#but i don’t have a therapist or anything (and i would always lie to my old counselor anyway 😋)

[digitaldiseas3]

hm 😀

[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.”

[urfavlarry]

hihi! can i request a fic where the read is ben and aidens childhood friend and they both like the reader? like how would that go 🎀

Love triangle

Ben & Aiden x childhood friend!reader

warnings: swearing, bad grammar, brief mention of gagging

A/N: the texting part reminds me of a part from a book called call me by your name :0

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╰┈➤ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🎧🛹 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Your childhood was a wild one. Of course it was! You had Aiden in your childhood! He wasn’t always like that, and you knew. The same with Ben. One lost his sparkle and the other gained it. You couldn’t lie if someone asked if you were some how involved in Aiden dyeing his hair. How could you not! He would be happy so you would do anything for your best friend. You and Aiden were there for Ben when he was going through tough time, you being the one that bought him his headphones to help him calm down. Of course they were there for you too! When you had family issues, personal issues, or even school issues! They were always there for you as if they were your unpaid therapist haha.

Your summers were never dull when with them, Ben being the only reasonable one and got you two out of trouble most of the time. He was the one that you always called at night when something was bothering you, knowing Aiden would probably already be sleeping, his snoring sounding like a damn alarm clock! Aiden however would be there for you during injuries and things like that. He was quite experienced with patching people up since he himself had to do it a lot on himself. Skateboarding injuries suck ass.

And here you were, looking at your phone, two different tabs opened. One with yours and Aidens chats and the other with yours and Bens. Both having the last message as;

— — — — — — — — — — — —

‘I love you Y/N.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

What were you supposed to do? Yes you liked them but you weren’t sure if you could choose between them. You gagged at the thought of dating the both of them, thinking it would be weird since they are literally cousins. You shake off the thought, groaning and scream into your pillow. Watching the time go by, you get another text from Aiden and Ben;

— — — — — — — — — — — —

‘Hello? Y/N?? Are you there?’

‘Y/N?”

“HELLOOOO?”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

“Y/N everything okay?”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

You open the messages, trying to type out an answer but every single one felt like it wasn’t enough.

‘I need more time.”

You rewrote that to;

‘Could we talk about it in person?’

Nope! Rewriting that to;

‘Maybe we should just stay friends? No hard feelings right?’

FUCKING HELL Y/N, NO!!

‘I love you too, but I just can’t choose between you two, I love you and Ben so so much, you’re my best friends after all, why wouldn’t I? You have been here for me since we were 8, and I appreciate that but I don’t think I can love one and leave the other behind, I’m sorry.’

Yeah, that seems alright. You send the message and send the same thing to Ben, just rewriting his name to Aidens. They both must be so confused, I doubt they told each other about their feelings towards me, knowing the both of them a bit too well. You hear your phone blow up a bit, deciding to ignore them, you start to pack. Oh reader, nobody told you? You’re moving! Out of the state, well.. to a whole new continent! Isn’t that exciting? Well, it would be if this whole thing wasn’t going on. You’re leaving behind the people you love so much, how sad and American high school movie is that? Your mom yells for you to hurry, grabbing the photos and gifts from the group. You look at your now empty room, walking downstairs you send a quick; “Goodbye America<3” with a picture of your suitcase on snapchat and turn off your notifications. Everyone in the group knew, except Aiden and Ben. You walk downstairs, everything packed and ready. Your mom was waiting for you in front of the car, grabbing your things and puts them in the back of the car.

She smiles at you, hugging you and kisses your forehead. “You ready to go ducky?” She asks and you nod, smiling at her. She pats you on the back and you both get in the car. You get comfortable, knowing it would be a long car ride when you see Ben and Aiden sprinting out of their homes. Your dad drives off, Ben and Aiden chasing the car for what felt like hours yet it was only just a few seconds. They looked devastated, heart broken even. But it’s what the three of you needed; a fresh start.

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╰┈➤ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🎧🛹 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[tsumtsumrry]

my masterlist 🤍

tiny disclaimer: everything here is stuff that has been posted on this account, to find any of my old stuff that hasn't been posted here you'd have to go to my old account ch3rrybabyhon3y. i would post everything here but i'd feel so annoying flooding the tags lol. if there's anything specific you'd like to see/read again, send me an ask and i'll be more than happy to post it. kisses.

ordered from new to old 🤍

indicators: smut ☆ fluff ❁ angst ♪

one-shots:

Doctor's Orders: in which you have an interesting visit with your gynecologist when you come to him with an inconvenient problem.

or

“M’name is Dr. Harry Styles. You can call me Harry, Dr. Styles, or Doc. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m personally fine with it all. I know your name already and…” he blows out a breath with his eyes comically wide “…basically your entire medical history so I think it’s safe to say we’re well acquainted!” You take his hand and shake it softly, a small giggle leaving your lips. You don’t miss the way he glances down at the contact. His hand feels nice. And you know it’s weird to be thinking that about your doctor, especially when that same hand will probably be somewhere near your genitals in the next couple of minutes, but his hand feels really nice against yours. Calloused and sturdy, yet gentle and soft.

You appreciate how he immediately got in tune with how cracking jokes made you more comfortable. It feels like extra effort to you and a warm feeling blooms in your chest at how attentive he is. You can tell that he cares about his patients and takes pride in his job, and it makes you feel so much more comfortable. 

“Okay m’darling. Says you’re here for a regular check up. Are you sure there’s no concerns? Nothing we should be worryin’ about? S’more helpful if you tell me now so I know what to look for.” His hand goes out to motion you to lie down on the examination table. You oblige and he grins at you again, waiting for your response. 

Second Visit (part two)

Film Bro: in which sleepy best friend Harry gets a little too worked up while you guys cuddle. ☆☆❁

or

The poor baby’s worked himself up somehow and doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, doesn’t realize how needy he is. His face wears a tortured expression, his eyebrows arched and pushed tightly together. The desperate soft sounds continue to leave his slightly parted lips and all you can think about in this moment is how much you want to kiss his lips, soft and bitten. 

Honestly, you’re at a loss of what to do in this situation. Do you wake him? Do you let him keep going until he ruins his pants? Do you just will yourself to go back to sleep and pretend this never happened? You know that last one’s definitely not going to work considering how ridiculously turned on you are. With every thrust against your ass, an onslaught of butterflies assault your stomach and you feel the pool in your underwear only getting wetter. 

You don’t want to stop him. 

Favorite Holiday: in which you and Harry are friends with benefits ☆❁ ♪

or

"He plans to take you home tonight, you can tell. You two have been going at this for months, the no-strings-attached sex thing. You think it’s easy enough. There’s never been any real difficulties, just the fact that you’re trying to keep it discreet. 

The first kiss was at the New Years party. You were both tipsy, he confessed that he always had a little fixation on you and how you looked in “all those pretty outfits you like to wear” and you confessed that him and his “fancy british accent”, “pretty tattoos”, and “ridiculously charming personality” never failed to have you imagining kissing those incredibly soft looking lips. 

He looked at you for a second, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes as if he was trying to gauge where your head was at. Then, at the perfect timing, the clock turned twelve and your lips were intertwined. The rest is history."

Sex Therapist: in which Harry helps you out a bit, and he's not actually a sex therapist. (but he might as well be)☆❁

or

"“Maybe you need someone familiar.”

You can tell he almost regretted it when he said it, but there was also something of what seemed like determination in his eyes. You can only imagine the mental battle he’s having right now.

“Someone…familiar?” You say, your tone is nothing less than breathless.

“Mhm…someone you know, someone you trust, someone that can take care of you.” You know Harry’s noticed your change in breathing, the way you tried to subtly press your thighs together, you know he’s noticed and that’s why his voice has lowered to a calculated sultry tone that you know he only reserves for times like this. He’s downright seducing you and you don’t seem to have a problem with it, “any ideas?”

Good Boy: in which harry is a brat. ☆❁

or

"“So sit down, and listen to me like a good boy.” she says, watching as Harry rolls his eyes. She scoffs because she knows it’s all an act, but also because she knows he’ll regret this later, when he’s on his second denial and begging her to just ‘please, baby let me come’. She knows he’ll regret it.

“No? This is how we’re doing it tonight? Alright then.” She loves it when Harry is soft and submissive and just does whatever she wants off the bat, but she can’t deny the fun in making him submit. She knows he loves it too.

Harry, is on cloud nine, he loves this, he lives for it. Being forced to submit, making her hurt him. Gives him a high like no other, really gets him going. Sometimes he regrets being smart with her when he’s on third orgasm, or his third denied orgasm, but still, he loves it."

Morning After: in which you wake up next to harry after your first night together. ☆❁

or

"They had sex for the first time. 

In no way were they virgins, but it was just as special as anyone’s first time. She had been holding off on having sex with anyone since her last relationship, scared to give all she had to someone only for them to hurt her and walk away like her ex did. She never wanted to feel that pain again. 

She was dead-set on becoming a nun before Harry found her and swept her off her feet. He loved and cared for her, showing her he would never hurt her like her ex did. It took some time, but she finally learned to trust Harry. And as soon as her walls broke down, she loved and trusted him fully. She gave her all to him. 

Harry wasn’t expecting from her, he just wanted to love her. So when the opportunity came to love on her, there’s no way he could’ve passed that up."

Piper: in which sub-harry let's go. ☆❁

or

"Piper shakes her head at his pout and opens her mouth to speak, “I have an idea.“

Harry’s eyebrows furrow and his pout lessens a little bit, “wha’ is it?” He’s talking slower and thicker due to how overcome with lust he is and Piper fight the urge to shift her thighs at the sound of it.

“Well…” she pauses to give him a slow kiss, “you’ve been working so hard lately, been so good. Was thinking I could dedicate a night to just you. Hmm? Make you cum so hard you see stars?”

Harry’s mouth parts slightly at her words and he tries to prevent his eyes from rolling back into his head at the butterflies that just swarmed through every part of his body."

Alexa: in which you're an assistant for one direction ❁♪

or

"“Do you want a coffee or something? I feel weird just standing here without getting you something…” Alexa mumbles and Harry’s face falls. Her words served a (very) painful reminder that she just worked for him. She was forced to be around him. Doesn’t mean she liked him. After all she only came up to him because Niall told her he needed help with something. Harry feels pathetic.

“No…no thank you.” he murmurs and Alexa nods quickly and turns on her heel to walk away.

Harry doesn’t understand why he can’t just talk to her. Every other “employee” feels like a friend (or even family) to him. Why can’t he cross that line with the one person he wants to?"

She: in which we dream with harry ❁☆♪

or

"The drive of his life, where his passion is derived from. He wouldn’t be where he is without her.

Some people may say it’s foolish to be so codependent on a dream, but he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. As long as he keeps seeing her when he closes his eyes, he’s at peace.

He imagines the color of her skin, the smoothness of her body, the volume of her hair, the sound of her voice. Every day he imagines it all. Every day he dreams about it."

Laura: in which you've had enough. ♪♪

or

"She hates herself for feeling weak, for showing him any emotion. She’s stuck between wanting him to know that he’s hurting her and not wanting to give him the power to know that he has any affect on her at all.

“You keep acting like you didn’t know how it was going to b-” Harry starts, but Laura interjects with an angry incredulous tone, feeling like if this were a cartoon you would surely see the steam coming out from her ears.

“Are you kidding me? This isn’t how it was when it first started, even when you were doing the first album, hell, even when you were on fucking tour! This is an us thing, this isn’t just a ‘studio’ thing and you know it!”

blurbs/asks:

sub ceo harry ❁☆

friends to lovers h ❁❁

sex with h headcannons ☆❁

friends to lovers angst ♪❁

sub bestfriendrry finding your vibe ☆❁

request that's basically just porn (lol) ☆☆

subby co-worker harry ☆☆

enjoy to all your heart's content. love you loads and loads. kisses. 🤍

[thetriumphantpanda]

I need to bathe in cold holy water after reading your fics. WHAT THE HELL!

‘and where do you think you’re going?’ ‘come back to bed’

Whatever you want soft or rough with Joel M.

Thanks for being an amazing writer and sharing your talent with us

All I can say is I'm sorry, but you're in good company because I too always need to step away and talk to the Lord after some of the things I write.

Thank you so much for popping into my ask with this request and your kind words - I'm so grateful you're here and you enjoy what I write and I hope I do this prompt justice for you!

Would love some more request to keep me occupied so check this post and pop into my ask box with anything you'd like to see. Have been writing for Joel, Javi P, Javi G and Frankie Morales but would consider Oberyn and Dieter as well!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 969 (Hehehehe)

Smut under the cut - soft!Joel, fingering and general fluff.

It was still dark outside when you shot up in bed, a sheen of sweat covering your skin whilst you tried to catch your breath and ground yourself after the nightmare you’d had. You took a glance to your left and thanked your lucky stars that your inevitable tossing and turning hadn’t woken Joel next to you. 

You ran a hand over your face and reached for the glass of water that was on the bedside table, taking big gulps to try and wet your dry throat. The lack of light through the thin curtains suggested that dawn was some way off but there was no way sleep would find you again tonight. 

Pushing back the covers, you threw your legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge for a moment, stretching out your shoulders to try and relieve some of the built-up tension. This was becoming more of a regular occurrence and there was a voice in the back of your mind telling you to heed Tommy’s advice about speaking to the therapist in town. Jackson really did have everything you’d ever need to build a life here. 

There was a shift on the bed behind you, Joel moving around on his side in his sleep no doubt. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” His voice was low and still sleepy, but you felt him shift closer to you, running his fingers along your spine as he always did to comfort you. 

“Bad dream,” You mumbled, getting up from the bed, “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back in a minute.” 

You hadn’t turned to speak to him, instead making your way to the bathroom that was attached to the small bedroom you had begun sharing with him increasingly. You took some time to splash cold water on your face and take deep breaths, deciding the best thing to do was to go outside and smoke to try and calm yourself down. 

When you left the bathroom, you’d expected Joel to be fast asleep, that man could fall asleep anywhere and almost instantly. One of the few traits of his that you despised. However, he had propped himself up against the headboard and was waiting for you. 

You shot him a small smile, rooting around the floor for the trousers he’d flung off your legs the night before in order to bury his face between your thighs. Finding them, you extracted the pack of cigarettes and the lighter and went to leave. 

“Come back to bed.” His voice had caught you as you went to open the bedroom door. 

You turned back to him, his arm was outstretched, inviting you back into the warmth of the bed, “I don’t think I can get back to sleep Joel,” You explained, “I’m going to be tossing and turning and I don’t want to keep you awake. 

He smiled at you, “Darlin’ girl, come back to me and let me help you relax.” 

Your feet were moving towards him before your brain had a chance to catch up. You took hold of his hand as he shuffled over to your side of the bed, guiding you to lie down and press yourself up against him. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer to him before he pressed a single soft kiss behind your ear. 

“Was it the same as last time?” He asked softly, talking about the last time you’d had a nightmare, and the time before that, and the time before that. 

You nodded, they were always the same. 

“Darlin’ girl,” He whispered, slowly trailing his hand down the side of your body to slip under your panties, “Do you need me to help the same as last time?” 

Again, you nodded but his hand stilled just short of where you wanted it the most in that moment, “Words. Use them.” 

“Yes Joel,” You gasped out, “Help me relax, please?” 

He placed another soft kiss behind your ear as his hand rubbed over your pussy, dipping his fingers into you, finding you wet from the arousal of him and his hands and the exploits from earlier in the evening. You were still pressed up against his back when he pulled his fingers from your aching pussy and brought them to your face, groaning in his deep voice as you sucked them into your mouth, cleaning his fingers of your combined tastes. 

He moved back slightly, using his free arm to move you so you were laying on your back with him leaning slightly over you. His lips finally found yours, placing a tender kiss to your lips before you opened your mouth and invited his tongue to mix with yours. All while his hand made a trail down back down your body and into your panties. 

He wasted no time in dragging your slickness from your hole up to your clit, applying light pressure as his fingers worked the bundle of nerves. Still sensitive from his tongue earlier in the night, you let out a breathy moan, turning to bury your face into his shoulder as he applied more pressure with his fingers. 

“Is that good, darlin’ girl?” He asked, “If I keep doing this are you going to cum for me?” 

“Yes Joel, oh my God please don’t stop.” 

He pressed a kiss to your temple, the only part of your face he could reach with the rest of it buried into his shoulder. He sped up the circles he was drawing over your clit and watched as you came undone, moaning his name into his skin as he worked you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Panting and spent, he moved the two of you back to your original position, enveloping you into his arms. 

“Now, go back to sleep.” 

[fatesmono]

valentines day with yoongi

✮⋆˙ warning : some language + i haven’t written in half a year so.

✮⋆˙ this is an “x reader” so yk insert gender <3

✮⋆˙a.n : so todays valentine’s day (its the 13th at 11:59 posting this, great job me :3). so happy valentines i guess. i’m spending it celebrating jaehyun's birthday and writing abt my husband who’s in the war. i haven’t written in like, six years (six months) so pls go easy on me 

✮⋆˙enjoy loves <3333 happy valentines day !!

i never liked valentine’s day. it was always a stupid ass holiday if i do say so myself. am i saying that bc i never had a good valentine ? …maybe so, why are you so nosy ?? anyways, that was before i met him, min yoongi. i never met a man who says he hates a holiday so much but also goes all out for it. our first valentines last year i expected him to not really get me anything or like a bouquet of flowers since it wasn’t that much…i got a bouquet alright, like seven of them (he had said he didn’t know which one i would like so he just got me all of the ones he thought i would want), plus a shit ton of chocolate and just little things like one of his hoodies and this ring i had been eyeing for like months beforehand. so much for “valentines day isn’t really my thing” right ? all men do is lie, even min yoongi.

okay but anyways, here we are now, a year later. i wanna prove myself this year, i refuse to be out-valentines’d by him, no matter what that takes. now just one problem, he’s rich, i work at a coffee shop. shit, i know right ? but we will make it work i don’t care. 

so have i had this planned out for the last two months like a gta heist ? yes. but i NEED this day to go perfect. did it ? NO. NO IT DIDNT. first the necklace i got him with his name won’t be ready until the 17th, and then the kiss hoodie i was working on for him GETS BLEACHED SPILLED ON HIM, curtesy of our cat, johnny, and then; if it wasn’t going awful anyway, the cupcakes i made for him burned. and i’m going to his studio as we speak…this is my thirteenth reason. so right now all we have is his favorite flowers, a bleached hoodie with my kisses and a book of poems i wrote for him, sigh. SIGH. and if it didn’t help, he already gave me half of my gift before he left and it’s ten times better. A ROSE GOLD NECKLACE, he got me a rose gold encrusted with the sun because “i’m the sun to his moon”, he makes me wanna bash my head sometimes from how sweet he is. 

so getting to his studio, the definition of “shaking in my little boots”. i can hear him practicing his music from outside his studio, it’s like walking into beethoven working on smth if beethoven was your 30 year old idol boyfriend for a kpop group, if that makes sense, which is doesn’t so. anyways, i put in the code for his studio (it’s our anniversary, excuse me while i cry.) and quietly walk in to not disturb him, which isn’t that hard since he has tunnel vision as he invented it, and quietly tap his shoulder gently to get his attention. he turns around, taking off his headphones and noticing me with a small smile on his face, which might as well have been a kiss from him then and then. 

