#depression and relationship counselling services | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silantryoo · 4 months ago

Text

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — EPILOGUE 3, begin again

jo yuri and choi yena's wedding.

WARNINGS ; implied depression, mentions of overworking, slightly suggestive, mentions of broken homes (2.4k)

y/n wished that it was her up on that altar with wonyoung.

the hues of white and gold twinkled against the sunlight, the heat of the californian sun blinding everyone in the venue. yuri's dress, a hanbok beautifully accentuated with gold, ruffled in the wind, yena standing across from her soon-to-be wife with tears in her eyes.

y/n couldn't focus as they began to open their letters, the couple's vows written in great length (and the last time y/n asked yuri, she had almost two pages).

all she saw was jang wonyoung, standing across from her with a soft smile, watching the couple exchange their speeches.

the wonyoung she knew was still there, bits and pieces of the shy, caring girl she fell in love with years ago making herself known through each smile and laugh. her smile was still angelic, but gone was the burden of her last name. she walked lighter, the shackles of expectations now released from her .

she wasn't jang wonyoung, the daughter of a politician. she wasn't jang wonyoung, the promising volleyball player and the hope of suma, nor was she 'victory' jang, yoo 'the ace of korea' jimin's shadow.

she was wonyoung, just wonyoung.

and somehow, despite the years apart, wonyoung looked as beautiful as ever. she seemed much older, wiser, yet it was all the same. with her hair slightly shorter, y/n could tell she had gained some weight in her cheeks. her eyes, still doe-like, never seemed brighter, and from where she stood, y/n could see someone familiar.

she didn't know why, but y/n wanted to fall in love with this wonyoung, just like she she fell in love with her wonyoung.

y/n's eyes tore away from her ex, the entirety of the venue cheering as yena and yuri kissed.

she clapped half-heartedly, her mind and eyes wandering to the tall girl standing on the other side.

she was happy for the two, knowing how hard it must've been for them. y/n knew about their rough patch and the long-distance relationship they had during yena's overseas training. she admired them honestly, the way they pushed through it.

y/n wanted to be like them, so sure they'd be better for the other person.

she glanced at wonyoung, their eyes meeting.

it was pathetic, honestly. she was still hung up on her ex from college despite graduating so long ago. even through her multiple counselling and therapy sessions, she couldn't let go of it.

she did all the steps. she explored her options, dating around but nothing truly sticking. she took care of herself, both mentally and physically. she focused on her career, finally a well known actress.

but it always ended with wonyoung in her heart, no matter how much her mind wanted it to stop.

yuri and yena walked down the aisle, and beside her, jiwon and minju had already begun to cry.

(she was sure after their toasts later, jiwon would sob a river.)

it was bittersweet, knowing that when she was young, she had always dreamed that she and her wonyoung would be walking down in a similar fashion, somewhere in france.

wiping a stray tear on her cheek, y/n smiled. they followed suit with the now-wedded couple, cheers erupting as flowers littered the hot air.

y/n looked forward at the couple.

wonyoung didn't.

the after-party started right after aeri's toast.

they had moved to a much bigger, more ambient venue once the ceremony had ended. it was a couple minutes away from the vineyard, yet it was enough to fill the entirety of the one hundred guests and the couple's requests.

wonyoung knew coming in that there would be a huge bar with a plethora of fine wines and liquor. yena had asked her months ago about the most expensive services money could buy. beside it, a photo booth with yena and yuri's cardboard cutouts stood. tables littered the floor, the front designated for the two brides. in the center was the dance floor, a huge, rave-like stage sat in the middle.

she was surprised that the two didn't bother to buy a disco ball while they were at it.

"yeah," yujin hiccuped, raising a glass of champagne in her hand. she watched as yena messily made out with her now-wife in the middle of the dance floor. "that's my friend!"

wonyoung smiled. part of her wished rei could've come to humble yujin a tad, but things were already hard on her with the mention of jiwon. if she were to see the kim, fully dressed up, she was sure to have a mental breakdown.

gaeul sat yujin down, the taller girl leaning on her fiancée.

"is yujin-unnie drunk already?"

her eyes wandered for a moment, settling on the actress who constantly invaded her mind.

unlike wonyoung who was mostly known for her brand, l/n y/n was a name you heard everywhere. her face was on billboards, her smile on screens. everywhere she looked, everything she heard was y/n, or at least adjacent to her.

it hurt for a while, seeing the girl you loved everywhere but not hearing from her. wonyoung had waited months for a text back, for a call.

nothing came, and it was enough for wonyoung to know that y/n was done with her.

but the years of drowning herself in horrible music, expensive wine, and using work as a distraction paid off. VKY took off, and the bigger it got, the worse and worse her mind became.

the first few months of success felt like a failure.

"she was drunk during the ceremony, actually." gaeul clarified, ignoring the sulking girl beside her.

wonyoung was thankful for them, dragging her away from her desk and forcing her to face everything she worked so hard to push away. gaeul, rei and yujin urged her to go get help, and despite her parents raising hell to prevent wonyoung, she did.

she hated taking those stupid pills though.

"i was not!" yujin sulked, clinging onto gaeul like saran wrap. "i was tipsy."

wonyoung glanced once more at her ex, y/n smiling at some joke yuri had made.

she got over it, the ghosting. it took a year or two (or three), but she did. she cried, she drank, she tried to forget. wonyoung even journaled, her baby blue leather book filled with tears and pain.

still, she could never get over y/n.

it was by accident. wonyoung had found out when she was going through her contacts with yujin, the two talking about other notable people to model for her newest collection. yujin, always making sure never forgot, mentioned the actress. out of curiosity, she checked, only to realize that her number was wrong.

and then she panicked even further.

