#my therapy is helping but half the time I feel like it makes me feel worse

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

mini rant under cut, warning for cursing.

how many more times does someone close to me have to traumatize me before it stops. how many more times. I am sick of this shit.

[yesplsnothankyou]

I only come on tumblr when I'm at the very end of my rope and barely hanging on by a quickly disintegrating thread and I don't know what that tells you about me

[pepprs]

the mortifying ordeal of being mere weeks away from living out a version of the second most traumatic thing that ever happened to me as a three year old (completely normal life phenomenon that 80% of the global population experiences and that kids sometimes take hard but usually get over after a couple of years, and that i should be totally over a) as a 23 year old b) who had that traumatic thing slowly turn into one of the best and most positive aspects of my life over the years 😃👍)

[harrowharkwife]

tbh i feel like we're all maybe forgetting that 6A was kind of destined to be a little bit boring or slow-paced from the get-go because of how 5B ended so *perfectly* with everything tied up in a neat little bow. i mean 5x18 was literally called "starting over," and this is a show that (for better or for worse, this specific post is not pro-911s-pacing or anti-911s-pacing but a secret third thing, confused-and-trying-to-make-sense-of 911s-pacing) routinely and consistently takes right around ~10 episodes to cash in on big narrative plot points. not situational or episode specific or more technical plot points, like madney going from unsuccessful house hunting to finding a place within 2 episodes, or buck agreeing to be a sperm donor inside of 1 episode- those are typically resolved pretty quickly, within an episode or two. the show scaffolds these more-quickly-resolved plot points together into larger, more character driven arcs that typically always take around ten episodes for the full emotional fallout and significance to play out. 911 has always been a show where what happens matters a hell of a lot less to the story than how the characters feel about what happens, so because this is such a character driven show, inside of those ten set-up, pawns-on-the-chessboard episodes, it can be pretty difficult at times to figure out what they're angling at, or where they're planning on going (buck! where the hell are you going!), or how any of the plots are going to coalesce into something useful, profound, and cohesive. typically, the B season ends with at least a *couple* of loose threads that carry over into the arc-resolution-conclusion phase in the following A season, giving us an A season that's like 70% setup for new arcs and 30% wrapup of old arcs- but 5B ended on a true blank slate, so almost *everything* in 6A (with the exception of the conclusion to hen's super-drawn-out-but-very-realistically-paced med school arc) has been... scaffolding from the ground up.

and scaffolding looks pretty unimpressive and odd and boring on its own, like a big pile of ugly junk getting in the way of everything, but put it alongside the Sistine chapel ceiling it was built to accomplish, and suddenly it seems a little more worthwhile.

[deityofhearts]

at this point I have so much like trauma and paranoia around love, being loved and loving others. like I want to be loved but I also can’t fully believe or accept that anyone would possibly love me or that they won’t get tired of me and stop loving me especially given the reason that it’s traumatic in the first place like, even knowing why I’m like this does nothing to make things any better or easier to deal with. That said I do want to be loved I want to love people but it just gets hard for me to not let my insecurities get in the way and make it harder for me to maintain relationships and cause me to hurt other people because of it, I want to think I’m getting better in that I’m at least trying not to hurt others because of how I feel but like idk, it’s a whole thing

[elexaria]

dating simon riley wasn’t always easy. “i’m a bloody nutcase, eh?” he’d joke when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, taking deep breaths as his calloused thumb rasps against the soft cotton bedsheets, grounding him back to reality. “puts all my efforts to shame when i wake up like this. fuck’s sake.”

therapy is mandatory, especially given his role as lieutenant. the traumas of childhood, the torture. he thinks he’s good at dealing with his problems, thinks therapy is a waste of time. “what, it’s just a bloke sat there starin’ at me? hell, get me a piece of paper with some made up degree on it and even i could be a therapist.” he grumbles after you point out that, in fact, he’s not as good as coping with his trauma as he thinks he is.

“you need to actually give this a go, si. it’s..” you pause, biting the inside of your lip as you make breakfast. his hair is disheveled, wry strands of grey sticking up against the grain. his dark circles only exemplify just how tired he is, especially when he has his night terrors. you shake your head, sighing as you crack another egg into the frying pan. “how can i expect you to stay safe out there when you’re barely able to look after yourself when you’re home?” you sigh out as he grunts, taking a seat at the small dining table, his eyes skimming through the morning paper.

god, he’s such a stubborn bastard. it takes months to get him to at least consider finding a new therapist, to get him to actually care about his mental health. christ, if he can’t do it for himself, can’t he at least try for your sake?

and then, it’s like he has a lightbulb moment. you come home after a long day at work, only to find him sat at the dining table, writing scruffy notes in a ring bound notebook. “mission notes?” you ask curiously, keeping your eye on him as you make yourself a cup of tea. he grunts, shaking his head as he continues to write.

“it’s a diary. supposed to help with your mental health or summet.” he replies, settling his pen down to meet your gaze. you must have had a look of confusion on your face, and it makes the corners of his lips twitch up into a half-smile. “yeah, i know. a bloke like me with a diary, like i’m a bloody teenage girl.” he quips, now grinning as his fingers toy with the corners of the notebook. “writin’ about all the boys i fancy on the field.” he shoots a wink, before continuing to write some more in his notebook.

it’s actually surprising, a smile on your lips as you watch him in his own little world, actually making an effort in his mental health recovery. you come over, settling a warm cup of tea by him before pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, still smiling as you make your way upstairs to give him some privacy. he comes upstairs after half an hour, chucking the diary into his bedside table drawer before sprawling out onto the bed obnoxiously with a deafening groan. you whine and complain when he purposely stretches on you, gently crushing you with his bolder-esque shoulders with a massive grin on his face.

there were still bad days, though. days where he’d hide himself in the garage to work on some of his projects. but you’re both trying, he feels his heart break when you gently knock on the door, holding a plate of snacks and a cup of tea for him, and fuck, it makes his bad day slightly better.

that evening, he curls up besides you silently on the couch, his journal and pen in hand as he clears his throat. you curiously peer down as he begins to flick through the pages of chicken scratch, gently tapping the page as he looks up at you. he clears his throat, and begins to read out the sweetest paragraph, one that makes your eyes well up with tears.

“no idea where i would be without you, love. you make the darkest days of my life brighter than ever. you make life worth it.” he ends his speech , the timbre of his voice cracking with emotion as he looks at you. and right there, you know that through all the trials and tribulations you two will go through, you’re the love of simon riley’s life and he would never let you forget that.

[nvuy]

h.how do we feel .

“Uh… sorry ‘bout the mess. I’ll make it up to ya.” For good measure, the space cowboy kicks one of the corpses to the side with his boot.

You clutch your chest tighter, heart racing. “You just killed fifteen IPC soldiers in my bar.”

“Yep.”

“You–”

He suddenly looks offended. “Hey. I did the world a favour. I don’t take kindly to rats puttin’ their fudgin’ filthy hands on the merchandise.” He gestures to his torso. Then, he whistles, placing his thumbs on the waistband of his pants. “But, nice place ya got. This your business?”

Dazed, you nod slowly. Your eyes flit to the broken sign and the smashed television hanging over the bar counter.

The bottles are smashed to bits. There’s liquor spilled all over the floor—expensive liquor. This would cost a fortune to fix, let alone to then replace all of the products.

You exhale shakily. You try not to look at the bodies.

The cowboy pities you. You can see it on his face. He says nothing. He awkwardly clears his throat and skims the rim of his hat with his fingers.

This sucks.

“How ‘bout this? I’ll give ya the bounty money so you can fix this place up.”

“Will you pay for my therapy sessions as well?” you chime in, murmuring beneath your breath.

He cracks a smile. “If that’s what you want.”

You lean over the counter and place your head in your hands. Tiredly, you ask, “how much?”

You hear the cowboy click his tongue in thought. “‘Bout… seventy-five? Give or take?”

You look at him from between your fingers. “Huh? Seventy-five hundred?”

The cowboy, yet again, looks offended. “Million, hun. I don’t do my job for cheap. What do I look like to you?”

You squawked. “Seventy-five million?”

“You heard me.” He cocks his head to the side, lips pressed into a thin line. “Why? You like that?”

“You can’t give me seventy-five million credits. Are you serious?” You could feel your face burning in shock. Your hands slam onto the counter, and you point an accusing finger in his face. “You must run some sort of shady business.”

The cowboy looks to the left for a moment.

He blinks at you like you’re stupid.

“You’re serious?” you repeat.

Instead of answering, he pulls out his phone from his pocket. You say nothing about the flimsy orange case, instead watching as he fumbles and squints at the screen before turning it towards you.

He shows you the recent deposit.

As he said. Seventy-five million fat credits sit right there in his account.