“hey love, happy valentine’s day, what are you doing here ?”, god why does he have to have such a perfect voice; it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. i go on to give him to give him his gift and try to explain that i had much more to give him and i knew it wasn’t enough to give and- and he cuts me off. good job if i do say so myself because the yapping i do, i could win a medal. 

“honey honey, this is perfect…you didn’t even have to get me anything, and you wrote me poems…that’s like writing me a song, this means the world to me. you remembered my favorite flowers, and this hoodie..i don’t think i’ve ever gotten a gift like this from anyone before, not even the guys. thank you so much…”, and my heart just turns into a puddle then and there. all my worries gone in a second, how does he do it ? he really should’ve become a therapist in another life, but i guess he does that with his music. but anyways, did i expect him to like the gift ? absolutely not. i did try to pay for dinner that night and he still didn’t let me do it, saying it was “an extra gift” as if i needed anymore gifts. remind me next to try and not outgift a rich idol who’s secret love language is definitely gift giving. 

i’m still getting next years gifts ready anyways. i’m so winning next year, i don't care.

[its-all-papaya]

landoscar with 24 pls

kiss prompt fills are back bby!! and this one got rlly out of hand!!

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

24. as a reward | landoscar | 1.8k (but like. i rounded down. a lot.)

“Therapy,” Oscar says, apropos of nothing, on the first Thursday of summer break.

Lando looks up from his fridge, where he’s been poking around looking for breakfast, and knits his eyebrows together over his shoulder. Oscar is right where Lando had left him at the kitchen table, sweat from their run drying his shirt to his skin. He looks pleasant enough with his elbow propped on the table and his water bottle wedged between his thighs. Not like he’s just ambushed Lando about anything, least of all that fucking word again.

“Been talking to Jon?” Lando bites out. He turns back to the collection of containers and picks something at random. He’s got a feeling he’s not going to be hungry in a few minutes anyway.

Oscar’s fingers are tapping absently on the tabletop and it’s making Lando’s skin crawl. It goes like this every time anybody brings it up, like his body can’t physically bear the thought of the conversation.

“Not any more than normal,” Oscar says, which isn’t even a real answer.

Lando stares at him, deadpan, for a handful of seconds. Then he pries the lid off the container and sets about preparing the contents.

“Do you want anything to eat?” He asks Oscar.

“That’s alright,” Oscar responds, still unbothered. “Have you thought about it?”

“About eating?” Lando asks, incredulous.

“No,” Oscar says. The other thing, then.

“Yeah,” Lando says after a beat. He places the container in the microwave and sets the timer. It’s not even a lie - Oscar would know if it was; he’s scary good at figuring those things out when it comes to Lando. Also, Lando knows one word isn’t going to cut it in this conversation, but if Oscar wants to discuss this stupid subject, Lando’s going to at least going to make it difficult.

“What about it?” Oscar asks, tone exactly the same as it’s been all morning. Like they’re discussing the weather, or what route to take on their way back to Lando’s.

“That I don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Lando says. His eyes stay locked on the microwave plate, turning slowly behind the tinted glass, “All my…” he raises a hand and waves it half-heartedly, knowing Oscar will understand. He always does, somehow.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Oscar says. The microwave timer ticks down. “But I think it’s getting kind of close to one.”

Lando clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. “Yeah?” It sounds a bit mean, even to him.

“You’re not sleeping well,” Oscar says. Lando’s fingers tighten on the edge of the countertop. He’s going to run out of muscles to tense if Oscar keeps going. Oscar does, though, still measured when he says, “Might help you relax if you have someone to help sort through everything up there.”

“I don’t need to relax,” Lando says, “I need to drive better. A therapist isn’t going to fix that, I just have to get my shit together.”

The microwave timer goes off. Lando could slam the door closed if he wanted to, Oscar probably wouldn’t even react to it, but what he’s feeling isn’t even really anger. He’s not a child. The annoying thing is, he has thought through it all. He thinks through it every fucking Sunday, when he’s miserable in the shower after handing over another P2 trophy to the team and kicking himself about losing, kicking himself about not being happier about it. It’s not new, it’s just more, and it’ll all go away if he just starts performing. He doesn’t need a therapist to tell him that.

“It’s not about fixing things,” Oscar says as Lando carefully moves the container to the countertop. It’s hot still. He licks the tips of his fingertips where they’ve gone red from the heat.

Oscar keeps talking. “It’s like… you see Jon when you’ve got a backache, right? Or for a massage. Or it’s like the cold tub. They don’t change your driving, but you can drive better when your body feels better.”

“You have been talking to Jon,” Lando looks up at Oscar with something next to a glare – a little less hostile, though – as he locates a fork from his silverware drawer.

Oscar shrugs, “When we run into each other.” Lando’s eyes go back to him, and he at least has the sense to look a little apologetic, “You’re the main thing we have in common. It comes up.”

Lando had originally had plans to eat at the table, but the distance between himself and Oscar feels safer at the moment, so he stays put. “My brain?” he asks around his first bite.

“Sure,” Oscar says, “and how you love to deflect.”

Lando stops chewing to make this glare more effective. “Stop meddling.”

“I’m not meddling, Lando,” Oscar sets the water bottle aside and crosses the kitchen easily, leaning on the island opposite Lando like he knows abandoning the separation completely might send him over the edge. “I love you,” he says then, “and I want you to feel your best. I know you want to get better on track, but it’s not one or the other.” Lando’s about to protest, to say that’s not what I even said, but when he thinks about it for a second, it sort of is. Not this argument, maybe, other than kind of abstractly, but definitely in other arguments with Jon. Maybe even one with Oscar in the past – Lando loses track of who’s said what with how closely their arguments clearly overlap lately. And more than he’s said to either of them out loud, Lando knows that dichotomy is buried at the bitter end to every circle he runs in his own mind in those post-race showers and the long, long nights after. If he stops telling himself that what he’s done isn’t good enough, what if he starts believing it is?

He sets his fork down. His shoulders are still drawn, cheek still caught between his teeth, but he’s stopped adding new tensions to that list.

“What if it is one or the other?” he asks. His microwave beeps behind him. He’d forgotten to shut the door at all.

“What if learning how to be a little nicer to yourself makes you worse on track?” Oscar asks.

It’s not a good-faith question, but Lando doesn’t have the voice to unpack it. It’s close enough, anyway, so he just nods.

“Then you stop.” Oscar says.

Lando looks up. Oscar’s hand is laying in the middle of his countertop, palm up, and his eyes are set on Lando’s face.

“Really?” Lando moves his hand towards the center of the island, fingers splayed on the cool marble.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, “I mean, I can’t control what you do anyway. Obviously. But if something doesn’t work, don’t do it. Clearly nobody can force you, and you’ve got a lot of practice deciding what does and doesn’t help you. It’s like upgrades. Dev can talk them up, but we don’t know until we’re on the sim and in the car. They might be kind of shitty, but you won’t know until you actually drive with them.”

Lando presses his lips together to keep from smiling. Stubborn. Leave it to Oscar to come up with a fucking car metaphor for his broken fucking brain, though. God.

“But,” Oscar continues, “most of the time the upgrades work. Because the team knows what they’re doing. And the test drivers know what they’re doing, too. They see our data and they know our cars and they take our feedback and they know what to do with all that.”

Lando’s getting a little lost in the parallels Oscar’s trying to draw, but Oscar can clearly tell, because he closes the last of the gap until their fingertips brush together and says, “Just like Jon, babe. He knows you really well. He’s good at seeing where there’s a little room for improvements.”

Lando taps his fingers one by one against the counter. Oscar taps back, the pads of his fingers drumming against Lando’s nailbeds.

“Can I think about it?” Lando asks. The first thing he’s said in a long while.

“You can,” Oscar says back. His hand is completely covering Lando’s now, thumb rubbing up and down the side of Lando’s forefinger, “but can you text Jon and tell him you’re thinking about it?”

Lando’s eyes narrow, but Oscar’s already moving around the side of the island and flipping Lando’s phone over so it’s face-up on the counter. “Please?” Oscar says.

Lando concedes. Oscar’s hand rests low on his back while Lando taps into his messages and finds his trainer’s thread. He starts and deletes half a dozen different texts, but Oscar’s eyes feel heavy over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits eventually.

Oscar’s arm slides fully around his waist, and Lando is surprised when his own body melts easily into Oscar’s side. As soon as they’re pressed together, Oscar shifts his grip up until he’s squeezing some tension out of Lando’s shoulder with firm fingers.

“You could just ask him to schedule the appointment,” Oscar says. Lando knows if he had the nerve to look at Oscar’s face, it’d be that self-satisfied grin on his lips.

“This doesn’t feel ethical of you,” Lando says.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Oscar’s voice is light, amused, “but I can tell you to do it, if that would make this easier.”

Lando elbows him in the side, just gently, and Oscar tightens his grip on the side of Lando’s neck for a moment.

“Okay,” Lando says.

“Okay,” Oscar says back, “just ask him if he’ll set something up for you in the next week. That way if it sucks, you can forget about it before Zandvoort.”

“Okay,” Lando says again.

“Okay,” Oscar says back.

Lando types out the text while Oscar watches, thumb rubbing soothing little circles into the skin of Lando’s shoulder the whole while. When it’s finished and delivered, he tosses his phone back onto the counter and turns fully into Oscar’s arms, buries his face in Oscar’s chest to counteract the overwhelmed tremor he can feel starting in his muscles. It helps. Oscar presses kisses and shhh’s into his hair until Lando feels a little normal again. It smells like sweat and still a little bit like Lando’s body wash from the night before, there against Oscar’s shoulder. They’re going to need another shower. If Lando asks nicely, he wonders if Oscar might wash his hair, since he’s so worried about what goes on with Lando’s head.

Eventually, Oscar tips Lando’s chin up with a hand under his jaw and kisses him for a long, long moment. He nips at Lando’s lip and licks over it after, just the way Lando likes.

“Is this a bribe?” Lando asks when they part.

It makes Oscar smile and earns Lando another short kiss on the mouth. “You’ve already made the call, love. I can’t bribe you to do something you already did.”

“A reward, then.” Lando tries again.

Oscar’s smile goes sticky soft, “You don’t have to earn anything from me.”

“But?” Lando lifts an eyebrow.

“But.” Oscar says, hands on Lando’s waist, “I’m proud of you.”

[lauraisthebestyapper]

i want a love like i’ve seen in the movies, that’s why i’ll never fall in love

pairing: valgrace (leo valdez x jason grace)

summary: jason is dead. leo writes letters to him to cope.

word count: 418 (oof)

a/n: GUESS WHO FINALLY GOT HER ACT TOGETHER!!!!!! title from ‘like the movies’ by laufey, relates to nothing i just thought it was cute lmao. wrote this at 2am while severely dehydrated and sleep deprived. i did not check, but hopefully the spelling is ok. enjoy!!!!

(dividers by @plutism)

jason,

you’ll never get this. trust me, i know it. you’re gone.

piper says you wrote letters to me when I was gone. gods, why would you write letters? you’re you were dyslexic, you idiot! i’m barely writing right now. this is hard.

i never found the ones you wrote when we were going through your stuff. i wish i did. maybe it could’ve given me some closure, i guess. i hold on to every part of you i can find. your clothes smell less like you every day. the flowers i put at your grave the first day are starting to wilt. 

i still can’t believe it; we were done, out of the woods.(will has been forcing me to listen to taylor swift to try and cheer me up. it’s torture.) now, you’re gone. what’s the point of anything at this point? nothing feels real. one day, i’ll go to elysium. see you again. hopefully. the judges better grant me that mercy. i’ve lived a shit life. i deserve a happy ending. at least, i think i do.

i would go to a therapist, but… i don’t think that would be good for me right now. too much thinking. i usually try not to think. instead, my therapy is building stuff in bunker nine. i’ve been looking at spheres. they can do so much! i almost lasered off my whole arm the other day and but it’s whatever, you don’t want to hear me ramble right now.

i’m reading more, too. you would always get on me about that. well, fake you, at the wilderness school. you were always so righteous. i guess real you was too busy saving the world to annoy me about my reading habits. anyways, i asked annabeth for recommendations. BAD IDEA. now she’s forcing me to read all the “classics”! it’s a nightmare. but some of them are okay, like jane austen. did you know she was a baddie? because she is. but i was reading the canterville ghost, by oscar wilde. there was one line that made me think, which i don’t do much, clearly.

“death must be so beautiful. to lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. to have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. to forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.”

i know most of this is wrong. they don’t have any silence in elysium! but for what it’s worth, i hope you’re at peace. you deserve that, after everything.

i miss you.

leo

end note: ANYWAYSSSSSS

i am planning to make a prequel of one of jason’s letters eventually. i rlly hope you liked it! i’ll link it here when it’s done. lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

GENERAL TAGLIST: @illneverforget365

VALGRACE TAGLIST: n/a

[shrowded-eng1ma]

Some Hashira’s having a crush on a Nagito Komaeda like reader

Characters;Shinobu, Rengoku, Mitsuri

Warnings; Angst, Death, Suicidal Implications, Light Possessiveness

Shinobu:

She’s your therapist, your personal doctor.

When she first caught feelings, she actually thought it was just her worrying about your mental health.

When she found out it was a crush she’s shocked, why did she like you? Was it the unending praises you showered her with? Your good looks? Your quite raspy voice?

Overtime she fell harder and really tried to help you with your mental health issues, to say the least, it was worthless, your self-esteem and respect was practically nonexistent.

She also refuses to let you touch or help her in poison making, because Fucking Obviously.

Despite this you know a surprising amount of poison, which is concerning due to your M.H.

She does love when you talk about hope, and tried to use that as a catalyst to raise your self worth.

She is slightly annoyed at how you drool about tanjirou and how you love him for his hope (No pedo shit!) but she loves how passionate you sound.

She finds it interesting and unsettling how you call zenitsu useless and worthless, it’s her first time seeing you hate someone more than demons or yourself.

Every time someone insults you, and you agree with them she insults them harder, she’d go for anything their insecure about, that she somehow already knows about.

She’s very protective of you, despite your supernaturally good luck.

If you die she would be completely heartbroken and vengeful towards every demon, especially Douma and the one who killed you.

She would feel so pathetic that she couldn’t confess to you.

If she did confess you’d say something like “Ah, to be lied to by someone as you is such an honor for someone as worthless as me”

She tries to convince you that her feelings are real but you don’t believe her, always saying “Your so kind to tell me such a lie!” Or “Ah, I... I truly appreciate your affection towards me, but I must decline. You see, I'm just a lowly speck of misfortune in this grand tapestry of life. It would be unfair to burden you with my peculiarities and the chaos that seems to follow my every step”

She’s too persistent and stubborn though, she’s strong enough to take anything you say or do, but it’s futile.

When she dies for Douma you feel genuine sadness, you knew she cared for you too some degree “I’m sorry, someone as worthless as me should’ve taken her place” you’d say before moving on.

Her cherished memory of you is when she reveled to you that she’s extremely weak and can’t cut off a demons head and your response “Wow! Your so weak but you managed to find a way to kill demons despite your weakness in strength!! Your so smart Shinobu! I promise to become a stepping stone to the hope you can achieve!!” Okay she hated the last bit, but it’s the thought that counts.

Rengoku:

He is very worried for you.

You find yourself completely unworthy of his sheer presence, his overwhelming positivity and hope you just can’t compete.

When he finds out he has a crush on you, he doesn’t question it, he follows his heart and helps you out.

Every insult you say to yourself he’d object with a positive remark. “Someone like me shouldn’t have become a hashira” “You became a hashira even when you don’t have a breathing style! Your nothing short of admirable and amazing! You have every demon slayers respect!!”

He always invites you to group activities, and you decline every time. So he drags you to the events.

He’s pretty much around you 24/7

When he wakes up, he sends his crow to wake your ass up.

When he’s off on a mission he asks Kagyga to watch over you, and over course he accepts.

When you praise him, he praises you, then you either degrade yourself and Rengoku objects with positivity, or you try to praise him harder, it then turns into a ‘Praise Battle’

He loves it when you talk positively about tanjirou, not so much when you talk bad about Zenitsu.

When he dies from akaza, you say “I won’t let him die in despair. He’s death will simply be a catalyst for the ultimate hope!”

He keeps confessing to you, despite you rejecting him due to your self worth problems.

Mitsuri

She is extremely worried for you, why would someone say such things about themselves? Especially when you became a hashira in a month and while having no breathing style, shouldn’t you be proud?

Everytime She turns completely red when you shower her with praise, which also interest her in you even more.

She can’t really talk much until you praise her and she malfunctions.

She admires you and even agrees about you idolization of hope, which makes you like her even more.

She always invites you to hang out with her and Iguro or any Hashira activities, you deny everytime.

When she finds out about her crush on you she malfunctions for days, she likes Iguro AND you, how could she choose? Did she need to choose?

She ask’s Kagyga for help, and whoever your close with.

Now she pretty much begs you to hang out with her and Iguro. Overtime Iguro sees and different side of you and thinks your tolerable, but he’s still annoyed that it can’t be him and Mitsuri alone.

She isn’t going to confess anytime soon, she’s too shy and insecure about herself to do so.

-The End, sorry this was short-

[cosmicwindmillcomplex]

Do you have any advice for people who are about to start EMDR?

actually yes! And I’m so glad you asked because idk if I ever would’ve thought about making it into a post! apologies for the late response but wanted to give it a lot of thought! I’ve been doing EMDR on and off for about 3.5 years now with my therapist, as a disclaimer: I am not an expert so this would be my advice based on my personal experience with and knowledge of EMDR.

1. Make sure you trust your therapist or whoever the professional who will be guiding you through the experience is; also make sure that they are qualified with EMDR experience. They should not offer the option if they have no experience with it.

2. Make sure you are in a relatively stable enough place to go through it. Don’t lie just because you want to do it. it’s a very intense psychological experience and can be draining so just be somewhat prepared and don’t be surprised if you feel kinda worn out the rest of the day after the session. There have been times I have taken breaks from EMDR when other issues of life became problematic and as a result I was less stable. It’s not something you want to force when you’re not stable enough, for safety reasons. For me it was difficult to admit I wasn’t stable enough as I wanted to just “push through” thinking it’ll automatically heal me, but it doesn’t quite work that way.