('wrong number.' she had double-checked with jiwon.)

"baby," yujin whined, her eyes watery. "i wanna dance."

the olympian tugged on her fiancée, huffing at gaeul's sluggish movements. yujin's emotions always got amplified tenfold when she drank, and years later, it was still the same.

"i'm gonna go with her." gaeul grinned, gathering her purse as yujin tugged harder. "she'll start telling people we're married if i don't."

"we are!"

"we are not." gaeul's voice blended into the background, finally giving into yujin's request. "our wedding is next year, yujinnie."

the music continued to blast around them, wonyoung watching as they walked into the surprisingly active crowd (but what did she expect from yena and yuri's friends?). their figures blurred into the horde, leaving wonyoung alone at the table.

she looked at her glass, dripping as the cold mingled with the hotter air.

it was lonely, being twenty-six years old and watching your friends get married. she achieved success, all the things her father was sure she would never reach. but not once was she date. she didn't want to date anyone, and when she did, it wasn't her.

it wasn't y/n.

wonyoung felt like she was back in that stupid bathtub, drinking some wine she grabbed from the dollar store, and playing some music that someone probably dedicated to their ex. her eighteen-year-old self would probably sit beside her, crying in her arms. she'd probably even throw up on the ta-

"hey."

l/n y/n.

familiar yet different, everything and nothing, hers but no ones.

"hi." wonyoung smiled, her grin soft but her heart hammering.

y/n's nerves crackled in the dim light, the sun setting behind her. for years, she had dreamt about this, pathetically so.

"can i sit here?"

the designer nodded. "go ahead."

the decorated chair scraped the floor lightly, y/n taking place on it. she was close enough to feel, the heat of her skin permeating onto wonyoung's, their knees nearly touching. wonyoung strained her ears, hyper-aware of every move, every breath, everything that was y/n.

she was over the hurt, but wonyoung would never be over y/n.

"congrats, by the way."

wonyoung glanced at the shorter girl's hands, watching as she rubbed her knuckles. "on what?"

"on your brand." y/n whispered, her words coming out slightly forced and awkward. "i remember you always liked stuff like that."

she always tried to hide it, but y/n remembered freshman year, and the little pastel blue notebook wonyoung would hide in her nightstand.

"i did." wonyoung fought the urge to look up, to steal a glance, afraid that this was just another dream. "i just never had the time to."

fear always ruled jang wonyoung.

the fear of imperfection, of loss and pain. it lingered in the halls of the jang household, long before wonyoung was born. it was a birthright that she had no say in, one acquired through her father's actions and her mother's words.

wonyoung wasn't scared anymore.

the taller girl's eyes met with y/n's, a soft sigh escaping her mouth. y/n was way more beautiful than she remembered, her cat-like eyes and her mole pairing with her smile.

"how's hyunseo?"

"she's good." wonyoung closed her eyes, letting out another breath as she relaxed. "we visited hannah's grave a couple weeks back."

y/n had never heard of hannah, her name a foreign word to the actress. she tried to wrack her mind for any memories, but every single one came out empty.

"hannah?" y/n sighed softly. "who's hannah?"

wonyoung stared at her, her eyes softening. it felt so freeing, finally being able to say her name. "hannah was someone who meant a lot to me."

even after years, a near decade, y/n could still read the bits and pieces of wonyoung. how she'd look away, contemplating on telling more. how the girl take a sip of water, trying her best to calm down.

wonyoung was still so similar to the girl she met, the girl she loved, and the girl she let go.

"why didn't you tell me that you were the deleted number?" her mouth moved before she could process her words.

"huh?" wonyoung froze, and from the corner of her eye, she could see the crowd getting larger and larger. "oh, um, i didn't think it mattered anymore."

if wonyoung was eighty percent sure she let go, then she was sure y/n definitely did.

and before, as soon as those words left wonyoung's mouth, y/n would already be in hysterics. her heart would be ripped in two, and she'd go silent, trying her best to figure out what she did wrong.

"it mattered to me." it felt like the world lifted off her shoulders. "you should've said something."

their eyes met once more.

"i panicked." wonyoung's voice was sheepish, a small dust of red coating her face. "it was stupid of me, i know. i just..."

y/n's fingers twitched, her mind itching to touch her wonyoung again, to figure out who was in there.

"an old habit, i'm guessing?"

she'd love any version of wonyoung, whether it was hers or not.

"a very old habit."

the air danced around them as the night continued, the smell of booze multiplying with each minute. neither moved from their spot, worried that this was the last time - the last chance - they'd get to see each other. so the two sat, stealing glances and people-watching, content with whatever was going to happen next, whether it be good or bad.

a soft whisper traveled into wonyoung's ears, and if she hadn't spent the past eight years yearning for the sound, she might have missed it.

"i'm better now, wonnie."

wonyoung loved that nickname more than life itself. "sorry?"

"my promise." a smile flickered onto the actress's face, and wonyoung found herself afraid of losing her again. "i'm better now."

old habits die hard, but time marched forward. wonyoung knew that they changed, for better or for worse. she knew that no matter what, in sickness and in health, she'd love y/n. they weren't the same two naive girls who were hurting, and even though glimpses of them flashed through, wonyoung was willing.

y/n held her hand, and everything fell into place.