Hesitantly, you grab the phone to peer closer. Curiously, you start scrolling. These deposits clearly weren’t new to him. There were so many starting back from about ten years ago. There was a recent one of two-hundred thousand, then another just crossing fifty-seven million–

You were going to pass out. You hand his phone back to him with trembling fingers.

“Seventy-five sound good, or ya want some more?” He was tapping away on the screen again. “Gimme your bank details.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I don’t need your money. It’s fine.”

“How ‘bout eighty?”

“I–”

“Eighty-five.”

“No, I–”

“Round it up.” He turns the phone to you again, this time waiting for you to take it. An empty prompt of a receiver for the credits waits still. “One hundred.”

“Stop. I’m not taking your money.”

“I insist,” was all he said. “Got plenty to dispose of. And was never too responsible wit’ it anyway. Also, don’t really need to spend money on food and stuff, ‘cause, y’know–” He gestures to himself again. “I trashed your place. Lemme help ya fix it up.”

“I’m not taking your money,” you repeat.

The cowboy narrows his eyes at you.

To retaliate, you narrow them back.

Then, grumpily, he states, “you’re stubborn.”

“Yeah.” You bristle defensively. “And?”

“I like it,” he all but purrs. He leans over the counter, fingers drumming over the bench. “If ya don’t want my money, how’z about I take ya out for dinner? To say sorry?”

Huh? You lean back, cowering away from the sharp teeth he displays behind pulled lips. Your heart races in your chest, half out of the anxiety that riddles your veins, but also because he’s practically snapping his teeth in your face like a shark.

Your hands coil into weak fists.

“What do ya think, pretty?”

You look at him.

You suppose he’s handsome—you’re not sure if it’s appropriate to call a cyborg handsome. But he’s got lovely hair, and it falls over his shoulders like water. It covers half his face, but the eye you can see is… trustworthy, to an extent.

He’s definitely not the most insane man you’ve ever met, so that’s a bonus. He also just killed a bunch of soldiers in your territory. You didn’t like the IPC either, and maybe he did do you a favour, but still.

You sigh. You think the pleading flutter of his lashes won you over.

“Fine.”

“That’s the spirit.” He holds out his hand, palm facing upwards. “Phone.”

Your face twists suspiciously. “No funny business.” Hesitantly, you reach into your pocket and hand it to him.

He grins and takes it. “Not at all. I’m a super trustworthy guy.” You find it hard to believe him. Again, he seems to have trouble navigating your phone. He notices you staring. “Sorry. Can’t read very well.”

“Oh.” You straighten up slightly. “Do you want me to add your number instead?”

He makes a face at the phone.

“Nope. I got it.” He hands you back your phone after a moment. The contact is still open on the screen: Boothill. He’s somehow taken a photo of himself without you noticing. “Might’ve added an extra zero. Oops.”

“Oh.” You stare down at the phone number. “There's no zeroes in your number.”

“Sure.” Boothill pulls back from the counter with a tip of his hat. “I gotta run. I’ll set up our lil’ dinner date later.”

You turn your phone off. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You got it, babe.” He blows you a kiss and waves his hand behind him.

As soon as the door shuts, you get a notification of a successful deposit into your bank account.

Your face immediately drains of blood as you frantically open up the app.

Seven-hundred and fifty million credits sit in your account.

The message attached to it reads, ‘Dont bot her snending it back. Wont work. LOL.’

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Fifteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 4.7k words Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse!reader, hospital setting, domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD. Tiny bit of a panic attack. Tiny smidge of Simon's past if you know where to look. Comfort. Cockwarming. Barebacking, anal fingering, masturbation, praise kink, daddy kink. Basically the guys fuck while Bunny watches.

You’ve been having dreams about the hospital.

It’s always the same one.

You’re running a code with an intern and a fleet of baby nurses. No one is moving as fast as you are, no one is following direction. You’re on fast forward, they’re on rewind.

Every time, the dream starts and ends the same way. For some reason, you can’t see the patient’s face. You work on them for what feels like hours, and then only once it’s been called does the mental block disappear, you look down-

To see yourself.

Intubated. Bruised and broken.

Dead.

“Bunny.”

“Hmm?” You glance up across the counter, feeling the focus of Simon’s eyes before you see them.

“Everything alright?” Pen babbles ‘moremoremoremore’ while making the sign at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He mimics Penny’s sign, and then gives her a yes, spooning more yogurt into her mouth.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot for the last ten minutes, staring into your coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry… I’m just a little… scatterbrained this morning.”

“Still having that dream?” It’s been a week and a half since it started, and a few days since you finally confided in Simon and Johnny it was bothering you. “Do you think it might be related to going back to work this week?” You shrug.

“Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never dreamed of working on… myself.” His jaw flexes, and then he sighs.

“I’ve been thinking…” Penny squawks, demanding the attention of the room, and you pull some blueberries from the counter and put them on her plate. “My therapist is taking new patients. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I’d like you to consider it.” The grimace slides onto your face without preamble. Sure, you’ve considered therapy in the past, but it’s a risk. Mandated reporting, paper trails, everything you don’t need.

“I don’t need therapy right now.”

“You have PTSD.” He says point blank, and you blink. Your mind fractures, little pieces twisting and turning, trying to knit together a larger picture.

“No- I- I’m not… it’s…” You’re a medical professional, don’t you know what PTSD looks like?

“It’s hard to see, in yourself.” Simon senses the confusion and tries to soothe it away, cool balm on a burn.

You suppose he’s not wrong. It’s not unrealistic, you having PTSD, but you’ve never been confronted with it. Never been forced to face the truth.

No one’s ever known you well enough, to see.

It stings. It stings for some reason, and you don’t know why.

“I’m sorry.” He stands, moving around the counter to stand in front of you. “I want to help you, bun, but I should have approached that differently.” You shake your head, relenting into the steady hand at your back, and tip your face into his chest. The confrontation of the truth aches, but there’s comfort in Simon’s touch, understanding, and you relent to it, drifting away inside his tender hold.

“What’s goin’ on?” Johnny’s close, appearing in the kitchen after sleeping in. He was deep in his own dreams when you woke up, sweet like angel in the clouds, buried in the pillows, and you couldn’t stand to wake him.

Simon rumbles something over your head. You can’t make it out, ear covered by his bicep, and you turn your head to peek, reaching for Johnny.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi.”

“Why don’t ye come lay down wit’ me on the couch?” He coos, stroking a hand over your hair. “’m not quite awake yet.” Simon gives you a squeeze, and you nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Johnny holds you close. His nose in your neck, fingertips carefully tracing over your skin, heat at your back, he calms you, comforts you, lulls your stiff muscles languid. He’s so good at it, pulling and kneading until you settle, and it dawns on you he’s had practice.

“Would you tell me about you and Simon?”

“What do ye want to know?”

“What was it like… in the beginning. When you got together.” He kneads your hip, thoughtful for a quiet moment, and then takes a deep breath.

“He was difficult. Didnae wan’ to let me in, no matter how hard I tried. Had to corner him in his room on base just to get him to kiss me.” Johnny chuckles low, rubbing your shoulder. “Took him forever, to break down, let me see him, really see him, for the first time. I had glimpses, here and there. Moments in the field, on base, at the bar with the team when we’d decompress but… it took a lot of work. He tried to push me off, hide away.”

“Why?

“It’s his story to tell ye, bunny. An’ he will, in time.” He sighs. “He’s always been like this, strong, steadfast, more serious than me, but he buried a lot of things, deep. Always was very aware of it, jus’ not willing to show it to anyone else. Wanted to be a ghost.”

“But… he’s okay."

“He’s okay. Has some moments where he gets lost, still, but works through ‘em, wit’ me or on his own.” He kisses your neck, soft enough to tickle, and you shiver. “He’s really good at this, bein’ a da, takin’ care of a family. Treats us all like his little unit. I miss him too much when ‘m away. Pen too.”

“I’m sure.” His lips graze your shoulder, humming.

“An’ ye. When I go back, I’ll be thinkin’ of ye all the time.” When he goes back. The idea is chilling, a douse of cold water. It’s felt so far away, the idea of Johnny returning to his job, the thing that brought you to him in the first place.

“But that won’t be for a while, right? I mean, you’re still healing.”

“It won’t be for a while.” He assures, though there’s something in his voice, pinched and pained. You don’t ask, don’t push, choosing to close your eyes instead, nestled in his arms, safe.

“This is the worst.” You’re whining. You know you’re whining, know you sound like a child, but it spills out of you without stopping.

“I know sweetheart.” Simon screws the cap onto a travel mug, giving you a sympathetic smile. They’re both up with you, before the sun, listening to you moan.