3. My sister is also a licensed therapist and gave me this metaphor when I was struggling with EMDR, it has shifted my perspective and helped me a lot. Think of EMDR as riding a train through your subconscious/inner world (however you like to think of it). In between the bilateral stimulation parts your therapist will usually ask something such as “what are you noticing”. This is when you peek out the train window or poke your head out and see where the train has stopped. but you stay on the train and then repeat the process at the next stop. Do your very best to observe and not be “sucked in” to whatever you are noticing. What you notice could be an image your brain gives you, it could be a memory, or a physical sensation of some kind as well. It’s kind cool like your brain is communicating with you!

4. EMDR does require bringing up and having to somewhat relive your trauma in the controlled environment, which is why you want to make sure you trust your therapist and have any grounding items nearby or with you. If you go in person and drive yourself, don’t feel the need to drive away immediately. It’s okay to sit for a while until you’re ready. If you do telehealth maybe keep some grounding items near you and always be in a room/environment where you feel really safe. Allow time afterwards for some self care and taking it easy.

5. My therapist describes it as a process to try and close the trauma loop in a way that the memories don’t impact you quite as badly. Some have equated it to “exposure therapy but make it trauma”, although it’s kinda right, it’s more complex than that. Often things that come up repeatedly can be clues, like a branch of a tree, and through sessions you may find the roots deeper down. There may be root memories you’re not aware of and through EMDR you may eventually find those roots when you’re ready.

6. Be patient!!! You don’t want to overthink or over analyze it too much outside of therapy. It’s okay and natural to think of it but don’t try too hard to investigate, give your brain time and it will probably make sense later down the road when you are ready. I usually will write down something if it comes up and then try to put it out of my mind until next session. Don’t push yourself or judge too hard. It is a lot to go through and very heavy, it makes sense to feel frustrated or discouraged but you will make progress in your own time. Don’t be afraid to use a stop signal if you feel overwhelmed, you don’t always have to keep going!

7. Be honest! Do your very best to not worry about being judged or anything like that. Let your brain go where it needs to go without judgment or trying to control it. Don’t lie or try to force your session to to a certain way, all it will do is slow your progress! (Not trying to call anyone a liar intentionally, but sometimes we would try to direct or deflect certain things in session due to feeling like we needed more progress faster and fears/anxieties/doubts, as an impulse reaction almost, in this case we think about it for a while and journal on it until we have the words to talk it out and explain more in another session later on. “Lying” in this context can also just simply be telling your therapist you’re okay when you know that you are not.)

I hope this helps and makes some kind of sense! Wishing you lots of love and comfort as you start your journey with EMDR ❤️‍🩹

[katerina-marie]

Bathtub Confessions (Eres Tú)

Sukuna x Reader

Part 4

The one where you learn that certain confessions don't always have to be romantic, but others certainly do.

Word Count: 5.7k

Notes: Sukuna x Reader celebrity!au. Takes place directly after part three. Song of inspiration: Eres Tú by Carla Morrison

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo, found family vibes, some angst, fluff, crack, humor, out of character Sukuna (he's so fluffy), suggestive, maybe lightly explicit, tho no sex actually occurs (sorry), so please avoid accordingly.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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“Should I change my name?”

A beat of silence. A drop of water.

“No.”

“Should I get a wig?”

Another beat of silence. A clink of glass on tile.

“No.” 

“Should I flee the country?”

A minuscule half second of silence.

“Not if you’re going to quit paying me,” Toji grumbled. 

His response made the frown on your face dip down further on your lips, and you rolled your head against the back of your porcelain tub to stare at the ceiling.

“Is that all you see me as?” you whined, “A paycheck?”

“You want me to lie?” 

“That’s it, I’m going to drown myself.” 

That gets a long, heavy sigh from your bodyguard and you can hear him readjust himself on the chaise lounge seated in the middle of your expansive bathroom before he carries on.

“First off,” he grunts, “no you’re not. That would require me to pull your sad self naked from the tub, and we both know we don’t want that. Second…you know you’re not just a paycheck.” Toji goes quiet for a moment. “I’d like to think that we’ve become a sort of family over the last couple years, you, me, and Nanami. Shoot, even Megs too when he’s around.” 

His soft confession brings a smile to your face, and you turn your head to the right to look in his direction from behind a large mahogany privacy screen. It stands tall, wrapping just barely around the ends of your tub where your feet and head lay, keeping you securely tucked away from any prying eyes. It found its way there long ago, because this wasn’t the first time that Toji had played therapist from his dedicated chaise while you lounged in a hot bath and the two of you shared a bottle of wine. 

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, “I’m grateful you’re my friend…and my family.” 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you are. But don’t go on getting too upset or sentimental just because you’ve had a rough day. Things haven’t been that bad,” Toji said, and you groaned at the reminder.

After finally arriving home safely—no thanks to you—Toji immediately went into damage control mode and spent the afternoon fielding phone calls and text messages, though nothing too serious had been blown your way yet. 

You had received a none-too-pleased email from the producer of the movie you and Satoru were co-starring in, accusing you of sabotaging the release by not waiting to reveal your relationship with Sukuna until after the movie premiered in a few short months (as if he couldn’t tell that what happened today wasn’t by choice). Luckily, Satoru swooped in with his sweet-talking words and buttered the producer right back into promising extra money for a job well done. Though Satoru’s idea of fixing things was convincing the producer that the only premise that sold better than a classic love story was the angst of a good ol’ fashioned love triangle, and he was more than happy to play the jilted lover dead set on winning you back. You wondered what it must be like to live in such delusions. 

What really put the cherry on top of a bad day was the text you received from Sukuna shortly after arriving home. It wasn’t anything particularly worrisome, a straight to the point, “I’ll call you this evening, busy smoothing a couple things out, x,” but it had you in a fit nonetheless. After sending a quick affirmation back, you threw your phone across the couch in your living room and flung yourself onto the nearest surface to bemoan your miserable existence. Toji was not amused when that nearest surface happened to be his chest, and he only offered you five minutes of soaking his shirt with snot and tears before he drug you upstairs to your bedroom, turned on the hot water to your tub, and shoved you into the bathroom with a promise to return with wine if you quieted down for just a second. 

So here you were, an hour later, soaking under a mountain of peppermint scented bubbles while you toed at the hot water handle at the end of the tub. 

“You think if I begged hard enough Nanami would let me come stay with him for the rest of his vacation? I’m afraid I’m in need of a tropical escape,” you told Toji, already calculating in your head how quickly you could pack your bags and be on the next plane to Malaysia. 

Toji chuckled, “No, I don’t think he would, considering he refused to tell us anything more about his trip other than what country he’d be in and when he’d be back. You showing up would take seven years off his life. Add three more if he opens up the door to you sobbing like you’ve been all day. Besides, running away to another country just because you’re afraid to talk to your boyfriend is a cowardly move.” 

You ‘tsked’ at him for calling you out on poor behavior and slouched further down into the hot water in shame-filled defeat. Instead of wallowing in it further though, you popped your ankles up on the rim of the tub, tossed your arms back to hang behind your head, and clapped twice to get Toji’s attention.

“Another glass of wine, please,” you mocked in as snobby an accent as you could manage.

“What do you take me as? I’m not your damn butler,” he complained, but you could hear the quick successive cracking of his back as he stood up from the chaise and stretched. 

“Just one more and that’ll be it, I promise.” You considered what else could entice him into doing your bidding. “I’ll let you be done for the evening and take the day off tomorrow if you also bring me a plate of cheese and crackers, please.” 

Toji was silent before letting out a begrudging “fine” and shuffling out the door without another complaint. 

You marveled in the silence, nothing but the occasional lap of water as you adjusted yourself in the tub to break it. After a few minutes, however, you realized the absence of conversation was the perfect environment for your thoughts to run unhindered, and that was not something you cared to partake in at the given time. Trying to concentrate on anything else though was futile, and perhaps trying to wade through your own head for a few minutes would leave you feeling better when you chose to pointedly ignore it once your butler…ahem, Toji, returned with your snacks.

Besides falling on national television—and underneath Gojo Satoru nonetheless—you had a particularly difficult time deducing from yourself what exactly about the accidental revelation of your relationship with Sukuna caused you so much embarrassment. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be associated with him or that you always intended for the relationship to remain secret until it had reached its course; your desire was quite the opposite, actually. It was a feeling best left to baser animals and bedroom activities, but the idea of staking a claim, proving that he belonged to you in a way, was not unappealing and not something you could talk your way out of thinking, especially with the world the two of you lived in. 

If you got down to it, the real problem lay in your unfortunate habit of caring what people thought. You didn’t want Sukuna to see you as childlike, only a few years younger than him in age but miles behind in maturity. You didn’t want him to view today’s incident as a misfortunate foreshadow into the “what if’s” of your relationship. Neither did you want the world looking at the two of you and questioning how exactly something like it came to be. Where Sukuna was all sharp angles and dark colors, suave nonchalance and carrying a presence that demanded to be seen, you felt painfully opposite. You wouldn’t self-deprecate and believe that you were unworthy of standing beside him, but just cognizant of how different you felt. More like something that could be just as appreciated, but more likely to be overlooked and favored over something brighter. A “mismatched pair” is what they would call you, something that struck you so vividly that the pressure in your chest increased ten-fold. You knew he would hear it, see it, be made aware of it, and while he may not agree right away, you wondered how long it would take for the sphere of influence to get to him too. The anticipatory grief (as your actual therapist called it, usually followed by anxiety) of waiting for someone you valued so much to realize that he had better options was enough to make you consider running away from the whole thing entirely. 

And that’s how you came back to scheming your departure from the country. If you hurried, you could probably towel off, pack a bag, and slip out the back before Toji realized (you wondered if the big oaf had decided to take a nap instead of bringing you snacks for how long it’d been since you last heard him). Surely Nanami wouldn’t abandon you in your time of need if you were wailing at him over the phone in the airport of a foreign country. 

But alas, you heard your bathroom door open, effectively cutting off any means of escape.

“It’s about time, Toji. What took you so long?” He neither spoke, nor took another step. “Eh, no matter. Bring me my snacks, please.” 

Footsteps continued again and before you could chastise Toji further, a voice spoke up from right behind your privacy screen. 

“Should I be concerned with the normalcy of your bodyguard attending to you while you’re naked in the bath?” 

The shock of hearing Sukuna’s voice caused you to jolt, sending your legs into the water with an unmistakable splash and leaving you to scurry back into a sitting position from where you had slipped dangerously close to submerging your whole head underwater. The indecency of it all would kill you if this conversation that was about to happen didn’t.

“I assure you,” you started, hoping you didn’t sound as wrecked as you felt, “it is not nearly as salacious as you made it out to be.” 

Sukuna hummed. “Really? Because it sounded as if you were expecting him, and when I ran into him downstairs he told me to tell you that he would be back up to deliver wine and cheese shortly. Sounds like a romantic evening to me if I’ve ever heard one.”

You were relieved to hear a hint of amusement in your boyfriend’s voice, but horrified at what he was saying. 

“Please stop implying things that’ll make me gag.” 

Sukuna chuckled, but was quiet for a minute until, “You have five seconds to tell me to stop before I move this privacy screen so we can talk face to face.” 

You shot upwards, looking around hurriedly as you tried to scrape the remaining bubbles in the tub to strategic places in order to maintain your dignity, though you realized a moment later that it was probably unnecessary. With a second left, you brushed tendrils of your hair away from your face and wiped your thumb across the top of your lip to remove any remnants of a wine stain from your skin. In the next, Sukuna was pushing aside the privacy screen and looking down at you with a blank—but not unkind—expression. You eyed him warily as he walked up to the edge of the tub and dropped a cushion from the chaise Toji was sitting on earlier to the floor. He settled himself down onto it and then placed his elbow on the edge of the tub so he could lean in close to you. 

“Hello,” you whispered to him, settling both your arms down next to his and then resting your head against them. A small smile crossed his face.

“Hello to you too.” 

You were surprised at the lack of tension in his face, no clenched jaw or heavy brow to be seen, and as you trailed your eyes further down his torso you noticed its absence there too. His shoulders were relaxed, and his chin was cupped in the hand propped up on the tub so he could gaze at you with those unnervingly observant eyes of his. You wished he’d been wearing a t-shirt instead of the thin navy turtleneck he currently had on so you could focus your stare on the black tattoos decorating his body. Aside from being intricate, and distracting, they always gave you something to look at when meeting his eyes felt like too much. 

The tenderness of Sukuna’s knuckles meeting your temple forced you to look back up at him, only to see that he was following the path his fingers were making over your skin. They grazed over your cheekbone, feathered down the bridge of your nose, and then were skimming over your mouth, his thumb catching ever so lightly on your bottom lip. His hand didn’t linger there, and it was quick to skate over your jaw before his thumb landed under your ear and the rest of his fingers tangled in your hair while his palm cupped your neck. With a slide of his other hand up your arm and down your back to press between your shoulder blades, Sukuna brought you close enough to him that he was able to reach the rest of the way over the tub and kiss you. His lips remained pressed against yours for a second or two before he broke away, hesitated, and then leaned in to do it once more, twice, and a third time. 

You were the one that put space between the two of you, sitting back in the water and drawing your knees to your chest. You desperately needed to inhale without smelling the crispness of his aftershave or the spiced warmth of his cologne, both of which were guilty of making your head spin. 

“You’re not mad at me?” you asked, breaking the silence before he had a chance to, before you lost your nerve. You watched as his head tilted slightly to one side, his expression a touch befuddled, but full of disbelief. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” He questioned slowly, moving himself to his knees on the cushion so he could go back to resting his arms on the tub. 

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be,” you told him, your voice a bit sharp. “I inadvertently told anyone with access to the internet that we were dating, without even talking to you about it, and then proceeded to flee the scene like a coward instead of getting back out there to present myself as confident enough to own up to my mistakes. Not to mention the fall with Satoru right before. It’s embarrassing. The whole thing made us—me—look like a giant mess!” 

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek until you tasted iron. Sukuna looked pained, and he reached a hand out to play with your fingers as they sat at the top of your knees. 

“You’re not a mess,” he said, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the middle knuckle of one of your fingers, “and I’m not embarrassed either. I never intended to keep us a secret, and I’m not trying to implicate you when I say this, but I don’t think I ever implied doing so that evening.” 

“Well, yeah,” you huffed, the twinkle in his ochre-brown eyes and the mischievous grin on his face as he hinted to the night the two of you cemented your relationship into the category of “official” making your face get warm, “we didn’t do a whole lot of talking after that point.” 

You tried to jerk your hands out from under his to cover up your cheeks, but Sukuna was unrelenting in his hold, and you gave up before continuing on, “I know you never implied that you wanted to keep our relationship hidden, but that’s been the theme of whatever we’ve had going on these last ten months. We were sneaking around from the very beginning, we lied about it to Yuji and Choso, and then let’s not forget about the whole incident of being caught by Satoru,” you pointed out to him, feeling the slightest bit smug when he looked chagrined. 

“I apologized for that,” he reminded you, his voice tone faintly defensive. You squeezed his hand in comfort. 

“You did, and I’m not upset about it.” 

You took a deep breath and cast your eyes everywhere except Sukuna, taking in the details of your bathroom as you tried to muster the courage to share your insecurities with him. He never let his attention on you deviate, and between that and the heat of the water you had been in for almost two hours, you were beginning to feel lightheaded, and everything finally came rushing out of your mouth.

“I feel like we’re mismatched! It feels like everytime someone looks at us, they’re going to wonder why, like we don’t fit well together. And I’m not saying I believe that, or that you would believe that, and I know this whole thing sounds ridiculous because it is ridiculous, but it’s hard to get outside of my own head about this when I already love you so mu—,” 

The startled look on Sukuna’s face is what clued you in to the fact you had said something you had not intended to. You snapped your mouth shut with an audible click of your teeth and used your feet to push away from him and to the otherside of the tub, wrenching your hands out of his grasp. 

If someone asked why you never liked to talk about your feelings, this was why. Why the words that came out were never as eloquent—or as sane—as the thoughts in your head was something you’d pay so much money to figure out. And Kento was about to have no choice in letting you hide out with him for the rest of his vacation because you were no longer asking, and if he was interested in keeping his job he would do so without complaint. Even so, you considered that forcibly releasing Kento from the grip of a career that was so wrought with overtime would be another mercy for the overworked sal—,

“You know what I think,” Sukuna murmured, bringing you out of your own head to focus with rapt attention on the blissfully contented expression he wore. His fingers curled around the tops of your arms as he reached out to slide you back to his side of the tub, and when you were close enough again, he pushed his nose into the plushness of your cheek to nuzzle there affectionately. You were transfixed by a small tan freckle on the edge of his eyebrow that you somehow hadn’t noticed before.

“I think this whole time you’ve been so focused on pleasing everyone around you—which isn’t necessarily unadmirable, I promise—and treading with extreme care to take into consideration my feelings about our relationship that you haven’t noticed what’s been going on…or I haven’t been doing a very satisfactory job of making it apparent.” 

He said the last part more under his breath, but didn’t give you a chance to interject with an objection before he carried on, making intently sure your eyes were on his. “From the very beginning, even when all I had of you were fleeting touches and secret meetings in questionable places, I was always bound to fall in love with you.” 

You didn’t know what to say, what to think, and trying to wrap your head around the fact that what you considered to be one of the worst days of your life was ending with unintentional confessions of love in your bathtub wasn’t helping. So you did what you could and traced a finger down one of the tattoos under his eyes, hoping he would keep talking.

“We aren’t a mismatched pair,” he insisted, his eyelids fluttering slightly at your gentle touch, “I think we compliment each other quite well, so please, don’t try to hide or run away.” He fixed you with a pointed look that told you Toji had warned him of your current status as a flight risk, and you ducked your head slightly and in a way that you hope conveyed repentance.  

“Because you must know, I will always be chasing after you.”

You wasted no time in hurrying to crush your lips against his and throw your arms around his neck, because what else was there to do when words couldn’t suffice, other than to surrender to the melding of bodies? 

Sukuna reciprocated in fervor, breaking apart from you only to stand up from his place on his knees, and reached down to cup his hands under your bottom, lifting you out of the tub and securing your thighs around his hips while his mouth found yours again.

He seemed to care not that you were dripping water on the floor and soaking the front of his clothes from where you were pressed tightly against him. He stumbled back a couple steps until the back of his knees made contact with the chaise, and the two of you fell back onto it. Sukuna adjusted you to straddle his lap, his hands clasping at your hips while your hands scrambled down his back to pull up his shirt. You ground your pelvis down against him as he dropped his head to mouth at your neck, and the rough groan that elicited from his throat had you deciding that your bed was too far away to justify taking time to separate, and that the convenience of the chaise was worth going to the trouble of having to buy Toji a new one. You had no more than let the thought flutter through your head when an obnoxiously loud knock resounded through the bathroom. 