"thank you..." wonyoung could barely hold her tears back. "for keeping your promise."

"anything for you, wonnie."

y/n squeezed her hand, and the room fell silent. wonyoung felt like she was floating. she wasn't sure where she was gonna land, if it was gonna hurt her or anyone else. all she knew was that somewhere, y/n was waiting for her, just like wonyoung had been too.

to love someone was to do the right thing.

"are you seeing anyone?"

"no." a grin splayed across y/n's face, one that was only ever reserved for wonyoung. "i'm not."

jang wonyoung would wait forever. she would wait for the perfect time, sitting idly in the corner of the room. she'd count the seconds as they go by, watching as each hand moved at a snail's pace, but a pace nonetheless.

"good."

l/n y/n couldn't wait. she couldn't sit by and let nature take its course. she could prevent earthquakes and hurricanes if it meant protecting wonyoung. she'd move planets, shapeshift, become someone new... someone better.

"good?"

wonyoung stood up, her hand trembling. she reached out to her y/n, offering a hand. she couldn't keep waiting forever, and she knew y/n couldn't be the only one changing for rest of eternity.

(wonyoung was too grown to keep being an idiot, anyway.)

"dance with me, y/nnie?"

love.

it was still there.

"gladly."

THE END.

masterlist

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@moontealemonpie @rikisgeef @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @blue4hour @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @awkwardtoafault @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @wlwgirlsworld @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @jihyostolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @bearseulgs @marimo-anura @wonyoluvr @serenitygrace24 @ddeonutz @noiacha @livelaughchoerry @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

207 notes · View notes

haggishlyhagging · 1 year ago

Text

The more women are paid, the less eager they are to marry. A 1982 study of three thousand singles found that women earning high incomes are almost twice as likely to want to remain unwed as women earning low incomes. "What is going to happen to marriage and childbearing in a society where women really have equality?" Princeton demographer Charles Westoff wondered in the Wall Street Journal in 1986. "The more economically independent women are, the less attractive marriage becomes."

Men in the '80s, on the other hand, were a little more anxious to marry than the press accounts let on. Single men far outnumbered women in dating services, matchmaking clubs, and the personals columns, all of which enjoyed explosive growth in the decade. In the mid-80s, video dating services were complaining of a three-to-one male-to-female sex ratio in their membership rolls. In fact, it had become common practice for dating services to admit single women at heavily reduced rates, even free memberships, in hopes of remedying the imbalance.

Personal ads were similarly lopsided. In an analysis of 1,200 ads in 1988, sociologist Theresa Montini found that most were placed by thirty-five-year-old heterosexual men and the vast majority "wanted a long-term relationship." Dating service directors reported that the majority of men they counseled were seeking spouses, not dates. When Great Expectations, the nation's largest dating service, surveyed its members in 1988, it found that 93 percent of the men wanted, within one year, to have either "a commitment with one person" or marriage. Only 7 percent of the men said they were seeking "lots of dates with different people." Asked to describe "what concerns you the day after you had sex with a new partner," only 9 percent of the men checked "Was I good?" while 42 percent said they were wondering whether it could lead to a "committed relationship."

These men had good cause to pursue nuptials; if there's one pattern that psychological studies have established, it's that the institution of marriage has an overwhelmingly salutary effect on men's mental health. "Being married," the prominent government demographer Paul Glick once estimated, "is about twice as advantageous to men as to women in terms of continued survival." Or, as family sociologist Jessie Bernard wrote in 1972:

“There are few findings more consistent, less equivocal, [and] more convincing, than the sometimes spectacular and always impressive superiority on almost every index—demographic, psychological, or social—of married over never-married men. Despite all the jokes about marriage in which men indulge, all the complaints they lodge against it, it is one of the greatest boons of their sex.”

Bernard's observation still applies. As Ronald C. Kessler, who tracks changes in men's mental health at the University of Michigan's Institute for Social Research, says: "All this business about how hard it is to be a single woman doesn't make much sense when you look at what's really going on. It's single men who have the worst of it. When men marry, their mental health massively increases."

The mental health data, chronicled in dozens of studies that have looked at marital differences in the last forty years, are consistent and overwhelming: The suicide rate of single men is twice as high as that of married men. Single men suffer from nearly twice as many severe neurotic symptoms and are far more susceptible to nervous breakdowns, depression, even nightmares. And despite the all-American image of the carefree single cowboy, in reality bachelors are far more likely to be morose, passive, and phobic than married men.

When contrasted with single women, unwed men fared no better in mental health studies. Single men suffer from twice as many mental health impairments as single women; they are more depressed, more passive, more likely to experience nervous breakdowns and all the designated symptoms of psychological distress—from fainting to insomnia. In one study, one third of the single men scored high for severe neurotic symptoms; only 4 percent of the single women did.

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #heterosexuality #amerika #male fragility #marriage #male mental health

442 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

Text

Man-Sized

8/9 God's Away on Business

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

I'm 20 minutes away. You home?

Sure! You're always welcome.

Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.

The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.

Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.

He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.

"You just got back?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.

Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.

"I lost people yesterday."

"Oh. Oh shit."

Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.

"That's… I don't know what to say."

Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.

"23."

"What..?"

"23. The number of people I have lost in total."

Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.

"Is Soap alive?"

"Yeah. Wounded."

Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.

"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."

Thousands of people…

That meant… Wow. Okay.

He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.

Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.

"This world could use another flood."

The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.

He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.

"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.

"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."

"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."

"Is it?"

Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You got any food?"

"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."

She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.

"I like that pasta sauce you make."

"The Bolognese?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what you shall have."

There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.

The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.

She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.

Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.

It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.

She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.

He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.

"You got that Glock here somewhere?"

He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.

It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.

A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.

But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.

***

The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.

It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.

This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.

It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.

Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.

What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.

Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.

She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.

She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.

Fuck… Of course.

How could she be so stupid?

"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."

He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.

She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.

"Have you ever been tortured?"

The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.

"Just ask how many days."

"How many days?"

"98."

She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.

98 days covered over 3 months.

He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.

Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…

"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"

"Simon.. Jesus Christ."

"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.

"If the mind breaks, you're done."

Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.

"This is horrible."

"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."

Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.

Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.

He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.

The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…

Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?

He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…

She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.

"Dove… C'mere."

Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.

He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.

"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."

How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?

Unless he didn't care if he got killed.

Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…

The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.

"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.

"Isn't that what you like about me?"

When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.

How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.

She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.

"C'mon... Tell me you like it."

The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.

"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."

He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.

But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.

"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."

It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.

So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.

"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.

"Never hear that at work."

"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."

He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.

"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."

Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.

It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.

"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."

That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.

"Think you can handle me?"

The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.

"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.

"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."

On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.

"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.

"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.

A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.

"Marry me."

Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…

"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."

A joke… He was joking.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.

He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck…"

It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.

She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.

"Not gonna last long if ya..-"

The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.

He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.

It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.

He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.

"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.

"You had it coming."

Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.

"Really…"

And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…

"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.

"Judging by how wet you are, it does."

He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.

How the hell could one man be so good at everything…

"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.

This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.

"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.

"Serves you right."

He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.

"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.

That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.

"I- I don't think I can."

It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.

"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."

***

The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.

"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."

She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.

"This time, I just wanted to get back."

It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.

Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.

"Are you blaming yourself?"

"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."

"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."

She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.

He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.

"It's not a good sign," he muttered.

"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.

"Right? Simon?"

"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."

That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.

"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.

"Everyone I love, dies."

She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.

"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."

"Who knows."

The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.

But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.

"I admire your courage."

He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.

"I can't do my job if I'm…"

"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.

She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?

"Well, what about… your mom?"

"Dead."

"You have siblings?"

"Dead."

Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.

"What about friends? Like, off work?"

"Not anymore."

Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.

"You have nobody?"

He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.

"I didn't mean for things to go this far."

All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.

It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.

"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.

He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.

"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.

Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.

"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.

But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.

How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?

She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.

Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.

She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.

"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.

"No. Never. You're–"

She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"

He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.

"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.

After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.

Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.

Simon was resigning.

He was fucking leaving.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.

The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.

Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.

The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.

She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.

She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.

He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.

Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.

But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.

She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.

#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x female reader

#simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #mw2 smut #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x female oc #simon riley x female oc #simon ghost riley fic

377 notes · View notes

alex-wrestling · 3 months ago

Text

Odyssey Jones was removed from the main roster for domestic abuse allegations from what I’ve read.

I’m going to link some resources down below for people who are going through abuse. Please stay safe.

United States:

UK:

Australia:

Mexico:

Here is a website to find one if I didn’t list one you can use:

Feel free to add on.

#odyssey jones #cw abuse

21 notes · View notes

wlimarzicounselling · 4 months ago

Text

#depression and relationship counselling services #anger management #depression & relationship counselling services #counseling

0 notes

michelleleewise · 2 years ago

Text

Worthy

Pairing: Dark!Thor x female reader

Warnings: nothing too bad in this one, creepiness, swearing, mentions of cheating, toxic relationship, sadness, mild depression, anxiety, therapy and counseling, smut at the end (not graphic), if i missed something please let me know. things will progress as we go, please heed the warnings)

Summary: After leaving a toxic relationship, you take the advice of a friend and seek help.....

A/n: This my very first dark anything, as well as Thor, be gentle with me lol im making this a small series for my lovely friend @springdandelixn 💙 like I mentioned it will progress....keep your flashlights handy..... love you guys!!!!

Part One-

You scroll further down the page, unsure what exactly your looking for....someone to listen....someone who won't judge you. You sigh, you friend Maya's words echoing through your head "you need to talk to someone, this isn't healthy to bottle everything up." She had said over coffee "I am, I'm talkng to you." You laughed seeing her shake her head "a professional y/n." She said sternly making you frown. And here you were, scrolling the endless pages of the internet in search of a "professional."

You sighed again, your thumb sliding across the screen on your phone when it caught your eye "Odinison Health and Rehabilitation." You aren't sure what possessed you as you pressed your thumb to the name, their website popping up as you scrolled down seeing their services, counseling being among the many. "Hmm, this might work." You said to yourself, your thumb hovering over the number. You had always told yourself counseling was a joke, a ploy for doctors to get money from the weak..but everything you had been through the last year......