You shouldn’t be going to work at this hour. You should be awake, puttering around, working your rhythm back to normal, getting oriented to working at night.

You’ve never hated your manager more. She insisted she was sorry, that she had no choice but to fill the overnight shift. She assumed, she said, the new nurse would want to go to days when you got back, but she’s taken a liking to it.

She’s taken your shift.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? An’ ye’ll see me tomorrow when I come in for therapy.” That is an upside at least, knowing you’ll be able to see him, see them both, at work.

But the rest of it, simply put, sucks.

“We should probably get going.” Simon kisses Johnny goodbye, and you’re drawn to them, sidling up in their orbit. Johnny wraps an arm around you, mouth to your temple.

“Have a good first day back, bunny. I’ll be thinking of ye.” You turn, grazing your lips on his, and he seals the kiss, drenching it in care, sweetness.

“Bye.”

Simon walks you all the way to the door.

Your resistance at the initial idea slowly fades as the sun peeks over the city. It’s different with Simon at your side, the paranoia and rampant fear infecting the atmosphere wherever you go is farther away.

You trust him. You’re starting to believe they may be able to keep you safe.

He holds your hand for most of the trip.

It’s… nice. Once you make it to the door, he turns and tucks his fingers under your chin, holding your gaze like a magnet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and you lean into it, eyes closed.

“Have a good day, bunny.”

Work is absolute hell.

Dayshift is so different from nights, and you have trouble adjusting. The turnover rate at the hospital is fairly high, so when you badge in and get started, you hardly recognize anyone.

Except, Marshall.

He’s standing outside the pit when you round the corner, devilish grin aimed at one of the nurses you don’t recognize. New probably. Sheep in a lion’s den.

You clear your throat. His head snaps up.

“Well, well, well… looks who back from vacation.”

“Marshall.” You greet, barely looking at him, tapping through your tablet. “I wasn’t on vacation. I was out on medical leave. Big difference.”

“Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. “Rotator cuff, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“Surgical?”

“No.” The other nurse watches you with interest, before scurrying away when a bell chimes. “Still having inappropriate relationships all over the hospital, I see.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk.” Ice cracks across your forced smile. He smirks. “Heard you’ve got yourself two boyfriends.” You suck your teeth. Nia.

“Considering he’s no longer my patient, it’s hardly inappropriate.” With the best timing, his phone rings, pulling his focus, and you slip away.

Fucking asshole.

Simon opens the front door for you and is careful not slam it closed.

“Penny asleep?”

“Johnny’s trying now. We’ll see if he has any luck. She’s been fightin’ it.” The kitchen smells like garlicky lemon, and you peek over his shoulder to see a large saucepan filled with linguini, capers, and shrimp. Your mouth waters.

“That smells amazing.” He takes your bag from you and hangs in on a hook from the hall tree.

“Scampi. We remembered you said it was one of your favorites, and we thought we’d spoil you a little bit. Celebrate your first day back.” Your cheeks burn hot, and to your horror, tears build up through your nose to your eyes. His brows crinkle together. “Hey, what is it?”

“That’s just… it’s really nice. You don’t have to.” Someone celebrating something with you, for you, is alien. The memories of the beginning of your relationship with Phillip are long gone, twisted and gnarled into black rot. It’s how he charmed you, wooed you, brought you closer and closer until they all but faded and you were left with only the darkness. The vice grip of his hands. His satisfied, sickening smile every time you closed your eyes.

“It’s not a ‘have to’ thing, sweetheart. We want to.” He skates his fingers over yours, pulling them to his mouth. “I know it’s hard to get used to.” You’re a little bewildered by it, the care, the consideration, even the memory of something you mentioned off hand.

“I… thank you.” He kisses your temple.

“Go shower. You smell like a hospital.”

“This was so good. Thank you again.” Your hands are woven together under your chin, rich wine sauce still present on the back of your tongue.

“Aye, thank ye.” Johnny winks at Simon, who rolls his eyes.

“Here, let me-“

“I got it.”

“No, you cooked.” You protest with a pout as they both rise.

“Johnny, sit.”

“Can wash dishes, ye know. I’m not helpless.” A sliver of twilight passes over Simon’s expression, not quite darkness but still full of a looming shadow until he sighs, relenting.

“Alright.” Your lips purse.

“What about me?”

“Ye jus’ sit on the couch and look pretty, bun. Willnae take us more than a few minutes.”

‘Just sitting on the couch’ lasts for all of five minutes before you’re antsy, rolling to your feet and padding into the kitchen.

You stop dead at the corner of the counter.

They’re making out. More than making out, Simon is swallowing Johnny’s whines with big breaths, his hand down the front of his pants. You buzz, thighs pressing together without permission, spine tingling heat awakening in your blood with zeal.

“Ah, shite-“

“Shhh. Be good.” Simon admonishes, but smiles into the kiss, wrist working a rhythm in Johnny’s sweatpants. He pulls away, chin tilted, looking down his nose with an eyebrow raised, almost condescendingly, but still grinning. “Feel good? Just need some relief?” Johnny’s moan is strangled in his throat, and you’re about to turn the corner in the shame, mortified you’re essentially spying on them, when Simon looks at you like he knows you’ve been there the whole time. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” You whimper. It slips out, unbidden, and Johnny turns, forehead pressed to Simon’s cheek. His hips are trying to jerk into the grip that has slowed, and he groans.

“Si.”

“Relax.” Simon stills him, pulling his hand free. “Maybe bunny wants to play too.” You give them a nervous smile, butterflies building in your stomach. You’re scared, there’s no other emotion to describe it. There’s fear, bad memories, anxiety building in the back of your throat, but at the same time, desire pushes you forward. You trust them, and it’s reached a critical point. You want to try.

“I… maybe if we s-started slow… I’m not sure…”

“That’s okay.” Simon coaxes, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist, hand splayed possessively on his stomach. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Their bed is an enchanted place.

There’s love in it, beguiling affection that transfers to you, dots down your throat to your chest, your clavicle, ass pressed into the hardened swell of Johnny’s cock.

It’s enough to strike down your fear, pry you open, lecherous want infiltrating your mind, your soul.

Their dynamic is crystal clear. Simon is natural in his mastery of both Johnny and you, the leader, the maestro. His forbearance at slowly peeling you free, layer by layer, puts you at ease, calms you enough you let him take your pants off, leaving you in only your underwear and the t shirt you put on before dinner. He folds you up against Johnny, careful to mind his sore spots, the pieces still healing, lips finding the plush fold at your ribcage.

“Sweet little bunny.” He glides careful fingertips over your panties. “Can I touch you here?” You draw a deep breath.

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips graze your neck, and he sweep up over your belly towards your nipples, under your shirt.

“An’ can I touch ye here?”

“Mm- mhmm.” You buck into them, sensation building between your legs, lust cascading to where Simon’s fingers slip into your underwear and down the seam of your pussy.

“You’re wet, sweetheart. Is this for us?” You nod, Johnny tickling circles across your breasts, playing back and forth, pinching and stroking gently.

They’re both taking it slow, cautious, and there’s one half of you wanting to rip into them, and vice versa, while the other half is terrified. So far, the reckless abandon side is winning, but when Simon grazes over your clit, the crest of your fear bottoms out in the pit of your stomach. Johnny flexes his hips, the weight of his cock between the curve of your ass, and the combination of it, the touch now overwhelming, stream of thoughts turning panicked and unstoppable like a bolder rolling down hill, steals your breath.

In the wrong way.

“S-stop.” You freeze, immobilized, muscles turned from molten lava to stone, eyes wide, lungs rasping. Simon immediately creates distance, while Johnny jerks backward, palm steady on your shoulder, but separated otherwise.

“Ye’re alright, bunny.”

“Take a breath.” Simon coaches, maintaining eye contact, and you nod shakily, anchoring yourself to Johnny’s tender hold. You manage a breath, not so far gone you’re spiraling, and it’s deep, without a hitch or a studder. “That’s great. You’ve got it.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, disappointed. You’ve let yourself down, let them down-

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He murmurs, understanding and slow. “We’re done. There’s no rush.”

“No!” You blurt. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just… I don’t want it to end I’m just not sure I can… do it.” His head tilts, surprise contained with a slow smile, and Johnny hums.

“Do ye wantae watch, pretty girl?” You nod shyly.

“Is that… is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” Simon rasps, stroking your cheek. “Sit up against the headboard.”

The two of them move into position seamlessly, sweat and breath thick in the air, a wet fog blanketed around you. A bottle of lube discarded on the mattress, a pillow under Johnny’s hip to cushion him. He’s settled on his side, arranged carefully to avoid pressure on his injuries, and they both face you.

Simon kisses his neck, sucking urgent marks into his skin before he palms Johnny's ass, hard and then slips between his cheeks. You’re unable to see his hand, but when Johnny’s eyes go wide and he groans hoarsely, your clit throbs.