“You two haven’t drowned yet, have you?” 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

Sukuna ripped his lips away from where he was sucking a mark into the space where your shoulder blended into your neck, and met your gaze with one that dared you to intervene. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, using the grip he still had on your waist to hold you in place while he rolled his hips up into yours, and you prayed that the moan you let out wasn’t as loud as it sounded. Even if it was, you hoped Toji would get the hint and make himself scarce.

“Look, I get it,” your bodyguard remarked, sounding both amused and vaguely uncomfortable, “but it’s kinda, maybe important.” 

With both the mood dashed and your anxiety spiked again, you patted Sukuna on the shoulder in a bid to get him to let you slide off his lap. He rolled his eyes, exasperation—and lustful desperation—painted clearly on his face, but he helped you down without giving you any grief and grabbed a black fluffy robe from where it was draped over your privacy screen. He held it out so you could thread your arms through it, and then he proceeded to tie the belt securely around your waist. 

“Come in, Toji,” you called, moving to sit on the chaise while Sukuna came to stand at your back.

Your bodyguard waited a moment before opening the door, peeking his head around first and then sauntering in with his normal arrogance to lean against your bathroom counter just a couple feet in front of you.

“Glad to see that nobody’s drowned. There’s only one of you I’d be willing to do mouth-to-mouth on,” Toji joked, clearly proud of what he had come up with. You felt Sukuna’s hands come to rest on the tops of your shoulders, his fingertips digging into the muscles lightly. They relaxed when you bought one of your hands up to twine your fingers with his. 

“So, to what do we owe the interruption?” you asked. The amusement on Toji’s face vanished, and in its place came weariness. 

“I just got off the phone with Nanami, and—,” 

“You called him?!” You yelped, springing up from your seat, “I begged you not to!”

“Whoa, Whoa,” Toji cautioned, raising his hands up in a surrender, “easy with the accusations. He called me. He knew.” And before you could open your mouth to ask how, Toji’s expression darkened and his eyes flicked up over you to glare at Sukuna. “Uraume called him.” 

You whirled around to look at Sukuna, who—thankfully—seemed just as surprised by the news as you did. 

“I didn’t ask them to do that,” he assured you, then turned to Toji, “did Nanami say what they wanted?” 

“Just to talk about the whole situation, more or less. Nanami said they only talked for about ten minutes, but they’re planning to discuss things more when he comes back in five or six days.” Your bodyguard sighed and crossed his legs as he leaned back further against your counter. “He was nearly ready to hop on the first plane home, but I managed to convince him to finish his vacation. Told him it’d damn near break your heart if he came back early.” 

You plopped back down on the chaise, bone tired and completely ready for this whole day to be over. 

“Thank you, Toji. I’m sorry for jumping down your throat like that.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Princess,” he said, pulling a vaguely familiar set of keys out from his pocket and pushing himself off the counter to walk towards the door. “You two going to be okay if I head out? I have some errands to run and then I’ll probably crash at Megumi’s tonight instead of the staff quarters.” 

You nodded at him, sending him off with a wave before shifting to look back at Sukuna. 

“Stay with me?” you pleaded. He answered with a kiss to your hair, and then offered his arm so you could stand from the chaise. He followed after you into your bedroom, and the faint flutter of clothing made you glance back over your shoulder. Your heart began to race at the sight of his bare chest, tattoos displayed in full glory. You must have made some kind of noise because he looked up at you from where he was draping his shirt over the back of a lounging chair in the corner of your room.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said sheepishly, “my clothes are wet.” 

You shook your head, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched the muscles in his back flex as he bent down to push his jeans to the floor, leaving him in simple grey underwear. There must have been something written all over your face as he began to walk towards you, for he was reaching out to pull you into him as soon as he got close enough.

“I’m tired, Sukuna,” you warned as he pressed your cheek to his chest, though you wondered if you could muster up the energy to continue where the two of you had left off in the bathroom. Surely he would make it worth your while. 

“I know,” he told you, voice light and good-natured, and he tightened his arms around you briefly before stepping back and nodding in the direction of your bed, “why don’t you go get comfortable. Toji left your snacks on your dresser. Want to finish them off before bed?” 

With a grateful nod, you turned to leap onto your bed, sitting down in the middle and wiggling with excitement as Sukuna came to join you. He sat the tray of food and wine in between the two of you and crossed his legs underneath himself before picking up a piece of cheese and offering it to you. You smiled in thanks and began to nibble on it while he surveyed his options. 

“Mhm,” you started, an errant thought popping into your head, “I’m assuming since Uraume knows that Yuji and Choso know now as well?” Sukuna raised his head slowly from where he had been studying the various snacks, and the hint of guilt on his face wasn’t confidence inspiring. 

“They do,” he drew out, observing you carefully, “they were both watching the interview with me.” 

You groaned as white-hot embarrassment flooded your body, and you fell back against your pillows, grabbing one to shove over your face to muffle the bitter laughter you couldn’t control. “What do they think?” 

“It’s nothing you should be worrying about,” Sukuna said, suddenly sitting by your head and lifting the pillow off your face to set it above your head, “you know they adore you. Choso was his normal, level-headed self. He’s happy for us. Yuji was just as ecstatic once he got his laughter under control, if a bit disappointed that we hadn’t told him.” Your boyfriend paused, his face darkening suddenly, and you watched with interest as a muscle feathered in his jaw. 

“What?” you asked, pushing yourself back into a sitting position and poking him in the arm to urge him to explain. He shook his head, clearly annoyed.

“You know what that little shit said immediately after? He thought that you and Gojo had been secretly dating and were waiting till after your movie was over to say anything.” 

Obnoxious laughter erupted from you, and you hurried to slap your hands over your mouth to try to conceal it as Sukuna’s face fell. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you rasped out in between giggles, unable to stop it as you watched Sukuna sit back against your pillows with a huff and a crossing of his arms. 

“The little idiot is just dense. And delusional. Anyone could see that you and the q-tip don’t have any real chemistry.” He sounded an awful lot like he was trying to convince himself of the truthfulness of his own statement. You wondered, affectionately, at which brother was a touch deluded. You were a fine actor, thank you very much. And you were about to open your mouth and say so when something ‘plinked’ off the window next to your bed. 

Strange. Your bedroom was on the second floor. 

Sukuna jerked his head up, all traces of humor forgotten, and the two of you listened for the noise again. 

Plink. 

“What the hell,” he muttered, pushing off the bed so he could go inspect the noise, “stay right there.” 

You appreciated the concern in his voice as he began to lift the window pane open, and he had just begun to stick his head out to look around when something small smacked him right between the eyes, sending him butt-first to the floor. 

“Sukuna!” you gasped, rushing over to kneel by his side and lift his hand from where he had it pressed to his forehead. You didn’t get a chance to fawn over him any further before he was up on his feet and striding to your bedroom door. 

“Be right back,” he growled, throwing the door open and cursing all the way down the stairs. 

You heard something land next to you on the floor, utterly perplexed when it turned out to be a rock from your flower beds. You got up and tiptoed over to the window, just barely lifting your head over the pane as to avoid becoming another victim of a flying projectile, then shot to your feet when you caught sight of a familiar white-haired costar outside beneath your window.

“Satoru!” You screeched, dumbfounded by his mere presence and the way he waved up at you, completely unbothered, “How in the world did you get through the gate?!”

“Hey! There you are!” He called, with a lazy grin on his face, “that’s not really important right now.” 

“I would disagree!” You yelled back down to him, making a mental note to have Toji go over all the security points around your property after his day off. “What are you doing here?” 

Satoru laughed sarcastically before the smile on his face suddenly disappeared, and he propped his hands up on his hips. “Where is my car?” 

No. Way. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Satoru.” 

“Nope! Give me back my car. It’s one of a kind!” 

You groaned, reaching up to massage the burgeoning headache you could feel at your temples. “Are you sure it’s not out there in the driveway? Toji left just a bit ago, so you shouldn’t be boxed in or—,” you cut off when the memory of your bodyguard twirling an unfamiliar set of his keys around his finger as he left your bathroom flashed across your memory.

Oh god, that absolute bastard. 

Satoru must have caught the horrified look on your face, as well as how you suddenly stopped talking after mentioning Toji because his face blanched even paler than usual, and his voice was two octaves higher in distress when he hollered back up at you.

“Does that criminal have my car?!” 

You deserved a vacation at this point. 

“I’ll call him in the morning, Satoru, I promise. And I’ll make sure he washes it for you or whatever you want, just come back tomorrow.” You hoped placating him with the prospect of torturing Toji would convince him to leave, but no, he still stood rooted to his spot down below. 

“As fun as that sounds,” he mocked back up at you, “I can’t.” 

“What do you mean you can’t?”

He looked a bit like a toddler caught with his hand somewhere it shouldn’t be. “Suguru dropped me off and then left in a hurry. He said he had something to do.” 

You couldn’t believe that the universe thought that pairing those two together in any capacity was worth the absolute chaos they unleashed on the poor, unsuspecting population. 

The slamming of your front door caught your attention, and you figured your boyfriend was about to make himself known.

“Look,” you sighed, backing away from the window slightly, “you can borrow one of my cars and swap it tomorrow when Toji brings yours.” You ignored Satoru’s protests and started to close the window. “Just apologize to Sukuna for hitting him between the eyes with a rock and he’ll open the garage for you.”

You caught the confusion on Satoru’s face, and just barely heard his panicked remark as you shut the window.

“Oh, fu—.”

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

Whew, that one took it out of me, not gonna lie. Angst and I are not friends.

[compassionatereminders]

So I had a discussion with my dad a couple days ago about how some of my behaviors reflect symptoms of complex PTSD. For context, my dad has been extremely verbally abusive to me basically until COVID when my mom was home all the time and he couldn’t yell at me without her telling him to cut that shit out. He still loses his cool sometimes, either directed at me, my brother, or my mom. My mom had an incredibly traumatic (in many ways but primarily physically) childhood. She does not do this.

I hypothesized that I must have inherited these C-PTSD adjacent behaviors from my mom because I haven’t experienced trauma. I said this in part to gauge whether my dad would recognize that I have been through traumatic things — not even necessarily because of him, some of it is from being severely bullied and ostracized at school because I’m autistic. He agreed with my lie that I hadn’t ever experienced anything traumatic, and then started to complain about my mom being “overprotective” of me as a child. At some point I managed to bring up that I had gone through a lot of stuff in my childhood that’s scarred me for life, and he pretty much went “well yeah but you weren’t physically abused so you haven’t experienced trauma.” Which…no. Not how that works.

I moved on from that but my dad kept saying “this is such a productive conversation why don’t I have these kinds of conversations with you more often.” He at one point said something that made me tell him, “I’m not qualified to talk about this, you need a therapist or someone with a degree in psychology.” This made him go “nooooo why are you making this conversation go sideways why are you making this difficult we were having a PRODUCTIVE conversation why would you ruin it like this :(((( I can’t talk to you about anything”, which is not an uncommon response for him to have but just very annoying.

The worst part, though, and what I primarily wanted to tell you about, was when I confronted him about him, during a fight in January, yelling at my mom that she was just like her abuser. I’d asked my mom if she was okay with him saying that and she told me “oh he says that a lot but when he does he’s always drunk so I don’t let it get to me.” My dad justified his actions by informing me that, quote, “your mom was actually being really mean to me when I said that.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious and something about that made me so sad I started to cry. He didn’t respond well to that. Previously he’d complained about my mom “freaking out whenever I raise my voice at her,” which, yeah! She was verbally abused as a child! I told my mom about this later and she was like “well he says things like that sometimes, try not to pay attention to them.” I had talked with my mom’s best friend about incidents like this previously and she’d mentioned that my mom has a really high tolerance for emotional abuse and basically any kind of abuse that isn’t physical.

And I just think that’s so sad. I wish my dad would not be…like that. He’s a walking collection of red flags and I want better for my mom. I can’t put my feelings about this shit into words other than “it’s sad.” Because it is sad and I think my dad really has to do some self reflection but I’m not helping with that shit. He has to work through his issues by himself because I am not a licensed therapist. I’m literally a teenager. I shouldn’t have to be dealing with this stuff and it’s frustrating to be around my father most of the time. I think it’s very sad for him too because he’s fucked up his relationship with me specifically so so so bad. Your kid should feel safe around you, but I can’t feel safe around my dad. And that’s just sad.

Anyway sorry I had to tell someone about the “she was actually being really mean to me before I screamed at her and compared her to her abuser” comment because what the fuck. That’s a wild ass thing to say right? Like, there’s no justifying that. The justification made it so much worse imo.

His behavior towards you and your mom is unacceptable and unfair, and I'm sorry you've had to grow up in such an environment. That being said, attempting to have a constructive conversation about abuse and trauma with a long term abuser is rarely particularly productive, and you might get further by avoiding direct confrontations with him when that's possible than by actively trying to confront him with his abuse. At least until you can get out of there ❤️

[danielfuckingricciardo]

16 + Charles and 26 + Pierre please ❤️

Hi!

Sorry this took so long, I’ve been in such a writing slump lately and this has sat unfinished in my drafts for weeks! But I finally did it and I hope you like it!

The Charles one is also in progress, I’ll make sure to tag you in that one when I post it :)

Song 26 - Creep//Radiohead

Pairing - Pierre Gasly x Reader

Word Count - 3.8k

Content Warnings - swearing, discussion of mental health issues

When you were here before Couldn't look you in the eye You're just like an angel Your skin makes me cry You float like a feather In a beautiful world I wish I was special You're so fuckin' special

Your therapist called it impostor syndrome. She mentioned it a lot during your weekly online meetings, and you usually laughed it off with some cringy internet joke about being ‘sus’ and tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. You’d receive a concerned glance, as you always did when you apparently ‘used humour as a coping mechanism’, but she would eventually move on to another topic, usually something about taking care of yourself physically as well as mentally.

Taking care of yourself physically was never a problem. You had nutritionists and personal trainers, physiotherapists and masseuses available whenever and wherever. The team made sure of that. To Alpha Tauri F1 team, your physical health was their top priority. Your mental health? Not so much. It was easy to lie to them and say that everything was fine, so that’s exactly what you did. You didn’t want to risk losing your seat because you told the truth about how you actually felt inside, so instead you saved that for the therapist you hired for yourself, and every Wednesday at 2pm you unloaded a week’s worth of thoughts and feelings you couldn’t share with anyone else.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, (y/n), we all feel like we don’t belong to some degree. And the bigger you make it in this world, the stronger those feelings will be.” She says, and you scoff.

“I’m not sure about that. The rest of the guys on the grid all seem so confident in themselves, and it’s definitely not a facade. They believe that they are the best of the best. I wish I could feel the same.” You say, and your therapist gives you a small smile before scribbling something in her notepad.

“You can’t know that for sure. Everyone experiences self doubt at some point in their lives, but they beat it, they get through it. Look at you, (y/n), against all odds you made it to where you are now, and you can’t tell me that the powers that be would have you there if they didn’t believe in you. You just need to learn how to believe in yourself as much as they do, and as much as your fans do.” She says, and you nod.

You know she’s right, but you wish that she wasn’t. You wish that your feelings would be vindicated so that you didn’t feel like such much of an idiot for having them.

“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about today?” She asks, and you open your mouth to ask a question, but are immediately interrupted as your phone begins to ring.

You look over at the screen and check the name - Pierre. What the fuck does he want? He never calls you, hell, he hardly ever talks to you unless he’s obligated to. This was definitely weird, something was definitely wrong.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this. Work stuff.” You say, and your therapist nods.

“Okay, let’s end the session early this week. Please do text me if you have any concerns you’d like to discuss.” She says, before ending the call and sending your computer screen back to her website.

You take a deep breath in and out before pressing the green icon on your phone screen.

“Hi?” You say, to no reply.

“Hello?” You repeat, and you receive no reply once again.

After a few moments of nothing but shuffling and breathing on the end of the line, you hear a quiet voice in the distance and strain your ears to hear. It’s clear Pierre didn’t mean to call you, it was probably a butt dial or some other similar fuck up, but you couldn’t help but want to listen in to whatever conversation he was having.

It was probably wrong, a total invasion of privacy, but your curiosity got the better of you, and you turn your phone’s volume to maximum.

“The fact of the matter is that Pierre feels as though he isn’t getting anywhere with Alpha Tauri, and therefore, as a team, we have made the decision to make the move to Alpine for the 2023 season.” You hear a familiar voice you cannot place say on the other end of the phone.

You let out a gasp and immediately clap your hand over your mouth, hoping that your shock had not be heard in the silence that had descended across the room.

Pierre was… leaving? After all this time? It was no secret that the two of you had never really bonded following your ascension to Alpha Tauri’s second seat, but you depended on him a great deal. He was great with the media, the fans, and the other drivers, and you felt comfortable following him around the paddock like a lost puppy, laughing and smiling along with everything he said and did.

You probably annoyed the hell out of him, and that was probably part of the reason he was eager to get away, to find a team mate he could actually have some meaningful banter with. Sure, you knew that he hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye with Esteban, but they had grown up together, and had an awful lot in common with one another. It seemed like a solid ground for a relationship, one that would definitely be more popular with the fans than your own.

You hear shuffling through the phone handset, and a whispered ‘fuck’ before the call is ended and the line goes dead.

“Fuck.” You echo, and you throw your phone down on your couch and pull your legs up to your chest, burying your head in your knees as you let out a single tear.

You didn’t think that you were crying for the loss of Pierre, that didn’t make sense, after all, the two of you hardly spoke outside of work. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine being without him? You hadn’t realised until now just how much you had relied on him, and how much he had helped you over the years. He was the only friend you really had, though he probably regarded you as an acquaintance at best. All of your other friends had been left behind the day you moved your life to Faenza to be closer to the team, and you spent so much time travelling here, there and everywhere, that you hadn’t really had the chance to make any closer to your new home.

You hated to say it, but Pierre was your rock, and you had grown to care for him deeply, and now, losing him, what would it mean? You hoped they would call up some other, more experienced driver, like Daniel perhaps, to take the first seat. He could more than make up for your lack of confidence with his outgoing, loveable persona. But the alternative? The alternative scared you. If they were to call on some rookie to take his place, suddenly you would be the experienced one, the one to teach the newbie what to do and what to say. You barely knew yourself just how to play the game, you wouldn’t exactly make the best mentor.

You suddenly become aware of your breathing becoming faster, and more erratic, as your mind races, and employ one of the techniques your therapist had taught you to slowly regulate and steady yourself. God you regretted ending your session early, you could really do with someone to talk to right now.

Shakily, you reach for your phone and begin to draft out a text to your therapist. She had said to text if you had any concerns, and this was a real fucking big one.

Your phone begins to vibrate in your hands, and it almost slips out of your unsteady grasp as you read the contact name at the top of the screen - Pierre.

Fuck.

You take a shaky deep breath in and count in your mind, 1,2,3,4. You squeeze your eyes shut and squeeze your lips together tightly, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. Finally, you exhale, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8, and you accept the call.