You quicky dialed the number before you changed your mind, your heart racing more with each ring when a lady picked up "Odinson Health, how may I help you." She asked. "Umm...hi, I was...well you see I saw your website.." you trailed off trying to get your thoughts together "were you interested in one of our services ma'am?" She asked a little too politely "uuhh yes....counseling?" You asked, dragging your nails across the table "yes, we have a few different counselors but I would highly recommend one of the owners." She said, you could hear her smile through the phone. "Oh..ok." you hesitated hearing her fingers pressing the keys on her keyboard "ok, so the Odinson's are brothers, one specializes in psychology and med management, the other specializes in crisis situations, as well as general and family counseling, which would you prefer?" She asks typing.

"Err...um the general counselor I suppose?" You asked looking out of the window seeing a bird land on your window sill. "Ok great, Dr Odinson has a few available spots open, let me just see.." She trailed off typing away. "ok, he has an opening tomorrow at three for a consultation, does that work?" She asked "yeah that should be fine." You said tapping your fingers on the table. "Ok your all set for tomorrow, and he will go over his treatment plan with you then." She said "ok thank you." You said quickly hanging up. Releasing the breath you were holding you set your phone down deciding to finally do the sink of dishes that had been staring at you for days wondering what tomorrow would bring.

ooOOoo

You sat in your car staring at the building in front of you willing yourself to go inside, looking down seeing it was almost three you took a deep breath "ok...you can do this, what's the worst that could happen?" You asked yourself shutting your car off. You grabbed your keys and phone heading inside, seeing two ladies sitting behind either side of a long counter "hi! Can I help you?" The one looks up smiling, her like dark hair flowing past her shoulders "y..yes...I'm here to see Dr Odinson." You say fidgeting with your keys "which one?" The other lady snaps. "Um...counseling." you say quietly, afraid she'll bark at you again "oh great! Your in the right place then." The dark haired lady smiled.

You finished your paperwork, sitting in the waiting room absently scrolling through your phone when a text popped up. You wanted to ignore it, pretend you had never seen it. You had spent the last month pretending he never existed, the reason you were currently sitting waiting to talk to a compete stranger about your entire life. You sighed, deciding against your better judgment to open the message.

Shaun- Baby, why won't you talk to me? You know why I did what I did. If you had kept up with your responsibilities I wouldn't have looked elsewhere, I'm not the one to blame here. Now text me back and stop being childish.

You sat there staring at the screen, not sure how to react. It was true the last few months of your relationship had been rocky at best. Between you both working all the time and him hanging out with his friends you had no time together, let alone the energy for any intimacy. Somedays it took all you had to just climb into bed at night before doing it all over again. Hence the night you came home from work to another woman in your bed. A pang of sadness ran through you at the memory...

"That's it baby...mm God you feel so good." You heard Shaun moan through the door, the faceless woman moaning his name loudly as the headboard banged against the wall. You had told your boss you wanted to leave early to surprise your boyfriend with dinner, you weren't prepared for the surprise you had waiting for you. "Do i feel better then her daddy?" You heard the woman moan as tears welled in your eyes "so much better baby...she could never compare to this perfect cunt." You heard Shaun growl, hearing a loud thud against the wall.

You turned from the closed door, making you way to the kitchen you took the boxes of take out out of their bags, placing them in the fridge before sitting at the table, waiting. You weren't sure how long you sat there dazed when you heard voices coming down the hall "she's gonna be home soon, but I'll call you later baby. Maybe we can meet up again tomorrow?" You heard him ask opening the front door "anything for you..daddy." the woman replied before your heard the door shut, footsteps making their way into the kitchen stopping suddenly "how long have you been here?" Shaun asked. You looked up seeing his hair a mess, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers "long enough." You sighed looking down.

"Miss y/n?" You heard your name called, snapping you back to now, seeing a dark haired man standing in the doorway with a clipboard "I'm here, sorry." You said grabbing your keys following him. "So as you know you'll be seeing Dr odinson, this is strictly a consultation, so any questions you have feel free to ask ok?" He said smiling "ok, I will." You said as he led you to a closed door knocking on it "come in." You heard a deep booming voice on the other side sending a jolt through you "don't worry, he's a bit loud but he's really very nice." The man said opening the door. You took a deep breath, walking inside as the man closed the door behind you making you jump.

"Ah, you must me miss y/n, I'm Dr Odinson, but please, call me Thor." The man said standing from behind his desk. He smiled widely as he walked around, holding his hand out your eyes met the bluest ones you had ever seen, shining at you like diamonds through the glasses that seemed to frame his face perfectly "h..hi, I'm y/n." You stuttered, slowly reaching for his hand. "Yes, you are." He smiled "come, have a seat and we can talk." He said gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. You slowly sat down watching him walk around taking his seat, his large frame taking up a majority of the chair "so miss y/n, what brings you here today?" He asked, leaning his elbows on the desk, his large hands cupped together under his chin "Well, you see....I have a friend who said I needed to talk to someone, so here i am." You said looking down at your feet.

"Y/n, look at me." He said sternly making your eyes shoot to his "there you are." He smiled "now, I'm glad you have friends who are looking out for you but there must be a reason you decided to come today." He said watching you intently. "Umm...well i..." you trailed off, looking around the room seeing his diploma hung on the wall, as well as a painting of a lightning storm behind him. "Y/n..." he said making you look at him again "i...I recently left a bad relationship, a..and I'm having alot of issues." You said quietly seeing him nod "and well, I'm told I'm bottling it up." You said fidgeting with your keys again. "Do you feel like you are bottling it up?" He asked leaning forward a bit "I guess...maybe. I don't know." You sighed seeing him pick up a pen, writing something on his notepad.

