#even when I finally do manage to get a therapist who I can see (got tests from one asked for a woman went to a woman found out she

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

I desperately just want to sleep

[katiascraft]

so i thought like reader being williams social media manager and she is also Francos ex girlfriend. And now Franco is coming into f1 and they see each other again? I don’t know if it makes sense hut yeah. Maybe you like the idea. Love your stuff💗

Hey sweetie 💌 ooooooh I love the idea! I love drama and second chances! Hope you like it. Thank you so much for your request! You are the first to do so. And so I wanted to let you know you made me so happy today :3 (sorry if it took a while but better late than ever! And I hope you have a wonderful day as well 🩵)

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“But we were something, don’t you think so? And if my wishes came true it would’ve been you” | FC43

Parings: Franco Colapinto x WilliamsRancingEmployee!Reader.

Summary: Franco and you broke up a while ago. You didn’t expect to see him ever again until he starts driving in F1 for Williams Racing Team.

Now playing: “The 1” by Taylor Swift.

Word count: +2,4k.

Warnings: a little angst? And fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be errors. Not proofread.

Author’s note: thank you anon for your request again! First time writing about Fran - maybe I could get used to this. Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

You were trying to not lose your umbrella because of the wind. It was raining pretty heavily. England was never a city where happy spirits lived. The sky it’s pretty much sad and depressed most days of the year. But you loved it. You loved feeling melancholy. Remembering your past with a smile or tears.

You had something of not overcoming the past pretty fast. It’s really hard for you to let go and deal with deadlines.

You got finally to the bus stop where a ceiling was now protecting you a little from the water. You were heading for the Williams Racing factory where you’ve worked for a few years now. You were the social media manager at Williams. And you had a meeting with the marketing department.

These last few months were really hard on you. And the reason was just one single person. And that was Franco.

You and Franco dated for two years back when he got in F4. You were teenagers. But still he was the guy who made you feel all the butterflies for the first time. The relationship didn’t end pretty well. You didn’t wanna end it but he told you that he had already made his decision. He needed to be focused to be able to jump to F1 and your romance to him was a distraction. That hurt you so much. And it still hurts thinking about it.

You heart stoped for a second when you saw a guy walking towards your same bus stop - you thought it was Franco because he takes the bus to work just like he always did since you two met. But it wasn’t. Though the guy from afar looked a lot like him. You calmed yourself down.

You job got pretty tricky since Franco jumped finally into F1. You were so happy for him. You wanted to talk to him and tell him how proud of him you were but you couldn’t. You were supposed to hate each other. Working with him was a challenge. You just decided to pretend you didn’t even know who he was and treat him as you treated Alex or Logan before. Even though your heart raced so fast by just looking at him, talk to other people.

First time you saw him was back in august when James announced a new driver was chosen to replace Logan. You loved Logan. Such a great guy. But you understood this was also a business and money is top priority. And Williams isn’t a team with many economic resources so each penny counted. James did an introduction to him a day before the race. He said hi to everyone. When you two saw each other just shook hands. You couldn’t even look at him. When you were back home you had a breakdown and needed to call your therapist because you don’t know how the fuck you were be able to deal him every single day. And even post about him most of the time because for your unlucky luck people became obsessed with him. Everybody loved Franco. And you understood why: he was the most charming and handsome boy you have ever met. And he didn’t change a bit after one year of not seeing him - you thought - forever.

Finally you took the bus. You were gonna be late so you texted your co-worker Amanda to let her know it. You sat on the only free seat that there was.

You were preoccupied in revising everything you had to stay and show in your meeting you didn’t realize the guy sitting next to you was actually franco.

After an awkward silence Franco broke the ice “hey… buenos días” he said with a raspy voice. He was nervous. Not sure if you were okay if he even opened his mouth.

You felt colder than the weather when you heard him. You looked at him to check you weren’t dreaming and indeed you weren’t. You give him a little smile. “Oh hi fran” that’s how you used to call him. Your heart sank a bit. “Good morning. Sorry I didn’t see you. I have a reunion and didn’t want to forget anything. You have a workout today?” You just decided to talk to him. A little chat wouldn’t kill you. And you hated pretending you didn’t know him. He smelled just the same. The same perfume. He had his mate bag with him and a boca juniors gym bag. Just as how you remembered him. You licked your lips nervously.

He nodded shyly and you saw his cheeks turning red for some reason. “Yeah I have gym today. And everything’s gonna be fine at the meeting. You always explain yourself perfectly” he said, sending you a sweet smile. His voice was deep and raspy. You knew he was still a little sleepy knowing it was almost 8am. You smiled back at him.

“Thank you” you said sweetly. Another weird silence took place between you two. You didn’t know what to say. You just looked around.

“Are you still mad at me y/n?” He said out of nowhere. The words just jumped out of his mouth. He was still hunted by what happened between you two. You looked at him again, giving him a sad look. You denied it with your head.

“No I'm not… I’m just sad. We were something right? But you know. It was hard to let you go but yeah…” you hesitated in what you could tell him. You didn’t even know what you were feeling right now. He stared at you a few seconds and nodded looking down. He started playing with his fingers.

“Maybe we could talk about all of this when you finish your meeting? I really think we should talk. I… I don’t like when you pretend you don’t know me… like we never knew each other you know? I feel really guilty about it. And… I’m proud of where you are now. It was your dream and you made it. And you’re really good at it. You give fans what they need” he said shyly and sad? He was working hard to show he can be an F1 driver. That he deserves a seat. But also he was really sad because he since decided to end things with you. He already regretted it.

Yes, he was more focused but he didn’t have your support. He isn’t into physical touch but your hugs were his favorites. He would let you touch him forever. He felt empty and really lonely. Even his family had to deal with the grief of not having you around anymore.

Yes, it was worth it for a while when he had James tell him he was gonna drive an F1 car for the end of the season. But when he saw you standing there. More beautiful than he has ever seen you. You looked so happy and profesional. So beautiful. And bright. He hated himself right there. Because you'd have done it together if he wouldn’t have been so selfish. He didn’t think he was in love with you when you broke up. But as the time passed he felt miserable. Getting home and seeing no one. No music. No you playing sims and showing him the sims you created while he was gone. No cooking cookies for tea time or ‘merienda’ how it is called in Argentina. Anyone to share mates with or talk about the day. No one to cuddle on the sofa or to forget about everything in bed. No one to go out and eat dinner. Or day trips to London. There was nothing left.

He was an asshole to you. And he really hated himself for that.

You couldn’t keep on talking because the bus was really where you needed to be. You both got down the bus in silence. And just walked side by side into the Williams factory announcing yourselves at the gate.

You were thinking about his offer. Like you needed it but at the same time you were scared. But you decided to follow your heart.

“See you after the meeting then?” You said when he opened the door of the factory for you. His sad look turned into a very smiley one. He nodded.

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be waiting for you at the cafeteria. Is that okay?” He said walking behind you because you were running late for the meeting. You turned to him a little.

“Sounds good to me Fran. See you in a bit” you said in a smile but feeling really weird at the same time. You didn’t know if that chat was gonna be the end of you or the relief you just needed. You didn’t know. But you knew you couldn’t keep going the way you two were.

You disappeared from Franco's view while you ran up the stairs to the office where the meeting was being held. He just stared there for a few seconds wondering. He didn’t know if talking was the best move but he felt better after you said yes. And he realized how bad he missed hearing you call him Fran. He got into the gym. Everyone was already there so he didn’t have time to keep thinking about you. Now it was time for a great workout. And a pretty intense one.

(…)

You got out of the office 2 hours later. It was intense. You had a headache now and you needed some coffee. You were regretting deciding to meet Franco but it is what it is. Maybe could it be relaxing? You didn’t believe yourself. But you were sure you just had to give him another chance and maybe be friends.

You walked down the stairs and headed to the cafeteria. When you got there you could see Franco sitting alone at one of the tables. There wasn’t anyone. It was just you and Franco and the women at the kitchen. You smiled. You were a little bit more relaxed knowing it was kind of private. First you headed into the kitchen and asked for a coffee. You knew Franco didn’t want one because you saw him drinking mate. The woman handed the coffee politely to you and you thanked her with a sweet smile “have a good rest of the day Amelia” you told her sweetly grabbing your coffee and now walking towards franco.

He saw you and gave you a bright smile. “Hey” he said, moving his stuff so you could sit with him at the table and have space for your coffee and things. He was reading some papers that were given to him by one of the engineers back in the simulator.

You smiled looking at him. He had showered and smelled incredibly good. And he looked so gorgeous by the sunlight that was coming in from the window. “Hey did I make you wait too long?” You said sitting down and getting comfy.

“No no I got here like 30 minutes ago” he said softly and sweetly. You looked so beautiful in your formal outfit. Though he remembered being crazy about you when you wore pajamas. You looked so cute. He missed you. Like crazy.

“Oh okay. Thank you for waiting for me” you thanked him and took a sip of your coffee. And he did the same with his mate.

“So… how are you? How’s your life been?” You said to start talking and leave the uncomfortness of the situation behind and just chill out and be okay with this. Or at least you wished that but you were a bit anxious of this conversation taking place.

“Well… to be fair it just depends on which aspect of my life you ask. In my driving life everything’s been great. Better than I could ever have expected. In my personal life to be honest I’ve been miserable” he said, giggling a little at the last part of his answer. You smiled sadly looking at him.

“Well maybe we aren’t so different. I’ve been miserable too personally. And at work gray. Better than ever. But you know a guy I used to date decided to fuck my life up by just being selfish so yeah - life’s shit” you really didn’t want to go there so fast but you just couldn’t control yourself. You’re still hurt. And you needed to be vocal about it. You deserve it. You could see he got nervous and readjusted himself on his chair.

“Oh yeah I think I remember him. He was an asshole to you. Then he felt empty and guilty and lonely and got depressed. But you know he deserved it for being such an idiot. I wouldn’t have let you go if I were him. You are in fact an incredible woman with the worst sense of humor I’ve ever met. And by worst I mean best.” He said talking in third person funny. You couldn’t help but laugh a little. You looked at him nodding.

“Yeah he was a selfish asshole but we can also agree maybe that he looks gorgeous now. If he has another girl then I would be really jealous. He is really a sweetheart. And a professional clown. Very funny. He should do stand up” you followed his way of navigating all of this mess you two created. He laughed and your heart melted. You loved making him laugh. Your heart started racing and butterflies reappeared in your stomach. You felt dumb.

“Oh no he is pretty ugly in my opinion. You were too much for him but like positively. You are fucking sexy and he is just a dude” he said raising his shoulders quirky and funny. You got so flustered.

“Well maybe you're right. I’m not gonna deny I’m on top level” you said joking giggling. He smiled wildly. There you were again. The you he was madly in love with. And the he was. The guy who made you laugh until you cried. The one who made you so happy.

It would’ve been fun if he would’ve been the one. Or maybe does he still have a chance?

“Look y/n I’m really sorry. I really am. I know that saying sorry doesn’t fix anything but I would really love it if we could be friendly and try to figure this out on good terms?” He said more seriously and you nodded agreeing.

“Yeah we can try. Everyone deserves a second chance right?”you told him. You had mixed feelings about it but you knew that maybe this was the best you could do. Try to make things easier between you two will also be beneficial for your work.

“Alright” he said with the biggest smile you saw him having since you saw him again. “You want some?” He asked, offering you mate and you just nodded, smiling at him and agreeing.

Just like the old days.

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Hope you liked it 💌 if you have anymore ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hurt/comfort with mullet!Stan

You’re leaning into him, practically melting in the warmth of his arms, but the weight on your heart isn’t lifting. Stan shifts beside you, so undeniably present, like he’s willing to be your anchor, even if he doesn’t know how to say it. The old couch creaks under you both, the whole shack silent except for the soft crackling of the cigarette you share between fingers, trading embers and breaths.

Stan’s brow furrows as he takes a slow drag, glancing over at you. You know his eyes are watching, obviously he’s studying you.

Finally, he shifts and says bluntly, “you’re wound up tighter than a cheap watch, ya know? somethin’ gnawin’ at you, huh?”

You exhale, watching the thin line of smoke spiral up. “Yeah. . . you could say that.” the ache in your chest tightens. Everything you’re carrying feels so complicated, like tangled threads you can’t even begin to sort through.

Stan just watches you, thinking, then he takes another drag and hands the cigarette back to you, nodding toward it. “Ain’t gonna solve a damn thing if you’re just gonna sit there and look miserable, sweetheart. Might as well get it off your chest.”

You manage a small laugh, bitterness slipping into the sound. “It’s. . . it’s just a lot, Stan. I don’t know where to start.”

Stan pulls you closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “Look, I ain’t no therapist, but sittin’ here mopin’ like a lost puppy ain’t gonna do jack. Spill it. Even if I’m a crap listener, you’re gettin’ it out, yeah?”

You look at him, into his dark brown eyes and find nothing, but pure worry here, even if his rough voice doesn’t match his care, somehow that’s still exactly what you need. A presence, even if he’s not exactly gentle about it. It’s the only kind of reassurance he knows how to give.

“I just. . . keep feeling like nothing I do is ever enough. No matter how hard I try, everything just feels like it’s slipping out of my control,” you confess, voice a little shaky.

Stan’s thumb brushes along your shoulder as he pulls you in tighter. His voice, when he speaks, is softer but laced with his usual rough honesty. “Well, first off, quit thinkin’ you gotta have it all together. Life ain’t a freakin’ checklist. You’re allowed to screw up, you’re allowed to be a mess. Hell, look at me, if I can keep goin’ after all the crap I’ve pulled, you’re more than allowed to trip over your own feet once in a while.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and somehow it makes you feel better. He may not have all the answers, but he’s here and that matters.

Your voice is small when you say, “but I don’t wanna screw up, I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

Stan grunts, his tone turning a little sharper. “Listen, you’re human. People who care about you ain’t gonna ditch ya just ‘cause you’re strugglin’. And if they do, fuck ‘em. They’re the ones missin’ out on the best damn person I know. Hell, you’re more than enough just as you are.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest, breaking through the ache, his words unexpectedly softening the edges of your pain. You look at him, really look, and see the sincerity buried beneath that gruff exterior.

His hand comes up to brush along your cheek, thumb grazing your skin. “You got a good heart, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, tell ya otherwise. If you keep beatin’ yourself up for not bein’ perfect, you’re just gonna make yourself miserable.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of you and the soft glow of his affection wraps around you like a blanket. You lean in, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling his steady heartbeat against you. Stanley sighs, letting his hand drift down your back in slow, comforting strokes.

You’re quiet, breathing him in, the warmth of his skin, the smoky scent of his clothes. And then, in a low murmur, he adds, “You think life’s about havin’ it all figured out? Pfft. Life’s about fallin’ on your ass, pickin’ yourself up, and keepin’ goin’ ‘cause that’s what makes you strong. The way I see it? You’ve already got that part down.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound a bit wet with unshed tears. “You make it sound so. . . simple.”

Stan chuckles. “Ain’t sayin’ it’s easy, kid. Just sayin’ you’re tougher than you think. And if ya ever forget that, I’ll be right here to remind ya.”

Stanley leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his hand cradling the back of your head. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, his roughness somehow grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You’re somethin’ special, don’t let anyone, including yourself, make ya think otherwise.”

and then Stan grins, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. “And if anyone’s got a problem with that, they can answer to me.”

[bomber-grl]

Flufftober 2024

Day 1: Can’t sleep

Pairing(s): Sal Fisher x Gn!Reader

Despite how busy the day had been you couldn’t sleep. You’ve been staring up at your ceiling for god knows how long and you decided to change that.

You got up and swiftly made your way to sals room. Ever since you moved in with Larry, Sal, Todd and Neil, going to sals room was sort of a nightly occurrence.

Between your boarderline insomnia and his reoccurring nightmares- you’d both pay eachother visits.

Not like those went unnoticed by the other residents either��� Larry really needs to get his mind out of the gutter.

Upon standing to the entrance of sals room you quickly went inside. What you weren’t expecting though, was seeing Sal have his arm out- as if it was going to twist the doorknob but you beat him to it.

Well, that’s exactly what happened.

“Oh” he sort of jumped in surprise “I didn’t expect you haha” he sort of chuckled in an awkward way, it was cute.

“Yea I can tell” you replied back, though not with a malicious tone. “Where were you headed?”

“With you actually” he lift his arm and began rubbing the back of his neck, almost as if you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh well then let’s sleep together” the phrasing clearly caught Sal a bit off guard (if his sputtering was anything to go by) but he followed you under his covers nonetheless.

Once you both got comfortable you couldn’t manage to say anything. I mean sure, silence wasn’t exactly foreign to you two but there was this expecting air in the room.

“Hey Sal” you turned to face him directly. “Yea?” Your voice piercing the silence clearly caught his attention. “What happens in those reoccurring dreams- rather nightmares of yours?-“

You continued “I know you told me that they’ve been tame ever since- yknow back in highschool, but they’ve been acting up lately right? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to”

He smiled and you couldn’t help but gulp like those characters did when they were stereotypically in love. “I mostly dream of my mom” you perked up and Sal let out a small laugh at it “mostly of the moment when this” he motioned to his face “happened.”

“Oh” you said softly “how does that make you feel- reliving it I mean.” Sal was quiet for a bit, thinking, but then he spoke again “it’s complicated.”

“Why do you ask?” He turned to you. “Well since you can’t really disclose much of your trauma to normal therapists for obvious reasons then I figured I’d listen, I mean someone has to.”

“Yea I guess you’re right” silence followed after but once again, you broke the silence.

“Hey” in response Sal hummed in acknowledgment. “What if I kissed you?” Rather than the cool hum he previously let out- Sal reacted violently. He jerked and out of the corner of your eye you could tell he was made flustered out of that one comment.