“There you go.”

“Simon.” He whines, high pitched and needy.

“Bloody tight, Johnny. Been so long since I’ve taken care of you, huh?”

“A- fuck, aye.” He presses backwards into Simon, and pants. The scene makes you drool, the eagerness on Johnny’s face, the slow movements of Simon at his back, his lips against Johnny’s cheek, neck, murmuring gently. You’re nearly shivering, ache screaming between your legs, and instinct takes over as your slip your hand inside your underwear. You’re slick, so wet it dampens your curls, and your fingertips slide over your clit, zaps of electricity echoing through your nerve endings.

Simon looks up at you through heavy lids, mouth obscured by Johnny’s shoulder. “Are you touching yourself sweetheart?” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid it will come out a garbled mess. “You want to come when I fill our boy up?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Keep going.’ He orders, and then shifts, pressing his cock to Johnny’s entrance. Johnny moans, and your own hips jerk.

Simon pushes slowly, focused on Johnny’s face, cataloging every expression. “Y’alright?” Johnny nods, lip tucked into his teeth. “Christ. You’re strangling me.” He thrusts sharply, sealing his hips to the soft curves in front of him, and Johnny cries out in a high-pitched wail, eyes slamming shut. He fumbles with his cock, squeezing at the root, but Simon pulls him away. “Not yet, sweet boy. Need you to last for us.” You’re trapped in a shockwave that hasn’t quite reached shore yet, tension building with each swipe over your sensitive bud.

“Bunny…” Johnny rasps, and your apprehensions wane.

“Does it feel good?” you whine, and he nods, groaning. Simon builds his thrusts into an unrelenting pace and cups Johnny’s belly, stroking down, pushing against the strain of muscle there, Johnny’s eyes rolling into the back of head. You wonder if Simon can feel it, the pressure, the bulge of his hard cock, shoving deeper and deeper.

“Daddy-“ Johnny shrieks, and Simon’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s right, good boy. Fuck… perfect little hole f’me. All mine.” He practically growls it, and you writhe, flicking down your pussy and back up, breathing hitching in a frantic pace. Johnny’s delirious, hands scrambling across the sheets, half reaching for you, half reaching for nothing. “Isn’t he perfect, bunny?”

“Ah- yeah.” Your tongue is numb, body burning. Sweat slicks down the middle of your back, and you ride your hand violently.

“Please.” He’s begging, frenzied, fingers twisting, and Simon reaches for his cock, wrapping his fist around his length. It doesn’t take long until Johnny’s back bows, and your toes curl. You hiss. They move together wildly now, a push pull in a frenetic dance, and your eyes slip closed, sinking into the slick sounds of Simon fucking Johnny open, Johnny moaning, whispers passed back and forth. Simon cups his jaw, tilting his face towards you, and they both watch, drifting from your eyes down to where you’re trying to make yourself come, clit swollen and throbbing.

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she? Touchin’ herself, watching you take my cock.”

“Pretty girl.” Johnny slurs through his gasps, body shaking with the power of Simon’s thrusts. He’s close, judging by the fevered look on his face, little gasps and whines tumbling from his mouth. Simon squeezes him, thick thumb rubbing over his slit.

“Come, bunny. Be good for daddy.” Simon coaches, and you tighten, cosmic explosion streaking behind your closed lids, the same time Simon grits out something under his breath, jaw tight, tugging relentlessly on Johnny’s cock until he’s crying out too, cum splattering up his belly and chest, Simon milking every last drop from his cock as he lazily strokes inside him.

Immediately, you gasp. Shocked at yourself, but not scared. Not nervous just… emboldened.

They both read it on you, and Johnny’s head lolls with a satisfied, lazy smile. Simon pulls free, rubbing Johnny’s hip sweetly, ducking into the bathroom to get a towel. He cleans him up carefully, gently, and Johnny’ reaches for your hand. You don’t turn away.

And when Simon urges you to tuck in between them for sleep, you do. More than willingly.

“He looks good.” Hot tea wafts from the cup in front of your nose. You’re on break, somewhat, watching Johnny work through his last few minutes of physical therapy, his face broken out in satisfied smile. His biceps flex. “Really good.”

“He’s been workin’ out at home, a bit. In the garage.”

“He shouldn’t be pushing it.”

“I know.” Simon squeezes your good shoulder. “He’s okay, bun. He’s strong. A bit too stubborn for his own good sometimes, but strong.”

“Dada.” Penny smacks an open palm against Simon’s chest, and he covers it with his own, bouncing her slightly.

“Look, Pen. Is that your Da in there? Is that him?” The therapist smiles at Johnny and pats him on the back, rubs his shoulder down to his elbow with wandering fingers. She’s pretty, and fit, tight ass, tiny hips. A sliver of self-doubt, self-consciousness pokes at you, and then jealousy nearly turns you green. Simon cocks his head with a laugh. “Easy, bun. She’s just doing her job, you know.”

“What? I know that. I’m fine.” You immediately blurt, and it does nothing for your cause.

“It’s cute. That you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “whatever.” He chuckles, and then starts to pass Penny to you.

“Can you hold her while I help him get his stuff together?”

“Sure, c’mere girlfriend.” You tuck her up into your chest, playing with her hair as she curls into you. “Sleepy huh? It’s past your nap time. I bet Dada keeps you up for an early bedtime tonight.” She coos. Her fingers tighten in the collar of your shirt.

And then a freight train rams itself in the deepest parts of your heart.

You lean against the wall to keep your balance.

This is not your baby, but she feels like yours. Her weight is familiar now. Her routines. Her signs and sounds.

It’s easy to close your eyes and imagine she’s yours.

It’s been days since you touched yourself in bed as Johnny and Simon had sex, and the scene, the desire, is burrowing itself in your brain.

You want more.

You want more so badly you wind up touching yourself in the shower, fingers stroking your clit until you're muffling a moan in your elbow when you come.

It doesn’t soothe the ache. You’re not sure what will.

So, when you’re done, and find them relaxing in bed, Johnny in boxers, an idea abruptly runs through your head.

Could you?

Your fingers twiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Simon raises an eyebrow. Johnny stops his sketching to smile.

“I um. I wanted to… see… or ask for something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just… I was wondering if I could… sit on you.”

“Sit on us?” Simon’s brow furrows, but Johnny’s face lights up.

“Like, ye wannae sit on one of us?” He emphasizes the word sit, and Simon murmurs.

“Ah.”

“I just… I really want to… I want to move on.” The words take you by surprise. “I want to feel like a human again, like how I used to feel. Before I was like this. I think…”

“Taking back control of your body will bring you closer to healing.” Johnny looks at Simon, and there’s desperate sadness in their eyes. Their hands intertwine, gripping onto each other so hard it looks like it hurts.

The moment passes, gone like it was never there in the first place. Johnny turns back to you.

“Ye’ll have to sit on me, pretty girl.”

“But... your hip.”

“I can take it.” You nod. Not that you prefer one to the other, but you’re curious.

“Is there a reason why…”

“I’m too big, bunny. Especially if it’s been a while for you. We’ll need to ease you into it.” Johnny smirks, and you hide an excited shiver.

“Okay.”

You stretch yourself out with your own fingers at first, the process made easier by your orgasm in the shower, all the while both Simon and Johnny encourage you, coo at you, praise you.

You stay present. Focused.

“Take it slow,” Simon coaches when you straddle Johnny’s hips, “don’t rush it. Just take your time.” Hands on his shoulders, Simon reaches for his cock, sliding it through your lips, brushing your clit before angling it at your entrance. You take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

The first inch makes you whine. Johnny’s fingertips draw circles up and down your spine, his lips in your ear. “Good job, pretty girl. Just like that. Nice and easy.” Your eyes slip closed, and you take more, sliding down his cock, the burn of the stretch smarting tears in your eyes. Simon wipes them away.

“Our brave girl. You’re doing so well. Feel okay so far?”  

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye alright? Does it hurt?”

“A little.” You wince, taking another inch, glancing down. Your equilibrium pitches.

“Look at me.” Johnny redirects, head tilted back on a pile of pillows. “Jus’ look at me, bunny. You’re safe. I’ve got ye.” His hands guide your hips, keeping your pace even and slow, careful. Even when the anxiety invades your control, he steadies you. “It’s us, just us. We’re here, bunny. You’re okay.” The ache, the open sore spot spilling sticky, blackened tar, seals up. It's zippered shut, away from you, packed tight for another day. Another moment. The only thing you need to focus on is here, and now. With them. Johnny's jaw clenches. “Christ Si. She’s really tight.”