"Can you briefly tell me what happened?" He asked looking up at you, his eyes boring into you "um, well i..I'd rather not." You said balling your fist "well y/n, in order for me to help you, we need to talk about it." He smiled. "I just..I don't think I'm ready. I'm sorry I wasted your time," you said, quickly getting to your feet as he did making your way to the door "wait y/n, please." He said, following you, placing a large hand on the door as you grabbed the handle "I apologize, I wasn't trying to force you." He said quietly, feeling the heat from his chest against your back, his frame towering over you making you crane your head to look at him, his cologne hitting your nose reminding you of sunshine and rain storms "please, let's sit back down hm?" He asked, not moving his hand from the door.

You took a deep breath, dropping your hand from the door you slowly walked back to your chair, this time he grabbed another chair setting it next to you as he sat down facing you, his knee brushing yours "I understand your apprehension, you don't know me as I don't know you, but you must understand I only wish to help you." He said, his eyes almost too bright to look at as you nodded. "Very good, now tell me..when was the last time you ate? And not junk food either." He asked leaning forward "oh...um a few days." You said seeing him nod "and the last time you truly relaxed, just let your mind go?" He continued "oh..never probably." You said with a small laugh.

You shifted in your seat feeling his gaze intensify. "Well y/n, I think your friend is right. I think you are trying to cope, but in an unhealthy manner." He said "but do not worry, I'm here for you." He smiled, his hand grazing your thigh as he shifted making you stiffen. "I will take very good care of you." He continued, placing his large hand on your knee squeezing "umm, well doctor odins...." you started "please, call me Thor." He said squeezing your knee again, his touch feeling electric as the door flew open, a dark haired man storming inside as Thor retracted his hand.

"I told you to meet me thirty minutes ago." The man snapped crossing his arms "as you can see, I am with a patient." Thor said standing up. "Yes, I can see that I'm not daft Thor, when will you be finished?" The man asked, his deep emerald eyes glaring at you "give me five minutes." Thor said walking around to the other side of his desk as the other man sighed, leaving the room. "Please, forgive my brother, he can be quite impatient." Thor laughed shifted through some papers "Brother?" You asked, looking at Thor's dark blonde hair and large build compared to the other man's raven hair and lithe build "yes..adopted." Thor said matter of factly as you nodded.

"Ok, y/n I would like to begin seeing you once a week to begin your treatment." Thor said writing something down "that often?" You asked furrowing your eyebrows "yes, I believe whatever happened with this.."relationship" has put a great deal on you, and I want to help you." He said air quoting. "I'm not sure I can afford that." You said as he stood, rounding the desk again "I told you y/n..I will take care of you. You have nothing to worry about" He smiled, handing you an appointment card, your fingers brushing his sending a shock through your finger tips. You looked down seeing your appointment was in a few days as you stood up, slipping it into your pocket "ok, thank you doct...Thor." You corrected seeing him smile "good girl, now come." He said, a shiver running through you at his praise making you feel uneasy.

He opened the door, waving you in front of him as he locked his door following behind you. "Now y/n, I want you to go home, take a nice hot bath, slip into your softest nightgown and...relax." He smiled, his eyes traveling up and down your body making you tense "are you ready Thor?" You heard the man before "family...am I right?" He smiled again as you chuckled nervously "I shall see you in a few days miss y/n." He said tilting his head "see you then." You said, hurrying towards the door, looking back seeing his eyes hadn't left you you quickly walked out, making your way to your car as fast as you could.

ooOOoo

You drove home, thinking about the interaction with the doctor. Maybe he's a toucher...you thought to yourself getting out of the car, remembering the grip he had on your knee, his large hand splayed across the door when you tried to leave. You could still feel his eyes on you, sending a shiver down your spine as you walked into your apartment, dropping your keys in the bowl by the door. You looked around sighing as you took in the silence. It had been a month since you moved out of your shared apartment with Shaun and you still weren't used to it. You walked to your room, pulling out your silk night gown laying it out on your bed, grabbing a towel you headed to the bathroom, sitting on the tub you turned the water on, pouring in your favorite lilac scented bubble bath, watching the tub fill as you undressed, stepping in lowering yourself into the hot water you closed your eyes, laying back letting it work the tension from your muscles.

"That's it muffin...relax for me." he whispered in your ear making you sigh, feeling his large hand slowly run up your thigh. "I need to see if you taste as sweet as you sound." He cooed, his lips slowly trailing down your collarbone, his teeth grazing your skin making your back arch. "Ah ah, be a good girl and hold still." He said, his deep voice vibrating through you as he lowered himself between your legs, spreading his hand across your stomach. "Mm..you smell exquisite." He growled, placing a kiss on your inner thigh, nipping at the sensative skin as your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer.

"Eager are we?" He laughed, hooking your legs over his wide shoulders. "Don't worry muffin...I'll take good care of you." He purred, placing a soft kiss on your hip bone. "Aaahh....y....yes.....please...." you moaned, trying to rock closer to him, whining as his hand on your stomach held you in place, his large biceps locking your legs around him "I thought you were going to be my good girl." He said, his breath grazing your flesh "i..I am..I'm s...sorry." you breathed, trying to hold as still as possible. "That's right....show me you are worthy..." he trailed off. You opened your eyes, seeing the white ceiling looking down your eyes met electric blue ones seeing him smile as his lips met you skin..