That alone made you laugh out loud- and once you started you couldn’t stop. Despite Sals pleads and asking you to quiet down you really couldn’t. Gosh he was going to be the end of you. Sal was so cool headed but when it came to actual romance he was totally out of left field.

You finally calmed down after a bit but that didn’t mean you had forgotten what you had asked. “So, about my question. You’ve got an answer?”

His flustered demeanor came back full force. Even if he was a bit shy despite having kissed you many times before, it was still endearing.

Once Sal nodded and gave a small “yea” you leaned in and obviously completed what you had asked for. Maybe a little more too. Sal made no protest and despite his tense body and slinking away- he kept leaning forward.

The kiss would’ve lasted forever had it not been for Sal gently pushing you away to get some air.

Teasing him would’ve been your next course of action but you knew better than to embarrass him further with making him speak- especially with the stuttering that usually follows such “intensity”.

Funny how someone who could often be a bit devious could be so easily riled. Let’s pray Larry or any other residents didn’t hear your little “sleepover” because if sleeping in the same bed wasn’t “scandalous” enough- you had the noises (rather laughter and chit chat) to accompany the silent allegations.

-

A/n: genuinely sorry if this sucks 😭

[s-4pphics]

click!: in frame. 1 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, ANGST!!, loss and unhealthy grieving, papa issues, verbally abusive parent(PLEASE TREAD LIGHTLY), depictions of therapy and counseling, light discussion of anger management, brief mention of alcohol, bullying, a lil fluff, SMUT!! YIPPEE MDNI, bondage, squirting, bathroom sex, eating out no taqueria, ellie getting sloppy from a hot milf that’s it 

You look like your mom. 

Your father’s admiring whisper yanks you out of the hazy turbulence in your mind. You shovel a handful of caramel popcorn in your mouth. You don’t dare look at him. 

Daughter things, I guess. Your dad simply hums. Silence simmers between the two of you. It’s not comforting. Not like it should be. A bomb is coming. 

Honey, I… I love you. Your father sounds like he's crying and it pauses your aggressive chewing. You finally turn to face him and your fingers twitch when you see his globby tears. They’re heavy as he releases his regrets in silence, just like he always does during this time of year. 

Me, too, dad. 

You’re not sure if you’re lying or not. Some things are impossible to forget, you suppose. 

You eat more popcorn with a permanently damaged heart. 

FOUR YEARS LATER

FIRST DAY WITH DOCTOR BROWN. 

“Some people believe that any form of assistance is… insulting. Whether it be to them as people or… specific traits that they hold that others may find unfamiliar or unsettling. I’m not here to judge or anything of that nature. Just here to help you figure out why specific aspects of your life affect you the way they do.” 

Your arms cross over your chest. Dr. Brown realizes you’re not taking the bait, so she attempts to get you more comfortable. “I think icebreakers could help ease some of the tension. So… What’s your favorit— “

“My dad died last year.” 

Your statement makes her freeze, her smile melting off her face, eyes shifting across her face. She adjusts some papers on her clipboard and clicks her pen. “Alright, hun,” Her gentle tone makes your stomach twist. “Let’s talk about it. What was the relationship with your dad like?” You simply shrug. 

Dr. Brown nods and tries again. “Were you and him close? Your notes say you and your mother were inseparable, just like me and mine.” 

Your nails sink into your cuticles and tears burn in your eyes, “I… I wanted to be. Close.” You whisper. “He wasn’t around like that, though.” 

She scribbles and solemnly nods, “Did he work often?” Your head bobs and droplets stream down your cheeks. 

“I didn’t think I’d care that he died… He was never around growing up, so… like, whatever.” You grumble lamely.

“What did losing him feel like?” 

The end of your mouth curls downward, the familiar searing you’ve grown to loathe, “Like… the world was burnin’.” 

“Elaborate.” She pries softly. 

Another bounce from your shoulders. You readjust in your seat. “I wasn’t even sad. Just…” You trail off, fingers twitching under your arm. 

“Angry. I was angry all the time.” You rush out quietly, face burning with shame. “Just like he was.” You pause when your breath shakes, “I wish I got some of my mom’s traits. My dad’n I are just alike.” You fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater. 

“… You’re not like him— “

“I am— “

“You’re not. You’re trying to put in effort to be better for the future. Could he have said the same?” She’s stern when she speaks.

You’re stumped. You wipe your tears harshly. For the first time, you're at a loss for words. 

WEEK TWO WITH DOCTOR BROWN. 

“Think about the first time you saw your dad lash out. You can elaborate on how you felt, how you reacted, how your environment changed… Anything you feel comfortable sharing.” Your eyes stay glued to your therapist’s couch as you recall the day. Every detail and foul verbiage he directed towards your mother resurfaces and falls at your sock-covered feet. 

It was the morning of your first day of second grade. Your mother spent the entire morning hot-combing your hair, bumping your ends, littering your locks that were bound to recoil in seconds in bobbles and clips. She could tell by your expression that you didn’t like it, but she completed your bright pink outfit with it’s not for you, it’s for me! Sit still!  She never failed to live vicariously through you; Every childhood moment she couldn’t live out was now yours. 

Your father wasn’t around much. He was a truck-driver, on a constant voyage to wherever he was instructed to go, hundreds to thousands of miles away from solace for months — sometimes years at a time. He missed birthdays, holidays, family reunions; There was always a missing space for him somewhere in your childhood home, whether it be his customized keychain that he forgot, shoes he didn’t pack, a hug he didn’t give. Proof of him was always scattered around somewhere, but he was a shadow. A blank memory. 

So, why were your cartoons interrupted by his booming voice in the kitchen? 

You remember turning the television down, only by a couple digits, your ears honing in on every word he screamed at your mother. You were so confused. Half of those words you’d never heard before. Why was he so mad this early in the morning? 

You knew it was serious when your mother retaliated just as loudly, the cracks and shrieks from her belts sounding alarms in your brain. Your mom’s in trouble! Help her! But how could you? You were defenseless against him. It felt like the day flew by as their aggression intensified, curses nearly shattering the glass of your backyard door before everything went quiet. 

But still, your feet carried you to peek behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Your attempts at being discreet were pointless, though. When you saw your mother pinned up against the counter by your father, tears streaming down her face as he spat with every whisper onto her cheek, you gasped. Your memory is washy after that, but you remember your mother wiping her tears and slapping that comforting grin on her face. You wish you didn’t remember how broken she sounded when she said alright, baby! Ready for school? Don’t wanna be late! 

You suffered through social studies, language arts, and math. Your mind wasn’t where it should’ve been; You couldn’t shake the fact that your mother could be hurt and she had no one to tell. You just prayed to yourself as your teacher spoke, hoping that your mom would be on time to pick you up at the end of the day. 

Your eyes travel over the teal incisions of thread on your therapist’s seat. You’re still not used to the sound of your own voice. “It’s… it’s a funny story…” You sound so weak. You retell what you can, all while following the tip of your therapist’s scribbling pen. 

Why did it have to be green? Why are the clicks deafening? 

“Ellie, holy fucking — shit, these look fucking incredible!” Yuki whispers, expression impressed as she snoops over the auburn-haired girl’s shoulder, inspecting the aerial shots she’d taken a few hours ago. Editing is a bitch. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re…” 

“A genius, I know,” Ellie says dryly, a soft grin hidden behind the hand that holds her head up. It’s almost eleven. “M’almost done— “

“Nope! Not happening!” Another voice exclaims from the black lounge chair on the opposite side of the room. “You’re not the one that has to lock up every goddamn night! I ain’t stayin’ here ‘til two again! You got two seconds to finish up before I drag you up outta here.” 

Yuki giggles at Saliyah’s scolding, and Ellie sighs. The pictures look almost perfect. Almost. They’re not there yet! All she needs is an hour… or three—

“What did I say! —“

“Alright, alright, fuck.” Ellie shakes her head before closing all her tabs, pulling her flash drive out of the PC before shutting it down. She stands from her rolling chair and snags her blazer from over the back of it, throwing it over her shoulders and grabbing her work bag, camera already securely inside. She shoves the drive in a random pocket before stretching. 

The two girls already have all of their belongings in hand, more than ready to clock the fuck out. Yuki eyes her slyly, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “Oh, wooow, she’s actually taking orders, now? Listening to instructions for the first time? —“

“Can you stop.” Ellie mutters as she follows the girls descending the stairs. “No!” They both say in unison. Ellie smiles. Does she really stay out that often? There’s no way she’s that stubborn. 

All three girls crack jokes as they vacant the building, ensuring all the lights and equipment are shut off and prepped for tomorrow. It’s an early day. 

“Alright, bitches!” Yuki screams into the darkness, bag swinging as her heels click-clack on the pavement. “I want you bright and bushy-tailed tomorrow! Busy day! No time to fuck arou— “ 

Saliyah yawns, eyes droopy, “Girl… fuck you.” Ellie cackles and rubs her tired eyes. She can’t wait to get these six hours in. And see her baby. Saliyah wraps her arms around Ellie’s neck, muttering see you tomorrow, stinker into her neck. Ellie hums and holds her before watching her get into her vehicle. 

Ellie does the same after both girls leave the parking lot, her head falling back onto the headrest, eyes shutting in exhaustion. Today was insane… Fuck, it was incredible. She's always accepted opportunities to take photos in nature. Landscapes are her prestige, but when she got the offer to take aerial shots of the ocean, she couldn’t say no. Just when she thought she’d never get on an aircraft out of fear…  

The shots were mystical, the monsoon winds carrying the waves in all directions as the foams ripple, a scene straight out of her dreams. The second she got off the helicopter, she got to editing. Staying in late to perfect her captures has become a terrible habit, but what can she say? She loves her job. Thank God her coworkers are as sweet as cherry pie and support her bad habit. Besides tonight, apparently. 

Days like this keep Ellie humbled… Most times. She deserves to boast every once in a while. She often thinks back on her college days, how out of touch chances like these seemed. The number of times she was brushed off by respected professionals because she lacked “necessary resources” was astronomical. But look at her now. She had everything she could ever want: a career she’s passionate about, healthy friendships, and the means to take care of her father. 

Well… she has most things. 

She sighs and starts her vehicle, the diamonds in her Rolex sparkling under the street lights beaming in from the window. The streets are calm. Not normally bustling like they would on a regular day. The clouds are coming in; Rain is due. She’s so excited. 

It’s a calm drive back to her small home. She pulls into the driveway and exits with all her supplies, unlocking and entering her place of peace. 

Meow! Meow! 

Ellie clicks her tongue at Pickle, “Hiii, mama. I’m home.” She drops her bag on the small couch near the front door, bending down to pick her up. “You’re heavy, fuck.” The baby purrs and nuzzles into her neck as they enter the kitchen. She sets her down on the counter and opens the fridge for water. There’s soft scuffling from behind her as she sips. 

Ellie turns to see Pickle playing with a pen, rolling it across granite. She swallows her last gulp before sighing, picking up the utensil, the one memory she kept of you. Your colorful fucking custom ballpoint pen. Pickle nibbles her fingers, trying to snatch it back to play with, but Ellie clicks it over and over. 

“Miss her? Yeah?” She whispers. Pickle licks her index. Ellie will never admit it, but she thinks about you whenever she sees her baby. Yours, too.

She hopes you’re alright.

“You said that going to his funeral was different from your mom’s. Do you mind elaborating?” 

You shrug and scoff. “Shouldn’t everybody feel sad when they parents die?” Dr. Brown mimics you, “Not at all. Every reaction to loss is different and not all reactions are symmetrical.” 

“I was angry.” Your statement is blunt and abrasive. 

“Expound.” 

“I wanted to dig him up and spit on him my damn self.” You say, sharp as razor blades. Brown hums, unfazed by your sudden aggression; What the hell do therapists write on those clipboards? “I just… Seein’ all these fuckers I didn’t know talk about how fuckin’… great he was and how missed he’ll be was fuckin’ infuriating. They don’t know shit about that man or the shit he’s done.” 

Sympathy washes over Dr. Brown’s pupils. “See, your temper is the reason you’re here. You’re not obligated to forgive anybody that wronged you, but…” She’s simultaneously stern and empathic, “You do not get to use those emotions to inflict negativity onto the people around you. You’re perpetuating the same harm you wanted to avoid in the first place.”  

You instantly know what she’s referring to and guilt radiates all the way down to your toes. Amaya… Oh, you miss her. Another good person caught in your violent crossfire. Your last conversation was vile, and you hate yourself every day for the things you said to the only person who unconditionally cared about your wellbeing. Tears brew in your ducts, but you blink them away. 

“I didn’t… know what to do…” You didn’t, so you screamed and shouted and told her to never call your fucking phone again. The last thing you berated was the final nail in the coffin for your relationship. You left me, you’d said over and over until the line went dead. You left me alone! I fucking needed you! 

“No one has the answers for these types of situations. Why we react the way that we do to traumatic events will always be a mystery.” She adjusts in her chair, leg crossing over the other. “What I do know is that… you’re fighting grief. You’re choosing not to experience it, and it’s making you lash out on people who don’t deserve it.” 

But how does one grieve the person that made their life… unlivable? Through rage. Rage in its purest form: unfiltered, erratic, sizzling. It’s unrelenting and unforgiving and holds no bounds, prepared to be released at any moment, no matter who’s present. Your father’s home has seen it all at this point: glass shattering on walls, screaming into the closet where all his clothes hang, punching the pillow he slept on every night. 

Everything was exactly where your father left it, and instead of crying, you relinquished hell on the home he left in your name. You’re still surprised it wasn’t engulfed in flames after his funeral. 

“I just…” Harsh sniffles from you, desperately wiping your tears with damp hoodie sleeves, “I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels… real anymore.” 

“You’re real, baby.” This is the most delicate Dr. Brown has ever sounded, tone hushed. “Your feelings are real, your pain is real, but so is everyone else’s. You have to remember that.” 

You’re listening so intently, “What I'd suggest…” You already know what she’s going to say, and you’re petrified. You sag into your seat. 

You owe those two girls an apology.

Flashes of green race across your memory. The meadows are back, and they’re haunting. 

“Three.” You whisper. 

“Hm?” 

“I owe…” A heavy exhale. “Three girls an apology.” 

OCTOBER, 2013 

Ellie’s officially fifteen. She’d give anything to be home right now. 

She was so happy before she left that morning. Her dad woke her up with a heaping stack of iced chocolate chip pancakes that were the size of her head and happy birthday candles. Laughter echoed through their household, following as they cascaded down the stairs to blast music. Neighbors be damned. Everything was perfect. Up until she was dressed and ready and in the car. 

Ellie’s dad held her hand the entire drive. He didn’t comment on her white knuckles as she gripped his digits when he kissed the back of her hand. It took her a second to exit the car when they arrived, so he said the usual. You got this, kiddo. The extra encouragement provided a boost, for sure. She was able to get to class on time. 

Every time a wad of paper or a sharpened pencil hits the back of her head, she regrets not begging her dad to let her stay home. She’s grown used to the snickers, the shoulder chucks in the hallway, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

English concludes and she’s silently packing when her bag gets yanked out of her hand. 

Missed you, stalker, A kid who Ellie doesn’t fucking remember snarks with a dark grin. Where’s that book you always have—

Tyler! The teacher’s voice booms, the class filling with oooh’s, That's enough. Give her stuff back now. 

C’mooon, I can’t talk to my girlfriend? The remaining students burst into laughter and Ellie’s face burns, swallowing the lump that’s forming in her throat. 

How about I call home? Tyler sucks his teeth at the threat while his friends laugh, dropping Ellie’s things on her desk with little care. She wastes no time to flee, shoving her earpods in and synching each trembling breath with the heavy percussion. 

Her dad comes to pick her up an hour later. 

-

-

A light tap on your shoulder tears your attention away from the lengthy equations on the board. Numbers and letters? Your fucking ass; Absolutely not!

You turn to Amaya, who’s smiling wide, shoving a folded note in your hand, rushing you to open it. Your brows crease as you face forward, unraveling the nest crevices and met with… hearts? Glitter? Pretty penmanship? No man wrote this, thank God. 

Hi. You’re really pretty and nice. Would you like to sit with me during lunch? 

Ceniyah 

… Ceniyah? … Thee Cece? The person you’ve been obsessed with since middle school? What the fuck is going on! 

You turn back to Amaya who’s giggling into her palm, catching glimpses of a shy Ceniyah, who keeps her head down, her beaded braids shielding her face. Your face burns and you jerk back forward. It’s not a fucking prank, what the fuck, what the fuck—

Class drags like a bitch, but the bell finally rings, and everyone hustles, shoving books in their bags, running to the cafeteria. You refuse to move, though. Your iron is low and the person you’re in love with asked you to crunch on celery sticks with her. Alone. You're bound to pass out the second you breathe wrong. 

Hi.

You nearly fly out of your seat at her soft tone. She sounds like an angel. You’re going to die. You jump out of your chair and… take in the beauty that she is. She smells like heaven and her skin is perfect, not a blemish in sight. You hope she can’t see your acne scars… and she’s shorter than you. Are minors allowed to get married? 

H-Hey, You hold up the pink piece of construction paper, I, uh, got your note… It’s beautiful. Her smile shines brighter than the sun. She shakes her head and the chains locked on her clips tinker like fairies. 

Are you kiddin’ me! That mural you helped create was crazy. That was beautiful. 

I love you. 

Your eyes go wide. Did you say that? You don’t think you said that… Her smile turns confused and you realize you said that. You almost stab yourself with your pencil. I mean, like, I love how you appreciate art! Like, not m-many people… do that, and stuff…

She smirks and your heart squeezes with delight, And stuff? She inquires with an arched brow. 