“Hey! Did I call you just now?” Pierre asks, and you hesitate.

“Umm…” You say, unsure whether to lie, or to tell the truth.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, and you chuckle awkwardly.

“You still live at the same place? I’m coming over, I think we need to talk, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah, same place.” You say, and he hangs up.

You stare at your phone for a moment, your mind racing as you wonder exactly what Pierre wants to say to you. Was he angry at you for eavesdropping? You knew you should have hung up, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were always taught that knowledge is power, and you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to discover something new, even if it came from a blatant disregard for your team mate’s privacy. Hell, you’d be angry too if someone eavesdropped on a private conversation of yours, it’s only natural, so you wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to come over to yell at you.

Why else would he be coming to visit? It’s not like he owes you an explanation, or an apology. You meant nothing to him, you were just some overgrown rookie hanging off of his coat-tails, nothing but a burden.

Lucky for you, you weren’t left waiting long, as your apartment was only a few blocks away from Alpha Tauri’s headquarters, and you soon heard a rhythmic knock on your front door.

You take a second to breathe once again; in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, out for eight seconds, before getting up to answer the door.

“Hi.” You say quietly, opening the door for Pierre to enter, your eyes not leaving the ground for a second.

Pierre follows you inside and takes a seat on the chair opposite the sofa where your things were spread out; a blanket, your phone, your laptop, a hoodie, and your favourite stuffed animal.

“Before you yell at me, let me bring my tissues. I always cry when I get yelled at, it’s not a guilt trip thing, so don’t feel bad, it’s just this thing I do, I can’t control it, I…” You say, walking over to your side table where you kept your tissues ready for a particularly sad movie or dog video.

“Who says I’m going to yell at you?” Pierre interrupts, and you turn to look him in the eyes for the first time.

“You’re not?” You ask, blinking away the tears that already threatened to breach your waterlines.

“No, why would I… That’s not why I’m here, I just wanted to make sure you were okay after hearing all of that.” He says, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“Me? Okay? You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.” You say, throwing yourself down on the sofa and closing your laptop, which still happened to be open on your therapist’s website, which Pierre had, no doubt, already seen.

“Oh, thank you! I expected a little more from my long time team mate after finding out I was leaving! Maybe not tears, but, something?” Pierre says with a chuckle, and you shake your head.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely devastated that you’re leaving, and I’m going to be completely tragic and sad next year without you because I’m a total loser with no fans, but I’m happy for you, really.” You say, and Pierre gives you a warm smile.

“You’re not a total loser, (y/n).” Pierre says, and you give him a small smile.

“But you do think I have no fans?” You chuckle, letting out a small sniffle.

“You know I don’t think that. I’ve seen it myself, how many fans you have out there.” Pierre says, and you scoff.

“They’re all your fans, Pierre, and they’ll be leaving with you. We all know they only tolerate me because of you.” You say, and Pierre shakes his head.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true! I mean, I have practically no personality when it comes to media stuff, I freeze at the slightest interaction with the media, I post like twice a month on Instagram because my life is just that boring, and, not to mention, I spend my free time talking to my therapist in the company of my fucking stuffed animals.” You rant, and you feel tears running down your cheeks as you speak.

“You really don’t see it, do you? How much they like you because of those things. You’re relatable, (y/n), you’re normal. You’re here to race, not to be a celebrity. You’re not an attention whore posting shirtless selfies for likes and saying stupid shit to keep your name in people’s mouths. And people like that.” Pierre says, and you scoff.

“Yeah, as if.” You sniff.

“If you don’t believe me, then just look online.”

“My therapist said googling myself was a bad idea. Besides, I don’t just wanna be normal and boring. I want people to know me, but I just get so… scared, I guess? Scared they won’t actually like me the way they like you.”

“Well, the little of you that I know, I like.” He says with a smile, and you feel your cheeks heat up. This was the first time you’d heard Pierre compliment you before, and you couldn’t deny the fuzzy feeling it gave you.

“I just wish I was more like you. You’re so popular, with the fans, the media, the other drivers. I see how everyone crowds around you, you were made to be the centre of attention and you’re so fucking good at being in the middle of everything. You have this winning personality, everyone wants to either be you, or fuck you. Or both. If I could just have one tenth of that charisma, that personality, that vibe, then maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to do this thing properly. But I don’t. I’m just (y/n). A loser.” You say, and Pierre shakes his head again.

“But you don’t need to be me, (y/n). You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not for people to like you. The other guys like you just fine, they just wish you would talk to them more so that they can get to know you. Fuck, (y/n), I don’t think I even know you properly yet. I’d like to, and so would Charles, and Lewis, and Lando. You know, they ask me about you, a lot. I think they would talk to you more, but they don’t want to scare you.” Pierre says, and you chuckle.

“Ha, they know me well enough to know I’m terrified of social interaction, so there’s a start.” You say.

“You know that me leaving doesn’t mean I’m abandoning you, right? I’ll still be there for you.” Pierre says, and you look up at him, sniffing away your tears.

“Really?” You say, and Pierre smiles.

“Hey, I wouldn’t do it for my other team mates, but I guess you’re special.” He says with a chuckle.

“Well, that genuinely means a lot, really. Thank you.” You say, looking up at Pierre to briefly glance into his eyes.

He smiles at you, not breaking eye contact for a moment, and you feel the warmth of a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I have to go, I have so much shit to do today, but don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Pierre says, standing from your chair and heading for the door of the apartment.

“I won’t.” You respond, and he winks at you before disappearing behind the door, closing it gently with a click.

Once you were sure he was out of earshot, you grab your phone again and immediately dial your therapist.

Ring. Ring. Ring. The call connects.

“Hey, um, I know this isn’t strictly therapy stuff but I need some advice.” You say, and she chuckles down the phone.

“I’ll help as much as I can.” She responds.

“So, I think I have a crush on my team mate, well, and don’t tell anyone this, he’s technically gonna be my former team mate. But yeah, I need help.” You say, and she laughs again.

“Oh, well that’s interesting. Let’s see how I can help then, yeah?” She says, and you exhale a shaky breath.

———

One Year Later…

You look out at the sea of fans, cheering and screaming for you and your team mate as you walk out onto the stage. You give them a wave, a smile, and a wink, and notice just how many of them are wearing your number on their shirts and caps. It gives you a fuzzy feeling on the inside, knowing that Pierre was right, losing him as your team mate wouldn’t mean you’d lose their support.

If anything, losing Pierre helped you. You did take his advice, and with the help of your trusty therapist, who was no longer your therapist at all but your closest friend, you had managed to come out of your shell more and show the world your true personality. And it felt good.

You take your seat beside Nyck on the stage, and turn your attention to the interviewer, who was waiting for the fans to stop their cheering to ask you the first question.

“Okay, okay, any more cheering and we’re gonna run out of time! Let’s get to questions, hm?” The interviewer asks, and you smile.

“Actually, I don’t mind the cheering! Keep going guys, let me hear you!” You say, your voice dripping with enthusiasm and excitement as the crowd goes wild once again.

“First question then, who are you and what have you done with (y/n)? You were so quiet and reserved these past few seasons, but now you seem to have really grown in confidence, and I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say that we love it!” She says, and you chuckle.

“Well, it’s true I struggled a lot during my first few seasons. I honestly didn’t feel all too confident in myself and my abilities, and that really made it hard for me to be so outgoing. But, things have changed, and I owe it all to my former team mate Pierre. He’s really helped me to grow as a driver and as a person, and given me confidence that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to have. Even now we’re not team mates, I’m still his biggest fan and just so grateful for his support. So yeah, I really really owe it to him.” You say, and the audience cheers and whoops at your mention of Pierre.

Since Pierre’s move to Alpine, the two of you hadn’t been able to spend as much time together at work, but that didn’t stop you from spending time together at all. You had both made an agreement with one another to go out together at least once a month, and you had even taken a trip together during the winter break at the end of the previous season. Naturally, this meant that speculation was wild with fans over the nature of your relationship, with some insisting that you just had to be a couple.

But the truth was, you weren’t really sure what your relationship with Pierre even was. Sure, a few drunk kisses had been exchanged, and there were hugs aplenty, but as far as Pierre was concerned, you were just friends, even if you did desire something more.

“You mentioned Pierre there, and I’m sure everyone in the audience has seen the photos of your little dates and that ski trip you took back in December, so, are you really just friends?” The interviewer asks, and you blush.

“Yes, yes, we are just friends, really.” You chuckle.

“But if he asked you out, what would you say?” She asks, and you shake your head, a smile playing on your lips.

“Put it this way, I wouldn’t say no.” You laugh, and the audience erupts into loud cheers at your response.

Once the crowd’s shouts and whoops had quietened, the interviewer directs her attention to Nyck and you sit and listen intently until you are ushered backstage with a smile and a wave.

“You wouldn’t say no, huh?” You hear a familiar voice say, and your cheeks immediately heat up.

“I mean, I’d be a fool to say no right?” You say, trying to play it cool despite the anxiety rising within you.

“Then I’m taking you out Wednesday. Properly. Wear that black dress, you look sexy in it.” Pierre says, and you can’t help but stare at him, your eyes wide and your mouth dropping open in shock.

You try to search your brain for a response, but it seemed to have become completely blank the moment Pierre called you sexy. You can’t quite believe he actually said it, and for a moment you wonder if you were hallucinating, or dreaming, and pinch yourself on your arm. It stings, like a bitch, and you realise you most certainly weren’t dreaming. It was real.

“Okay. See you in practise tomorrow, yeah?” You finally manage to say, and Pierre smirks at you.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” He says, winking at you before joining Esteban who was waiting in the wings ready to step out on stage.

The pair step on stage to roars and cheers from the fans, and you chuckle in disbelief, taking one more glance out to the sea of hats and shirts that bore your number. You were finally able to be you, unapologetically so, and the fans loved it, Pierre loved it too, but most importantly, you loved it.

[kahlanmars]

PAPER RINGS part. 10

Hiii! I really appreciate your likes and comments <3

MASTERLIST

10. Take me home

You can’t sleep so much that night. You watch over Lora most of the time, wrapped in a blanket, and she opens her eyes suddenly. She is scared, like she is in the games again, and you can recall many times you did the same, waking up exhausted and terrified because in your mind you are in the arena again. Effie and Haymitch lull you for hours when it happens, but she is recovering swiftly. You are sad she had to get used to the episodes, like Haymitch when he was a boy, because you don’t picture Chaff as a guy that cuddles you in the time of need. He can’t. He has his demons to deal with.

«Ehi kiddo.» You try to sweeten your voice not to scare her more. You feel exhausted too and you caught yourself looking over your shoulders a few times in the night. 

«Where am I?» She asks, and she looks so lost. She is adorable but you don’t feel like she would have the same idea.

«Effie’s house. She is at Portia’s.» Effie has been a real saint about this. 

«Hi.» Lora is fully awake now, you know that because you watched her all night. She goes on and off with the naps but she is never fully awake.

«Hi, Sweetheart.» You hear yourself and you chuckle in embarrassment, because you clearly spend too much time with your boyfriend. «Are you feeling better?»

«A little. Have I scared everyone?»

«Just me and Haymitch, and Effie later. We can keep it between us.»

«I’m so sorry, I felt so lost. So guilty.»

«We are not mad at you, I’m not mad at you. I just always forget you are nineteen.»

«I miss my family.» She whispers and you can understand only partly. You still have your mother, even if she is far away, and despite you being an orphan you have never felt completely alone in your life. You remember Lora’s family from the reaping videos. She had a little brother, both her parents, a grandmother. And now she doesn’t have anyone because Snow bombed district Eleven after bombing district Twelve. Eleven was the major ally during the revolution. Rue was never forgotten. 

«I know. I miss my district. And I know we are not your family, but if you want you can stay with us.» Every word seems wrong, but also it’s not possible to shut up. You are not really good at this. 

«Effie has been beyond generous, and I just feel so rude. I don’t want to impose myself.» You shake your head.

«I didn’t mean with Effie, I meant with us. Me and Haymitch, if you want I can ask him. He won’t say no, he can’t say no to kids in need. He is the adoptive father of a thousand children.» You hope he won’t say no, you hope you are not making it up. You think you know your soon to be husband.

«But you two are so pretty together and… I would ruin it.» You can’t lie to yourself, you thought that too when Perla and Cinna decided to take her in. But now you get it, you get why she decided it. And your house is bigger than the ones in the city, you still will have plenty of space.

«What? No, we will always be pretty, you can’t ruin anything. Just think about it, okay?»

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach the eyes and she tortures her fingers. She is covering herself with a white blanket, maybe she is still a bit in shock. You are not a therapist, you don’t know those things. Maybe she is just tired, exhausted. 

«I just thought that after the war I would have had a goal in my life. I wanted to live so bad, and you have all found a place in this world. Perla is thriving in this life and her new job, you are always working in that big office with Portia, and Effie has a job in the bank now. I can’t find anything and I don’t have a purpose.»

This is so wrong. You shouldn’t live to have a purpose, you should live to enjoy things. But a thought like this is not practical, and you are trying to be practical.

«You are young.» You try nonetheless.

«People in my district…»

«People in your district didn’t go through the Hunger Games!» You protest, «You have been a soldier. Haymitch always says we are survivors, and even if he doesn’t think of it like a positive thing, we are. You were in the hospital for a while, you need time! Time to figure out what you want to do in life, but also time to understand who you are. Not the Lora who is worried about others' expectations and what she should be doing, the other Lora, the one who is free. Because you are free now.»

You are so caught in your speech that you don’t watch her, and when you see her eyes they are full of tears. «Can I really stay at your house for a while?»

«Yes. We will ask Haymitch, but if he doesn’t want to we still have plenty of empty houses in the victor’s village. We can stay in Twelve.» You promise, and you are rewarded with a very big hug.

Finnick is in his room, which is the guest’s room. He is not so much of a guest now, he has been in the Capitol for a while. You need to thank him so much, you always need to thank him. He saved your life so much you lost count of it, he never asked for anything in return - well you did kill Caius for her, but he didn’t know it.

«How did Annie react?» You want to know, a dagger of guilt in your chest. That magazine didn’t do much harm to you, because Haymitch has been in the game for a while and he knows when something is not true. He didn’t think for a second you could have cheated on him with Finnick, and he doesn’t care much for public humiliation. He had a charade as an old disgusting drunk for a decade.

Annie is completely another thing. She is strong, she knows the Capitol’s game and she knows how to handle those problems, she loved Finnick through his horrible life, when he was sold as a prize. But for her it has always been the truth, a truth he didn’t want, but the truth. And now she thinks she is finally free, after the war, after being captured by Snow and the torture, her and Finnick are married, monogamous and happy. 

She must have hated being under the spotlight again.

«She got it. She doesn’t doubt me, or you by the way. She likes you. She particularly liked the clothes you sent Finn.» That makes you happy. You don’t know her that much, in Thirteen you were a little more worried about not being charged for murder than making new friends, but she seems so sweet. You remember her from the games and after, when everyone thought she couldn’t last for long. And yet, with a little help from Mags and Finnick, she stayed alive. She fought all her problems and she won. 

«I love sewing clothes for babies, it was a pleasure.» You sit near to him on his bed and you rest your head on his shoulder. «You know, since I’ve been in this damn town all my friends have had problems, but you… are you all right? You seem all right.»

But Perla also seemed all right and she definitely was not, she just didn’t feel like talking about it. And if you didn’t show up unannounced at home one day, you couldn’t have surprised Effie crying on the sofa. So it’s better to be safe than to be sorry.

«I am, Dai. I really am fine for the first time in years.» Okay, now you are safe. Not because of his words, but the smile he has is genuine.

«So I should not be worried about you.»

«No, but… you shouldn’t be worried about any of us, I think you have some problems too.» That’s preposterous. Everyone has problems, but he saved your life twice if not three times, Effie offered you a home when you didn’t have one, Portia bought you what you needed and Perla and Lora always listened to you. 

«Well yes, but I manage well. And I have Haymitch.» Your voice gets softer. Since you two made up everything looks better. 

«Yeah, speaking of him, is everything okay between you two? I don’t like when he makes you cry.»

«He is a good man, Finnick. He just can’t communicate much.» And you hate how you feel when you defend him. You always sound to yourself like he is awful and you are just hiding it, but you are telling the truth, he is a horrible talker and he has his flaws and yet he is one of the best people you ever met.

«I know he is a good man, he helped me a lot when I was a young victor, but I just can’t help but worry for you. And you usually have a hard time asking him anything.»

«Yeah but he gets it.»

«He didn’t, this time.» He deadpans.

«He has been wonderful for two years. We had a fight, but he came for me. I’m happy.» And you really are. 

«As long as you are happy.» He doesn’t seem very convinced by it, but he lets it go, which is a good sign. 

You look at him. Your friend. The handsome man on the television is one of your best friends now. And he is a father, he is missing his son too much. At that age you go out for two weeks and yours is another child. 

«You should return home. Finn must miss you so much, and Annie is alone with a lot of work.» You resonate. And you can see he wants to go home but he is worried.

«Tigris and Mags are with her.» You snort. You met Tigris twice, and she is wonderful, a true force of nature, but she is eighty, older than President Snow when he was alive. Mags is lovely, but life put her on a tough path. 

«Tigris and Mags are ancient. You helped me so much, Finnick Odair, and I love you, but you miss them too.» 

«I love you too. Are you sure that everything is okay?» He takes your hand and squeezes it. 

«Very sure.» 

He gets up, and you too. Maybe he will take the train tomorrow, or the day after, and you enjoyed the time you two had together. Well, maybe it could have been better without three days of uninterrupted crying, but it has been good.

«So it's goodbye.»

You shake your head. «Not for long! You and Annie will come to the runway, right? And for my wedding.»

«Wedding. Daisy Pinecone, a bride.»

«Daisy Pinecone Abernathy, please.»

«Weird. I hope you won’t mind if I dress in white.»

«You stupid boy.» You laugh, but you don’t mind when he pulls you in a hug. You don’t want to cry, because in two or three months you will see him again, and you can always spend the holidays in District Four with him and Perla. 

«Oh and you are marrying a man.»

«Stop pestering me! I will miss you.»

«I will miss you too, Dai.»

You are exhausted when you come back home, but when you see Haymitch standing in front of the kitchen, making some tea, you hug him from behind. His strong hands… This piece of man is all yours. And he is beyond generous, a good person, and it doesn’t hurt that he is so attractive.

«Hi, my love.» You lean on him, and you dare smack his butt. 

He turns around and smirks against your lips. «Hi, pervert almost wife.»

«You misspelt “Perfect”.» You really want to deadpan his joke, but you watch him and you feel immediately more relaxed. A rising of love. «Thank you.»

«For what?» He raises an eyebrow. 

«For being the best boyfriend ever?» You really can’t believe how good he is. He took care of Lora without thinking twice, in his style: no words, just facts. He shut up and handled the situation without making a fuss, because she is a child in need and he has a soft spot for children in need, either human or cats.