You jolted up, water splashing to the floor as you gripped the side of the tub. "Holy shit." You breathed, running a hand through your hair. You looked down seeing the bubbles had dissipated, still able to feel his hands on you...his warmth seeping into you. "I need a vacation." You muttered, standing up wrapping the towel around yourself heading into your bedroom. You quickly changed, laying in bed you stared at the ceiling, the dream about your doctor leaving an uneasy feeling inside you, deciding it might be best to look for a different therapist as you closed your eyes hoping for a dreamless sleep.

I didn't know who else wanted to be tagged lol

@mochie85 @vbecker10

313 notes · View notes

askbensolo · 3 months ago

Note

So... Hows ur mom?

…Where do I start.

So…uh…as you know, I was…not very responsive last week. I had a couple of missed calls from Mom, which happens so often when I’m mentally well anyway, that I guess it just doesn’t worry her anymore.

But I called her back. And, since the last time we talked went really well—she basically agreed that she didn’t need to hound me as much, because she knew she could trust me to tell her if I’m ever in trouble—I was honest with her about…about my little sadboi week.

I haven’t had an episode like that in a long time. The last time I got that depressed was two years ago, in senior year of college, when I was facing graduation and didn’t know what I was doing next.

It was bad. It happened during midterm season, and I literally just failed all my midterms that semester. All of them. I showed up for one of them hungover (don’t drink when you’re depressed don’t drink when you’re depressed), showed up for the next with an active panic attack, and then when I saw how horrendously I did on both I stayed in bed the rest of the week and didn’t even show up to take the other three because I was convinced my life was just over at that point—

Which was so stupid of me, because this is my second time getting hired, and no one has ever asked me about my GPA, not even once—

But anyway—all that to say—ever since that time in college, I’ve had a great track record of, you know, not wanting my life to end.

So...I don’t know why it hit so hard last week. I think maybe it was just too much at once. Getting the flu and being bedridden and not being able to do anything I love, missing Fannie and not having any sentient contact for several days, thinking about my new job and my new roommate and my new relationship (situationship?) and thinking to myself—wow—I am winging it—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing—I’m not a real grown-up, I’m just three kids in a trenchcoat—

So anyway. I told Mom about getting depressed. And...she got really worried. And she asked tons of questions.

“Did you have anyone with you?”

“No, Poe delayed his move-in since I was sick.”

“Did you message anyone for help?”

“No. Mom, you know how it works—”

"Did you reach out to your therapist?"

"Mom, I'm not her client anymore—"

"Do you still have access to the university counseling services?"

"Why would I, I graduated—"

"Did you try to see your doctor?"

"For the flu, or for the depression? Because the doctor wouldn't have been able to treat either—anyway, no—"

“Were you eating?”

“Uh. No—”

“Were you suicidal?”

And I stopped and didn’t say anything for a second, because, well, it’s not really that simple; it’s not always a yes or no question—but a second’s hesitation was too long for Mom, I guess, and her eyes flew open, and she said, alarmed, frightened, in a voice like an approaching tempest, “Ben Organa Solo.”

“Mom,” I said, trying to stay calm, trying to keep her calm, “Mom, listen. I know it sounds scary. But you gotta understand that there’s, like, levels to it. I had thoughts, flying around in my brain, sure, but I was never going to do anything—”

“No,” she interrupted, as seriously as if I currently had a blaster in my hand. “No. No. No. You should have called me.”

“Mom. Mom. What am I gonna do, call you while you’re on the senate floor just because I’m sad—”

“If you’re suicidal? Yes. Or call Dad. Call emergency services. Call anyone.”

“Mom. I wasn’t going to do anything—”

“I’m not interested in taking the chance,” she told me solemnly, her eyes somehow boring into me through the hologram.

“So...you don’t trust me,” I said, frustrated. “You don’t trust me to not just do any damn thing that comes into my head. You don’t think I know how to sort my thoughts into things that belong in reality and things that don’t.”

“You’ve attempted before—”

Geez, not that little nugget!

“That was almost seven years ago!”

“You just told me you weren’t eating, Ben! That doesn’t sound like you were making choices to try to keep yourself in this galaxy—”

“Mom, first of all, I was sick, and second of all, if I was gonna kill myself, I’d sure as hell find a faster way to do it than starving to death!”

It was the wrong thing to say. She seemed to go pallid—I couldn’t see it in the hologram, but I could sense it in her energy.

“…Listen to me,” she said, her lips tight. “Ben. You can’t let this happen again.”

I stared at her. “Mom…do you think I got depressed on purpose?”

“I mean, if it happens, you can’t just keep it to yourself and not tell anyone,” she said anxiously. “And you can’t miss my calls anymore. I just thought you were busy with work—I had no idea—Ben, you cannot miss any more calls from me, do you understand? And I want to hear from you every day if possible. Just a short little message.”

“Mom! You want to me to text you every day? What am I, eighteen? You promised me you were gonna get off my back—”

“Well, you promised you were going to keep me in the loop, and you didn’t, so that little agreement is over now as far as I’m concerned. I’m not asking for a lot, Ben. I just need to know that you’re okay—”

“Well, it sure feels like a lot—”

“Do you still write your blog?” she cut in, all of sudden, catching me way off guard. And I wasn’t sure why she was asking, but it definitely had something to do with wanting to spy on me. Yeah, yeah, I know it's not really “spying” if my blog is up here for anyone to read—but even though I'm happy to let you, a perfect stranger (well, you guys are more like friends to me now), wade through all of my trauma and my mental issues and my (lack of?) sexuality and my first time falling in love at age twenty-three and tons and tons of embarrassing poetry, I think even a chronic oversharer like me has the right to not have his mom reading all of that—so, I found myself lying before I could even decide whether or not to tell the truth.