I’d appreciate it if you ladies headed to lunch so I can enjoy mine. Your teacher interrupts, And the next note that gets passed earns a detention. 

A soft, floral-scented hand closes around your wrist, over your beaded bracelets and charms. You grab your bag with your last remaining strength and follow her like a puppy, her flowy skirt brushing against the bottoms of your jean-clad legs. 

Best… day… ever. 

PRESENT 

Ellie needs to start doing finger stretches. Her hands are starting to hurt every time she clocks out. 

She’s sitting at her desk, re-editing the infant photos she took earlier today. The twin girls from earlier were absolute angels, smiling and cooing up at the camera behind their matching pink pacifiers. She's never thought about having children… ever, but it might not be so bad—

Meow! Meow, meow! MeowMEOW—

… Nevermind. Kids are not for her. She can barely get this one to act right. The pictures are cute, though. 

“What’s the matter, mama?” She coos down at a doe-eyed kit-kat. “Hungies?” Pickle jumps up and into her lap, staring at the bright screen that displays Ellie’s editing software. Ellie smirks down at her, “What, you wanna try?” 

Pickle blinks up at her. No thoughts, just kibble. 

She decides to save her progress on the photos and give her munchkin some love. The few minutes of head pats and runs are cut short when she gets a pop-up from her email. She pays it no mind at first, but she zeroes in on the subject with furrowed brows. It simply reads hi… an overdue apology. Ellie blinks a couple times before suspecting spam… But who the fuck names a spam email something that cryptic? What the fuck? 

Ellie opens it… and her body goes numb as her eyes follow each word. 

hi, ellie. i’m not sure how to start this off, but i hope it’s decent enough to sit through. i apologize in advance. 

you probably don’t remember me, but we had statistics and used to live together in college. it was only for two months (i think, kind of a blur) but… yeah. i hope it semi-kinda rings a bell. hi again.

this is a very random time to reach out, and i understand any confusion, but i just wanted to apologize for everything. i was terrible to you. i'd never thought i'd become a judgmental person, but i did. i mocked you, i spoke behind your back, and probably ruined your last year of school, and i carry that regret with me everywhere i go. i’m not sure if i'll ever be able to express my remorse properly. 

i’m trying to do better. i want to do better, but i can’t unless i express it. 

you never have to talk to me again, and i understand if you don’t, but if you ever want to have a conversation with me, i’d be more than willing to come wherever you are to do so. or we can exchange numbers if it’s less of a hassle. i see how busy you are. 

thank you if you took out any time to read this jumbled mess of thoughts. i’m very nervous. i hope you continue to live beautifully. 

sincerely, someone trying to start fresh. 

(p.s. i swear i'm not a stalker. you’re really popping on instagram. congratulations on everything.) 

Ellie wastes no time and unplugs her entire PC, the screen going black. Her heart is racing and water surfaces above her pupils. Pickle purrs in her arms as she backs her rolling chair from under the desk and scurries into her bedroom. She sets the kitty down on her bed and clutches her chest. She forgets to count, forgets to breathe as detailed images of you scatter in her head. 

You… what the fuck.

Ellie feels her hands start to shake, so she squeezes them in a fist as she paces. Her gasps are choked and she’s spiraling into panic; She can’t unsee your teary, brown eyes, how you tried to mask your sadness when she stated she was leaving. She was able to convince herself that she’d never see you again, and it took her so long to be okay with that. She’s grown to be okay without your presence.

The burnt trail she left behind has reignited again. She's sinking, drowning, just like she did years ago. 

WEEK FIVE WITH DR. BROWN

“How do you feel now? Be honest.” 

“… Still shitty… but alright, I guess.” You’re hoarse when you speak. 

“Elaborate. What does alright mean for you?” 

You pick at your fingers, “I’m not… I don’t wanna, like, kill myself… if that’s what you’re asking. The ball’s in their court now, I guess. I’m… I’m just alright.” Your shoulders bounce in a shrug. 

“Has anyone answered?” Your head shakes in denial. “Don’t let that jeopardize your progress. However they react to you contacting them is not on you anymore. They either accept it or they don’t, and they’re valid in both options.” 

Dr. Brown pauses and eyes you skeptically, “What?” You ask. 

She shrugs, “One person isn’t on your making amends list.” 

Your reply is immediate, “Probably for a reason.” 

“Do you remember what you told me during our first meeting?” 

Irritation boils under your skin. “I see where you’re taking this conversation and I’m not messin’ wit’ it… Respectfully. Next topic, please.” 

Her hands raise in surrender, “Ay’, I’m not here to make you do diddly-squat. Merely providing perspective.” 

“Right.” 

“You did beat that girl to a pulp, though. I will say— “

“It’s what she deserved.” You say flatly. “She… humiliated me, and when her bitch left, she tried to come back to me. Get me pregnant— “

“Chile, I’m not tryna hear all that— “

You scoff and fall back in your seat, cushions and pillows molding with the curve of your spine. Dina bringing her happy ass to your father’s home after his death was one of the most infuriating experiences of your entire goddamn life. The second you opened the door, you were met with wildfire and permanently scarred. The least you could do is give her a fucking black eye. 

What you did after that… you’ll never regret. Ever. She can blast you on Twitter all she wants; She’s dead to you. 

Dr. Brown sips on her black tea with a pointed stare, “Yes, ma’am?” You say sarcastically. 

“Watch that tone,” That look in her eye… she meant that. You’ll be quiet. “She was wrong for what she did, but you ain’t innocent.” 

“I’m sorry, but I disagree. That one… she can choke. I don’t care.” Dr. Brown is disappointed by your answer, but frankly, you don’t care. That ship sailed and sank like the goddamn Titanic. 

She seems disappointed in your answer, but she lets it go. “… Alright, then.” 

On the brink of a heart attack perfectly explains how Ellie’s been feeling for the past week. The number of times she’s reread your fucking email is genuinely embarrassing, but she’s weighing her options: she either blocks you or accepts your offer. She's never been so conflicted in her life. She desperately needs a fucking break. 

She never takes Saliyah and Yuki up on their offers to turn up on Friday nights, but her rampant emotions backed her into a corner… and now she’s tipsy on the dancefloor of some rinky-dink club. One night of release wouldn’t hurt. 

Ellie really wishes she had a grilled cheese. They’re quite delicious… Probably not the thoughts she should be having with a hot older woman pushing back on her to fucking T-Pain, but she’s hungry! Liquor gives her the appetite of a fucking rhinosaurous, what can she say! 

Saliyah and Yuki are handling business for her, though, giving the lady’s ass very encouraging slaps every time their hips connect. Ellie probably looks like a fucking dumbass as she pumps her fist in the air like an old man, but she can’t remember the last time she partied. Sue her! 

It’s not until the woman stands upright, her sweaty, nearly bare back pressed against Ellie’s button-up, an arm coming up to loop around her neck, slightly shifting her bow tie that Ellie freezes, her fists clenching even tighter in the air. Her core gives a sharp squeeze when she feels sticky, glossed lips imprint on her throat. Her eyes bulge as she frantically searches for guidance from her friends, but they’re no fucking help, as usual! What the hell is miming sex and eating pussy going to do for her? She can barely breathe. 

Her friends shoot her finger guns in encouragement before heading back to the bar. A tongue darts out to lap up her anxiety-induced sweat, and her body tremors, her hands untwisting to land on the girl’s jean covered hips for leverage. She feels teeth beam on her neck and her entire body flushes. 

“You’re adorable!” Ellie hears her scream over the blasting music. Her tongue jumbles as she searches for a reply, but nothing leaves. She just drops her head onto the woman’s shoulder… and nearly flat lines when she eyes the cleavage sitting taut in her halter top. Her heart’s pulses synch with the ones from her clit when the woman giggles. Ellie’s ninety-five-point six percent sure that her nipples are poking through her shirt. 

Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek when the woman spins to face her, chest to chest, noses almost touching. The woman’s gaze drops to her neck, cunning as a fox as she undoes the first button of her shirt before unraveling the loop of her bow tie. She leans in, wafts of cinnamon flooding Ellie’s nostrils. 

“Come to the bathroom with me?” Ellie’s nodding before the lady can conclude the purr in her ear. Her hand gets snagged and she’s being dragged through the hot crowd, all the way to the back of the club and shoved into the giant restroom. She finally takes in the goddess in front of her: dark hair, plump lips, pretty lashes. The wrinkles by her eyes and laugh lines are sending dopamine alarms in her brain. 

Ellie receives one gentle kiss that makes her hips

grind forward before she hears, “You ever been tied up?” The raven-haired woman mumbles against her mouth. She whines, cheeks burning, “N-No,” she whispers. 

Her perfect teeth shine, “You wanna be?” 

Does she? “I — yeah, I guess?” 

“Put your wrists together,” she hums and Ellie does. Her own bow tie gets looped and twisted around her nimble hands. The woman drops to her knees in front of the trembling girl, massaging her thighs over her jeans, planting kisses all over them, “You gotta name, honey?” 

“Ellie… M’Ellie…” The woman’s hands creep up to unbutton her jeans, the soft hiss of the zipper, “What’s yours?” She only receives a shrug. “Whatever you want it to be.” Her jeans are yanked down seconds later, her… fucking Cartoon Network boxers drenched all the way through. The woman giggles and calls Ellie a cutie pie and her clit jumps. 

Her manicured nails hook under the band of Ellie’s boxers, slowly inching them down until her soft, sticky hairs are on display and her boxers are around her knees, “Gonna let me eat this pussy out, angel?” 

Ellie’s vision whites out. Only for a second, “Y-Yes, ma’am…”

Ellie’s sopping lips and pulled apart, her red, throbbing clit on display for the fucking witch in front of her. “You’re so fuckin’ cute. Anybody ever play with this pretty cunt?” Reality crashes down on her like a boulder as images of you touching her, kissing her flash before her eyes. Her jaw slacks as her words flurry. 

“Just — fuck, just one time.” 

“Yeah?” She coos, massaging gentle circles on her clit, “I'm your lucky second?” Ellie nods frantically. Her knees buckle when a sharp slap lands on her pussy, “Ffuck—“ The strokes on her clit are punishing, fast and non-stopping, the woman’s teeth gritted when she asks, “Steppin’ out on your girl, huh?” 

Ellie moans around her denial while her cheeks glow, “N— agh, s-shit, wasn’t m’girl—“

“Yeah? She touch you like me?” The woman snickers, and Ellie burns red. She’s already so close and she can’t fucking think, “Think m’cummin’—“ Ellie slurs, her tongue thick in her mouth as her walls squeeze down, desperately trying to pull something, anything in as deep as possible. 

“Can feel it. Tell me when.” But Ellie couldn’t. Her orgasm crashes into her like a fucking truck and her body falls forward, legs trembling as it wracks through her in harsh waves. The thighs that try to close are forced open, sharp stings radiating off her skin from the nails that pierce them. Strong suctions attack Ellie’s clit and she sobs, practically riding the woman’s face. Vibrations from satisfied hums stimulate her further, and she swears she’s going to pass out. 

The pleasure builds all over again and her eyes squeeze shut, her hips thrusting forward and into the woman’s mouth. Her optics cycle into her skull when the space right below her clit gets stimulated just right and she rides that edge all over again, but this time, it’s stronger. The woman’s groaning in her pussy like she’s starving, and Ellie can barely garble her warning of another orgasm. 

She squeaks when a gentle finger slides between her walls and she wishes it felt like yours did. Ellie’s bound hands entangle in the soft locks and pull, pushing her head any which way to guide her where she needs. She doesn’t register that she’s whining your name until the woman asks, “Tha’s your girl?” Right on her pussy, and Ellie tips.

She’s so loud when she explodes all over this stranger’s face, wetness coating her inner thighs, dripping all the way down to the bottoms locked around her ankles. You take refuge in the nasty side of her brain as she envisions you between her legs, you making her feel this good. Something about the way you touch her… She thinks it's impossible to replicate till this day. 

When Ellie comes down, she falls against the door, relishing in the steady kitten licks on her twitching bud. One last gentle kiss, and the woman separates from the mess between Ellie’s thighs, chest wet with her juices. 

“Good, honey?” 

Ellie blinks like she’s risen from the dead, short hair clinging to her forehead. She shoots the woman two thumbs up and she chuckles, untying Ellie’s hands and helping her back onto her feet. The woman helps her redress after she cleans herself up, and Ellie’s nose twitches when her own stickiness latches onto her clothes. Her arms fall back to her sides when her belt gets secured. 

She’s winded when she finally speaks, “Um… thanks…” How the fuck does Ellie say goodbye to someone who sucked her soul out?

“No problem…” The woman’s warm hands are soft as they push away damp strands from Ellie’s forehead. The freckled girl nearly purrs. Call her Pickle at this point. 

Ellie steps away from the door so that the fucking seductress can exit. The woman backs away and unlocks the door with a gentle smile. “You should text her.” 

Ellie’s stomach churns. “… What.” 

“The girl that’s not your girl.” That’s the last thing she says before stepping out. Ellie’s heart plummets when her eyes lock with Saliyah’s, then Yuki’s. Her friends gawk at her disheveled appearance, lipstick stains littered all over her button up. Ellie’s not nearly as embarrassed as she should be; All she can think about is you. 

“I think I’m in trouble.” Ellie states mindlessly.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Yuki snickers and pulls Ellie out of the bathroom. She hides her face when she’s met with the long line of people desperately needing to piss. 

WEEK SEVEN WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“You look bright.” 

You feel brighter. Just a little bit. You’ve finally gotten your locs retwisted. 

“Amaya texted me back.” Dr. Brown seems impressed at your statement, happy for you. A small smile makes its way onto your face. 

“Yeah? What’d Ms. Producer say?” 

“She, um… She wants to have dinner.” 

“Oh? And what’d you say?” 

“I said of course and then sobbed until I got here.” Dr. Brown chuckles, “When’s the big meal?” 

“In two days. I got a hotel near where she’s at, so… Yeah. Probably won’t see me for a little.” 

“Good for you, honey.” She says proudly, “Heard from any others?” Your head shakes. It’s not surprising that Abby and Ellie haven’t reached out to you. They don’t owe you any closure, even though it took you a while to accept your karma. 

“Progress is progress, nonetheless.” Her tone reverts back to stern, “Remember… when you see that girl, don’t expect anything to come from it. She’s going out of her way to speak with you, not the other way around.” 

Your head bows shamefully. You're incredibly nervous to see your best friend… if you deserve to call her that anymore. Anxiety isn’t foreign to you, but you’re anticipating the worst for your meeting. You’d give anything to mend your relationship with Amaya, but how’re you going to be able to overcome the guilt of abandoning her?

You can’t remember the last time you went to the campus coffee shop. 

When Amaya sent you her new address in the middle of your old college city, you sobbed for half an hour. You’re not sure why considering the entirety of your graduating class is gone (hopefully in hell); It’s a mix of emotions coming back here. The baristas that used to work here have been replaced with new bushy-tailed freshmen with under eye bags. The coffee isn’t the best, but it’s oddly nostalgic. You feel fucking old just looking at their bright customer service smiles.

Your attention gets snagged away from your steaming cup when a sharp gasp echoes from behind you, nearly spilling your drink all over your flannel when someone calls your name. Anxiety spikes in your gut when you see… 

Who is that? 

“Oh my goodness! Sweetheart!” An older woman with gray hair and a cardigan places her hand on your shoulder and your eyes bulge out of your skull. “It’s so good to see you!”

What the fuck is going on? “You... You, too, uh… ma’am!” You put on the most believable smile you can. Is your memory really this fucking bad?

“Students don’t usually stick around after this long! Our major was pretty small, you know how it is.” Major… Students… Graphic design… Professor! Your memory clicks but her name doesn’t. What the fuck is this woman’s name! You feel like a cunt all over again! 

“I’d love to catch up if you’re sticking around!” 

“Um… yeah, of course.” Her smile is bright when she enters the line. Relief floods through you when she gets to the service counter and one of the baristas says good morning, Professor Meyers! 

You silently thank the Lord. 

-

-

“What brings you back to town, honey!” Professor Meyers asks excitedly. 

“Um… just missin’ school, I guess.” You lie. Fuck this school. 

She swallows her sip of tea before pausing, “Wow. First time I heard that. I didn’t see you at graduation!” 

Your chest concaves and your face burns, “I, uh. I didn’t graduate. I dropped out.” Professor Meyers' expression drops, pity written all over her face. 

“Wh— Why?” 

You shut down her interrogation, “I just… stuff happened. I couldn’t handle everything all at once.” Her eyes sadden and she places a comforting hand on top of yours. 

“I’m so sorry, honey. Whatever it was… I hope it’s okay, now.” 

“Getting through it.” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. The air is suddenly suffocating. 

“Y’know… if you’re interested…” Professor Meyers’ tone is suggesting. Your brow quirks at the woman plotting in front of you. 

“Some of the art profs are always looking for some extra help for the introductory courses. Your rough drafts were always pretty spectacular.” 

Your body burns. “Thank you.” 

She smiles and reaches into her bag in the other chair, pulling out a small card and handing it to you. “This is my contact information. I can set you an interview with Professor Ronson if you’d wanna join the little alumni support team.” 

You accept her card, “But I’m not… I didn’t graduate— “

“Oh, hush now! If you go to college, you’re an alumni! These exclusive rules are outdated!” Professor Meyers stands with her bag and tea. “I gotta run, but please consider it! It could be a great marketing opportunity for you!” 

You're left to simmer in your thoughts as she rushes out of the cafe. You didn’t even have the chance to tell her that you haven’t touched a canvas since your father’s funeral. 