«What happened?» And of course he is still paranoid. If you thank him, it must be because you have a terrible disease, or something really bad happened and he doesn’t know that yet, not because you love him and you want to show him. What’s to love, after all? He is not big on confidence. The only thing he is sure about is his intelligence, and you are aware he is suffering from the alcohol recovery. The brain is still there in all his glory and he is still a freaking genius, but sometimes he is slower than before.

«Nothing.» You kiss his shoulder. «I just missed you a little. Plus, you have a very nice ass.»

«A little?» He catches you in his arms, lifting his eyebrows. He deepens his voice for the scene and you have to stop yourself from kissing the hell out of him again, because his voice makes you feel like you are about to combust. «A little?!»

«A lot! A lot!» You try to yell but it doesn’t matter. He throws you over his shoulder and he drags you on the couch.

He takes you in his arms and he places a rather chaste kiss on your neck. You hum in pleasure, so happy you almost purr. This place, you being in his arms on a couch without any close danger, any revolution or Capitol City and Snow watching you like a hawk. You are still full of problems and nightmares and sometimes you feel like you are still in the eye of the storm, but you can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

«I love you so much, Mr. Abernathy.» You whisper against his ear and then you kiss him, his tongue fighting with yours in a sweet battle.

«I love you too, Sweetheart. I was thinking…» He tries, but you interrupt him.

«Did it hurt?» You joke, your eyes sparkling. He always says things like that to Effie, and sometimes you return the favour. But you also want to reassure him, so before he could do anything you kiss his cheek and mutter «Man with a big brain.»

He smiles at you, but he does the expression he always does when he wants to be serious. «We can take care of the kiddo.»

You were going to ask him, maybe after a dinner with candles, a nice dress and some steamy sex, but you didn’t expect him to volunteer. But after the discussion you two had a few days ago, you are not sure he can handle it. 

«Are you sure? You don’t like people and-» And sometimes, just sometimes, he wants to do something but he can’t. He spends days in the bed because he can’t deal with sunlight, people and he trembles too much for his liking. Katniss and Peeta are used to it and they respect you enough to let you mother them a bit, just to check if they have had an episode and if they eat, but with Lora it’s different. Lora is your friend, and you are not sure you have that kind of relationship.

«She is just a year older than Katniss. And I would want someone to take care of her if I was dead.»

You used to forget she is little. She is very young. You bite your lips, not very sure of what is best to do. You want Lora, but are you really that far from Chaff? Chaff is not capable of taking her because he has an alcohol problem, he is severely traumatised. And you are not? And Haymitch is not? You are not ready for a child, but you are ready to take care of Lora?

«You really wouldn’t mind? I know you wanted your privacy.»

And he wanted some time of his own! And now you are taking an almost teenager to his house. Well, not his house, you just had a big conversation about that not being just his house, your house too.

«Ours is a big house, and District Twelve will be good for her.»

You snort. «You think District Twelve would be good for everybody.»

But it would be. She needs some time to think without pressure, and Twelve it’s just the right place. You can work and you can smell the air, you can press pause to your worries for a while. It was good for you for six months and you miss it. And Eleven is not far, if she has an aunt or an uncle, or she wants to visit Chaff, or she simply wants to go home, she can do it quickly.

«Because it would. You, for example, are a district Twelve girl and you came out pretty good, mh?» He looks at you like he wants to ravish you. He watches your legs, your cleavage, he ogles you without shame and you just have to stop and take his face in your hand to kiss him with heath. 

«”Pretty good”? Is that how you want to talk about your future wife?» You raise your eyebrow, trying to look imperturbable. You are not. He is so hot, it’s not your fault.

«My cocky wife doesn’t need her ego stroked.» He whispers on your lips.

«I hope you won’t think you’ll have something else stroked then.»

He chuckles and he leans his forehead to connect it with yours. «Nobody believes in your sex strikes, babe.»

«I wonder why!» You laugh, but he is the one with his hands on your back. «Can I ask Lora, then? If she wants to come with us?»

«Yeah. Plus, we colonised Effie’s house enough. Me and the kiddo can go home and you will come on the weekends.»

You don’t want him to leave. You don’t like the city, you don’t like living without him and you don’t want to burden him with Lora alone. You will miss Effie, but he is right: you are bothering her. She is too classy and polite to tell you, but she is becoming insufferable and she has every reason to be. It’s her home, she wants to stay in with Portia, to fool around, and she is embarrassed. 

«Haymitch…» You whisper.

He strokes your hair and puts a kiss on your head, and he makes you smile for these little caresses. «Do you want me to stay? We can book a hotel or something.»

You shake your head. You don’t want to stay in Capitol City anymore. You thought it was a great city full of opportunities for you, and maybe it is but you want your home now. Six months were enough.

«I want to go home too. The Capitol is not for me, I thought it was, but it’s not.»

You thought he would have jumped in joy, but he stares at you for a moment, confused and conflicted. «But you are good at what you do.»

«I am! I finally am, and I’ll come back on the weekends and for the meetings with Portia. And occasionally I think I’ll come for sleepovers with Effie and Perla too, but I miss my home.»

He relaxes. He hates the Capitol, but he doesn’t want you to give up on your dreams. 

«Come back, then.»

«Would that be like losing?» He lifts you up and you wrap your legs on his hips. He immediately hugs you back.

«Oh, sweetheart no… you learned so much. You just don’t like this hell of a place, that’s only sane of you.» He places small kisses on your neck. «You spent your whole life in Twelve, and when you came here you were a celebrity. Now you are experiencing the real city for the first time, and if you didn’t like it, I respect it. I don’t like it either.»

«I love you.» You whisper, «I love you because you get what I want, and I love you because you are the most generous man alive, and I love you because you are willing to take care of Lora...» 

He stops you, smacking your ass, and you giggle, completely in love. You cage him in a big kiss. 

«Come on, stop. I kinda want you to come home.» He confesses, when the need for air is unbearable.

«You want to?»

«Yeah, I can’t wait.» He murmurs in your ear like it’s a big secret.

«I can't wait to be home. Do you think I could rent a laboratory or an office in the village? I could work there and then come here to collaborate with Portia.»

«I think it's a good idea.» 

«Well, maybe Portia hates my sketches and I’ll never make the fashion show with her and Cinna.» You smile, trying to hide the fear.

You go to the office with a lot of drawings and a heart that pumps too hard for your own good. You are not scared by Portia anymore, but nonetheless you don’t want her to think you are not good at your job. These months have not been the greatest or the easiest of your life, but you have one thing more than before: now you believe you are a good stylist. Not the best, you still have a lot to learn but you remember when you wanted to come back because you didn’t feel like you belonged there. Maybe you don’t belong in the city, maybe the Capitol is not good for you but the job is. You want to create with the fabric, you crave to make your own designs and patterns and dresses. You just want to do that in District Twelve.

«Portia?» You call her when she arrives, and you hand her the coffee you bought her. «Can I talk to you for a second?»

«Of course.» She spots the drawings on your desk, way happier than before because of the cup she has on her nail polished hands. «Are these…?»

«Yes.» Your voice trembles a little, and it’s stupid, you have been working with the woman for six months now, you fought with her in a revolution, she is not supposed to make you feel scared. And yet you fear her judgement.

«Come.»

You understand this is Portia’s great comeback and you don’t want to ruin it for her. She is a great stylist, and she works with Cinna, so it’s like making a cupcake with a chef. The cupcake might be cute and sweet and a welcomed snack, but it’s not gourmet. But you are also District Twelve, which means the last one who has to go. You are quite sure Portia will be the very last, maybe with a Capitol dress or another idea, but Twelve is expected to be flawless since it’s the district of the revolution. 

«First of all, I want to thank you again for the opportunity.»

«Well it’s not just for you, I mean… You are good and I want my runway to be the best.»

With a bit of fear - a lot of fear - you show her your sketches. You drew a lot, but then you chose your best ones for Portia and the others are in your bag, just in case she doesn’t like the first ones. 

The first is a green long dress, meant for a thick fabric for winter, with bell sleeves and a pleated skirt, embroideries of black flowers, a reminder of the mines. The second a summer one, an orange one, like a sunset in the meadow, with an asymmetrical circle skirt and bishop sleeves, a white ribbon under the nape.

And the third one is…

«A flower.»

You didn’t mean it like a daisy, it’s an empire waist dress, it starts with a celeste, then a light green, yellow and light pink on the top. They are very pastel colours, but you imagined a dress that a kid from the district wants for a ball like this. Colours and a princess vibe. You surely wanted it.

«So what do you think?» You ask, a little nervous.

«I like them. They have mistakes, but they are good. I want them.»

You breathe for the first time in an hour. «So I can make them.»

«Yes you can and you should. We have a month.» Of course you started them, but you have to finish. «And it’s not going well, by the way. Not many people want to connect themselves with us.»

«Rebels?» You try.

«Yes, that too.» The way she smiles at you, like she is very ashamed of what she is thinking, tells you that the rebel part is not the important one.

«Districts.» You assume.

«Models don’t want to work with us and sponsors are not answering our calls. This is a bit of an impasse.»

You look at her, that disappointed look, and you have an idea. It’s not a nice idea. It’s an idea that will give you trouble. 

«Would you trust me?» Would you trust a condoned murderer? Just one is the right answer. But Portia gives the other one.

«Yes?»

«Good! Then give me half a day. And a Perla!» 

«Perla?» She is unsure now, and rightfully so.

«Yes, I’ll need Perla.» You quickly stand up and you take your bag, because if you stop and you think about it - or worse, if you talk about it with someone - you will change your mind. 

And Perla needs to vent some anger.

[livin-like-larry413]

I am also a former supporter but I took time off this weekend to speak to a therapist cos it also fucked me up and to actual friends who work in the field of both healthcare and law enforcement. They IMMEDIATELY mentioned HIPAA laws that would result in both jailtime and hefty fines for any health care or crisis worker "breaking laws" to access this "military database" which doesn't exist - and also pointed out after I showed them sheheal's blog that no crisis worker worth their salt would insert + elevate themselves in this process the way sheheal claimed to be - and the final straw which enraged my actual licensed therapist friend is even making the initial offer to "DM people the family's contact to verify" this - offering strangers on the internet a supposedly grieving veteran's family's contact so people could believe SHEHEAL was legit? prioritizing her reputation over care?

I was chagrined and since then shutting up and clowning myself really for jumping to put my heart over my brain.

next time I'll use both and I hope you do too.

Taking time away and seeking therapeutic help is honestly the best step that anyone can take in situations like this, no matter what end of the road that you come from or are even just a bystander. This is an emotion driven situation no matter what, so I’m happy you’re in a better place, relatively, and I hope you continue to find your peace. That’s all that matters in the end. And for reference, I do use the “general, you” when speaking, so I’m not singling you out, anon, I’m just speaking to an invisible audience. I hope you’re feeling better.

And on the whole “how” they got all this information and their “crisis work”—If you know what to look for, and honestly, a lot of people don’t cause they just don’t know the information and that’s okay, it’s very obvious to see where they lie and where they pull lies from to be more likely to be taken seriously. I’m also old enough and have been in my own set of career fields to be able to spot a HIPPA violation from the start, which was also an obvious thing to see if you know where to look, but here’s the thing—I don’t care if she lied about how she got the information. Who they are will always be a mystery because no matter what they says and who they says they are, no one will ever be fully convinced because it started from a lie.

The lie could be the crisis work in itself, and wanting to be taken seriously in their investigation—it could be a relative that Myka reached out to after going offline, a hurt relative at that if she has indeed taken her life—we don’t know. It’s in a Schrödinger’s box right now, because of the nature that being online creates. You don’t truly know who someone is until you’re given vital information on them and their life, and this situation? We don’t know who sheheals is. Is them being hurt and lashing out appropriate right now? Maybe not if they’re not close to Myka. But if they are, then absolutely they’re allowed to be upset.

And honestly—I just don’t care for the reason, because that’s not the issue at hand that people are losing site of. The issue is people misusing their internet privileges to act immature online and spout whatever first comes to their mind without thinking of the consequences of saying these things. No matter what happened, or what is going to happen, people need to STOP for a minute and just think. Word have always had the power to influence, it’s why they’re more effective than actions most of the time, because they have an impact. People die from these impacts, no matter what, and no matter who you say it to.

People will lie about anything and everything, but it’s always for a reason. We don’t know it, and can only speculate the reason, because something else: no matter what’s said now, everyone that was involved can be thrown the “Well, why should I believe you?” line for various reasons. And that sucks. It’s become such a needlessly convoluted situation that it’s past the point of “Person A said something that incited [this] reaction, Person B said something vilifying and wrong to Person A for it—this had an unfortunate butterfly affect that unknowingly formed a witch hunt on Person A that no one was really predicting to happen”

Except, I will say—they should have predicted it. This has happened enough in this singular fandom in the last barely 3 years of it being heavily active, that they should have seen something like this happening when they chose to be cruel. If I, someone who has never interacted with this fandom, was able to see the state of it from afar and hear about everything that happens here from the grapevine, and then be able to see the extent of it myself in my own research, that is a dastardly huge issue of massive proportions.

People are refusing to accept that fact, because they either don’t see it as that big a deal, or they feel horrible for taking part in it, but don’t want to face the consequences of what has happened. You can feel bad about causing a butterfly effect that ends horrible, you are allowed to be sorry, and feel responsible if that’s how you chose to see it, but to ignore it and then turn around and continue to attack an account that you “suspect” to be an alt isn’t the appropriate response. Unless you start pulling illegal spyware out from your pocket and reverse search every single blog that you suspect to be Myka in disguise’s IP, that is, but I doubt people will go that far just to be proven right. (I will eat my entire house if that ends up happening, and then refer back to everything I’ve just said here, because honestly what the fuck)

There is unfortunately racism in every community you find, no matter what, there’s always going to be someone creating an echo chamber of their own racist values who draw other racists in with them, but my god—the entire point of this whole string of threads is people not including POC characters into every interaction and every text meme is not the end of the world and it’s not racist. Calling someone racist as just a tag line and being a nasty individual to someone for not including POC to every single post they make is unrealistic and a form of harassment, because guess what? It’s never racist to have a headcanon that excludes POC, until the headcanon is a fundamentally racist one. That’s the only time it should be called out for what it is, but any other time, when it’s inconsequential like a stupid NSFW shitpost, is not.

This fandom has seen it happen time and time again, and that’s the point that people are still seeming to miss whenever I look up what other people are saying: Calling someone “racist”, or “a pedo” (If you remember Inquisitor) or any other type of label that has no basis of being truthful (remember, like Inquisitor), simply for the reason that they made something you didn’t like, that you could very much make yourself in response—you know what you’re doing. You know, in some way, you’re painting a target on someone’s back that doesn’t deserve it, simple because you’re mad. And that is such a shitty and irresponsible thing to do.

I know the people who unintentionally started this mess by doing so in the first place have apologized, however weakly or heartfelt they were, because there was two different ways they all apologized or haven’t apologized—I’ve seen both, and I’m gonna say it again for them specifically—because the last thing I want is to be misconstrued and have my words be overlooked when I say it: they should not have been sent death threats or harassed for what has happened either. No matter what issue arises, or what event takes place, death threats, harassment and other forms of torment are never appropriate.

Should they have known better? Sure, but they don’t control other peoples actions. They can’t control the people that make their own witch hunts and drive away the creators that these bloggers have beef with, just like they don’t control what people do or how people chose to respond to their cruel words. They’re not blameless, but they also aren’t in control of anyone but themselves. Because guess what death threats and harassment can lead to?

I’m so inclined to believe Myka’s passing because I’ve seen it in my real life, not just online. Situations just like this, over fandom drama that gets over inflated and taken way out of proportion until someone ends up passing away. It’s a very real and raw thing, and being on any end of this situation is gut wrenching. Guilt and shame are on both sides; guilt for starting it up, guilt for not being there to stop Myka and help her, shame for being so loose with cruel words, shame for not being so free with comfort. It’s complex, and some people are frustratingly content to keep it from being as complex as it is.

There are no sides to this, no matter what people will try to lead you to believe. At the end of the day, a life has been lost, and people still want a drama show from it.

[zoeysdamn]

Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Part.3

Summary: The therapy sessions goes well – as well as it can – and you learn why Tyler is so willing to get help from Dr.Fern. His desire to leave Jericho is highly relatable to you, maybe the two of you are starting to bond beside the flirting? New and old foes are coming back to taunt you with past mistakes, making Tyler wonder what you could  have possibly done at your last stay at Nevermore. 

Warnings: swearing, sexist and homophobic comment from one of the character, physical assault, mention of blood, bad flirting A/N: Okay this is such a long-ass chapter, but I really wanted to finish it and post it before starting to write the next one! The besties know what’s coming uhuhuh  👀 I apologize in advance if anyone reading this is named Cindy; you’ll understand krkrkr.

[Masterlist] [Prologue] [Part.1] [Part.2] 

You sat on the edge of Dr.Fern’s office window, like you were twice a week now. If the therapy sessions weren’t useful to Tyler, at least you could use them as a break from the school and from your duties. But Tyler really seemed to enjoy those sessions, which meant he wouldn’t try to attack the therapist; after the first session, you were already sure of it. 

“How do you feel about being back at Jericho, Tyler?” asked Dr.Fern, wearing a long-sleeved green dress that gave a heavy Stevie Nicks vibe. 

“It’s not comfortable, but I don’t have much choice,” he admitted. “The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can start something new.”

The therapist hummed, sensing something deeper than that, “What do you want to do, if you leave Jericho? Got any plans, anything you want to do?”

Out of reflex, Tyler glanced at you briefly; you weren’t looking at them, acting laid back and uninterested, but he knew you were listening. Or at least, a part of him hoped that you did. 

“I want to free myself from here. Everyone at Jericho had always tried to restrain me or manipulate me, I’m sick of it. They're the reason I turned into a Hyde and got violent in the first place," he gritted, more for himself. 

“Are you referring to Laurel Gates? Or is there someone else you’re thinking about too?” 

Tyler pursed his lips, looking rather upset by the question. Still, after a few seconds he finally answered, “My dad too,” he admitted quietly. 

Behind him, you raised an eyebrow. You vaguely remembered reading that Tyler and his dad didn’t get quite along, especially after the whole ordeal from last year, and him having to hide from his son her mother had been an outcast. The only time you had met sheriff Galpin had been a little more than two years ago, when he had arrested you at Nevermore academy. Since then, you haven't had the pleasure yet. 

“Have you talked to him since you came back?” wanted to know the fae. 

“No,” he snapped curtly, trying to not let his anger for his dad slip away too much – which was useless with the empath fae. Sensing this, the therapist decided to lead him on another subject. 

“What would change if you left Jericho?" asked Dr.Fern, and at Tyler's dumbfounded expression she tried to re-formulate her question, "How would you change if you left Jericho?" 