“No,” I said. “No, my blog was so dumb. Nobody blogs anymore. Everyone's on Twi'ktok now. I stopped being popular. I haven’t touched that thing since I was, like, nineteen or something.”

Oh my Force, I thought. I just lied to my mom. And what a stupid thing to lie about, too, ‘cause all she has to do is not believe me and look it up and then I’m toast—

But I don’t think she had any time to ponder my answer, because then another question came to her—

“When does your new lease start?”

Oh. Oh. Not this. She was trying to get me to move back home again.

“Mom, it already started,” I said. “On the first.”

“Maybe you could still get out of it—”

“And what, Mom? Leave Poe to pay two thousand credits a month on rent all by himself? I don’t even think he has a job right now, to be honest—”

“He could find a new roommate. Dad and I could help cover some of the cost—”

“Mom, no! This is ridiculous—” and I was going to explain why, but then her eyes flashed, and then The Question hit the ground, the mother of all questions—

“Ben. Ben. Did Snoke try to contact you?”

And I knew the answer to that immediately. It was “no.” Because it had to be “no.” Because “no” was my only option if I didn’t want my life to suddenly hard-redirect straight into a wall and to go to pieces. And I’d already lied about my blog anyway, so, telling something that wasn’t even fully a lie was easier.

Because...it wasn't a lie. The full answer was “No, I didn't see Snoke, I just had a dream about him,” but that would have caused my mother to go insane, so I was just, you know, giving her the abridged college notes version—

“No,” I said, sounding so sure of myself that I convinced whatever part of me wasn't already convinced. “No, Mom, he didn't reach out to me.”

And I guess I convinced her too, because she relaxed a little.

“Good,” she said, looking like she was taking her first deep breath in several minutes. “Good.”

But, hoo buddy, I did not feel good in that moment. There’s a lot I don’t tell my family—I still haven’t even told them about me and Fannie yet—but I try not to lie to them. Usually.

…I’m talking about the part where I lied about my blog. I didn’t lie about not seeing Snoke. Because having a fever dream about him doesn’t count as seeing him.

I agreed to text my mom every day. Or…try to. Which...I've been doing, but…it’s been super painful, for reasons I can't fully explain. And get this—Mom said she’s sending over Threepio this weekend. Indefinitely. She tried to play it off like, oh, Threepio’s been getting in my way recently, maybe you could use a protocol droid around, I’m sure he would enjoy Theed—no, Mom, no, I can see this for what it really is. You are sending the family protocol droid to babysit your adult son. Seriously?? My apartment isn’t that big. We’ve already got another droid rolling around and getting under our feet all the time. Throw in Threepio, who never shuts up, and maybe I really will kill myself—

Sorry, bad joke.

Yeah…I have half a mind to just shut Threepio down once he gets here, and leave him powered off in the closet. But the idea of having a dead protocol droid in the closet kinda freaks me out, so…probably not.

And all this, just because I dared to be honest with my mom about still dealing with depression sometimes. Yeesh. I know I shouldn’t be, but…I’m kinda glad I didn’t tell her about anything else.

I thought about asking Fan whether she thought it was ever okay to lie. Like, in a situation where you know that everything’s fine, and telling the full truth would just stress everyone out for no reason. Fannie always seems to know what’s right and wrong, when I find myself wondering a lot of the time.

But...I was pretty sure I knew what she'd say, so...I didn't ask. And, besides…things are still kinda rough between us right now.

We made up about me not replying—I apologized for dropping the ball and not thinking about how that would hurt her, and she apologized for getting angry at me right away instead of trying to understand what was going on with me—but—but—the latest development? She asked me if I thought she weighed too much.

Like, randomly. No context. No lead-in. No nothing.

What??

WHY????

She’s never seemed to care about that before. I said, uh, I don’t know, I think that’s kind of up to you, how much do you want to weigh? If you’re happy the way you are and your weight isn’t negatively impacting your quality of life, you’re fine? If you want to change, you can?? I don’t know why you’re asking me???

But this must have been some kind of mysterious trick question with some mysterious right answer, because then she dissolved into tears and now it’s a whole big thing and I’m starting to think girls just speak a different language sometimes where all of the words are Basic but they just mean something totally different from what I think they mean and I don’t know what they mean and I still think I like things better this way, at least I’m pretty sure I do, I definitely did when we were—ha—kinda making out on the couch or whatever you call that—but things were way easier when we were just friends and things are way harder now that we’re apart and sometimes—sometimes, I just don’t know what the heck is going on.

#askbensolo #written #mommy leia #snoke #adulthood #mental health #university of naboo #threepio #i kinda hate when leia’s antagonized on this blog tbh because i really think just she’s doing her best…#that woman’s been carrying the galaxy on her shoulders since she was like fourteen #and it’s not easy. being ben’s mom.#i want you to GET ben. but. not necessarily always support him or agree with all the time. ya know.#i’m soooo sure this isn’t gonna blow up in Ben’s face at all. a+ decision maker right here.

10 notes · View notes