“I know.” He pushes some of Johnny’s hair from his forehead. “You’re both being so good. I’m proud of you.” The praise, the warmth from the both of him, glows in your heart. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, in your life. Again and again, they surprise you, teaching you how things you used to dread or shy away from can be enjoyed, valued.

This is how it should be. Love without fear. Intimacy without fear.

You’re fully split open on Johnny, stuffed full. It’s tender, calm in the low light of the bedroom, almost cozy. His thighs blaze under your ass, and the heat creeps like lava to your fingers and toes, turning you boneless, languid in his arms. Simon leans in to kiss your temple.

“How do you feel?”

“R-really full.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No just… stretched, I think?” You wiggle a little bit, and Johnny finally breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling with a groan.

“Try to be still bunny. We just want to get you used to the feeling. This isn’t about sex.” Simon's last comment earns Johnny a warning glance, and he nods, straightening.

“Right. Even though your perfect little pussy is drivin’ me mad-“

“Johnny.” Simon chides. “Bunny, can you lean forward for me?” His hand presses to the middle of the back, guiding you to rest your cheek on Johnny’s shoulder. “Good girl.”

The room lapses into silence that lasts, rhythm of your chest rising and falling syncing with Johnny’s, Simon humming, working a hand up and down your spine.

Up and down. Up and down.

You think you could do it now. Roll your hips and rise on your knees, sink back down to feel the pressure, the bludgeoning tip of Johnny’s long cock nestled at your cervix. You’re not sure, not confident, but somewhere in your dreams, you picture yourself milking him dry, riding his cock until you’re shattering.

“Si.” Johnny’s voice pitches to something you’ve never heard, low and heavily accented. “Will ye read?” Pages of a book flutter. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed, but as Simon’s voice picks up a page with no pretense, you don’t fight it, allowing yourself to drift between them, cradled on Johnny’s body with a piece of him pulsing inside you.

It’s bliss. It’s love. You’re…. happy.

[nope-body]

.

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[harrowharkwife]

.

[hug-your-face]

Insight today while washing the lettuce and thinking of my friend who doesn't want to vote.

They are an otherwise intelligent, responsible, generous person, who appears to be socially conscious. They have worked hard and long for their position in their profession. They express concern for the planet. They get twitchy if you use too many paper towels.

But they don’t want to vote for Biden for reasons, and quote "doesn't like the whole system where the parties take turns swinging things back and forth" unquote.

I have been dumbstruck at their attitude for about two months now. I've been thrashing back and forth trying to reconcile this person I love with their attitude:

If you care abt the planet enough to conserve paper towels, don’t you care enough to stop a Repub administration from raping the land?

If you don’t like how things can swing back and forth, don't you want an administration that's going to work to shore up, rather than dismantle, more lasting democratic systems of governance?

If you understand the value of the long game, why are you only satisfied with instant results from a single election rather than viewing that election as a single move in an ongoing process?

The insight came to me as I used an extra set of paper towels to dry my lettuce:

These people are not motivated by outcomes. They are motivated by how their choices make them FEEL.

Not how the outcomes of their choices will make them feel. But how the action associated with their choices makes them feel.

In terms of outcomes for the environment, saving paper towels doesn't do shit compared to pushing for restrictions on oil companies. But using half a paper towel is an instant dopamine hit: "Ahhh, I am caring for Mother Earth. I care. I am a good person. Ahh yes that's the stuff."

This model fits for voting too. We know that The Only Votes That Count Are Those Cast. We know that Dems Go Where The Votes Are Not Where The Votes Aren't. We know that voting in every election, every time, in numbers, is a very low-effort way to contribute to moving the Overton window farther left.

But in the moment, for people who are motivated by how their action associated with their choice makes them feel... the absolute best move for their dopamine supply is to abstain: "I am NOT supporting an old fart; I am NOT supporting genocide; I am Challenging The System; I am a good person. Ahh yes, that's the stuff."

At the time, when I challenged my friend on their position, they held up their hands and said "look, I'm not saying I have any answers, I'm just saying I don’t like how the system works."

They didn't like how participating in the system made them FEEL in the moment.

For those of us who think this is madness, hey, we aren't off the hook entirely. We are basing our choices and actions off of outcomes, true. But there's probably a feeling/dopamine component in there too. "I am holding my nose and voting Blue; I am doing my part to actually affect the future even if I hate some things abt my choice; I am a good person. Ahh yes, that's the stuff."

So maybe the difference isn't in the motivation (my feelings and self-image) but in what motivates us (my action vs the outcome of my action).

I don't have an answer to the question at this time and this post is already long enough. But I'll think on it. And I invite you to do so as well:

For these people (who seem to be a sizable part of the population), how to outweigh the choice where their action preserves their self-image, doesn't cost them dopamine for having to take a "bad" action, and maybe even gives them a happy boost for "not being part of a flawed system?"

For these people, how to help them connect more to the outcome?

Off the cuff, I can't think of any means other than cognitive-behavioral therapy. :/

EDIT: Apparently there's a term for this and it's called Emotivism -- ethics isn't abt effects but abt feelings.

[running-on-coffee-and-anxiety]

Know what? I'm gonna try throwing my hat into the ring for Danny Phantom.

I accidentally electrocuted myself as a kid and never told anybody- nothing serious, I grabbed the three exposed prongs of a half plugged in laptop charger in the middle of the night and didn't want to get in trouble since nobody else was awake. Even if it isn't fatal, it's terrifying and your vision completely blacks out and your arm tingles for days afterwards, and for the whole day after you got shocked your fingers on the hand that grabbed the prongs will randomly twitch, open or close or jerk to the side. You have no control, it's like when the doctor hits your knee to check your reflexes.

Now, from what I can tell from the scene where Danny went ghost for the first time, he really was electrocuted. From what I can tell, his ghost and human halves seem kinda separate- not completely, but the change is there. Where is this going?

Danny never told anyone about the accident- not anybody that could help him, anyways. I propose that, since he never got medical treatment or physical/occupational therapy after the accident, his motor function deteriorates over time.

More specifically, his small motor function is effected- I will be using personal experience in this section, since my small motor skills were so bad I couldn't use zippers or tie my shoes until I was 12, but I'll try putting things in reverse.

Danny starts fumbling with tying his shoes, laughing it off as being tired. Buttons take a few minuets, and even snap buttons become a bit hard. Odd, mildly confusing, but nothing to be concerned about. Then it progresses. He can't properly use tools anymore, it's like nothing is ever precise enough, everything takes a few tries to get it right. His fingers are fumbling everything, his handwriting turns to chickenscratch that not even he can read at times, he struggles to comb his hair because it's hard to coordinate movements, his back teeth are always textured because he struggles to brush his teeth and he can't really reach the back ones properly anymore.

I don't know if this is connected to small motor or not, but he starts dragging his feet and the toes of his shoes wear out quicker because walking while lifting his feet any higher doesn't feel right. This was something I had fixed during occupational therapy, but I don't know if it was just me or not.

Eventually, it becomes sunlight-on-clean-pact-snow levels of blindingly obvious that something is incredibly wrong. Danny's hair is knotted and half-matted because he is unable to brush it properly, when he smiles there is plaque on some parts of his teeth and not others, he always wears slip-on shoes or his laced shoes are always untied, buttons always seem like they could unslip because they're only half-buttoned, zippers in his jackets getting stuck in shirts and he doesn't bother to fix it, teachers can no longer read his assignments and his friends can't read his notes. Nobody can ignore it, but nobody knows how to help when Danny gets so clearly frustrated when he has to do something with his hands and it just doesn't work. It seems like he suddenly developed a hole in his lip, since he always had to lean far over his bowl or plate to not end up on food with his shirt because his hands can't hold silverware steady.

But Phantom? None of those issues. He became a ghost after being electrocuted, of course. Why would there be damage from the initial creation of this half? It could be why he ends up enjoying fighting the ghosts, his hands actually work with him instead of against him.

Feel free to take this idea and do what you want with it, I really liked writing this!

Also if you use this for a fic, please comment the link if possible, I wanna see all the ways people use this :)

Edit: So I started a mini-series about this. Is it any good? Probably not, but writing makes me happy.

Noticed But Hoping For The Best

[washoping]

But the scars still linger

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Emily Prentiss x reader

summary: After taking it slow you and Emily are about to have sex for the first time but revealing all of you, including your self-harm scars that were the reason for taking things slow in the first place, turns out to be more panic-inducing than you expected. Luckily Emily is right there to show you how worthy you are.

tags: 18+, fluff and smut, comfort, talk about self-harm, scars, insecurities, panic attacks and mental health struggles in general, body worship, sex

f/f │ 5.2k words │ ao3

a/n: this has been up on my ao3 already but thought i’d post my writing here as well. writing these is like therapy to me but i wanted to share in case they could bring comfort to other people as well. all typos and mistakes are mine, english isn’t my first language. feel free to send requests, i'd love to write more <3

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Emily’s kisses had this strange effect on you. Every time you two kissed since you started dating you felt like all of your worries disappeared the moment Emily’s lips touched yours. She made you feel safer than anyone else before. You had showed her more of your soul than any other person had ever seen and she wasn’t scared of what she had discovered. If anything, it was the total opposite - she was there for you and you couldn’t help but think you didn’t deserve her.