Again, Tyler took his time to answer; the question had a subliminal interrogation of course, but he understood what she was meaning. "Not much I think," he finally admitted. "I won't be so different that I am now, I'll be the same. Good and bad sides alike." 

His words made you slightly turn your head to him, intrigued; meanwhile, a twinkle of interest lit up in Dr.Fern's eyes. "This," she noted out loud, "this is interesting. Go on, what are those 'good' and 'bad' sides you're referring to?" 

Tyler cleared his throat nervously, "Well I…I can't deny there's still a violent side in me. The Hyde will always be a part of me, always will be me, I can't change that."

"Do you want to change that?" argued the therapist. 

This time, his answer was immediate, "No. There's no need to lie, a part of me actually enjoys violence. I think…I think it was already here before Laurel told me who I was." 

The mention of his first stay in a disciplinarian center in his file flashed in your mind. It was true, he had attacked a Nevermore student around a year before the whole Hyde ordeal. Maybe the sheriff's son indeed had a knack for violence for quite a time. 

The kind face of Dr.Fern didn't change at his confession, instead silently encouraging him to carry on. 

"I'm not anymore the monster Laurel made me," he said with a bitter tone at the woman's mention, "but I'm not a Saint either. I want to leave this town with too many preconceived ideas and unrealistic expectations about me, and be my own person. I just want to find a place where I can be myself." 

"Good and bad?" asked the therapist. 

Tyler nodded and repeated, "Good and bad." 

The weight of his words echoed in you, more than you would have thought. He had exactly pinpointed something you hadn't figured out yourself. Deep down, you wanted to free yourself from the Van Helsing suffocating straitjacket and what bound you to Jericho. That didn't mean you wanted to stop hunting monsters, only that you wanted to do your own thing; to do you, according to what you believed and what you were. 

Tyler and you might not be so different after all. 

From her seat, Dr.Fern sensed the mix of surprise, confusion and warm feeling of understanding coming from you. She looked at you and smiled kindly. 

"You know you're always welcomed to join us on the sessions, Y/N."

Immediately you closed yourself with a scowl, "Not a chance." 

The therapist kept her soft smile, "Like you want, the offer will still stand on the next time."

You huffed, and Dr.Fern announced the end of the hour to Tyler, who got up to shake her hand. You grabbed your jacket to put it on, nodding to the therapist on your way out of her office. The knowing look in her eyes was worse than a slap on the face by reality itself. Despite knowing that she had touched a nerve, you stubbornly decided to ignore it, and instead followed Tyler out of the building. You'll be damned if you actually recognized those therapy sessions were perhaps useful to you, too. 

Once outside, you exhaled loudly, not noticing how deep in thoughts Tyler seemed to be. When you glanced at him and saw how upset he looked, you nudged him with your elbow – probably stronger than it should have been for a friendly action. 

“You okay?”

He jumped a little at your gruff and unexpected gesture, “Uh- yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks.”

An inner voice would have snickered that he was acting up again; but somehow, you truly believed that he was honest in his reactions here. The more you spent time together, even as your strange warden-convinced dynamic, the more you were beginning to be sure he was honest with you. Even if he was an honest asshole, an honest flirt or an honest confused young adult. 

“Perfect then. Let’s go, I’m craving for some coffee.”

Tyler’s eyes widened as you made your way to the car, “Aren’t we supposed to go back to Nevermore?”

“For once we’re allowed to get out of the school, I’ll be damned if I didn’t take time to get an acceptable coffee,” you groaned, “The insipid shit at the cafeteria should be exorcized, I swear it could kill someone. Is the Weathervane still open?” you asked him as you turned on the engine. 

“Yeah it is,” he muttered quietly. 

The trip to downtown Jericho was silent, and you parked just across the entrance of the coffeeshop. When you both got out of the car, Tyler looked mortified and you noticed him pulling his hood up nervously. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, “What’s up?” 

“Go ahead, I- I’m not really comfortable going in there.” 

At first you scoffed but then the shifty and frightened looks he gave all around him made you frown. Glancing behind you over your shoulder, you noticed two older ladies whispering among themselves a few feet away, and not so discreetly pointing at your pair. Now that you looked at them, you also noticed a man passing by, giving you a disgusted snare. Pulling the hood further down to cover his scared cheek, Tyler looked down in shame. Seeing him being so vulnerable and self-conscious about himself, while he had appeared all confident and cocky to you before took you off-guard. Suddenly you realized that maybe, the tough insolent asshole side of him might have been an act too; at least part of it. 

Still, the professional part of you was reluctant. 

“I can’t leave you unsupervised outside,” you frowned, but instead of the witty comeback you expected, Tyler’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground. 

“I’m not going anywhere I swear, I’ll stay near the car just– just be quick, please,” he mumbled. 

Okay, his voice almost breaking really made you pity him now. “Fine,” you conceded, “but you stay right here. If you ever move away from that car, I’ll kill you.” 

He nodded silently, and you made your way to the coffee shop; not without glaring at the two old tattletales on your way. Pushing the door open you entered the Weathervane, glancing back at Tyler, only to see him leaning against the car nervously, not moving. Good.

“Welcome to the Weathervane, what can I get you?” greeted the young barista behind the counter.

“A large Americano to go, with two shots of espresso please.” 

“Coming right up!” she chirped excitedly. 

While the barista started to make your drink ready, you glanced once again behind your shoulder to check on Tyler. The poor guy seemed to be mortified by his sole presence downtown. 

“That’s the delinquent sheriff’s son,” whispered the barista to you, noticing your gaze, “he’s up to no good, I’ll tell you.”

“Is he now?” you asked with false surprise, which seemed to thrill her and her gossip thirst. 

“It’s been said that he’s a monster, like, not metaphorically, but one of those Nevermore freaks! Can you imagine?!”

“No way,” you gasped in an over-exaggerated manner she didn’t notice. Instead, the barista nodded energetically. 

“I swear! Shouldn’t even be allowed to live after what he did if you ask me.”

I didn’t ask you anything Cindy, you thought internally, glancing at her name on the badge she wore. “What did he do?” 

“He lied to all of us!” she said with a huff. “Had the nerve to lie to all those good innocent people of Jericho, can you believe that! I even heard he had kind of assaulted a Nevermore student or whatever.”

The voice in your head snorted loudly. So all that mattered to that girl was that Tyler lied to them about his nature? Murders were no big deal apparently to the ‘good innocent people’ of Jericho. 

“A deranged freak who manipulated all of the town to make us believe he was normal, that’s what he is!” she snickered, pouring coffee in a large cup. 

“I bet he didn’t even drink coffee, uh?” you joked knowingly, to which she giggled. 

“No, he wasn’t even that manly! Drank only soft girly drinks like Caramel macchiato and hazelnut shots, what a pussy!” 

“Yeah,” you snickered dryly, then she handed you your drink. “Oh, can I borrow you for one more minute and order you another drink to go? I’ve forgotten I have to get one for my friend.”

“Sure thing girl! What will it be?” 

“A large caramel macchiato with a hazelnut shot,” you said looking at her dead in the eye. The mocking expression she had morphed into a bewildered one, so you smiled darkly at her. “To go. Please.”

She nodded nervously, your intense gaze bruning holes behind her head making her anxious as she prepared the other drink. Now she wasn’t so chatty and bitchy, was she? 

“H-here, that’ll be 10$,” she stuttered. 

Putting the money on the counter you grabbed the two cups and gave the barista a smirk. “Next time you decide to spill sexist comments over someone’s drink choice, you better remember that person killed five people before you speak,” you snickered at the now terrified barista. “Next time I hear you pulling that bullshit at anyone else, I’ll be using your teeth as lucky charms for my next stay in juvie, is that clear Cindy?”. The barista paled instantly and nodded vigorously. You smiled at him, “Great. See you then.” 

Then you turned back, leaving the barista livid and crossed the coffee shop door before returning to the car with a satisfied smile. 

“Here,” you said flatly to Tyler, handing him his drink. 

He looked at it eyes wide in surprise, “Thanks? What’s the honor?”

Looking back at the Weathervane you caught Cindy’s gaze and made sure that she had seen everything, “Let’s just say it’s been my personal satisfaction of the day. And you kinda needed that. C’mon let’s go.”

As Tyler didn’t need to be asked twice to get in the car you smiled sweetly at the barista from your spot, and gave her a clear and proud middle finger. Her offended face was everything. 

“They really hire anybody in there,” you grumbled as you got in the driver’s seat, “Homophobic bitch.” 

Next to you, Tyler smiled a bit, looking back and forth to the coffee and to you, slowly realizing what had happened. 

“Wait, you actually…took my defense?” he said out loud after a few seconds, as you had already started the engines and drove away from the Weathervane. 

“Called you a pussy for drinking caramel macchiatos,” you explained flatly, “Sexist comments get me out my hinges. Even to murderers.”

He cleared his throat, the murderer comment not making him uncomfortable for once, “Well–  thank you then.”

“Don’t mention it,” you shrugged, taking a big gulp of your coffee.

The rest of the road to Nevermore was spent in silence, but Tyler couldn’t help but have a small smile sipping his macchiato. Maybe you definitely had a soft spot after all. 

Once you arrived at the school and parked the car, Tyler started a random discussion, asking about something that you saw in yesterday’s class. It carried on as you dropped the car keys at the stewardship and you debated about the possible upcoming class subject for outcasts History. This rare anger-free moment wasn’t so bad; it reminded you that no matter your family's heritage, you were both teenagers.  

Deep in conversation you and Tyler strolled in the quad, not noticing the group of students sitting on one of the tables not too far, chatting among themselves too. Until you heard a snare, then a growl coming from them. Normally you wouldn’t have paid much mind to it, but when Tyler stopped dead in his tracks you turned your head in their direction. It was the same group of students you had caught a glimpse of the day before through Tyler’s room window; Ajax’s friends you believed. Indeed, the Gorgon stood there, nervously fidgeting as soon as he noticed you both. The long-haired boy next to him – Xavier from what you had come to understand, Ajax’s best friend – glanced between the two groups, looking uneasy; then you remembered that he and Tyler hadn’t been on the best terms, no wonder why he was like this. In front of them, the blonde girl who had seemed so joyful the night before was baring her teeth, growling angrily with murder in her eyes. The petite raven-haired girl beside her had a protective hand on her shoulder, restraining the werewolf – her behavior had given it away, really, just as the way she stood protectively before the black and white girl. Although this one didn’t seem too helpless either, given the daggers her eyes threw at Tyler. The whole bunch glaring at you wasn’t unusual, but there was something different about it. 

“Old friends of yours?” you muttered to Tyler. 

“Could say that. Not really my biggest fans.”

“Yeah figured. What’s with little miss sunshine?” you asked, discreetly nodding to the blonde werewolf. 

“She uh…she fought me in the woods before I got arrested.” 

Eyes widening, you glance back and forth between the two of them; that’s when you noticed the scars on her cheeks, smaller than the one Tyler had, partly covered with cute pink bandages. 

You cackled softly, “No way, she’s the one who had beat the shit out of you? Wow,” you whistled lowly, “can’t lie, I’m impressed. Hey! Well done Wolfie!” you called her out with a mocking raise of your cup. 

Your comment made her freeze, a bright shade of pink rising on her cheeks in surprise. Although it immediately made the pigtailed-girl look even more angry, like a dark murderous aura rose around her; it took Xavier and the werewolf – Enid if you now remembered the files – to restrain her from jumping on you and skin you alive. 

A slight wince took place on your face, “Aouch, who’s the potential serial killer here? Looks like she hates me almost as much as she hates you.”

Tyler scratched his neck nervously “That’s Wednesday Addams she’s uh…kind of my ex I guess?”

This time a laugh escaped your throat, unable to be contained. “No shit??”

“Yeah…also, she might have been the one who framed me, too,” he said nervously. 

You couldn’t help but continue to laugh, snorting at the absurdity of the situation. Tyler looked even more awkward than he already was, and even the other students seemed taken aback by your reaction. 

“Phew,” you sighed between two laughs, “thanks for that, I really needed a good joke.” 

A scoff coming from the angry students cut short your delight, “I thought potential victims of serial killers had more brain than that,” snapped the murderous Addams. 

Her harsh comment definitely stopped your joyful mood, and the threat-like tone she used didn’t fit right with you; oh no. 

“Excuse me Addams, I didn’t quite hear you from here; I don’t receive frequencies emitted at low altitudes.” 

Ajax let out a snort, unable to restrain himself, Enid giving him a harsh glare. 

“What was that, future corpse?” growled the girl. 

“Y/N don’t,” said Tyler in a low voice, but you didn’t listen to him and walked to Wednesday. But you were far too intrigued to let it slide now; this was too tempting. 

“If anyone’s close to being murdered, it definitely ain’t me shortcake,” you snickered, facing her with a smirk. 

She narrowed her eyes at you, “I’d like to take you up on that.”

“Mmmh, shame there’s no bounty on your head Addams, I’m sure the hunt would have been thrilling,” you wondered out loud, before your face briefly lit up with a smile to the werewolf and the Gorgon, “Not on you two though, you’re actually really sweet!” 

“T-thanks?” stuttered Enid. 

“You’re the Van Helsing hunter,” deduced the Addams with a slight raise of her brow, “strange how you went from hunting the most famous vampire in the world to vulgar bodyguard duty.” 

“You actually know your classics, I might even feel honored.” 

“So it’s you I have to bribe if I want to have a take in Tyler’s murder,” she clarified, glaring at him, “good to know.” 

“Ah,” you snorted, “I work alone Addams, pretty boy over there is all mine to take.”

Tyler’s ears turned red but you didn’t notice it; Enid, Ajax and Xavier looked among themselves with wide eyes, the Gorgon shaking his head to the other like ‘no way’. 

“Fair enough,” finally let out Wednesday, “you seem cruel enough to make an acceptable job. But if I have the slightest window of opportunity, know that I’ll make him pay for what he did to mi querida.” 

Enid blushed with a blissful smile, not expecting such a public display of affection – and confirming your suspicion about them being together. Behind you, you heard Tyler whisper a quiet “yeah, get in line.”

“Don’t get used to it,” muttered Wednesday to her girlfriend. 

“Well, if we’re done with the promises of threats, this is our cue,” you said with a smirk. “It’s really been a displeasure.”

“Wouldn’t have put that more eloquently,” said a dry voice from behind you. 

All of you turned around to face the disgusted and sneering faces of Bianca and Yoko, who had just arrived at the quad. 

“Oh shit,” you let out. 

“Your friends?” whispered Tyler, half in irony, half actually frightened by their icy glares.

“My ex this time. The creepy one with glasses.” 

The ‘oh damn’ he let out was almost inaudible. Yoko eyed you and Tyler, sneering at your pair. 

“You two look awfully cozy,” she noted, gesturing to your coffee cups, “getting on dates already?” 

Rolling your eyes, you repressed the urge to flip her off, “Therapy session,” you corrected, “you should actually try it, maybe it’ll help with the raging daddy issues you got.” 

“You little–”

Bianca grabbed the vampire’s arm before she could attack you, “Enough with this childish bickering. You’re not welcomed here, Van Helsing.” 

This made Tyler frown slightly; if anything, he would have thought that he was the first person framed as their archenemy. What did you do to deserve this place? But as usual, you responded with an insolent snort instead of focusing on the matter at hand.

“Maybe not by you, your royal highness, but by the school board and that’s enough for little ol’ me. Perhaps you’re the one being not mature enough to actually move on? So much for your lectures about being the bigger person, miss bully.” 

Smoke coming out from her ears could almost be seen as she growled through gritted teeth, “Take this filthy son of a bitch with you and get the fuck out of my sight.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” you winked at her, casually strolling away from them. 

While you walked away from the quad and the murderous looks, Tyler eyed you on the corner of his eye, watching you sipping your coffee with a relaxed expression, like nothing actually happened. Despite this all exchange being as funny as it had been awkward, there was something he still didn’t get. 

“Why are you acting like that?” 

“Like what? If you want to complain about my charming personality, sorry lover boy the return date had expired,” you ironized.

“Like that,” said Tyler, and the lack of teasing tone made you look at him; he was serious, even looking slightly concerned. “Why do you always use sarcasm and dark humor to answer to anyone, instead of facing the addressed matters?”

“Okay first of all,” you said pointing a finger at him, “my humor is impeccable. Second of all, fuck off, I’ll do what I want.”

As you began to walk faster to put some distance between the two of you Tyler spoke up again, “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Why can’t you talk about something seriously?” 

“Because it’s fun,” you groaned irritably.

“I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

“What,” you snapped whipping in his direction, “you’re gonna play the therapist too, now? I don’t fucking need your help.” 

“I’m not offering any,” he said carefully, “I’m just trying to understand.” 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you pondered whether or not you should flip him off for this nosy behavior. But he genuinely seemed to care; you weren’t used to that. So you sighed and asked, “If I answer your question, will you drop it?” 

He nodded and you motionned him to follow you; there was no way you were talking about yourself in the middle of a Nevermore corridor, might as well continue to walk to the dorms. 

“I don’t really do this on purpose,” you tried to explain, playing with the now empty to-go cup, “it’s more like a reflex or something. Defensive mechanism or whatever bullshit name it’s given.” 

“To defend yourself against what?” said Tyler, surprised that you actually opened up about it. 

“Everything,” you muttered. “It’s easier to get away from discussions you’d rather not have by deflecting everything with sarcasm, I learned that early.”

“Parents?” he asked. 

“Grandparents. Both. Everyone, really. I didn’t have many friends growing up anyway, always too weird to blend in. So being witty was a way to shield myself from the family bullshit and the other kids’ intimidation. After it just stuck I guess.” 

Tyler nodded pensively; he was sometimes acting like a dick too, but it was more for fun than anything else. Laurel Gates had awoken a sinister and violent side in him, he guessed that it was some remains of his violence craving that had almost disappeared with her. He still wanted to kill deep down, but he also wanted to get his shit together and do something right. Acting like a cocky bastard was the result of both of those sides in him fighting for dominance. Maybe he’ll talk further about that to Dr.Fern in their next session.

“Useful in juvie too,” you noted out loud, the sarcasm returning quickly.

Tyler scoffed in amusement, “Didn’t that make you the public enemy?”

“Having a big mouth is a problem-bringer only if you’re not the smartest,” you said casually. “No matter the situation, I’ve sass my way in, and I’ll sass my way out.”

He let out an honest, light laugh, “You should put that on a shirt.”. That made you grin. 

“Maybe I will pretty boy, maybe I will.” 

Later that day, around the time of dinner, you tossed and turned on your bed, groaning in frustration. After the interaction with Wednesday, Bianca, Yoko and the others, you didn’t feel like doing anything but that also bored you out of your mind. 

The ding of a notification made you grab your phone and open the incoming text from the unknown number. 