You waltz into the upscale restaurant with tied lungs. Prepping an outfit for tonight was a hassle; You were forced to rummage through your father’s closet for suitable attire. You can’t remember the last time you made a purchase for yourself. 

You feel out of place standing here with the… upper class. They’re dressed to the nines and it’s incredibly intimidating. Your eyes cast downward to your wrinkly shirt and blazer; Why didn’t you bring a fucking iron? 

“How can I help you, miss?”

Your eyes bulge when they lock with the host’s and gut churns with discomfort. Your legs wobble closer to the counter, “I— there’s… reservation…”

The host stares at you with utter confusion, “Oh, sure! What’s the name?” 

“Um… Amaya— “

“Ms. Robinson?” The host’s eyes fill with glitter, “Oh my gosh, when I saw her walk in earlier, I was like, no way she’s actually here. This is crazy! But it was really her! I couldn’t believe— “

Another host interjects, “My apologies, ma’am! She’s a bit, uh, excited. Your table is right this way.” The host begins walking, and your feet move on autopilot, “Would you like a menu?” 

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You won’t be able to keep anything down anyway. 

You move through bustling walkways, ears filled with bouts of obnoxious laughter and corny jokes with each table you pass. 

Your heart stutters in your chest when you see the isolated leather and rosewood booth where Amaya sits, her back to you. There’s two glasses and a bottle of… something on the table. 

“Ms. Robinson! Your guest is here!” 

Amaya, filled glass in hand, cranes her neck and meets your flitting gaze. Her eyes are stagnant, unmoving, and your nerves wrack. She looks fucking immaculate with the slit in her black dress, smokey makeup, heeled

shoes. She’s dressed down for a fucking funeral. Yours. 

You’re actually not ready to see her. You’re not ready at all. 

-

-

“You want a glass?” 

Amaya’s tone is cold. Colder than the dripping neck of the bottle right in front of you. “N-No thank you.” 

She scoffs laughter around the rim, “Shocking.” You scramble for a reply, anything to say to the woman oozing impatience in front of you. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. She sets her glass down with an unsteady clink. 

“You said that already.” She states, brown eyes sharp. “Why are you?” 

You scratch at your ear, trying to mask the tremors in your fingertips, “Because… I — I wasn’t…” 

“I don’t hear from you for months,” She spits, “And then I get a phone call from my drunk best friend screamin’ at me, tellin’ me that I fucking left her to grieve by herself… because I’m selfish and money hungry… Right?”

Angry tears sizzle in Amaya’s eyes as she continues, “And I still come and visit you… only to get a door slammed in my fuckin’ face.” 

You’re completely frozen; You can barely look her in the eye. Your hands are clenched together under the table, nausea creeping up your throat. “I… there’s no excuse for what I did— “

Amaya’s eyes are void, “Why did you do it.” 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you rush out, desperate. You’re losing her, “He — I was just — I couldn’t control myself and I screamed and yelled and blamed everyone for what happened. I was just so mad and I couldn’t stop— “

“Abby called me two days ago.” 

You gasp, “S-She did—?” 

“She told me she hated you.” Amaya says plainly. The remaining shards of your heart dissipate like dust, leaving your mouth when you whimper, “O-Okay.” Tears stream down your cheeks and neck, harsh sniffles filling the small corner of the restaurant. “She hasn’t, um… never mind.” That’s why she hasn’t reached out, you suppose. Well deserved. 

“I don't… hate you, you know that, right?” 

You sob, palms in your eyes, “S’okay if you do. I deserve it.” 

She shrugs, “I don’t. I’m just very disappointed in you.” You nod in agreement, in understanding. You accept that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see someone you considered a sister. 

“I’m so sorry, May— “

“M’gonna head out. I’m,” She wipes a tear and grabs her bag, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I… I don’t hate you.” You cry as you watch Amaya gather herself, stand, and leave without another word. You heave and attempt to dry your face with the fresh napkin but they won’t stop flowing. 

It’s difficult, accepting that you’re undeserving. That you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you can’t escape. It’s dark and cold and you’re desperate for comfort but it never comes because you chased it all away. You eye the tall bottle that sweats; Very tempting, but you leave it where it stands. The blame for your downfall is yours to take; The only reward you can receive now is from your upkeep. To dig yourself out from beneath the maggot-infested dirt. To resurface and recover what you can. 

You’re unsure how long you sit here crying. Devastation sets hard in your tummy when you stand to leave the restaurant, ignoring the judgmental stares from the annoying, old fuckers that wouldn’t stop glaring at you. 

The air outside is fresh and soothing as you walk, right past your parked car. Past the young people mingling and taking pictures. Past the girl doing graffiti on the old building across the street. Something beats in your chest when you eye her spray paint cans, brushes in her hand, the bright colors all over her bare arms. Her passion is evident, even from a distance, and you miss that. That feeling that takes over when you create something that no one else can replicate. Her style is unique to her just like yours is to you. 

Color sparks in your soul for the first time in a year, and you know what you have to do tomorrow morning. 

taggiesss yasss n slayyyy @dyk3ang3l @ellieloml @inf3ct3dd @fromminaa @womenofarcane @sawaagyapong @mina-281 @aouiaa @bbglmfao @i00rii @sakiigami @starologist @southelroys @diddiqueen @trackinglessons @ellieswhorcrux @villainousbear @p4ison1vy @tohoko @yuckyfucky @dollyfleurs @elsbunny222 @sevsbimbo @amiorca @alittlextrahoney @gato-chino @topiatwin @r3wbeef @elliesatchel @muthafuckingstargirl

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.4

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slowburn, angst

Summary: Daryl starts changing, and Beth brings up the embarrassing memory of your kiss with Daryl back at the farm. The Governer has his final attack, and you crash at a church.

Notes: Starts with Beth at the prison, flashback to super awkward kiss with Daryl, ends with Beth at the hospital. ):

The change was subtle at first, but that doesn't mean you didn't notice it. You just ignored it in the desperate hopes that it wouldn't get any worse.

You had quite a few months of peace. Maybe half a year? You couldn't be sure at that point, but you did know that spring had turned to fall, and with it the idea of permanently residing in the prison becoming something you were content with. You still kept to yourself and Daryl, but you did pick up some extra chores. Instead of the bare minimum you chose jobs you could do outside, or jobs Daryl had taken. If you weren't tending to the gardens, you were with him in the woods, hunting or scavenging, even foraging on the occasion when prey was scarce. 

“Are you and Daryl together?’ Beth had asked so bluntly that you didn't have the mental capability to laugh or curse her out. You stopped picking cherry tomatoes and furrowed your brows in confusion. 

“Why would you ask me that?” 

Beth had a tight and timid smile, shrugging her shoulders and placing another cucumber in her basket. “You two are always around each other, that's all.” 

You shook off the feeling of vulnerability and sucked your teeth. “No. He's just the only one around here who I can stand.”

“Can you stand me?”

You looked at her over the row of chest high plants, seeing her hesitant expression. “Yes. I wouldn't’ve let you join me if that wasn't the case.” It wasn't a lie, you didn't mind being around Beth, even if you think she was the one of the weakest and most naive. Eventually you'd come to the realization that you had her all wrong, in fact, she was stronger than you. At least in the sense of emotional capability. 

Later that week she would end up giving you unwanted advice. She claimed that building walls and keeping everyone out besides yourself would kill you one day, much like the real world, you needed to allow yourself to rely on and trust others. You'd grow angry at her then, lashing out and telling her to mind her own business, you didn't need a therapist. She soon managed to turn into the first person you would apologize to and seek forgiveness from. 

Her questioning of the relationship between you and Daryl had your mind wandering to that night back at her fathers farm.

It was late. Daryl was still recovering from his gunshot wound but he wanted out of that damn house, so he settled for the next best thing to his tent, the back of the RV. Carol insisted he stay nearby, which you agreed to silently, and he begrudgingly accepted. 

You brought him a plate of dinner and sat in the chair next to him, sliding it over before taking one of the small boiled potatoes and popping it in your mouth.

“The hell you wearin’?” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Both pairs of pants were dirty and i didnt feel like walking around camp with my ass out.” You glanced down at the modest dress you’d been leant. You didn't mind it all that much, it was scratchy and tight, but it was kind of pretty. It was a warm yellow dress that ended below your knees with little white flowers and dots. You never really got to wear dresses growing up. 

“Huh.” Daryl muttered and raised an eyebrow at the imagery, raising his fork of chicken and carrots to his mouth. “Yeah. Don’t need another reason to knock Shane on his ass.”

“Shane? He hates me.” You snorted. “Would probably put a bullet in my skull if he could get away with it.”

“He’s still a man. Don’t matter how you feel about a woman, s’all the same seein’ her naked.”

“Ew, Daryl.” 

“S’true.”

“Yeah? What about you? You wouldn’t see me that way.”

Daryl’s eyes shot up from his plate. He was silent, and that alone had your heart racing, your lips parting, your mind swimming in hundreds of different thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak. 

“I ain’t no pillow biter.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Means I’m not a homosexual. Course I’d… can ya jus’ shut up?”

“I wasn't even speaking.” You tried not to laugh at the way Daryl said the word homosexual, like it was some exotic foreign mystery to him. It wasn’t hateful or disgusted in the way his brother would refer to them. 

It was quiet for a moment before you noticed he was wincing when he’d chew. 

“You hurting?” You asked, already reaching in your side pouch for the small baggie of painkillers Hershel had given you to give to Daryl when needed. 

“Nah. M’fine. Quit worryin’ so much.”

You scooted around the table until you could squeeze in beside him. He grunted in annoyance and slid over to give you more room, his eyes on the hem of your dress at your knees.

“Surprised you haven't scratched that thing off already.” You snorted and reached out to gently peel the bottom of his bandage up after he gave you a nod of approval. “Lookin’ good. Another surprise.”

“Ain’t no damn dog, haven’t been touchin’ it.” He rolled his eyes, trying not to feel uncomfortable  with the way your thigh pressed against his. After all these years of knowing you, feeling perfectly comfortable snuggled all up with you in the same tent, now was the time his body chose to acknowledge the fact that you were a woman?

He begrudgingly took the two small white pills from your hand and crunched them up in his mouth. He was eager for the painkillers to hopefully kill what little libido he had in him. 

It did its job, taking away the aching and throbbing from his skull, warming his body and reminding him why Merle used to love those things. He was suddenly optimistic, relaxed, filled with a fuzzy warm feeling of euphoria. Daryl cleared his throat and drug his eyes up to your face, watching as you snuck a stolen blueberry past your lips.

He acted without thinking and kissed you. It was clumsy, weird, awkward, all the things you’d expect from a boy's first kiss. You didn't move at first, your eyes wide and your hand hanging midair. You were too stunned to move. 

Daryl pulled back as if he’d been slapped. He muttered something, his face hot and red, waving his hand to signal you to leave. You were still too stunned to move. It took him raising his voice for you to snap out of it, dozens of thoughts and emotions flooding you all at once, fear, regret, hope, a stomach full of butterflies and your heart stuck in your tight throat. You muttered an apology before leaving.

Life loves giving you the shit end of the stick. 

That was another one of your problems, due to your near constant state of being a real victim growing up. Life had groomed you into an unhealthy behavior of always thinking you were the one who had it the worst, no matter what.  In reality you had it pretty good. After the Governors final attack you weren't one of the unlucky many that went through further trauma. You found a church after a while of being by yourself and broke into it. 

It was just your luck that the only human inside of it was a cowardly priest. He was thrilled to have someone like you with him after being alone so long, even though he didn't show it, you were a skilled hunter and offered food and protection in exchange for secure shelter. He also appreciated that you didn't speak much, and never questioned the suspicious markings and scratches around the exterior of all the windows. 

He'd complained once about your use of language in the church, and you responded by a snarky middle finger. 

You could've used a good wake up call, as sick as it was to say. Maybe if you'd been in Daryl's place, growing close to a girl such as Beth and then losing her, maybe you would've changed. Or if you were in Michonne's place, forced to watch the boy you'd come to love dance a hair away from one of the worst fates possible. Shit, maybe even Maggie, maybe if you were the one who had to go through hell and back to find your husband, maybe then you'd go through the emotional torture you so desperately needed for positive character growth. 

Life didn't work that way though, and you had it easy. So easy that the boredom was quick to become your hardship. 

“You got any booze here?” You asked as you laid on your back beside him in the pews, sharpening your clip point knife on Daryl's borrowed whetstone. 

“No.” He answered quickly, not looking up from the Bible in his hands. 

“Cigarettes? I'll be out soon.”

“I don't smoke.”

“Any of your old prescriptions? I know your type, I bet your bathroom cabinet was full of valium.” You took a jab at his timid and nervous personality.

“I'm sorry, no… I don't like taking pills. I don't even take Advil for headaches-”

“Do you have anything here that'll keep me from blowing my brains out?” 

Gabriel looked up then, holding a look of surprise and distaste that he didn't even try to hide. “I… I may have some games from the children's Sunday school classes.”

To the shock of both of you, you nodded after thinking it over for a moment. Gabriel hadn't expected that answer, but he got up and led you to the room anyway.

Neither of you believed that night would be the night that you started to like each other. The boredom had grown so unbearable that those stupid little games he had seemed like playing San Andreas on your father's PlayStation 2 for the first time all over again. It wasn't just the first time Gabriel saw you laugh, it was the first time you'd actually laughed in a long time, and it wasn't at the expense of others, you genuinely had fun. 

“I could teach you.” He had said after you made a joke about going to the darkest depths of hell after smoking and swearing in church. 

“Teach me what?” You snorted, flicking ash from your cigarette.

“About the Bible. How to change.” 

You laughed then, shaking your head. “I don't know, father. Don't think so. But, if you'll let me, I can teach you how to make meth.”

His eyes widened. “W-what? You know how to do that? No, I- no, what?”

“Just a joke. I'd hate to see you on crystal. You're already so jittery and anxious.” 

He grinned sheepishly then and you had a good night. A great night. 

All it took was reuniting with Daryl to snap you back to reality. 

You'd searched for him as long as you had daylight every single day since arriving at the church. Even though the first few days most of your time outside was spent hunting, searching for signs of Daryl or his group was your main priority. Catching rabbits and squirrels was just lucky for Gabriel. 

It was off putting having Gabriel return with nearly the entire inner group on your doorstep. Your arms were covered in squirrel blood and you had twigs all in your hair, swinging open the church doors with your boot, a cigarette hanging between your lips. The skinned squirrel dropped from your grasp as you saw them, over a dozen faces all turned to you, all at once. 

Daryl hugged you with an exhausted yet relieved grin on his lips. You remained frozen, too confused and shocked by their sudden arrival. He ended up having to move your body out of the doorway so everyone could enter. 

“Was starting to think I lost you for good.” You commented as you stabbed a plastic fork into your hot can of peaches, stretching your legs in front of the campfire. 

“Nah. I told ya, I ain't leavin’.” 

“So, what happened? You all get on the bus and leave my sorry ass?” You teased, enjoying the sweet taste of fruit, even if it was canned. 

Daryl gave you the rundown, about Beth, the group he stuck with, going to Terminus, and the new members who claimed their guy was a big shot fancy scientist who had a cure.

“That's bullshit if I've ever heard it.” You tried to ignore the gnawing in your chest at the information that Beth had been taken. That was just another sick and uncomfortable reminder that Daryl was truly it for you. Everyone would leave, but not Daryl. Never Daryl.

“I dunno. Seems pretty legit.” Daryl grunted, finishing one of the squirrels you'd caught earlier that day. “So what happened?”

“What happened?”

“Yeah, after the shit show. What happened?”

You sighed, impaling your last peach slice. “I walked for a real long time looking for you. Found the church and busted in, this guy was cowering in the back with his ass half way through the floorboards.” You pointed over your shoulder at Gabriel, who was so nervous speaking to Rick you could see his fingers twitching. 

“And I never left. Used it as a place to sleep without bugs crawling up my nose or walkers nibbling my feet.”

Daryl snorted, staring off into the flames of the campfire before asking another question. “You look for me?”

“I tried.” You chose to leave out the part where you ‘tried’ twelve hours a day, seven days a week. “Couldn't find a damn thing. No human tracks besides ole boy. Needs a little less Bible preaching and a little more stealth training.” You paused then, looking at Daryl, who was still staring  off into the flames. “Did you look for me?”

“For a while, yeah. Me and Beth.” It took him a moment before he went on. “Lotta shit happened after that. But I kept lookin’. Was lucky we ran into your friend there surrounded by walkers. Made lookin' a lot easier.” He chuckled dryly and you nodded. You suddenly thought about Daryl back in Atlanta, back at the farm. The way he looked for Sophia, day and night, subconsciously using her as his redemption for not being able to find Merle. Did he look for you the same way? Or was it a more of a ‘keep an eye out’ type of search? 

Deep down you knew the answer. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. 

You didn't have Daryl back long before he was gone again. He came back a while later with yet another new human, some scrawny kid claiming he knew where Beth was. 

It was surprising to you that Rick didn't suggest you just stay back at the church. He actually insisted you accompany them on their search for Beth. That was until you realized Carl and Judith would both be left behind with Gabriel, which would have left you as one of the only adults. That pissed you off a little, giving you the impression that he thought of you as some psychotic loose cannon, or that you weren't capable of protecting them. After you cooled down you accepted the fact that you wouldn't trust someone like you either to watch your only two children, the last thing he had of his late wife. 

Rick had come to slightly regret bringing you when you tormented one of the ‘cops’ they were keeping hostage, blowing cigarette smoke in his face while he was immobile and randomly smacking a handkerchief against his face to annoy him. Rick must've said something to Daryl because instead of thinking your antics were absolutely hilarious, he discreetly pulled you aside and told you to ‘leave the damn man alone’. 