You had talked about your past, about what you’d been through in your life before her. You hadn’t shared even half of that stuff before. Emily knew of the darkness you could easily start slipping into when things got rough but she was right there by your side, ready to catch you before you started to slip. She knew of your struggles with your mental health and you two had made a pact to take things slow. It took you a while to trust people but trusting Emily had been easier than you thought. She made it easy.

You admired Emily’s patience, having very little of it yourself. She had told you multiple times that she would wait for you forever because ”you were worth it”, but you found that hard to believe. You didn’t feel worthy.

That’s why it was so difficult for you to believe that this moment right now was happening. You had never felt this close to anyone before - in fact you had never let anyone this close prior to this. Being this vulnerable was new to you but you knew you’d do anything for Emily.

Emily was kissing you, making your poor heart pound loudly in your chest as if its' only task was to remind you of all the anxiety bubbling inside of you instead of excitement. Emily’s lips were on yours but they weren’t having their usual effect of forgetting about the world on you because you had gone further than before.

Your kisses were more passionate than before now, initiated by you. Emily had sensed it and her hands were travelling all over your clothed body, stroking your upper arms, your sides, your back. Her touch sent shivers down your spine. You found the growing passion between you two thrilling but also terrifying at the same time. When it came to letting people close to you it wasn’t only the mental part of it that you hadn’t done. You had also never let anyone physically this close.

As your kisses got hungrier and hungrier you started to struggle with staying present. Your mind started racing, feeding you all kinds of insecurities to dwell on. Stupid mind.

Emily’s fingers trailed down from your shoulders to your upper arms, then further down your arms. It felt like they left a trail of fire in their wake as they went. You pulled away from the kiss and found yourself unwillingly holding your breath when Emily’s fingers came to your wrists. Her fingers and your skin had the fabric of your long sleeve shirt between them, but it might as well have been nothing because as soon as you felt her touch on your wrist, you flinched in panic and pulled your arm to your side.

No, no, no. You blamed yourself for forgetting about the mess of a person you were for a while and letting things get this far. Damn Emily and her kisses that made you lose all common sense. You felt bad for her, for having to deal with someone like you.

You looked into her eyes, finding hers looking at you with confusion and concern. She was so beautiful. People like you were never meant to be with people like her. She was way too good. You weren’t worthy. Of anyone, you thought, but especially of someone like Emily.

”Hey… what is it?” she asked softly with such understanding you couldn’t fathom it. Her voice was like a soothing balm to your anxiety that was filling your body, making you freeze in spot.

Your throat was suddenly dry and you couldn’t think of what to say. You swallowed hard, trying to come up with something that would make this moment pass quicker.

”It’s nothing”, you lied and hoped Emily would let it go, but it was a stupid thing to do because deep down you knew she would see right through you right away. She profiled people for a living after all. There had also been numerous times that you had been surprised of how it seemed like she knew you better than you knew yourself.

You looked away, trying to escape Emily’s eyes. You couldn’t face the kindness in them. You felt like you didn’t deserve to be treated with kindness after hiding something like this from her for so long. You didn’t even know how you had managed to hide it for so long, but it didn’t matter anymore because you felt Emily’s fingers gently lifting your chin, forcing you to look at her.

”Hey, I can see it’s not nothing”, she whispered, seeing right through you. ”Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words made tears well up in your eyes. It was like the weight of your secret was pressing down on your lungs, making it impossible for you to take a deep breath in to calm yourself the way you wanted to. You nodded, still trying your best to hide your panicking.

”Promise not to judge me, Emily…” you said quietly, not really sure if you meant to even say it out loud but Emily had clearly heard it because her brows furrowed in concern as she nodded quickly.

”I would never judge you”, she reassured you.

Without saying anything else you started rolling your sleeves up slowly, revealing the faded scars starting from your wrist, travelling up your arm. You had no idea how you had managed to hide this part of yourself from Emily for all this time you had been together. Long sleeves - obviously. But when she had stroked your arms to show you affection, or touched your thigh to comfort you in a crowded place, or when her leg had brushed against your ankle when cuddling… you had managed to ignore it and hiding had gone well until tonight. Tonight it had ended up being too much.

The room seemed to grow quieter and the air heavier, making it even more difficult for you to breathe properly as Emily took in the sight in front of her. You had never enjoyed complete silence because it made your anxious mind race but bearing this silence was on a whole another level. When you finally dared to look at Emily the look on her face broke your heart.

The silence continued as you watched her reaching out, her touch being feather-light as she traced along the white lines on your skin, some raised, some not. You almost couldn’t take it.

You hated them. Your scars. You had been clean for a good while now and harming yourself, at least the way you had done before, wasn’t a thought that crossed your mind as easily anymore. But back then it had been your primary coping mechanism, a really bad one - you were aware of that. You were prone to having coping mechanisms that in the end didn’t help you cope, but actually made things worse. Cutting had been the worst one.

It would’ve been easier to forget about that horrible phase of your life even existing if there weren’t these neatly placed scars on your left wrist, your upper thighs and ankles, reminding you of how badly you had once wanted to leave this place.

And now you were looking at the one thing in this place that made you want to stay, and seeing her looking at your scars felt worse than any of the pain you had ever inflicted on yourself. This was worse than any of it.

”Why didn’t you tell me before?” Emily finally asked, her voice breaking slightly as she looked up at you.

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to hold back the tears in the corners of your eyes. You felt so exposed, showing these parts of yourself to another human for the first time ever.

”I was scared. I didn’t want you to think less of me. To doubt my sanity or abilities or anything like that”, you explained, voicing out your fears to Emily. She nodded, understanding what you meant right away. You noticed her eyes filling with tears just like yours the moment they met yours and it stung your heart to see it happen because of something you did. ”And I already have a hard time looking at myself… my scars, my body in general. I…” you continued but Emily interrupted you.

”C’mere”, she mumbled and gently pulled your arm to bring you closer to her. She wrapped her arms around you, enclosing you into a tight embrace that brought you more comfort than you dared to even admit to yourself. You needed this. You were against her chest and she stroked your back gently, making you feel so appreciated and loved.

”I would never judge you, I hope I can make you believe that somehow”, she whispered while hugging you. Her hand was stroking your back soothingly, a gesture that told you everything was going to be okay. ”I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that alone. But I’m here now and you don’t have to face it alone anymore, if you just let me be there for you. I want to be.”

In Emily’s arms everything felt okay. Her words felt like a warm blanket wrapped around you, but doubt still gnawed at your heart, your past experiences hanging around you like ghosts.

”Why are you so kind to me, Emily?” you whispered, your voice barely audible because half of your words were muted by Emily’s shirt you were pressed against. ”Why would you want to be with someone like me? I’m… I’m broken, Em. I don’t deserve you.”

Emily broke your embrace for a bit to pull back slightly. She wanted to do it to look into your eyes, but her hands still stayed on your shoulders because she knew you’d appreciate the contact. When your eyes met you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You felt them falling from your eyes and Emily wiped them away immediately, not wasting a second letting the tears stain your cheeks.

”Don’t you dare say that”, she said, her voice firm but only because of how much she cared. ”You’re not broken. You’ve been hurt, yes, but you’re so strong and beautiful and incredibly deserving of love. We’re all broken. We all have scars. We all have stuff we’ve went through and survived and it doesn’t make us any less capable or worthy. And you, my love… you deserve so much, baby.”

Emily’s words hit you hard. Looking into her eyes as she told you all of that made you realize you had never heard words like hers from anyone else in your life before this. You shook your head, your tears flowing freely now.

”It’s just so hard to believe that”, you admitted, your voice cracking. You looked at Emily who was fighting back tears. ”I’ve felt worthless for so long.”

Emily cupped your face in her hands, both of her thumbs gently wiping away your tears.

”I know it’s hard”, she said so extremely softly. ”But I’ll be here, every step of the way. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You tried to nod and take a deep breath but it came out shaky and uneven. You were trembling.

”Emily, I… I feel like I’m about to fall apart”, you managed to admit before trying to take another deep breath and failing again. Your chest started to tighten with the familiar sensation of a panic attack that was about to hit you. ”I’m scared”, you whispered through your tears.