Ditching me for dinner, Van Helsing? How am I supposed to have dessert without my favorite eye-candy? 

For a second you frown, then grinned realizing who it was. Seemed like the flirting match was never over. 

Look who’s the stalker now, you answered. Got any hacker skills I don’t know about? 

Got your number by Ajax, texted Tyler back.

You snorted, Poor guy, hope you didn’t frightened him too much

Don’t worry I’ve been nice, even said “please”

Texting back “good boy” was so fucking tempting, but before you could, you received another text from Tyler. 

But seriously, Ajax told me you weren’t coming for dinner, u good? 

His concern was kind, really. To be honest you weren’t really hungry and under all the sarcasm and laid-back attitude you gave this afternoon, the confrontation with other students had drained you physically; you weren’t really hungry. So you had texted Tyler’s roommate, asking him if he was okay to be his supervisor for dinner this time. Tyler had behaved well all day, and he even seemed to warm up to his roommate; maybe they could be friends one day.

Not really hungry that’s all, you quickly texted, gonna take a walk outside instead 

Careful, I heard there’s some dangerous things in those woods, teased Tyler in his next text, wouldn’t want to ruin a pretty thing

Yeah, I’m that dangerous thing, and you’re wrong 

About? 

You grinned to yourself before tipping, I wouldn’t mind ruining you, pretty boy

On the other side of Nevermore, Tyler chuckled at his phone in the dining hall. A few minutes later, you finally got up from your bed and slipped on your shoes, resigned to go on that walk. It could do you some good. 

Slipping away from the empty corridors was easy, given everyone was at the dinner hall. At this hour, the night began to fall and the woods of the academy were rather pleasant. No students, no drama, no hunting business. Just a peaceful walk, and honestly that’s all you needed right now. 

The crack of a twig made you whip your head around; if the upcoming darkness could hide something, the glimpse of a jacket behind some tree wasn’t so subtle. 

“I can see you, you know,” you called out to whoever was following you. 

An awkward silence answered you, before three students came out from behind the trees. You narrowed your eyes at their familiar faces; they were all students you had known from your previous stay at Nevermore. And they didn’t look like their presence here was a coincidence. Maybe the baseball bats were a hint. 

“Lovely meeting you there, but I’m done with the babysitting duty for the day,” you joked bitterly. 

“Shut your mouth Van Helsing,” snapped one of the sirens – Divina or something? Yoko’s roommate. “It’s time for you to learn your place.”

Cocking your head to the side you eyed them up and down, “Mmmh, and the baseball bats are here for educational purposes I guess? Or are you three trying to build a sports team now?” 

“They’re not only three,” interjected a voice behind you. You turned around, seeing two more students emerging from god-knows-where. 

“Ah Kent,” you greeted the male siren, “not tired of playing Bianca’s lapdog yet?”

The scowl on his face told you that you had pushed the right button, “Shut up.”

Looking at the whole bunch surrounding you, you let out a snort, “So the plan here is to play the heroic outcasts who beat up the big bad Van Helsing? Five against one, very courageous really.”

One of the students – a vampire from what you saw – growled at you, “After all the shit you pulled, no way we’re playing fair, you fucking murderer.” 

“Have you talked to your buddy about that?” you snarled at him, “what was this fucker name again? Jeremiah?”

“Shut up,” snapped the vampire, blood boiling. But you weren’t finished with him. 

“Did you ask him if he had been fair? Or was he too busy counting his remaining teeth to answer you?” 

A cry of rage erupted from behind you, and if it hadn’t been for it you wouldn’t have been able to duck down to avoid the swing of the heavy log of wood thrown at your head. Snapping your head above your shoulder, you crossed the hateful gaze of Kent who was struggling to regain his balance with the weight of his make-shift weapon. Then all hell broke loose. The five students jumped on you and started to throw hits at you with ferocious screams. You tried to avoid their attack the best you could, counting on their rage and untrained moves to dodge their bats or punches. But there was only so much you could do against five students – especially when trying to not hurt them too much or fight back at the same time. If you only do as lay a finger on one of them, they would run straight to Weems’ office, cry a little and you would be sent back to juvie. 

A millisecond of inattention was all it took; you were dodging another punch when a violent swing crashed on your lower back, cutting your breath short. Your legs buckled under you and you collapsed on your knees, barely catching yourself with your hand before someone else punched you on the jaw. A sharp cry escaped your lips and blood filled your mouth, the burning pain making your ears ring for what felt like an eternity. 

Feeling bolder seeing you on the ground the rageful students threw themselves on you, and the punches rained on you again. You tried your best to protect your head from their bats, punches and kicks, which dig deep into your ribs and back. To try to defend yourself you kicked your legs blindly, trying to reach at least one of their tibias. A wail of pain coming from above you made you realize you had succeeded and with an unexpected surge of energy you flipped on your back and pushed yourself harshly backward, helping yourself with your hand on the ground. None of your attackers had seen this coming, and the one you back bumped to their legs lost their balance, tumbling on the ground with a grunt. 

The three remaining bullies stood tall in front of you, a lingering look of dumbfoundedness behind the hatred in their eyes. You knew this was your shot; so before they could even realize what just happened you sprung into action. 

Grabbing a handful of dirt and you threw it in the eyes of the closest two attackers, making them scream in surprise and pain. They dropped their makeshift weapons to clutch on their faces, trying to rub off the dirt irritating their eyes. You didn’t wait a single more second and jumped on your feet, before dashing toward Kent, last remaining of your attackers. Before the siren could even react you tackled him down with all of your force, and you both crashed on the ground loudly. If Kent found himself out of breath with the shock, you had rolled on your shoulder before touching the ground, landed on your feets and sprinted the fuck away from here. 

You didn’t even check if your attackers had gotten up and followed you, you just ran mindlessly toward the school. The wind slashed on your cheeks, prickling as your lungs burned but you didn’t care. For now, the only thing that mattered was to reach the dorms the quickest way possible. Finally, the walls of the school appeared and your legs didn’t falter. You dashed into the quad, almost crashing into a wall on a harsh turn. The entrance to the Ophelia wing was at arm’s reach when suddenly you slammed into something. And this something groaned. 

The strength of the collision made you stumble and a loud curse left your lips, as you gripped your throbbing head. 

“Motherfucker!” 

“Y/N?” 

The familiar voice made you snap your head up, meeting the stupefied face of none other than Tyler Galpin. 

“What are you doing here?” he urged, checking your general disheveled appearance, clothes coated with dirt and breath erratic, before frowning at the busted lips, bruises already forming on your left cheek and bloody nose. 

Out of reflex you scowled, “What are you doing here?”

A shout coming from behind made you whip around, and the sharp turn made your ribs burn in pain. Clutching your side while trying to hide it the best you could, facing the five assholes you had left in the forest. They all looked even more angry than before, the little stunt you had pulled must definitely not have pleased them. Their rush was cut short when they saw Tyler, and they stopped dead in their tracks for a moment. Even if none of them had seen him in his Hyde form, they knew what he was capable of. 

“What’s happening?” muttered Tyler to you, as the previously feral students seemed to start being nervous. 

“Run away,” you seethed, wincing at the pain on your rib. Those fuckers probably had bruised your ribs.

“What?”

“Go back to your room,” you articulated slowly, “run away, this doesn’t concern you.” 

“Get the fuck away Galpin,” shouted Kent before Tyler could protest again. You both returned your attention to the siren, whose voice was slightly wavering. “W-we only have a business with her, step away!” 

You grunted, taking a step in the group’s direction, trying to stand tall despite the soreness starting to sink in. All of your body ached but you couldn’t let this show. 

“None of you grew some balls on the way?” you snarled provocatively, which seemed to anger them even more. 

“Shut up! None of you want to hear anything from you, you fucking murderer!” 

Tyler frowned even more, glancing back and forth between you and the group of angry students. 

“Less talking, more action,” you retorted, “if you’re not afraid of getting your asses handed to you again.” 

Divina snorted, “Ah, look who’s talking. Not so courageous now that you’ve been beaten up, Van Helsing?”

You bared your teeth at her, murder in your eyes. But at the same time, you couldn’t hide the veil of shame draping over your traits. That’s when it clicked in Tyler’s mind. The bats and wooden sticks in the students’ hands, your general appearance, seeing you running away from something…those guys had cornered and attacked you? Five against one? 

Before even thinking about this, he grabbed your wrist; with an unexpected gentleness and care. 

“Did they do this to you?” he whispered slowly. 

Instead of snapping at him, like you would have done even a few weeks ago, you glanced up at him. Your eyes were glossy, no matter how hard you tried to push it away, “It’s nothing; please, don’t do anything.” 

Tyler felt his throat becoming tight. Please. He didn’t know what you had done, but he knew you weren’t one to beg. Even less letting yourself be beaten up by a group of five students you could have handled without a sweat. Something in him erupted, a flaming fury and blinding anger raging in his guts. A sensation of deep injustice and anger overtook him, fueled by the teary gaze and beaten face in front of him. For the first time since he got free of Laurel Gates’ influence, he had this unstoppable urge to kill. 

Before you could add anything, Tyler stepped up, placing himself protectively in front of you standing tall and menacing. Not only because of his height, towering in front of the now shivering students, but also because of the dark look in his eyes. 

“You did this to her?” he growled, his mouth turning into a menacing snarl. 

A wave of anxiety emanated from your attackers, “S-stay back! We don’t have a-anything against you!” 

“Oooh, you don’t?” cooed Tyler, but his tone didn’t have anything reassuring or joyful. It was cold, menacing, and it sent a shiver to everyone’s spine – even yours. “I’ve killed five people, but you don’t have anything to fear from me? Tell me, how many are you again?” 

This time the shivering students exchanged terrified looks among themselves, as they understood the implication. Their fear only fuelled Tyler’s delight, his hands starting to morph into the skinny and sharp claws of his Hyde under the rage raging inside him. An animalistic growl crawled out of his throat, only answered by a terrified shriek from the students. 

That’s when your mind reconnected and you sprung into action. 

Almost throwing yourself in front of Tyler, just in time before he jumped on the screaming students, you pressed your hand on his chest, a bit harshly to make sure he stopped. 

“Stop,” you breathed out in a yet firm voice, “don’t intervene. It won’t do anything good for either of us, trust me.” 

He growled, baring his teeth to the students. Nothing but pure hate filled his eyes, and you had to call him out to make him look at you. His animalistic gaze met your serious eyes, with a lingering silent plea. 

“Stop,” you repeated. 

He held your gaze for a moment, flickering to the terrified attackers; then, after agonizing long seconds, he backed down slightly. His hands turned back to normal, but the murderous look still burned in his eyes. 

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, and turned to the students’ who were close to crying. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” you snapped at them, “you’re fucking lucky I was here, next time I’ll let him tear your sorry asses to shreds.”

“I- we-we didn’t ask you any–” started to mumble Kent, trying to play brave. 

“GO THE FUCK AWAY!” you wailed, patience finally breaking, and they ran away without asking for more. 

“You’ll pay for what you did to Jeremiah!” shouted Kent in the distance before disappearing in a corridor. 

A whimper left your lips and you feel your legs buckle under you, the pain finally crashing in. One of Tyler’s hands immediately came around your back to support you. 

“You’re okay?”

A faint nod from you didn’t convince him the slightest, “ ‘gonna be fine,” you mumbled, “just need some bandages and sleep.” 

You knew you were going to need more than that; but you still had your pride. Reluctantly, you tugged yourself out of Tyler’s arms, no matter how comfortable and warm they had felt. Taking in your slumping figure, the curly-haired teenager suddenly had an idea. 

“Come,” he said softly, “better not to stay here.”

You seconded that. “I’m going back to my room.”

“To find Weems in front of your door?” he retorted, “nah, bad move. Come with me, I know just the place.” 

Too tired to protest, you followed him without a word through the corridors. Tyler led the way, passing in front of the dinning hall and then to the cooking workshops. Surprisingly the door wasn’t locked and you both entered the pristine clean room. Tyler flickered the light open and you climbed on the edge of one the workbenches, sighing in pain and glancing around skeptically. 

“Any first aid kit in that magical place of yours?” you mumbled in a semblance of a joke – which failed pathetically. 

Tyler nodded and retrieved a small bag and tossed it to you, “Here. Every room with a cooking fire is required to have one. Need help with that?”

You scoffed, rolling up your shirt to inspect your ribs, “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not a cripple yet.” 

Tyler eyed you for a second – a lingering look on the glimpse of your naked skin – before turning away and rummaging through the cupboards. 

“So, what happened to 'sassing your way out’?” he teased, but his joke was only met with a bitter laugh. 

“Turned out baseball bats outwitted my sarcasm, who could have guessed.”

He snorted. “What did those assholes want?” he then asked more seriously while grabbing a pot and pouring some water in it. 

Snickering, you tried to refrain a hiss when you carefully poked at your painful rib, “Boring things really, getting me out of the school, calling me names, y’know the usual.”

“I didn’t think ‘the usual’ included beating the shit out of you.”

You exhaled loudly in annoyance, “It’s no big deal I said, drop it.”

“One of them called you a murderer,” insisted Tyler, glancing at you over his shoulder. 

His stubbornness was starting to get on your nerves, “Big fucking news, I’m kinda one in everyone’s eyes here.”. But Tyler didn’t get the hint and he leaned against the ledge of the hob, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Does it have something to do with the Jeremiah guy they talked about?”

“Ugh! You really want to know?” you growled loudly, snapping at him, “fine! Jeremiah was a vampire student at Nevermore and I assaulted him, happy?” 

Tyler’s eyebrows rose high in surprise. For the second time this evening he had witnessed you losing your temper; you had always such a cool and collected behavior, it was definitely not something he had expected. 

“Send the fucker to the hospital for a month, and in return I was sent in juvie and that’s it, end of the story. Happy now?” you finished with a bitter snarl. 

But the freckled boy didn’t seem over with that yet. His dumbfounded expression still held to many questions. “Wait, they sent you to juvie because you fought with a student? That’s insane, no one goes that far for a teenager fight.”

A dark chuckle escaped you and you glanced up to him menacingly, “You think I fought with him? I fucking destroyed him, that’s what I did. That’s right,” you continued to the puzzled expression on his face, “tore that son of a bitch apart and burned the vampire out of him like the big bad Van Helsing I am.” 

Only a loud gulp answered you, and you went back to a closed-off silence, mulling over your bitterness – and shame. Even if you were untimely convinced that what you did had to be done, you weren’t overly fond of that memory either. 

“How many students know about that?” asked carefully Tyler, trying to catch your gaze but you avoided him purposefully. 

“All of them,” you muttered, “officially it was an accident. But they all know who to blame.”

Despite your elusive explanations, Tyler could feel that there was more to it but couldn’t yet picture what. “What aren’t you telling me?”

You scoffed, “I’m telling you what I want. I’m the bad guy in that story and I’m not more welcomed here than you are, that’s all.”. Tyler opened his mouth, ready to ask you why you were pushing him away again, but you cut him, “Your water’s boiling.”

He whipped his head around and swore under his breath at the forgotten pot. You took the opportunity to make a check of your physical state. Although it wasn’t so glorious, the extent of your injuries didn’t feel so bad. Without a mirror it was hard to tell how much of your face was bruised; but you definitely took a hell of a beating. At least you got the confirmation that your ribs weren’t broken, or else it would have hurt a lot more. After dabbing some alcohol on your bloody knuckles, palms and forearms you had scratch when falling, you tried to dress the wound on your forehead the best you could. A bag of frozen peas landed next to you. 

“For your cheek,” said Tyler from where he stood.

 You nodded your head in thanks as you pressed the bag against your bruised cheek, wincing at the cold against the bruise. Tyler returned a few moments after, two smoking cups in his hand. When he handed you one, you looked at him in disbelief. 

“What’s that?” 

“Coffee. Looked like you could use some.” 

Sniffing tentatively over the cup, rich aromas filled your nose like a blessing. After an experimental sip you couldn’t hold back a long moan. 

“Jesus fuck, did you make that?” you asked in disbelief, and he nodded sheepishly. 

“Might not be as good as the ones from the Weathervane, but at least it’s edible.”

Drinking eagerly like you were the thirstiest woman on hearth, you let out an appreciative whimper, “This is heaven, how did you pull that trick?”

Tyler gave you a timid smile, “Got a few barista tricks when I was working at the coffee shop. Made more coffee than I can count.”

The last drops of the warm drink rolled down your throat, and you hummed in delight. Then you looked up to Tyler, who was watching you closely; the concern hadn’t disappeared from his face, and somehow, that felt comforting too. 

“Thank you,” you muttered softly. “For the coffee and for…earlier. You didn’t have to intervene.” And you didn’t have to ask about Jeremiah and the accident, you added internally. Even if you would never admit it out loud, it didn't feel so bad to talk about your side of the story to someone actually listening – even if you had presented things roughly. 

He offered you a kind smile; a real, non-sarcastic, kind smile, “Couldn’t let my favorite bodyguard in a sticky situation.”

“Except you could have,” you countered in a tired tone, “you could have let those students beat the shit out of me, could have been your opportunity to run away from Nevermore.” 

Heavy silence filled the room for a moment; then, Tyler approached closer until his legs touched your knees, gaze boring into yours. You found yourself face barely inches from his once again, detailing every freckles and red angry stretches of his scars. 

“Hey,” he breathed out in a whisper, “I’m not letting you down okay?”

“Why?” you whispered in confusion, “I’m an obstacle to you, I could kill you if I’m forced to…why are you so keen on helping me?” 

Raising one of his hands slowly, Tyler stroked the edge of the clumsily-put bandaid above your eyebrow, careful not to hurt you, “Because you’re the only one who had come to my defense,” he said softly. “And under that thick shell of yours, I think you understand me.”

His words made your throat feel tight; yeah, maybe you and Tyler weren’t so different after all. Even in a place full of outcasts, you stood aside awkwardly. Little by little, Tyler had come to be perhaps your only friend in that place. 

Still, you knew you had to continue to push him away. Not from you necessarily, but from your heart. 

The mission at hand was to protect him, but more than anything, you had to protect yourself. No matter how nice and cocky Tyler was, you knew the shell of sarcasm and laid-back attitude you had built for yourself could crumble if you weren’t paying enough attention. But the temptation of letting him in was becoming so, oh so strong. So you allowed yourself to let your defenses down slightly just tonight, and leaned your forehead against Tyler’s chest. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, “maybe we’re equally fucked up you and me.”

[Part.4] 

A/N: Wenclair? WENCLAIR.  When editing I’ve noticed that I didn’t mention Xavier so much in this fic so far; this is not about shadowbanning the character due to the Percy affair going on, I legit just didn’t give much place to his character yet, it’ll come with time (but I legit think he won’t have much place in this fic, I’d rather write about him with him as a main character :DD) (maybe once this fic is over I’ll write for him, I have some ideas for one shots!)

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥ Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

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