Blowing a little smoke in someone's face was nothing compared to what you wanted to do when you watched Beth get shot in front of you. 

It had only hit you that day when you finally saw your sweet pain in the ass again, you felt optimistic, relieved, her positive attitude was something you deeply needed. It was quickly replaced by feral anger, hissing, spitting, biting, clawing, the feeling of arms belonging to Tyreese wrapping around your torso to drag you away from the bloody mess you'd made of the nearest cop. 

You were grateful for your rage, it was so strong and numbing that you weren't able to cry. 

Oh, but how Daryl cried. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

[pandorasprongs]

JAMIE TARTT | comfort crowd, you can always count.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.5k

SUMMARY: reader gets cheated on and jamie, whose trying to be a better friend and person, decides to help her out by hiding her phone for the day.

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, language

A/N: first time writing something full length but i hope you guys enjoy this! sorry for the length but feel free to give any comments! (also, pretend that jamie continued to see dr. sharon after she leaves the team like ted did) EDIT: changed the title which is now based on the song comfort crowd by conan gray :)

As a physical therapist for a football team, there could be a multitude of reasons why a coach would call you down during training. Maybe someone twisted their ankle or landed on their foot the wrong way. Maybe it was because they did that stupid red string drill again. You really didn’t want to explain all over again that treating that was not your area of expertise. 

Luckily, everything seemed to be going smoothly as you walked onto the field and find the team doing their regular drills. All, except one player. You find Ted and Jamie in the middle of an argument — well, more of Ted joking around while Jamie was whining about something, the usual — and you approach them.

"Hi Coach, Jamie." You greet them, before asking Ted why he called for you. Without a verbal response, he surprises you by tossing an object to you. You swiftly catch it and dodge Jamie as he tries to reach out and grab it. You look down to see Jamie's phone.

You turn curiously to Ted who finally explains what is going on. "Our star player here," he rests his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, "managed to sneak his phone onto the pitch during training." At this point, poor Jamie is practically scowling. 

You try and hide your amusement, though can't help but let out a small laugh. Even with how he was acting right now, he still looked cute. Objectively, of course. Everyone on the team knew you had a boyfriend back home, so none of them ever tried something. That didn't mean you couldn't admire the aesthetics of the players. Well, a player. 

You started working at the club a little after Jamie went back to Man City, but everyone was pretty clear about their grievances with the guy, especially after the team got relegated. You vaguely remember Colin saying something about a jaundiced worm? So when he returned, you made sure to steer clear of him outside of your work obligations. Your feelings towards him were more apathy than anything else. But, once he started to get along with the team, that was basically your go signal to be nicer to him. 

In truth, you probably knew more about Jamie than you needed to, given how often he visits the treatment room. Even if it was just a small cramp or ache, he would request a quick check-up or PT session to make sure he can still play. During those times, you would end up chatting with him and talking about whatever was going on in both of your lives. That's probably why Ted decided to give the phone to you since he knew that you were one of the only people Jamie wouldn't wrestle to get it back.

"Now, why don't you hold on to that and Jamie can swing by your office to get it after practice, yeah?" Ted instructs you and you're more than happy to oblige.

"Sure thing, Coach." You smile as you slide his phone into your back pocket. You turn to Jamie who now has a defeated look on his face. "See you later, Jamie."

"Yeah, yeah," He responded, as you leave to go back to the treatment room. 

A few hours later, their training finished and the team was getting ready to go home. You contemplated going down and returning Jamie's phone yourself, but why make it easier for him? Since none of the players needed any treatment that day and all the records were backed up and updated, you spent most of the day aimlessly scrolling through your phone and the computer in the office. 

You liked looking through social media to see what your friends and family were doing back home. It was hard being away from them for so long, but it was always a dream of yours to go abroad. When you got the offer to work for Richmond, you just couldn't pass it up. Luckily, the daily calls and messages from your parents, friends, and your boyfriend Matt, helped treat the homesickness a little bit. Though recently, Matt's were much more scattered. You didn't think much of it, assuming that he was just busy at work.

You were starting to pack up for the day when you hear a ping from your phone. You expect it to be a message from Matt checking in on you, but instead, see a message from one of your best friends. ‘Hey! Heard about you and Matt, I'm so sorry. I know you're busy with your new life in England, but I'm always here if you need to talk.’

Both confusion and anxiety fill you as you finish reading the text. Why would she be sorry? You send a quick ‘???’ before three dots appear on her end.

‘I'm at a party rn and I saw Matt with a new girl? He said you guys broke up ages ago.’

You feel your heart racing. There's no way he would do that. It's Matt, for Christ's sake! You've been together since college and your relationship has survived worse things than long distance. Your lack of response prompts your friend to send another message — ‘I'm so sorry this is how you found out’, — along with a picture this time. Your hands are trembling as you open it and you see Matt in the background making out with another girl. 

That was enough to break the dam. You feel tears pooling in your eyes blurring your vision. You turn off your phone and just let the tears fall. It was already late, so there was less chance of someone walking in on you at such a low moment. Except, you forgot that you were still holding onto something.

Jamie, your most frequent visitor, didn't bother to knock and simply barged in. "Okay! Training’s over, it's time to return what's mine. Where are you keeping it hostage?" He greeted jokingly, which you couldn't even chuckle at.

You grabbed his phone from your desk drawer and reached out your hand for him to take it without even looking up. He accepts it gratefully and you swear you even hear him give it a kiss. He continued to celebrate before asking if you looked through it by any chance. You shake your head, more furiously than you intended, and hope that it was enough to get him to leave. But Jamie knew you better than you thought. Your slumped position and the fact you hadn't looked at him this whole time were good hints, but when he heard your quiet sniffles, he knew for sure.

"Fuck, are you crying?" You shake your head again, even more desperate for him to leave. Yes, you were comfortable around him, but having a breakdown in front of someone is at least a level 5 friendship type of thing.

You feel him spin the chair to make you face him. You still don't look up from your position, continuing to pick at your fingernails. He crouches down to your level and places his hands on your shoulders to try and comfort you. When you still don't look up at him, he finally asks, "What happened?"

"Just some stupid shit, Jamie. Don't worry." You respond shakily, as you try and wipe the tears from your eyes. 

"It can't be that stupid if you're crying at work about it." You let out a weak laugh and finally look up at him. His features are much softer than usual, even giving you a smile as you face him. Not his usual cocky smirks he does when he scores a goal or when he jokingly flirts with you. A genuine smile, one that helped ease your sadness a little bit.

At this point, Jamie has already seen your puffy face that for sure has obvious tear streaks, — you always hate how red your face gets when you cry — so how much of a stretch would it be to just tell him what's going on? You reach back for your phone which still has your friend’s chat open and hand it to him.

It takes a few seconds before Jamie realizes what's going on. "Oh, fuck."

He returns the phone to your hands, but not a second later, he's already enveloping you in a hug. It's hard to ignore how this is the first time you've ever had physical contact with Jamie outside of your PT sessions and it's even harder to not feel embarrassed of the reason why.

"I'm so sorry," He whispers and you can't help but laugh as you remove yourself from him.

"Why are you saying sorry? It's not like you're the one who cheated on me. It's that dipshit over there in the photo." You emphasize the last word as you return your phone to the table. "I don't even know why I held on so long. I just hoped that we could make it, you know? We’ve been together for years!" You start, trying to hold back tears as you explain it to Jamie. "What makes it more shitty is that he didn't even have the balls to break it off with me first."

You sigh, "You know what, maybe it's me. Maybe I shouldn't have gone halfway across the world without him. If I didn't, then—"

"No, fuck that!" Jamie interrupts you as he stands up, his eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. "If anyone's at fault, it's him. You didn't do shit, so stop blaming yourself."

You can't help but be surprised at how passionate Jamie is about this, his tone reminding you of Roy. It must've shown on your face because Jamie takes a step back. "Sorry if I shouted,"

You laugh. "No, it's fine. You're right, fuck him." You get up from your chair and start collecting your stuff. Once you're ready to leave, you turn once again to the football player. "Thanks, by the way. See you tomorrow, Jamie."

As you make your way to the door, Jamie stops you. "Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Oh, I usually just walk." You respond, rubbing your nose.

"No way. Come on, I'm driving you." Jamie declares and before you can even protest, he's grabbed your hand and dragging you out of the treatment room.

"Jamie, I am perfectly capable of walking home." You remind him as the two of you make it to the parking lot. It is already dark out and definitely colder than you expected, but you remain unfazed. You didn't want to burden the football player anymore, but when had Jamie ever not been stubborn?

"I'm sure you are, but I've been working on being a good person, so who am I to let a girl walk home alone this late?" When Jamie opened the door of the passenger side for you and did a small bow, you rolled your eyes.

"You know, most good people don't say they're good people." You point out as you finally give in and sit in the car. 

"I told you I'm working on it." He reminds you as he closes your door. You chuckled, as you make yourself comfortable. You knew that all the players including Jamie had expensive and extravagant cars, but you didn't realize how nice it was even in the interior. 

You don't have enough time to admire the inside though, as Jamie gets into the driver's seat and starts the car. He instructs you to put on your seatbelt in his usual Mancunian accent which makes you laugh. The last time someone reminded you to put on your seatbelt was when your mom was visiting and you had to take a taxi back to your flat.

You input your address on his phone and finally leave the parking lot. The drive to your house was quiet, and you weren't sure if it was an awkward or comfortable silence. Maybe somewhere in between, given that Jamie didn't seem too bothered by it. It took around 10 minutes before either of you said anything since you spent that time looking through your phone.

You went through your friends' posts and notice a lot of them were at that party. In almost all of them, Matt was with that girl. You don't even recognize her, so if she was at that party, it meant that he brought her with him.

You decide to take your mind off it and finally asked something that has been on your mind since you left. "Jamie, why are you being so nice to me?"

You see him get ready to give his whole "trying to be a better person” speech and stop him. "I get you are trying to improve yourself, but you didn't have to offer to drive me home."

"Did you really want to walk home tonight?" He glances at you quickly, before turning back to the road. Truthfully, you didn't. 

Despite having lived in London for a few months, it still took an abnormal amount of focus to navigate the town. Not to mention the care it takes to make sure you don't get hit by a car by looking at the wrong side. You were in no state to make it home by yourself.

Noticing your silence, Jamie took that as your answer. "Look, we're friends, yeah? As my friend, I wouldn't want to leave you roaming the city by yourself and not being sure if you'd get home safe." You smile but keep your head straight.

He adds, "Plus, you just got your heart broken. Part of me’s worried you'd just end up in a pub and fuck someone to get over him."

You turn to him shock and punch his shoulder. "Jamie, is that what you think of me? That I'd go and find the first guy willing to sleep with me and go home with him?"

"It's what I would do!" You roll your eyes. Sometimes, you forget that the old Jamie is still in there, the him that can be a total prick. Most of the time he only came out during games, but turns out there isn’t a definite on-and-off switch for it.

"Well, I'm not Jamie fucking Tartt. But you're right, I probably would've gotten lost and ended up in a bar." You finally admit and turn to look out the window and sigh.

Jamie must've sensed something and quickly apologizes. "Hey, I didn't actually mean that. I know you wouldn't find a one-night stand. I mean, to be honest, I haven't had one in a while either, so I don't know why—"

You cringe and urge him to stop. "Jamie, it's fine. I know you don't mean it like that." He relaxes and nods his head, causing you to let out a small laugh at how nervous he was to make you feel bad. 

"But thank you," You say as he turns the corner to your flat. As he stops the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to him. "for you know, being a good friend."

You see the footballer give you a smile, a genuine one like before. Soon after though, he asks, "Could I get that in writing? I need proof for Dr. Sharon."

You roll your eyes as you get out. "Good night, Jamie." 

You walk into the building and only hear the car leave once you close the door behind you. You go up to your flat and you've never been so happy to see your bed. You take off your shoes but don't even bother changing. You spend the next few hours scrolling through whatever posts you could find that have Matt in them.

—

It's been a few weeks since that night, but your habits are even worse than before. Checking Matt's posts, looking at what his friends are saying, even stalking his new girlfriend's account was basically part of your daily routine. She's fucking beautiful too, much to your dismay. 

It's even starting to affect your work. If he hadn't shrieked in pain, you would've twisted Richard's foot off. All you were thinking about that session was the post you saw. It was a picture of Matt and the girl with the caption, ‘my favorite girl ;)’

You apologized profusely to Richard and check to make sure you didn't do too much damage. You spend the rest of the session thinking about something else. Anything else, like how nice the weather has been. How well the team's doing. How empty your bedroom wall looks now that you took off all the pictures with Matt. Fuck.

The next day, you head to the locker room to talk to Richard and to also see if anyone needs any treatment. You sit on the bench nearest to the door as you wait for the whole team. You quickly greet the players passing by you, but can't take your eyes off your phone. That is until someone rips it from your grasp.

"Hey!" You look up to see Jamie in some of his usual clothes. Dark tie-die hoodie, his 'ICON' hat, and the fanny pack where he puts your phone in. He ignores your protest and simply replied, "You're blocking my locker."

"Jamie, give it back!" You stand up and try and grab his bag, but he quickly takes it off and throws it to Ted, who had just walked out of his office. He catches it and turns to the two of you in surprise.

"You mind keeping that in your office, Coach? Need to keep this one," Jamie slings his arm on your shoulders, "away from it."

You try and plead with Ted, but he was already throwing it to Beard who shoved it in his desk drawer and locked it without question. You plop down on the bench in defeat, but not without glaring up at Jamie.

"Jamie, I will never forgive you for this." You say as seriously as you can, but it only makes him laugh. 

"You'll get it back at the end of the day." He says as he moves to take off his hoodie. You leave him to get ready and head to Richard to give him some ointment for his ankle if it bloats (you can't help but notice him flinch when you come near), before heading to the treatment room to get your treatment bag. If you weren't going to have your phone this whole time, might as well find entertainment on the pitch.

You reach the pitch and settle down next to Will, who was setting up. You make small talk with the kitman as the team starts to make their way to the pitch for training. You watch Jamie pass by, who then turns around and stops in front of you. "What are you doing down here?"

"Do you really have to ask?”

"So you'll be here for all of training?" He asks, and you nod in response. "Okay then, enjoy the view." Jamie winks at you and you only roll your eyes, as he gives you a confident smirk before joining his teammates.

If he had done that a month ago, you wouldn't have batted an eye. It's just Jamie being Jamie, right? But after breaking up with Matt and how kind Jamie was that night, it's almost like his little habits have a new meaning. 

Walking with you when you arrive at the same time, bringing you his extra pastries when he gets free muffins from the girl who runs the nearby bakery, and even what he did today. It pissed you off, yeah, but you had to admit that it was for the better. Can't be tempted to check Matt's page if you don't have anything to check it with, right? 

But you shake it off. Jamie's just a friend, a really attractive, kind, and fun to be around friend. Even if you were starting to like him — which you weren't, — it didn't matter. Jamie didn't see you like that. He's just trying to be a better person and him helping you was just a way for him to do that.

You spend the rest of your morning watching training, either being entertained by their game or looking out for any of the players getting injured. It was pretty light drills given that they had a game soon. If you weren't doing that, you were listening to Will talking about what he planned on doing during the weekend. He even invited you to a nice jazz bar, which you kindly declined.

Once they were out for their lunch break, you leave your treatment bag there since you'd be back anyway for the afternoon training. You wave goodbye to Will before walking back inside the building. As some of the players pass by you, you compliment how well they're doing in training which is met by a chorus of thank you's.

You almost open the door to the treatment room, when you hear someone call out your name. You see Jamie jogging towards you. "How's the phone drought going?"

"Well, I would've used it to call my best friend who is halfway across the world and eat lunch with them, but as you know," you shrug, watching a hint of guilt grow on the football player’s face. "I'm kidding. What's up?"

"Do you wanna go out for lunch? Keeley said there's a nice Italian place down the road from here." He explained.

"Did she also say to post it on your socials?" You add and when he takes a second to answer, you both laugh. "Sure, sounds fun. Though, I'm not taking any pictures of you." Jamie exaggerates his disappointment, placing his hand on his chest and groaning as if he's just gotten shot.

Jamie puts on a sweatshirt to hide his kit — as if that's the only way people would recognize him — before the two of you head over to the restaurant. It was way too packed to get a table so you guys decide to order take-out and eat it at your office instead.

You guys make your way back to the building, talking about the most random things. Jamie mentioned how a fan had seen him at a restaurant and spent fifteen minutes explaining and analyzing how the footballer could've won Lust Conquers All. You mentioned how much you loved Vanilla ice cream because when your parents would buy the Neapolitan ice cream, — the 3-in-1 deal was hard to resist — it was the only flavor your brothers hadn't completely devoured by the time you got some.

It didn't stop when you made it back to the building and had your lunch. As always, Keeley knew the perfect places to endorse. The Carbonara pasta from the place was absolutely delicious and after trading some for Jamie's meal, the Chicken and Mushroom Risotto might even taste better. 

You had taken a picture of the food before you started eating, but Jamie needed a picture of himself with the food for his post. Despite your statement earlier, you decide to take a picture for him anyway, for Keeley. As you took multiple shots, you started joking around to get him to make a genuine smile. Jokes ranged from ones about the sounds his teammates made during sessions and ones about the old celebration videos of Ted. You finally get a satisfying picture and call Jamie over. He leans over your shoulder and you feel the heat rising in your face. 

"Looks good," He says before sitting back down in his chair. You return his phone to him and continue to eat your Carbonara before you hear a shutter sound. You look up to see Jamie taking pictures of you. You try and (fail to) cover the camera as it’s your turn to laugh at the jokes Jamie was making. "Here, some photos of you if you feel like posting. You look nice,"

You try and ignore the feeling you get after he said that. "Thanks, Jamie. You mind sending those to me when I get my phone back?" He chuckles and nods.

The two of you continue to spend the lunch together till you had to get back on the pitch. It was only while walking did you realize that you didn't think of Matt the entire lunch time. You don't know if Jamie had been doing it on purpose, but if he was, he was doing a great job at helping you forget him. Like a good friend.

The second half of training was even more relaxed than the first, so no emergency situations for you to deal with. Sam was getting cramps after training though, so you decided to have a session with him before leaving for the day. You wait outside till most of the players had changed to find Jamie.

You see him fastening his fanny pack as he leaves the locker room and you reach out to grab it. But he's quicker. "Nope, don't you have a PT session with Sam? Your day isn't over just yet." That said football player was still changing, so you still had some time.

"Aren't you heading home soon?" You continue to try and reach over Jamie's broad chest to take it but to no avail.

"I can wait. Look, Sam's ready." You turn around to see Sam in a nice collared shirt and his spare training shorts. He'd only brought jeans to change and it's pretty difficult to treat him in them, so you'd asked him to wear whatever shorts he had. 

You give him a smile and lead him to the treatment room, not without giving Jamie a less-than-polite gesture. You hear him chuckle — “Guess you really want me to be a prick, huh?” — as you close the door behind you.

Sam said the cramps weren't too bad, but you still wanted to be thorough in case they came back later tonight. It took around 45 minutes, and Sam seemed much better afterward.

"Thank you so much," Sam said as he sat up from his position. "and sorry for holding you up, I know how much you want to go home before leaving for the game tomorrow."

"It's alright, Sam. It's my job to make sure you guys are fit and ready for all your matches. Good luck, yeah?" Sam thanks you again and hops down from the treatment table, grabbing his jacket and heading out. You stretch your back and relax before you hear the door open again.

You don't have to look up to know who it is. "Thank God, where's my phone, Tartt?"

Jamie lets out an exaggerated gasp. "We back to last-name basis now?" He tosses your phone to you, and you find multiple messages waiting. You decide to check them on the way home and slide your phone into your back pocket.

"I already sent the pics I took earlier, plus my own, in case you ever want to print it and hang it on your wall." You give up even rolling your eyes at him. You grab the bag that you fixed before the session and start heading out the door. Jamie appears at your side as you walk to the parking lot.

"Deja vu, huh?" You say as Jamie's car is the only one in the parking lot.

"Feel like going for a joyride?" He says as you turn to face him.

Your eyebrows knit together. "We’re going to be stuck on a bus for hours tomorrow. Don't you want to go home and rest or something?"

He checks his watch and shrugs. "We still got time." He leads you to the car, but this time you open the door for yourself and slide in.

You watch Jamie start the car without putting an address into his phone. As the two of you buckle your seatbelt and leave, you start to scroll through your texts. 

Your unread messages were made up of your parents sending pictures from their spontaneous date, one of your brothers asking for a video message from Isaac for his son's birthday, and your friends trying to organize a trip to visit you. 

You reply to as many of the messages as you can before you notice that Matt still hasn't sent you anything. No apology, explanation, or anything. You take a deep breath and finally unfollow him and the rest of his friends. You feel like a weight has been lifted off of you. You put the final nail in the coffin when you blocked his number. This is it, and you've never felt better.

You look up and realize that you don't recognize any of your surroundings. You turn to Jamie who is still unfazed by it, looking straight ahead. 

"Jamie, if this good friend thing was all just some elaborate ruse to bring me to the middle of nowhere and murder me, you are obligated to tell me right now."

Jamie lets out a laugh. "Calm down, will you? We're here," You turn toward the dashboard and see some people walking on the sidewalk. At least there's still civilization here. He stops the car and parks it in front of this beautiful garden. 

You get out of the car and walk towards the gate. Even with the dim lights, the place looks much more lively than the rest of the area. The entire garden is a mix of various flowers and plants, colors ranging from relaxing white and green to some brighter ones like violet and yellow. Jamie opens the gate for the both of you as you look around in awe. The two of you walk over to one of the benches in front of a small lake bordered by a fence. Despite its main purpose of making sure no one falls in, it doesn't seem out of place in the area.

"You know, if you were planning on murdering me, I wouldn't mind dying in a place like this." You turn to Jamie as you sit down. He gives you a small smile before settling next to you. "How'd you even find this place?"

Jamie hesitated for a minute, and you quickly add, "You don't have to tell me if it's too much." Jamie shakes his head and sighs.

"Back when I just got back to Richmond, I still had a lot of shit to make up for. Everyone still hated me, and I didn't really know what to do. I was pissed that they didn't want to give me a chance, so I tried to talk to Keeley about it. She brought me to Dr. Sharon." You knew that a lot of the players were seeing her when she worked here, but you didn't realize that even Jamie was seeing her.

"She knew I was trying, but said it didn't help that I'd get riled up during games and sometimes go back to my old habits like hogging the ball, so she told me to find something or someplace to relax before them. I drove around that night and just went around till I found this place. It was like a mini field of flowers like the ones in Amsterdam that my mom took me to when I was a kid."

"I go here every night before a game or before we leave for an away game and just sit here, looking at the lake and the flowers. It relaxes me, I guess." Jamie looks down and starts playing with his hands, and you see a version of the football player that you've never seen before. This Jamie is vulnerable, quiet, nervous even. He was sharing a part of himself and you’d be a massive prick if you made him feel bad about it.

You reach out and grab his hand and enclose it with both of yours. You keep your eyes on him as he looks up to meet them. You smile at him and hope it eases his nerves even just a little bit like he did for you back then. It does, as seen in how his shoulders relax afterward.

"Thanks for sharing this with me, Jamie. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone else and you can continue to keep this place all to yourself." You nudge him with your shoulder before standing up to look at the lake. It almost looked like the water was glowing, illuminating the fish swimming in it.

Jamie moves to stand next to you. You two are both quiet for a beat, before he interlaces your fingers again, "Maybe not all to myself." You turn to him and see his expression, a mix of his usual confident self but the vulnerability from a while ago. Without thinking, you lean in to kiss him.

If it caught him by surprise, he didn't show it. Jamie kisses you back, more enthusiastically than you expected. You let go of his hand and interlace your fingers behind his neck. His hands travel down to your waist and you feel him smile against you. Your back presses against the railing as he continues to deepen the kiss and holds you closer to him to steady you. Your senses kick in and finally pull away when you realize that you're in public.

"Shit Jamie, not here," You whisper, looking around to see if anyone caught you making out with AFC Richmond's star player.

"You wanna head back to your place?" That's what makes you push him away and he chuckles. 

"Take me out on a few dates." You give him a quick kiss on the lips before walking back to the car. "Maybe I'll consider it then."

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

In Every Trio There's Always A Duo Pt. 2

John Price X F!Reader

Johnny and Simon had wanted to broach the subject of speaking with you and discussing the matter of everything that had happened, but you weren’t ready. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to be ready.

thank you to everyone who voted for this in the poll! I've been stuck in a rut for forever and needed something to help break that rut. as always feedback is highly appreciated!

warnings: mentions of past injuries, panic attacks, slight vulgar language, Price being protective

While you hadn’t been honorably discharged(which honestly sounded like a much better option at this rate)you were put on permanent desk duty. Learning to walk was a struggle that had taken over the course of a year for you to finally get comfortable with. John had been by your side every step of the way, cheering you on even when you were ready to quit. It had been a nice surprise, knowing he was so supportive. He’d taken a short leave once you had finished the intense physical therapy, wanting to make sure you would be alright. No one had known that you had moved in together, John kept everything quiet for your privacy.

Johnny and Simon had wanted to broach the subject of speaking with you and discussing the matter of everything that had happened, but you weren’t ready. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to be ready. You’d started seeing a therapist to get everything off your chest, had it truly been your own fault that you were unaware of how Johnny and Simon felt about you? Of course your therapist was adamant that no, you were not at fault for their actions. They were your comrades, and when it mattered most that everyone was kept safe, you had been caught in the crossfire.

The memories haunt your dreams daily, you would wake up covered in sweat thinking you were back in the enemies hands. John would always be there, calming you down until you realized you were safe, there was nothing there to attack you. Even if the wounds had healed, the constant reminder that you couldn’t even walk around without a cane. 

“Hey, you doing alright, sweetheart?” John was propped against the open door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah, just trying to get through this mountain of paperwork so I can head to lunch.” You’d gotten so into your work you hadn’t realized how late it actually was.

“Darling, it’s dinner time.” John raised a brow, had you not gotten up to even get a glass of water?

“Oh, well shit.” You muttered under your breath, reaching over for your cane.

John kept his distance, he’d offer assistance if you asked but never wanted you to feel like you absolutely had to use his arm. It was nice to know he didn’t see you as an invalid, unable to do something as simple as walking. The only times he would ever refuse to let you walk is whenever you’d fallen asleep on the couch, carrying you up to your shared room.

“Got distracted again, didn’t you?” John smirked as you reached his side, he couldn’t fault you for it though, he’d done the same many times before.

“It was all those damn mission reports Laswell sent over. She wanted them done by lunch and I completely forgot.” You sighed, leaning against his chest and breathing in the soft scent of his cologne.

Any cologne, perfume, or body spray was strictly forbidden when on base, but John always managed to sneak some because he knew you loved it so much. No one dared to try and bring it up to John, lest they piss off their Captain and be put on latrine duty. Johnny had wanted to jokingly reprimand him, how wearing cologne wasn’t allowed but then he remembered. Until things had calmed down, he was going to keep his head down and wait.

John wasn’t a monster though, he worked well with his team and made sure that everyone made it back home with no injuries if he could. However, his thoughts were always filled with you, if you were eating, if you were having nightmares. God, he was absolutely smitten with you and everyone could see it.

“I’ll call her tomorrow, tell her not to send reports that are nearly overdue.” John wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush to his own.

“I still need to do my job, don’t worry about me.” You patted his side, smiling into the fabric of his shirt.

“I always worry, gotta make sure my love is doing alright.” John pressed a kiss to your hair, rocking you both gently.

It was a nice feeling, being held so comfortably in his arms. You’d pictured your future together many times, curious if he felt the same way about things. It’d been just over two years since the incident, and things were going well. You had been living together for a little over a year, officially asking John to ditch his old flat and move into yours. It was only because you had the space, and not because of the stairs in his, totally not.

“I’ve been thinking…maybe it’s time for me to retire. And before you start freaking out and saying that I don’t need to, I want to.” You’d been debating it for a while, it would be easier to retire and find something else to occupy your time.

“As long as you’re sure, I don’t want you making any rash decisions because of what you believe my feelings would be.” John had been the one to fight to keep you on the task force, and while it was true you didn’t want to disappoint him, you hated doing paperwork.

“I’m sure. I’ll talk with Laswell about getting the paperwork ready.” It would be less stress on your end, which meant less walking and irritating your leg even more.

It would be a change for sure, but you couldn’t let everything from the past ruin what could turn into a bright future for you. ~~~~~~

It hadn’t been your idea to head out to lunch for the day, frankly you were more than ready to curl up on the couch and relax for the rest of the day. So, when John suddenly decided that the two of you should head out to get something to eat, you were suspicious. Now that isn’t to say that John couldn’t be spontaneous at times, but given everything that had happened? You were just a little bit wary of the situation. You’d thrown together a quick outfit, stealing one of his jackets since the air was beginning to chill.

“Well, well, look at this gorgeous lady.” John smirked as you walked over to him slowly. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes jokingly, pressing more of your weight against your cane.

“That’s only because a certain someone decided it was a great idea to head out and get lunch.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, smiling as his stubble grazed your skin.

“And it is, so let’s get going before all the good tables are gone.” John grabbed his wallet before helping you out to the car.

The good thing was that he didn’t hover. Whether it was during your rigorous physical therapy or your current journey, he gave you space when needed. There were times you wanted nothing more than for him to pick you up and just carry you everywhere, but that was overkill. Maybe he would offer to carry you over the threshold if you ever got married.

Marriage, a word neither of you had uttered after your relationship had become more serious, almost as if it were a dirty word. You knew after a few months that John was the only man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and if that meant never getting married, you were happy. Marriage, a family, those were things that you’d once truly wanted, but after all the horrors you’d bore witness to? You couldn’t bring a child into this world knowing it would never be truly safe for them.

“I already checked the layout and they do have stairs, so if you need help just let me know.” John’s voice was gruff, low and gravelly as he pulled into the seemingly small parking lot.

“We can check them out first.” You liked being independent, not wanting to feel so helpless at times.

John parked the truck and slipped out before you had even managed to slip off your seatbelt, coming around to your side and opening the door with your cane in his right hand. You swung your legs out of the car, taking the cane from his hand and scooting to the edge of the seat slowly. Once your good leg was on the ground you slowly stepped down with your bag leg. Your arm braced with the cane as you stood up, fully supporting you nodded at John.

John waited until you had stepped away from the truck before shutting the door, the sun was shining brightly as you both turned to make your way to the restaurant. There were two people standing outside, talking with one another quietly enough that you couldn’t hear them. A soft gasp slipped through your lips as you realized exactly who it was.

“John!” You turned and slapped his upper arm, jaw dropped open as he laughed.

“Sorry, I wanted to surprise you, didn’t think they would still be outside.” John smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“Well, consider me very surprised right now.” You shook your head and sped up your movements, wanting to greet them sooner.

John bit his tongue harshly, he knew better than to chastise you when you were excited to greet old friends, but god dammit he hated it when you didn’t listen to him. Their loud cheers echoed across the area as they both embraced you.

“It’s been so long! What are you even doing here?” You smiled over at Farah, eyes twinkling in the bright sun.

“We got a call from a certain captain asking us to come visit, and we couldn't say no.” Farah smiled over at John as he reached your side, an arm wrapping around your waist.

“Really?” You turned to look over at him, grateful and thankful he’d called in this favor for you.

“Of course. I know you've been feeling down lately, and I wanted to help you feel better.” John’s eyes crinkled as he smiled widely, gesturing towards the restaurant.

Alex held the door open for the three of you to head inside, waiting patiently as you made your way up the steps. John stood behind you, waiting to assist in case you needed him to at any moment. Once you were inside and seated everyone seemed to let out a soft sigh of relief. You’d known about Alex’s leg, it was one of the reasons you’d gotten so close over the last year, even if you hadn’t lost your actual leg, he understood your pain and struggle.

“You know? You and John actually kind of look alike.” You glanced between Alex and John, taking in their features.

Of course Alex was younger than your boyfriend but if the both of them shaved? They could definitely pass as brothers. Then again there were the two full sleeve tattoos that Alex had on his arms. Okay, okay, maybe the actual biggest difference was their accents, but your statement still stood.

“Darling, that’s the first thing you’re going to talk about?” John raised a brow and chuckled, turning to take a sip of his water.

“Yes! I’ve been cooped up in that damn office all week, I felt like I was going to go crazy.” You smiled and laid a hand on his knee.

The food was delicious, more along the line of appetizers and finger foods rather than a meal if you were honest. The conversation flowed so smoothly, not so much as an awkward silence as you all cracked jokes or told stories of everything that had been going on. You were so unaware of the world around you except for the four of you at the table you hadn’t noticed John slip out of his chair. Alex’s eyes widened as he caught on, jaw dropping open slightly. Your brow furrowed as you followed his line of sight, a loud and shocked gasp slipping through your lips.

“Darling, I know we’ve only been officially dating for just over a year, but I’ve known since the day we met that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You’ve been through something that most people wouldn’t have been able to handle and you came out even stronger than before. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” John slipped open the small box, a gorgeous ring nestled inside the black velvet.

“Yes, a thousand times yes! I will absolutely marry you!” You wanted to throw yourself into his arms but thought better of it.

John smiled widely as he slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling your fingers to his lips to press a soft kiss to each one. The entire restaurant burst into applause, cheering loudly for you both. Alex and Farah snapped a few photos, the two of them smiling happily for you. While Alex had no clue at all that John was going to propose, Farah had helped him find the perfect ring. She may have stalked your social media, finding your pinterest to find what you loved most. John was shocked at how much effort and work she’d put in, but right now he was so grateful for it.

“I love you so much darling, more than you’ll ever know.” John pressed a soft kiss to your lips, keeping you close as you cried.

“I love you too.” You sniffled, reaching up to wipe away your tears.

John pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing kisses all over your face. You laughed and pushed him away, albeit very weakly. It was a reminder that sometimes good things did happen in life. It was in that moment that you suddenly realized something, you would be announcing your engagement eventually to the entire crew. Which meant both Simon and Johnny would find out as well. 

Should you have talked to them about everything that had happened? Sure. Except you didn’t want to, you wanted to avoid talking with them at all costs. It was mainly because you were still dealing with the issue with this leg. Maybe you could smooth things over, but at the end of the day you weren’t entirely sure.

The rest of lunch was eventful, Farah and Alex sending you the photos and videos they’d been able to take during the proposal. You couldn’t stop staring at the ring, a bright smile on your face as you thought about what your future entailed. You weren’t going to rush into planning, you wanted everything to be as stress free as it could be. 

“Don’t be strangers! We’ll send the invite when we set a date.” You hugged Farah close, smiling as she squeezed your waist tighter.

“We’ll do our best to be there, if we can’t I expect to see all the lovely pictures.” Farah would make sure to be there for you and John, even if she had to drop everything last minute.

“Of course, if you can’t make it I’ll make sure John sends them to you right away.” You patted her arm gently, taking your cane as John stepped over to you.