Emily’s hold on you tightened and she reminded you of her presence by stroking your upper arms. She walked you to the bed, trying her best to ground you. She knew your bed was where you felt the safest, it was your comfort place. She guided you there and sat you down, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Her hands were stroking your thighs up and down, her touch a reminder that you were here.

”Breathe with me, honey. Can you do that for me?” she whispered, her own breath steady and calm. Without being able to look her in the eyes you tried to mimic her breathing, hoping it would help you calm down too. Emily saw you concentrating as well as you could and she whispered sweet praises to you the whole time.

”In and out… just like that. You’re safe with me. Everything is okay, just focus on my voice.”

And you did. You listened to Emily’s soothing voice while you searched for her hand to hold. She grabbed your hand the moment she realized what you were trying to do. You clung to her, your whole body still trembling. Despite the awkward position with her sitting on the floor she held you, stroking your back, giving you all the time in the world to just breathe.

”That’s it”, she murmured against your hair. ”You’re doing great, baby. Just keep breathing.”

Some minutes passed, though it felt like an eternity, before you felt the weight on your chest lifting. It felt a bit easier to breathe again and when you pulled yourself out of Emily’s arms you saw her flashing you an encouraging smile.

”Thank you”, you whispered and wiped a tear away from your cheek, smiling a little. You didn’t know how to thank Emily enough for being there for you. ”You’re so good to me.”

”Because I love you”, she replied right away with zero hesitation. ”I love you more than you can imagine. And I believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself. You’re worth it, every bit of it.”

Her words pierced through the fog of self-doubt that had been shadowing you for years. They brought you a glimmer of light into the darkness that had enveloped you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, with Emily by your side you could start to heal. With her love and support it seemed like anything was possible.

”I’ll try”, you whispered. Your voice was still shaky but there was a layer of newfound hope in it. ”I’ll try my best to believe.”

Emily’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

”That’s all I ask, darling. One day at a time, together”, she said and tightened her grip on your hand. You looked down at your intertwined fingers and how Emily’s thumb drew patterns on top of your palm. It was so soft, so soothing.

”Emily… I need… I need to feel close to you. To know this is real”, you confessed with your voice trembling out of vulnerability.

Emily’s eyes softened again and she pushed herself up on her knees to reach you better. She wrapped her arms loosely around your neck and pressed a tender kiss on your lips that were still a bit moist and salty from your tears.

”I’m here”, she whispered against your mouth. ”I’m right here, my love.”

Her hands moved to your shoulders, to your sides. They started roaming over your body, not in a demanding way but more like an offering of comfort and intimacy. She knew that was what you were silently asking for. You responded to Emily’s kiss, letting it grow more urgent, seeking solace in her familiar touch. The atmosphere in the room changed into desperation, it was like you couldn’t get enough of her touch. It was the only thing that could ground you right now.

Emily’s fingers brushed against your scars again. You noticed you had totally forgotten about them. Even though her touching them now was sudden, you didn’t flinch this time. You didn’t pull away. Instead you let her touch you, to soothe the scars with the softness of her fingertips. You both looked down at the lines scattered on your arm for a bit before Emily caught you and distracted you with another kiss.

Then she stood up, pushing you gently down to the bed. She helped you lie down in front of her and when you noticed the hungry gaze she looked at you with, it made your heart race. Emily was all you had ever dreamed of and you couldn’t believe you had the privilege to call her yours.

Her eyes never left yours as she moved above you to straddle your hips. Her eyes were filled with love so profound that the whole moment felt more important than anything else had ever felt before.

”You are everything to me”, Emily whispered, her voice thick with emotion while she started pressing tiny kisses all over your neck, making goosebumps appear on your warm skin. ”Let me show you just how much you mean to me.”

Her hands continued exploring your body with tenderness that took your breath away. Her lips followed the traces her fingers drew. Her movements were directed by her need to make you feel adored. Each kiss, each caress, each tiny little movement she made was a silent promise of her love and support. You clung to her, afraid to let go in case she somehow disappeared out of your reach.

When you felt Emily’s hands slipping underneath your shirt you felt a warmth spread through your body. You sighed into the slow kiss Emily was teasing you with while grazing your soft skin with her fingertips. You could feel her smile while kissing you and it melted your heart. It was so easy to forget about the rest of the world even existing.

Emily was too slow for your liking with your shirt. You couldn’t wait to get it off and feel her skin properly against yours, without any fabric in between. You had been longing for this, absolutely yearning, so it felt like your skin was burning out of pure lust for the woman on your lap.

”Take it off”, you mumbled against her lips and she let out a chuckle. She grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off. She couldn’t help but stroke the soft skin on your shoulders. She placed a small kiss there, and then on the other shoulder. On your collarbones, then on top of your breasts that were covered by a simple black bra. ”God… just undress me, Em.”

And she complied. She didn’t waste any time getting rid of the rest of your clothes and easing out of her own in the process as well. Both of you were left in just your underwear and you couldn’t help but steal glances of Emily’s body. You noticed she had her own scars and marks as well and suddenly everything she had said earlier made total sense. Your fingers traced a protruding scar on her abdomen and she put her hand on top of yours gently, to show you it was okay. It was part of her. Maybe the pain never truly went away but it was possible to live with it. Maybe you’d learn to live with your scars too.

Emily’s lips crashed against yours again and she gently pressed her whole body against yours, lying on top of you. You loved the feeling of being trapped between her and the mattress, the pressure made you feel safe.

She took a break from kissing you and just looked into your eyes, making sure you were feeling alright. She didn’t need to ask. You nodded, letting her know she had your consent and she answered with a small smile.

You were so mesmerised by how the light hit her deep brown eyes that you only noticed Emily’s hand sneaking down between your legs when an involuntarily moan escaped your mouth. She touched you through your underwear, finding the fabric damp already - which wasn’t a big surprise. It amused her, you could tell by the smirk on her face.

”You’re so pretty when you’re this needy for me”, she teased you in between kisses and started drawing circles with her fingers through your panties. Your hips tried to buckle up but the way she was lying on top of you made it difficult for you to move too much.

She stopped for a short while to ease you out of your bra. With one swift motion she slid her hand behind your back and undid the clasp, then pulling the bra off and throwing it on the floor. You felt a bit self-conscious, you couldn’t hide it. You and Emily had shared so much, seen so much of each other, but this was new. You were almost completely bare, emotionally and physically.

Emily could sense the nervousness in you. She grabbed one of your boobs softly, kneading it in her hand while lowering her head and taking the other’s nipple in her mouth. Your back arched as you watched her and felt her teasing the quickly hardening bud between her lips. You grabbed her head with your hands, your fingers getting lost in her silky black hair. A quick look at you before she swapped to the other nipple and she closed her eyes while giving it the same attention as the first one. You adored the sight in front of you, how your skin glistened with wetness Emily’s mouth left behind.

”Your boobs are perfect”, she stated when she opened her eyes to look up at you. You cradled her face in your hands, finding it difficult to believe her. You tried to, but saying something self-deprecating was your initial reaction.

”I don’t real-”, you managed to start before Emily stopped you right away.

”Shhh…” she shushed you and quickly came up to shut you up with a little kiss. ”None of that, okay? Not on my watch.”

You nodded, trying your best to just focus on Emily and this moment. Your mind was trying to take you elsewhere but it was stopped when Emily took her bra off. She didn’t give you a chance to pay much attention on her boobs before she lowered herself on your body so that she was situated between your legs on her stomach. She looked at you hungrily, inhaling your scent.

”Oh god”, you whispered under your breath when you felt her knuckles brush ever so slightly up and down your slit through your panties. You had never felt this turned on before and you were sure Emily could see it from the way your body reacted to her.

”Such a pretty girl… and all mine. I’m so lucky”, she whispered, blowing air against you on purpose. You writhed on the bed, desperate for her to just touch you properly already. She still dared to tease you by kissing you through your panties for a while until she decided it was time to help you out of them. She undressed you and then took a good look at you, admiring you with her eyes.

You felt shy and felt a blush creeping on your cheeks immediately.

And then she suddenly came up and sat against the headboard of the bed. She pat the spot in between her legs, motioning for you to sit there.

”Lean your back to my chest”, she told you and you did. You two fit like puzzle pieces when you leaned back. When your back was pressed against her you could feel her breasts pressing against your skin. You wanted to touch them, to suck on them, but Emily’s mind was clearly set on bringing you satisfaction instead.

Her arms wrapped around you and you loved how being so close to her felt like. It was pure bliss, the way her hands started travelling down your body and how they ended up caressing your pussy gently. You saw how her fingers glistened with your wetness as they teased you carefully, not touching your clit just yet. With your head leaning on her shoulder she placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

You inhaled sharply and your body jerked a bit when Emily’s fingers finally brushed over your clit. It felt better than any of the times you had done this to yourself before. You closed your eyes, letting Emily guide you through this, giving yourself and all of your trust to her completely.

”Is it okay if I slip a finger inside you?” you heard her asking and saying no didn’t even cross your mind. You nodded yes and heard Emily letting out a deep chuckle. Her voice so close to your ear made you shiver.

And then you felt her entering you, slowly and gently. She knew you could take it. You could hear how wet you were when she started moving her finger in and out of you in a slow rhythm. Her free hand found your breast and grabbed it, holding it like her life depended on it.

”More… another…” you breathed out and even though you didn’t see it you could’ve sworn Emily had a smug smile on her face.

”Another what, baby?” Emily teased you, whispering into your ear as she watched you writhe underneath her touch. You tried to move your hips to make her go deeper and to tell her what you needed, but Emily wouldn’t budge. ”I need you to speak up for me.”

”I need another finger, Emily please”, you finally begged and you could tell it amused Emily because as soon as the words had come out of your mouth she added another finger, and soon after a third one. You felt her fingers filling you and you couldn’t help but moan when she picked up the pace.

”God, you’re so soft…” she whispered into your ear and you turned your head, desperately needing to kiss her lips. You got completely lost in the kiss, moaning and whimpering as Emily’s fingers worked their magic. You couldn’t believe you had gone this long without this.

You felt Emily’s other hand squeezing your boob again, then wrapping tightly around your waist to pull you close to her. She noticed your legs starting to tremble a bit when you got closer to an orgasm so she put her legs over yours, locking you in place, making it impossible for you to close your thighs. You moaned her name in frustration, wanting to move your body purely just because all of this felt so good, but you weren’t able to. Your hands grabbed her arms when her hand found your clit.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cursed under your breath when you felt Emily fingering you and rubbing your clit at the same time, making your body spasm. You didn’t even realize how tight you squeezed her arms but she didn’t seem to mind, quite the contrary actually - it seemed to fire her up even more and she picked up her pace. As a result your thighs tried to close but she forced them to stay open with her legs. You wriggled in her grasp and groaned, no longer capable of controlling the sounds leaving your mouth. You were somewhere completely else.

”Come for me, my pretty girl”, you heard Emily say right next to your ear with a deep but sweet commanding tone. With that tone it was so easy for Emily to make you do whatever she asked for. You’d obey.

She started planting kisses all over your neck, the side of your face, your shoulder. You knew you wouldn’t last long feeling the combination of her fucking you recklessly and being so sweet with her kisses at the same time. Your hand flew to hers, grabbing it while she was playing with your clit and you squeezed it tight.

”I’m gonna…” you could get out of your mouth but Emily knew already that you were about to reach your peak. She was so good at noticing every tiniest sign from your body that showed you were close. She continued her steady pace of fucking you, not giving you any mercy. She saw your eyes closing in the midst of all the pleasure.

”No… no, baby. Look at me. Don’t close your eyes, I want to see you when you come. Please”, she said and used the same tone as before, knowing you couldn’t resist. You opened your eyes and looked into Emily’s big brown ones right when your orgasm hit you. Her eyes were full of love, her gaze not leaving you for one second while your body shook uncontrollably in her arms. She kept you afloat as you were taken over by your orgasm, repeating Emily’s name over and over again without even realizing it.

She smiled, slowing down the movement of her hands and fingers to let you calm from your high. You held on to her, trying to catch your breath.

Her hand that was on your clit moved to rest gently on your stomach while the fingers of her other hand stayed inside you, barely moving. You fell limp against Emily, feeling your skin sticking to hers. You loved being this close to her, feeling her heartbeat against your skin. She kissed your temple while you tried to calm down after what you could only describe as the best orgasm of your life. You felt so safe in her arms. You didn’t want this to ever end.

When Emily was about to pull her fingers out of you, your hand flew to her wrist to stop her. You didn’t want her to do so just yet. You couldn’t bear the thought of feeling empty so quickly after being filled up by her.

”Stay inside me for a bit more, please?”

”Of course, my love”, Emily answered sweetly, keeping her fingers inside you. You closed your eyes, sighing contently. This time Emily let you close your eyes - but she couldn’t help but reach to kiss your lips when she saw the peaceful look on your face. It was so serene compared to before when you were revealing your scars to her. The panic was gone and she adored the calmness she saw now. She kissed you softly, channeling all her admiration towards you in the kiss.

She gasped when she tasted a salty tear, quickly noticing that it had fallen from your eye down your cheek. She grabbed your cheek with her free hand and you nuzzled into it.

”Are you okay?” Emily asked while drying your tears with her thumb and continuing to stroke your cheek with a soft touch. You nodded and kissed her hand, making her eyes threaten to water too after the sweet gesture. You had never felt so loved before.

”Thank you for being there for me”, you said, your voice breaking a little as you thought about all the ways Emily had shown you how much she cares. You took her hand in yours and smiled when you felt her intertwining your fingers. You wished she’d never let go. You knew you wouldn’t.

”Always.”

[tan1shere]

can you PLAHESE make more Eva x fem!reader i don’t have like an idea but im thinking one of evas therapy sessions get a lil freaky

(idk this my first time asking for something lol, if you cant thats cool)

You're No Good For Me

Eva x female reader !

A/n: Oh gurl I just had the PERFECT idea for one, yes it's inspired by the song slightly 😇

Summary: you and Eva have known eachother for awhile, you go and spend your break at the place she lives, when you were in the therapy room together, things turn into something else. Something more.

Warnings: smut smut and more smut ! Scissoring guys 🤭 fingering, soft dom Eva, sub reader - and I think that's about it, enjoy !!!

Masterlist

You had to clear your mind, so this was the exact place to do that. Eva was an old friend who you had known for years, the both of you were texting one day when she suggested you come down for a long weekend to set your mind at ease. You never exactly knew what she did but you agreed nonetheless. Once you got there you head up to the door, knocking on it. And there she was. "Eva." You smile, going to hug her. "Hey you." She kindly leaves a kiss on your cheek. "Missed you." She finishes. Pulling back to place her hands on your face. "You look good." She grins. You smile again. "Too kind, but so do you my goodness!"

She lets you into the house helping you with your luggage. "I'll put them in the room you'll be sleeping in." You thank her, looking around the beautiful house. You saw some other girls wandering around. It made you think what she actually did, it was probably time you asked her. As she came back, she began to show you around. There was so much to the house, many rooms, big spaces. It was very beautiful. "I've been meaning to ask - out of curiosity." You then pipe up, making her look at you. "What do you even do? What is this place?" She smiles that intoxicating smile. Maybe you had, had a crush on her when you were younger. Is that feeling still there?

Because that just sent a shiver down your spine. "We run a female empowerment group. Just me and the girls that live here." She turns back around to continue the tour. But something felt off, was that fully the truth? Why did you get the feeling it was so much more than that. You knew Eva, and she seemed a little bit different. Especially with how she acted with the others. Although she didn't seem to do that with you. She knew how you saw her from all those years ago, she didn't want to blow anything and scare you. But if anything you were just more intrigued.

It had been a few days, you got to know some of the girls that lived there, doing little activities with them. You eventually started piecing it together on what was really happening. You were currently just drinking a tea, while sitting on a small sofa in the living room. When Eva comes in. "Join me?" Your head pops up from out of your book. "What for?" You asked. "Just come with me, ok?" You reluctantly get up, following her. "You're not gunna kill me are you?" You then say, half joking. For the first time Eva showed more emotion in her features while looking at you. "What are you on about?" You laugh a tiny bit. "Nuthinn." She still looks at you bewildered. You then reach a room, it was quite dark in there.

The only source of light was coming from the circular window on the wall. She sits down on a small pillow, encouraging you to do the same with the other that's infront of her. You slowly do. "I usually do therapy lessons but I feel like we haven't spoken much over the last few days. Gives us a chance to in here, away from everything." You nod at her statement. When a silence was being cascaded across the dimly lit room. "Are you going to tell me what this place really is?" She just looks at you. "I told you babe, female-"

"That's bullshit." You cut her off.

"Eva, just tell me." - "You aren't going to brainwash me are you?" You laugh a tiny bit. She knew how smart you were and that you caught onto what this place truly was. "I've known you since we were kids. And this is only for a weekend. Plus I don't brainwash I persuade." Your eyebrow raises. "Y/n it's me, just trust that." You take a moment, but you always trusted her, you knew she wasn't going to force you to stay with any kind of words. But she also knew you'd willingly come back to see her. Ever since you were younger there was something between the two of you. She knew that your friendship would last a long time, so she had no worries.

"I don't need to tell you then. Your smart-ass figured it out." She tilts her head forward slightly, having a tiny smirk on her face. