, not letting anyone say a word before practically running back to the safety of your apartment, foregoing a brief thought to look back at the scene you just left.

Behind the closed doors of your apartment, you lay outstretched on the couch; Nala resting on your stomach and your phone tucked between your ear and the pillow.

“He has a girlfriend, selle,” you pouted, sad that your brief crush was interrupted by reality.

“Are you sure it was his girlfriend? Maybe they’re just friends.” Giselle had always been a rock for you, keeping you from flying away in the confines of your own imagination. Regardless of whatever amazing thing was happening in her life, she never lost time for her friends - you only hoped you could be there for her half the amount she was for you.

“Nah, you should have seen how they looked at each other. Plus he was hella awkward when she came up. I hope they don’t fight because of me..” you trailed off, getting distracted by the stressful thought of causing issues in your new neighbors relationship.

“Well it’s for the best, you shouldn’t be trying to get with your neighbor. That’s how you get kicked out of buildings,” you sighed, knowing how right she was.

“I know, he was just so cute.”

On the other side of the wall, Haechan was slightly freaking out. When he got to the door after the initial knock, he didn’t even bother checking to see who it was, expecting Karina to show up any minute. Needless to say, he was NOT expecting you on the other side. So you can imagine his surprise when he opens his door and his dream girl is standing in front of him, smiling and holding what looked like a container full of sweets. To him, it sounded like the start of many dreams he’s had, and for a good minute haechan was convinced he had been asleep. God does he wish he was, for now he believes - no, KNOWS - he just made a complete and utter fool of himself.

“I could barely hold a conversation, rin. I just stood there like an idiot - she had to ask me for my own name,” he mumbled out sadly, his head buried in his hands while he sits slumped on the couch. Karina sighed from her spot on the floor, books already skewed out in front of her as she silently waiting for him to finish pouting so they could study like planned.

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself, haechan. You just think you did because she’s hot. But really, she’s just a normal girl - and a sweet one, seemingly - so I doubt she’s reading into your reactions as much as you are.”

Haechan lifted his head with a sigh, sliding off the couch and down into the floor next to Karina, “yeah, you’re probably right. I just still can’t believe she’s right there. I mean, you’ve been in my apartment. I have her poster in my bedroom, rin. It still doesn’t feel real at all to me.” Karina patted Haechan’s back uncomfortably, not knowing how to console him, which made Haechan chuckle. He loved his friend, but he knew her strengths - and this definitely wasn’t it.

“It’s okay. I guess it was as fine as it could be. Let’s forget about it for now and just focus on our notes.” Karina hummed, happy that Haechan was moving on. She started talking about their chemistry notes, but honestly, Haechan zoned out. He was too focused on the brownies that laid in their now open container next to him. He focused on the fact that she made them into heart, for him. Not for some boy he thought she was dating. No, she took time to make them into a heart shape with him in mind. She tweeted about them, and was “manifesting” something about him. Y/L/N Y/N thought about him. And he couldn’t help but just smile in awe at that. He felt his cheeks go warm as it settled in him that he just met you. He just had a conversation with you. You know his name. And as he bites into a brownie, and a godly, goey, consistency flows past his tongue, haechan can’t help but think they’re even sweeter because you made them.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: Haechan visual! Just imagine him standing in his doorway looking at you like this bro ur cooked. yay first written and boy is it long. And also not proofread! So if there’s any mistakes then womp womp

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[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Coven of Chaos: Day 583

Agatha: *standing in the doorway*

Y/N: “Is everything okay?”

Wanda: “Are you secretly a vampire and we need to invite you in?”

Agatha: “…I crave validation”

Wanda: “Did something happen? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Agatha: “I abhor attention”

Y/N: “You are so black cat coded”

Agatha: “I want comfort but I loath perception” *vanishes*

Y/N: “Should I add this as something to mention to her therapist?”

Wanda: “What do you think?”

[mbruben-stein]

Can you do hceadcannons for Katara and Ty Lee helping their male friend through bad depression? (gender neutral)

Katara and Ty Lee Helping their friend s/o going through depression.

~Katara~

Katara notices that her friend s/o has been acting differently lately, becoming withdrawn and distant.

She confronts s/o about it, expressing her concern and offering her support.

S/o opens up to Katara about their struggles with depression, feeling overwhelmed and hopeless.

Katara listens attentively, validating s/o's feelings and assuring them that they are not alone. Katara suggests seeking help from a therapist or counselor, emphasizing the importance of mental health and self-care.

She encourages s/o to engage in activities that bring them joy and relaxation, such as painting, dancing, or meditating.

Katara also offers to accompany s/o on walks or outings, providing a comforting presence and a listening ear.

Together, they create a self-care plan for s/o, including daily affirmations, exercise, and healthy eating habits.

Katara checks in regularly with s/o, offering words of encouragement and reminding them of their worth and strength.

Through Katara's unwavering support and understanding, s/o begins to see a glimmer of hope and resilience, knowing that they have a true friend by their side.

~Ty Lee~

Ty Lee is incredibly perceptive and intuitive, so she immediately notices when their friend s/o starts to withdraw and show signs of depression.

Despite their bubbly and carefree exterior, Ty Lee is actually very empathetic and caring, so she takes it upon herself to help s/o through their struggles.

Ty Lee spends hours talking with s/o, listening to their feelings, and offering comfort and support. She always knows the right things to say to make s/o feel better.

Ty Lee also encourages s/o to engage in activities that bring them joy, like painting or going for walks in nature. She knows that these things can help lift y/n's spirits.

Ty Lee is not afraid to confront s/o about their negative thoughts and behaviors, but she always does so with love and understanding. She wants to help s/o see their own worth and potential.

Ty Lee's presence alone is a source of comfort for s/o. Just having her around brings a sense of peace and positivity to s/o's life.

Ty Lee's unwavering support and love help s/o navigate through their depression and come out stronger on the other side. With Ty Lee by their side, s/o knows they are never alone in their struggles.

[kouyou-arc-when]

Hey, this is a great ask and I am so sorry for not replying earlier. I am responding like this because I actually broke the character limit since I'm dumb -_- I've written a lot of posts about this on reddit, and many people came up to me and asked me something similar. Your line of thinking is good. Regarding Dazai:

So, the thing is - to properly diagnose any personality disorder, you need to talk to that very person to understand their inner mechanisms. There are certain behavioral traits we can observe from the outside and make some guesses based on that: for example, Dazai's broadly dented empathy and why that's often found in people with ASPD.

However, for many other personality disorders it is very difficult to conclude much without the person saying ~I feel x because of y. I do c because of b.

Why? Personality disorders are internal structures that cause a person's behavior to be challenging to either them or others. To understand these mental processes is much more demanding than seeing a person just feels sad or anxious, to explain it simplistic terms.

The key behind many disorders is to know WHY a person is doing what they're doing. This one thing changes whether a person has x,z,y,t,n or whatever condition.

An example: BPD and CPTSD are often mistaken for one another. Same as with BPD, CPTSD, Autism and ADD in women, but BPD and CPTSD tend to have the largest "overgap", you can even have both at the same time. That's because many of the outside observable symptoms are the same.

An example: unstable relationships are a symptom of ALL of the above, but BPD is sort of...an outdated PD according to many specialists due to the fact that it was used as an "everything" disorder, where people with socially unconventional emotions were dumped. That's why you'll find two people with BPD that are almost nothing alike.

However, even if we hold to classic diagnostic criteria, let me show how the same symptom can be a product of entirely different circumstances.

For example: Someone with BPD will have unstable relationships due to an extreme fear of abandonment. Someone with Autism may have unstable relationships due to differences in communication styles Someone with ADHD will have unstable relationships due to various circumstances: emotional regulation, executive functioning etc.

So really, the outward result may be the same, but the cause is different.

However, now, typically the main reason someone could have BPD is either due to extreme splitting, favorite person behavior, numbness and/or abandonment issues.

Dazai 100% has "favorite person" syndrome going on with Oda - the way he idealized Odasaku and then devalues everyone around him in comparison is pretty clinical - doesn't mean their relationship isn't lovely, but it's certainly something a therapist would take note of.

It's no shocker Dazai has unstable relationships, but we don't 100% know why he does what he does.

That's the whole thing Asagiri said - the character is meant to be like a donnut, where you don't really know what's in the middle - so it's extremely difficult to say which PD fits him for sure, probably even more difficult than the average neurodivergent character. In my opinion, several interpretations of Dazai are simultaneously valid due to the fact that you could assume multiple personal struggles within him, and come to a reasonable conclusion.

Does Dazai have abandonment issues? He says he always loses everything he wants, is EXTREMELY bitter over Ango, and definitely shows some levels of "splitting", especially in how he treats Oda vs Ango, Akutagawa vs Atsushi etc etc.

I'm pretty confident he has PTSD, and everything that comes with that. He certainly has a personality disorder too, due to the fact that a lot of his difficulties stem from his personality, and not just brain chemistry.

Kunikida says that most of his emotions "seem" like an act, which raises a lot of questions to what is even happening on the inside. Asagiri said Dazai is really only himself in front of people like Oda and Fyodor. That version of Dazai is...much less cheerful than with everyone else.

I don't personally think Dazai is autistic since he has a good hang on social cues and overall communication. Mamoru Miyano said PM Dazai was still learning to communicate with others back in his Dark Era days, but it wasn't that he couldn't do it - he was just not interested in learning it.

I feel like Asagiri gave Dazai this "unrealistic" trait of being primarily isolated because he's extraordinarily intelligent (which is not how geniuses tend to feel irl, most of the time) but I always feel like there is something more to it.

There is definitely some /disconnect/ between Dazai and "normal" people, where he doesn't fully seem to understand certain things, he falls short there. As someone who has CPTSD diagnosed, I get the impression he maybe has a similar thing going on as many of us: A extremely traumatic experience disrupted a lot of normal emotional and cognitive processes, and now he's both extremely hypervigilant and unable to snap out of that "shellshocked" state. He needs to "perform" conventionality, and being a normal person.

In one wan chapter, he "made a joke" that you start doing one bad thing after another, and suddenly you feel nothing at all. That's the trademark numbness in both CPTSD and BPD.

There was this TDIPUD moment where he talks about how a personality is just a bunch of unstable premises that survive to uphold the basic instincts of the human mind - but how it's easily destroyed for that reason. This is a scene where he tortures the guy, and I was like "wow, I really get it". Severe trauma can just destroy the very structure of your personality, because extreme pain just numbs everything within you. "You" as a person can't survive.

BPD is also related to an unstable sense of self - which could be connected to the former paragraph. Sometimes lowered empathy is also a byproduct of BPD, in fact, the thing is that both BPD and CPTSD come from trauma 99% of the time. They're shockingly similar disorders.

So, does Dazai have BPD? No idea. He could also be schizoid to some extent, which is funny, because Franz Kafka had this disorder, the author that inspired Asagiri's nickname.

For now, I'd just leave at he has CPTSD for sure

Most of these disorders are very broad descriptors, and it's difficult to label most humans in a way that will genuinely encompass what their experiences are. Most of the time, these diagnostics are used to match a person with the best treatment available, or to explain what they're going through - so I don't think there is a perfect diagnosis for Dazai aside from PTSD, but he's definitely extremely neurodivergent. Thanks for reading <3