Saying goodbye to friends you didn’t get to see much never got any easier, it was understandable of course but it never hurt any less. John would do whatever he could to make the rest of the day special for you, even if that meant going home and running a bath. On second thought, a bath might soothe your aching muscles so you could actually help with dinner.

“John, what do you-” You were cut off by the sound of a voice, rather two, calling your name.

As you turned to address whomever was calling you, your heart seemed to stop in your chest.

“Simon…”

tagging: @gaylemonshark

[archangeldyke-all]

can you write something about amab ceo sev and her trans identity and story, i love ceo sev sm she has my whole heart

yeah lets do it!

quick disclaimer! i'm cis, so if there's any mistakes/missteps lmk and i will fix it asap!

men and minors dni

i imagine sevika as one of those people who's just always known who they are. not just in terms of queerness, but like, just opinions and taste and personality in general.

so i think when she was a kid, she likely knew she was trans, just like she knew she liked women. she might not have had the vocabulary to name it, or known that other people feel it, but she never questioned it about herself specifically.

i dont think she would've told anyone, though.

sevika's incredibly perceptive-- she would have known, even as a kid, how talking about the different feelings she was having could upset people, or get her in trouble.

she found the words for what she'd always known to be true about herself when she was an early teenager. sevika's a big reader, and she was one of those kids who wants to know how everything works: from machines to nature to politics to society-- she'd stumble across the complexities of gender identity earlier than most kids do.

but again, she didn't tell anyone. sevika's no stranger to how horrible people can be-- she didn't want to give anybody an extra reason to fuck with her. instead, she just kept to herself, finding comfort in reading as many books and articles on queerness and transness that she could get her hands on.

she understood early on what she was up against, being a trans, gay, brown/black woman in this society. but she never let it deter her.

the second she turned fifteen she got a job as a busser at a restaurant in her town. she saved every penny-- and she worked all the time. besides the occasional pack of gum and pair of socks, the only thing sevika ever bought in was a junker of a car from her neighbor-- only $500.

she repaired it on her own during her free time. (of which, there was hardly any.)

the second she turned eighteen, sevika packed up her belongings in the backseat of her car and left her hometown never to return. it was now that she could finally start living her truth.

with her saving she managed to get an apartment to lease for a few months while she scrambled for a job. for a while, she was bouncing from security job to security job, but then she managed to snag a stable position as a saleswoman.

with her new job she got benefits. a 401k and healthcare.

she started going to therapy at, like, 20. again-- sevika's incredibly self aware. she was laying in bed staring at the ceiling once night, and she just thought to herself 'huh, you know, i've kinda been through a lot. i'm kinda going through a lot. i should... probably go to therapy.' and then she just did.

it took her a few tries to find a good therapist, but then she met a four foot tall little old lady who looked like mrs. clause but cursed like a sailor. sevika fell in love the moment they met.

mrs. clause-- or dr. walsh-- was a no-nonsense, no-bullshit kind of lady. each time sevika would try to downplay her achievements or doubt herself, dr. walsh would throw a crumbled postit at her face and rant-encourage-remind sevika about her strength and bravery.

with dr. walsh's help, sevika started to see her future as something that could be... positive. she'd been so focused on escaping the past, she forgot she could look forward. but once she did-- she was exhilarated.

it was definetly an, 'oh, shit, i can do anything i fucking want' moment for her.

she knew that she had it in her to do it-- she'd proven it to herself time and time again-- now she just had to decide what she wanted to do.

it took her a while, a lot of research and soul searching, but by the time she was 22 she started to socially transition.

her hair'd always been long, but she finally treated herself to a visit to a salon-- getting it styled in the perfect slightly slanted bob she'd always wanted. she made a promise to herself in the parking lot that she'd never cut her own hair again, she was so fucking thrilled with the experience and the outcome. (her stylist was a huge gossip-- spent the entire time telling sevika about her sister's sex life. sevika had a blast)

she started treating herself to more clothes. custom tailored suits for the office-- blouses and button ups and fun silky ties for underneath.

(all the while, she was effortlessly climbing the ranks at work. despite the horrible office culture in a competitive environment like sales-- money talks. and sevika was outselling all her co-workers.)

she found the name 'sevika' one day completely randomly. she hadn't really given changing her name any thought until her eyes glanced over the name in contact screen of a stranger's phone-- but she couldn't get the sound of it out of her head.

at 25, sevika started to medically transition. with a lot of research, both on her and dr. walsh's end-- she started estrogen.

she was thrilled. she knew changes couldn't be seen on a day to day basis-- but she swore every day she woke up looking and feeling more and more like her.

always a gym rat-- sevika's muscular frame started to carry a little more curve.

she smiled for a full six hours the first time she noticed her ass jiggling in the full length mirrors at the gym as she did burpies.

sevika was no stranger to eyeliner having gone through a bit of an emo phase as a kid-- but beyond that she found the sensory feeling of makeup unbearable.

but when she found out that there was such a thing as tattoo-able makeup-- you bet your ass she made an appointment. it hurt like a bitch but it was worth it when she could have perfectly defined dark lips all throughout the day no matter how many coffee cups she sipped from or chicken burritos she sank her teeth into.

at work, sevika had worked her way up so high the ranks that nobody dared to give her shit anymore. and when they did-- she just fired them.

she spent her late 20s dating around. she had a few girlfriends and a lot of flings, but nothing ever really worked for her. it did give her a shit-ton of confidence though.

the more herself she became-- both in her body and in her job and in her bed-- the bigger and brighter her future seemed.

this isn't to say she never had shitty days. she had plenty. some she journaled about, some she cried about, some she boxed about, some she called dr. walsh about. the worst ones she drank about-- though as she was growing up the hangovers were making this one less tolerable.

people are assholes. dysphoria is a fucking asshole. sevika's boss was an asshole. but when she felt close to drowning-- when she felt the grief and sadness and the self-destructive urges creep up-- she just closed her eyes and thought of herself at fourteen-- cooking up a plan to get as far away from home as she could. she imagines herself meeting teenage-sev, telling her all the things she'd come to do, (and all the girls she'd come to do, if you know what i mean, wink wink, nudge nudge) and she imagines how fuckin' proud little emo-acne-riddled-brace-face sevika would be of her.

it works every time.

on her thirtieth birthday, she bought herself a breast augmentation. she loved her tits-- but she just wanted a little more. she wanted to have to wear a bra under her silky button ups, instead of it being optional. but once she got them done she was so fucking thrilled she didn't want to wear a bra under her button ups. (she did, of course, because wasn't trying to cause an hr nightmare at work.)

when dr. walsh died-- sevika was devastated. there were a few months there where she was in complete depression. she made no attempt to find a new therapist-- she took as much paid time off from work as she could, just to sit around her house alone.

but then one night-- sevika swears on her life-- dr. walsh visited her in a dream with a message

'you better get your shit together girl! don't let all my hard work go to waste!'

sevika woke up the next morning laughing and crying, and she was back at work the next day.

she found a new therapist, and she forced herself to make new friends, suddenly aware that the only person in the world who knew her had died.

she started hanging out with some of her more tolerable co-workers, and she was shocked to realize that most of them were... actually pretty cool.

she started taking herself out to dinner-- just her and a book-- just so she could spend more time with herself.

she made it a point to take a vacation once every six months.

and when the ceo of her company stepped down, she was riding on a high. she was feeling good about life, so she decided: fuck it.

and she applied for the open position.

and then she got the job.

and at thirty five, sevika finally felt like she was in her bright future-- not just working towards it.

the night before her first night on the job-- sevika's mind was racing.

there were so many changes she needed to make, so many ideas she had to implement in the company. not to mention the fact that she had to buy furniture for her new office, and find an assistant-- and a good assistant is really fucking hard to come by-- and was she sure she could really do this job in the first place? what if she made a mistake accepting it-- what if she can't handle it--

sevika cut her racing thoughts off, scrubbing her face. she took a second to breathe, then she conjured up little-sev in her mind to give her an update and get a pep talk.

who the fuck are you? little teenage sevika asked, huffing as she had to shove her headphones off her ears.

'i'm you, jackass.'

...woah. we look... hot...

'duh.'

how did that happen?

'moved away, worked hard, got lucky, got rich.' sevika says, watching her younger self's eyebrows rise.

shit... look at our tits!

'i know-- they're great, right?'

fuck yeah. well... whaddya want?

'wanted to tell you we just got promoted to ceo.'

...really?

'yeah. we start tomorrow.'

...us?

'yeah. we're like... kind of a big deal now.'

...woah.

'yeah woah.'

then, just as she's about to drift off to sleep, sevika's mind speaks again.

...soooo... have we met our wife yet?

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[spectres-n-soap]

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back - Ghost x You x Soap

Content Warnings - pregnancy, afab!fem!reader, panic attack

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You look at yourself in the mirror, you feel different. You feel like you’re getting better and you have expressed this to Dr Miller, told him how you think you’re starting to get better.

He had smiled at you, congratulated you but also warned you that healing is not linear. Much like an old scar, sometimes it’ll ache and you might find yourself hurting all day. You, being a soldier with a few scars that did happen to ache some days, took this like cough medicine. You knew that healing wasn’t linear. How many times have you broken something or needed stitches? You knew that healing was never as easy as it sounded. But today, you felt good. You’ve been feeling good all week despite the anxiety at the back of your mind, like a predator readying itself to strike at the unsuspecting prey. But you suspect it and therefore aren’t prey. You aren’t prey.

Simon peaks his head into the bathroom, checking on you like a mother hen. Last week, after returning home from dinner, you hadn’t just taken a step forward. You felt like it was a giant leap.

”You can sleep in the bed.” You murmured, finding it hard to meet his eyes when you said it.

”You’re not taking the couch.” Simon said gruffly and you cannot help the way your eyes rolled.

”No you wanker, I mean with me.” You huffed, annoyance washed away any sense of apprehension about offering this to him. You had been feeling bad about him sleeping on the floor next to you just so you could hold his hand on nights when you find it hard to sleep. Which seemed to be every night when you weren’t holding his hand.

Simon clutched the steering wheel of the vehicle, his knuckles nearly go white. You don’t notice it or pretend not to. He can’t tell, not when he has to focus on not crashing the car from the shock of you saying that. Finally he manages to speak again, “Okay, if that’s what you want.” He was not shocked to see you had put a pillow wall between him and you. He expected and found it surprisingly easy to settle into bed.

You smile at him, a thing that you feel like you’ve been doing more often. Yesterday you had smiled so wide your cheeks had hurt when Simon had brought home your favorite takeout while you had taken a short nap on the couch. “You sure about this?” He asks again and you roll your eyes with a smile.

”You sound like a dad.” You tease as you walk past him and grab your slip on shoes. “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be good for me, even my therapist says so.” You comment as you slip the shoes on with a little more trouble than normal. You frown just a little, your feet have become more swollen. God damn it.

”I’m just making sure.” Simon says as he grabs your purse and hands it to you. “You’ll call me if you need me, right?” He asks and you can see the worry in his brown eyes. Genuine worry for you and you pat his bicep reassuringly.

”I will Simon.”

The group is nice. Although most of the women are a little less far along as you, they welcome you in with open arms. People discuss names for their babies, the genders and how excited or nervous they are. One woman, a pretty woman named Linda who is closest to you in terms of months, immediately brings you into her small group of women. They chatter and blessedly, don’t try to pry into your life. They don’t ask about your husband or the gender of the baby, the only thing they ask about is the name.

Your cheeks turn warm when you admit you hadn’t looked into any baby names yet. Linda gasps, jokingly, and offers you her baby name book, saying “I’ve already got my baby girl’s name picked out. I’ve had my eye on it since I was a little girl. I read it somewhere. Ophelia, how pretty of a name is that?” You smile and agree that it's a beautiful name. For once, you wonder if the baby is going to be a boy or a girl.

Everyone settles down when the teacher(?) starts. She goes over some things that every parent needs to know once the baby is here. How to make a bottle of milk, how to change a diaper, how to help get the baby on a sleeping schedule so you don’t go insane from lack of sleep and resources for postpartum depression. The class, overall, is wonderful. Most of the stuff you knew about but you have a feeling half of the reason for these classes is to know you aren’t alone and to make future new moms.

You’re walking up to Linda with the intention to give her your number so the two of you can text about the struggles of being this far along in a pregnancy. How achey your feet are or how your favorite foods seem to have been ruined. You stop dead in your tracks when you see her husband, it must be her husband since you saw the ring on her finger, come up to her.

All the warmth in the room seems to be sucked out when you see him. Messy brown hair, a bright and mischievous smile with a matching set of bright blue eyes that remind you of those springs in Florida that somehow keep getting advertised to you despite living in the UK.

He looks exactly like Johnny. So much like him that for a moment you think it is him until reality comes crashing down, you watch him smile down at her and kiss her tenderly. Your stomach lurches and your eyes burn, breathing becomes a struggle as you turn on your heel and rush towards the bathroom. You shut the door and lock it behind you, ignoring anyone who tries to talk to you and throw up into the toilet. You retch up your breakfast and that little fruity drink you had grabbed on the way here. Hot tears run down your face as you heave up everything in your stomach and then some.

You fall back, the taste of bile in your mouth only adds to whatever is happening as you sob. You grab at your hair as you cry and wonder what is going on. Why is this happening? Why now? You were doing so good! What did you do wrong? You should have never left the house, should have listened to Simon and stayed home.

Simon.

You fumble in your bag and shakily unlock your phone, immediately finding his contact in your phone and calling him. “Simon.” You sob into the line and he immediately knows.

”I’ll be right there luv, stay on the line with me yeah?”

”Okay.” You warble out as you struggle to breath past the sobs that shake your entire body.

”You got to breathe luv, can you do that for me? In, hold for three, out.” Simon talks you through it on speaker as he immediately begins to drive to you.

[effy-writes]

Hii can I request Blitzø hcs with a fem S/O who always says she's ok and fine even when she's not, like she's sensitive but knows people are rude and shitty, so she keeps all her feelings in and doesn't speak up bc she doesn't wanna seem like a burden? Tyy!

ofc!! sorry this took so long

~~~~

blitz x f! reader who feels like a burden hc’s

• growing up you’ve always been told to keep your feelings to yourself because it’s a “hush hush” type thing (mainly because of your parents)

• even before you and blitz started dating you always kept things buried inside. you’re a typical yapper, but go completely non verbal whenever you’re going through some things

• blitz being blitz, he didn’t pay attention to it at first until he made a joke one day that may or may not made you cry in the bathroom

“thank satan you stopped talking, you were driving me crazy.”

you abruptly left the meeting room and locked yourself in the bathroom, leaving blitz to himself like, “wtf did i even say”

• later on he asked you about it, being like “did i say something orrr” and you told him you were already having a shitty day and that’s when the dots connected. “well if you ever need to spill your heart out you can.”

• you appreciated it, but didn’t want to feel like a burden to him since he already has his problems.

• years later, you two started a serious relationship. he trusted you already, so he wasn’t afraid to talk to you about his stuff (you had to pesterize him for it, but he did managed to tell you things)

• you on the other hand was still afraid of being a burden to him. you didn’t want him to think that you’re too much for him to handle so you kept things to yourself.

• blitz still caught on that you’re not being honest about your feelings, so he would ask you allll the time.

“i’m fine, okay? im fine. don’t worry about me.”

“just tell me what’s going on.”

“i’m just tired.”

“bullshit and you know it.”

•after arguing back and forth you finally told him what’s been bothering you, which consisted of people being shitty to you in the past and how their words still affect you to this day, your own thoughts haunting you, anxiety, etc.

• blitz understood 100% about what you were getting at and he told you that he won’t ever think of you as a burden and that you shouldn’t be afraid to talk to him about things

“but you already have your own stuff to deal with, i don’t want to be added on your plate.”

“and you were always there when i needed you and i want to be there for you.”

• he comforted you as many times as he could. whenever you’re not talking or slouching in chairs he’ll take your hand into his wherever you guys are at. in a meeting and sees that you’re not okay? he’ll sit beside of you and hold your hand while continuing to talk. ESPECIALLY when you guys are laying down on the couch or bed he’ll just flat out hold you, even if you don’t tell him what’s going on because eventually you’ll tell him.

• “want me to fuck those feelings out?”

“let’s role play, me being the therapist and you’re my patient. let’s sigmund freud up this bitch!”

• he really cares about you but has a weird way of saying it

• he offered an idea to where if you really don’t want to talk to him about when you’re sad/upset/any other negative emotions, you can lay your head on his lap facing his stomach so he’ll know if you’re not okay.

• you liked that idea, and the first time you followed through with it blitz kinda got confused but then was like “oh shit, she’s not okay”

you would bury your head against his stomach, wanting to get as close to him as possible. blitz combed your hair with his fingers and slightly purred, “ready to talk about?”

if you mumble no then he’ll just keep massaging your scalp or rub your back, but if you do start talking then he’s all ears and will try to make you sit up so he can hear you better, but if you still wanna bury your head against him then he’ll still try his best to hear you. “sorry say that again?…one more time…you’re not gonna believe this but you’re gonna have to repeat that.”

• long story short, blitz wants you to be up and honest as you can to him. he hates it when you don’t talk about what’s going on with you because he cares so much and doesn’t want to lose you. he’ll always reassure you that you’re not a burden just by speaking up on how you’re feeling

[steventhusiast]

STWG daily prompt 3/10/23

prompt: rehab

pairing/character(s): steddie

-

Steve walks toward his two o'clock appointment with a slightly curious expression on his face. It's a new patient, which already usually has him quite curious and slightly nervous, but this particular new patient is one who could afford to pay the clinic to keep the physical therapy room empty for his session.

And Steve had been required to sign an NDA before being allowed to pick up the patient. Which had honestly offended him. The NDA just went over not telling the press any details about his client, which, hello? HIPAA? But he's also confused about why his patient would need him to sign an NDA like this. The name Eddie Munson doesn't ring any bells for him.

So, yes. He's very curious.

Before opening the door, he puts the effort into making his expression friendlier and more open, and straightens his back before pushing the door open. There, sat on one of the cushioned benches, is a very attractive man. One that he still doesn't recognise? Even though he must be famous? Or something?

He's got long, wavy hair, with a fringe hanging down in his face a bit- just enough to slightly cover his grumpy eyes and add to his generally unhappy expression. The t-shirt he's wearing looks artfully ripped to reveal tattoos underneath across his ribcage and stomach, and it contrasts the grey sweatpants he's wearing. Steve remembers that a knee injury is why Eddie's here in the first place, and figures that's what's causing the slightly odd outfit. He spies a pair of crutches leaning against the bench Eddie's sat on, and then his eyes trail over a little further to see a woman stood beside them.

Her expression is a lot more serious than Eddie's, and she's wearing an outfit that can only be described as business casual. Her blonde hair is up in a perfect ponytail, and once Steve's closed the door behind him she gives him a pinched smile. When Steve expects Eddie to introduce himself, the woman speaks instead.

"Hi there, you must be Steve. I'm Chrissy, Eddie's manager. He did not want to come today, so I'm just here to make sure he's behaving."

Steve raises an eyebrow at her words, and her speech seems to finally prompt Eddie to stop glaring daggers into the floor and look up at his new physical therapist.

But when Eddie's eyes snap up to Steve's, the glare leaves them immediately as his eyes widen a little. Steve's very confused by that, even more so when the wide eyed look transforms into a pout.

"Hi Eddie, I'm Steve." He greets with a lopsided smile, hoping that would make Eddie drop whatever his face is doing right now. But instead Eddie literally lets out a huff and his pout intensifies.

"Dammit. Why do you have to be hot? Chrissy dragged me to this stupid rehab centre and I don't want to be here because I'm supposed to be on tour, so I was supposed to be broody and moody all session to defy Chris's demands. But here you are. Real prince charming with a nice smile and hot voice to match." Eddie complains, and Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times at that.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and tilts his head, eyes slightly squinted.

"I'm.. Sorry? About that?" He tries, and Eddie laughs a little.

"Can I get a different therapist for this? Preferably an uglier one?" Eddie tries, and that actually shocks a laugh out of Steve as Chrissy (somewhat violently) shoves his shoulder and hisses out his name.

"Unfortunately you're stuck with me. And I can't date patients." Steve says bluntly, and Eddie's pout is back.

"But," He starts, and quirks a smile at how Eddie's back straightens at his words, "You're very pretty. So how about you actually try at what I have planned for you, and when you're done with the outpatient programme, I can take you out for dinner?"

Chrissy sighs next to Eddie at the words (looking quite done with the entire situation and the fact that she has to be there), but Eddie's eyes have glazed over into something determined, and he nods once.

"Eight weeks is a long time, but you're like Adonis level hot. That works for me. Show me what you got, Stevie."

Steve finds himself quite excited to find more out about Eddie. The next eight weeks will fly by, and hopefully after that... They can see how it goes.

[chiisana-sukima]

if heaven/hell hadn't been vying for the apocalypse, do you think sam ever would have reasonably had a shot at escaping / having an actually good and healthy life? just curious about your opinion! :)

I think the root problem was Azazel, and that neither Sam nor Dean could've done better than they did in canon as long as the instigating event of Azazel's deal with Mary remained unchanged. Plotwise, as long as Azazel still wants Sam to rule Hell's armies, everything is still essentially the same up to the point when Dean goes to Hell and Sam is killing himself with drugs and alcohol trying to get there too.

Ruby's machinations are the first thing that would've gone differently in a No Apocalypse universe, and although Jared didn't start playing Sam as having overt, symptomatic PTSD until after the Cage, even without Ruby this is still a man for whom the only way out is through. He would've gotten himself to Hell one way or another, simply because he couldn't tolerate having Dean there in his stead. And given time in Hell as an inevitability for both of them, I can imagine it ending worse than canon, but I can't imagine it ending better.

In the bad (complimentary) spn in my head, the most likely outcome would be that since there would be no rescue from Cas, Dean would be a demon by the time Sam managed to get to him and Sam would eventually end up the King of Hell in order to protect Dean. The CW's spn I don't think would go that far, but before the first writers' strike cut s3 short, they were planning on having Sam go "fully darkside" (whatever that means) to rescue Dean, so I can't see that ending well either.

I want to specify though that I think Sam did get out and live a good, relatively healthy life. He died at home of natural causes at what appears to be a reasonably advanced age, with his apparently well-adjusted adult son at his bedside. Since the cycle of violence in spn is represented by failure to accept the death of loved ones (Mary->John, John->Mary, Sam->Jess, Dean->Sam, Sam->Dean, Dean->Sam again, etc), the reversal at the end with Dean asking Sam to let him go, Sam doing so, closing down the bunker, and having his own child who as an adult lets him go in turn, represents the end of the Winchester curse.

I don't think Sam ever recuperated 100%. He names his kid Dean after all, which is touching, but also kind of concerning given Everything. And the shrine of dead family pictures with no photos of living family to balance it out is a bit weird.

But, blurriness of his gender-nonconforming husband wife notwithstanding, this is a montage of a good life:

He's happy. His son is happy. He goes to parks and has a home and is proud of his son for studying and playing catch.

I assume the Sam of this montage still has PTSD. Jared still has MHIs irl and still sees a therapist after however many years, and he was the one who embodied Sam's PTSD for us on screen. I still have PTSD that I got when I was 10, and I'm 60 now and my daughter is 27. It's a disability. But the hard parts don't mean you haven't had a good life in total. Barely pulling through at 38(-ish, the age Sam was when Dean died his final death) doesn't mean your disability won't be well-managed at 48 or 58.

A lot of Sam fans feel that because when Sam died his Heaven was back with Dean, sitting in the passenger seat of Dean's car, listening to Dean's music, presumably following where Dean leads, without Dean first having had a chance to grow beyond the damage he had and passed on to others, it means Sam didn't escape his past. Tbh I think this interpretation is valid. I don't think any of the writers of spn through the years could imagine a story in which the members of a relationship are truly equals, treat each other as equals, and are treated by the narrative of their story as equals. We live in a society.

But I'm not naive by any stretch, and I nonetheless can imagine it, I'm better than them, so I'm satisfied. I don't want a revival, and the more time goes by for J2M to grow out of a plausible age range to set the revival before the finale, the less I want one, for precisely this reason. I prefer my own version of the future.

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

Tolerate It III

"Tell me I've got it wrong somehow."

Read Part II here

Harry watches as Kendall leaves, his heart heavy with the weight of the situation. He turns his attention back to Y/N, who stands there, waiting for his explanation. He knows he doesn't have much time to make things right, and he takes a deep breath before he starts speaking.

"Y/N, I swear, I didn't invite her over. I had no idea she was coming. I've been a mess since you left, and I've barely left this place. She must have just shown up on her own," he pleads, his voice full of sincerity.

Y/N's grip on her bag loosens slightly, but she doesn't sit back down. Her eyes are still filled with hurt and doubt, and Harry can see her fight or flight kicking in.

"I know I messed up, and I can't even begin to express how sorry I am for everything. I love you, Y/N, more than anything in this world. You and Elle mean everything to me, and I've been a fool for not showing it," Harry continues, his voice cracking with emotion.

Y/N remains silent, her gaze fixed on him. Harry knows that he needs to give her more than just words. He needs to show her that he's committed to making things right.

"I'm going to make it up to you, Y/N. I'll do whatever it takes to rebuild your trust. We'll go to counselling if you want, and I'll be more present in Elle's life. I promise to be the husband and father you both deserve," Harry says, his voice filled with determination.

Y/N finally sits back down, her bag still in her lap. She looks at him with a mixture of sadness and hope in her eyes.

"Harry, this isn't going to be easy. Rebuilding trust takes time, and I can't just forget everything that's happened. But I want to believe that we can work through this," she says, her voice quivering.

Harry nods, relieved that she's willing to give him a chance. He reaches out and gently takes her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I know it won't be easy, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I love you, Y/N, and I'll spend the rest of my life proving that to you."

Y/N's eyes soften, and she leans in to kiss him. It's a tender and heartfelt kiss, filled with all the love they've shared over the years. It's a kiss that signifies a fresh start, a chance to rebuild what was broken.

As they pull away, Y/N gives him a small smile, the first genuine one he's seen in days. "Okay, Harry, let’s try and fix it.”

Harry nods, his heart feeling lighter than it has in days. "I know, and I'm ready for all of it. I just want us to be okay again."

Y/N places her hand on his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "We'll get through this together, Harry. But it's going to take time and effort from both of us."

Harry leans into her touch, closing his eyes briefly before opening them to meet her gaze. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes, love. I promise."

And in that moment, as they sit together on the couch, holding onto each other, they both believe that maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back to the love that had once been so strong.

~

So they do it. They go to counselling for the first time and Harry is a shaking bundle of nerves and Y/N is internally breaking down. Because what if it doesn’t work out? They sit in the waiting room, the minutes ticking away slowly, the tension in the air palpable. Harry's leg bounces nervously, and he can't help but feel like he's about to face a judgmental tribunal. He glances at Y/N, who is lost in her thoughts, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her sweater. He reaches out and gently touches her hand, offering a reassuring smile. She looks at him and manages a small, trembling smile in return.

When their names are called, they enter the therapist's office together. The therapist, a calm and empathetic woman, greets them warmly and invites them to sit down on the cozy couch. The session begins, and Harry and Y/N take turns talking about their feelings, their fears, and their hopes. It's difficult at first, and there are moments when tears flow freely. They confront the pain they've caused each other and the scars it has left on their relationship.

The therapist guides them through various exercises, helping them communicate more effectively and teaching them strategies for rebuilding trust. They start to see the deep-seated issues that led to their problems in the first place, and it's not easy to confront those truths.

As the session progresses, Harry's nerves start to ease. He realises that this process isn't about judgment but about healing. Y/N, too, begins to feel a glimmer of hope as they explore ways to rebuild their relationship.

After the first session ends, they step out into the daylight, and Harry takes Y/N's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "How are you feeling?" he asks softly.

Y/N looks at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "Nervous, but I think it's a step in the right direction. We have to try, Harry, for ourselves and for Elle.”

Harry nods in agreement, his heart heavy with the weight of their journey ahead. "I know, love. And I promise you, no matter how hard it gets, I'm with you every step of the way.”

A/N: Finally the end to this series. Thank you for all the love on it :)

Tags: @lukesaprince @harryspirate @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @lilyrmason12 @styleslover-1994 @stylesfever @kathb59 @indierockgirrl @bxbyysstuff @gills-lounge @lomlhstyles @opheliaofficial07 @behindmygreyeyes @gem1712 @stylesmoonlight12 @babyiamperfectforyou @velvetballaspark @harrys-flower @macy-tpwk @mema10 @jerseygirlinca @daphnesutton @rafaaoli

[alexaloraetheris]

I juat remembered the day, about two months ago, when I went to renew my perscription and ended up derailed by some kind of divine influence that really, really wanted my help. 😂

So I have an appointment at 9. First thing I do is sleep in because my alarm simply did not ring. First time that happened. I cursed out the damn phone and ordered a taxi, which I had specifically hoping to avoid because of the traffic congestion.

My driver is a woman a bit older than me, and she's in a good mood so we chat. She told me she was thinking of moving to [city on the coast] because taxi drivers are paid better there, and I tell her I have family there, we comment on what it's like to drive in a city essentially built into three hills and a cliff. She mentiones she has scoliosis, and it sometimes impacts her ability to sit in a car for long periods of time. I had scoliosis as well, but I had managed to fix it with exercises almost completely so I recommended my physical therapist, and assured her it's not too late, because some of the people in my therapy group were even older than her. When she let me off she thanked me for the help.

Feeling good that, even if I had to pay out the nose for the ride, I got there in time and even managed to do a good deed. I rush in, tell the reception guy I'm here to see my doctor and settle in to wait.

Two hours later, I see people being called in but not my name. I ask why, and doctor looks at me blankly and says I'm not in the system. I have to tell the reception I've arrived so I show up on his schedule.

I'm mentally cursing out the entire hospital, but I wasn't raised by wolves. I thank the doctor, politely tell the different receptionist that the last guy probably didn't hear me when I told him my appointment, got added in and went back to wait.

Ten minutes later, a visibly nervous girl with freshly printed papers sits in the waiting room. I'm in a bit of a mood, but I'm also a firm believer in helping if I can. I paste on a smile and ask 'First time?' and she admits she just got sent here for a potential ADHD diagnosis and she had no idea what to do. Having been there and knowing exactly how hard it was to do it on your own, I gave her the number of the psychologist who made my diagnosis, assured her that the psychiatrist she was here to see is the same one I have and that he's a good guy, explained what ADHD actually was and how the meds work. She was neraly crying with relief by the time I was done, and I promised she could send me questions if she needs to.

I finally, finally go in for my appointment in a slightly better mood, only for my psychiatrist to tell me Concerta is no longer imported, I have to go on some other meds and for that I need my family doctor to sign off on a regular perscription instead of getting an Rx perscription from him.

This is the worst case scenario, because I do NOT want my mother, who thinks ADHD was invented by quack American psychologists to sell expensive meds to parents with unruly children, to know I have ADHD. So I mentally curse out the entire healthcare system, go to the family doctor and explain the situation, that my mother absolutely CANNOT know about my diagnosis. Even though the doctor was not aware of my diagnosis so far, she listens attentively, and we make sure that my mom can't check the insurance we're both under to see what meds I'm on or that if she checks my name in the pharmacy directory she can't see me either.

I thought I handled that situation rather well but I must have looked more worried than I thought, because the doctor admitted her high-school age granddaughter had been asking questions about psychologists and antidepressants and she had so far been dismissive. But if she really needs help, she might do the same thing I did and seek help on her own, and my doctor realized she ought to either change her attitude fast or be left in the dark while her granddaughter is struggling. So I told her which psychologist I went to when I was also a depressed high schooler and how it helped and what I would have wanted my family to keep in mind. She thanks me and hands me a new perscription and sends me on my way.

So by now I am starting to notice a pattern.

Now, I'm actually an atheist, and I have 'Culturally Catholic' as a flaw and a laundry list of Stuff(TM) I have had to unlearn, but sometimes I really wonder if Someone Up There looked at me that day and thought:

"Hmm, looks like I have three problems I can solve with one well-positioned dumbass. Time to ruin her day for the good of the world!"

I mean. Happy to help but I really hope ruining my day won't be necessary next time.

[sofiadragon]

A Note on Severus Snape as a Teacher

In Order of the Phoenix, Snape makes his O.W.L. warning speech the first day and says he expects the class to maintain his high-pass level. This implies that he has better statistics than previous professors, or perhaps he is comparing to equivalent tests at the other European magic schools. He makes other comments to this effect and nobody contradicts him. Harry takes the fact that Umbridge doesn't go after Snape so much as being because they are both horrible people, but he clearly hates her just as much as the rest of the staff and it seems she's scraping the bottom of the barrel trying to get something to hold against him. If he had poor statistics, an auditor type like that would have been all over it. Either way, the implication is that despite being an absolute trash fire of a person and tearing down student confidence as a hobby, he's managing to actually teach potions well.

I read so many fanfics that imply or directly state that the reason Harry isn't doing well in potions is because Snape is bad at the job: He never learned basic prep skills, Snape only shoots recipes up on the board and doesn't explain, all his lessons are practical with no lectures. I submit that this isn't the case. Never was, as we do hear about lectures even if the books aren't great at giving us any kind of sensible timetable. Harry is distracted in Potions by the hostile environment, and that is Snape's fault, but the curriculum as presented isn't the problem. It's the fact that the class is with the Slytherin students, and that Snape makes a lot of ad-hominem attacks instead of telling Harry or Neville exactly what went wrong. Harry, because he is the living embodiment of all Snape's trauma just walking around giving the man flashbacks. Neville, because Snape gave up on him rather quickly. That's bad, flat out, and he even grades Harry unfairly... but Harry is still learning the material.

In Half-Blood Prince, we can even see that if Harry could learn from a version of Snape who wasn't hostile to him for some reason, he'd do fantastically well. Unfortunately, nobody told Snape to go talk to a therapist after the war, and frankly with how he treats Harry's Gryffindor class that should have been made a requirement for keeping his job. Handle your trauma, do not give it to a new generation of kids.

This is not an excuse for the way he acts as a bully, but Harry being 'bad' at potions isn't because Snape isn't presenting the material to him correctly. When acting like a teacher instead of like a bully, Snape is clearly very good at his job. He puts his everything into it, and can have the high bar of only accepting O students into his N.E.W.T. classes because he has enough students getting Os that the school board never had to call him out for not having enough students in the class.

Finally, Harry isn't bad at potions! This is before grade inflation, look that up if you aren't familiar or have a very different school system to the UK. Getting a top-level grade in any class was HUGE. The tests are hard enough the average person would not know all the answers. I took a science exam in the 90's and placed 4th in my state. I'd gotten 2 questions completely wrong (I'll never forget the differences between types of clouds again) and it was better than the thousands of high-school kids who took the test, except for the one person who got 1 partly wrong and 2 people who got 1 question wrong. Nobody, and I mean nobody, got a perfect score that year. That's what these tests used to look like. Hermione is a BEAST. Harry and even Ron are doing great! Straight Cs (or As in the HP world) used be fine. Average, even, and you could graduate with Ds even if you might not want any potential employer knowing about that if it was relevant.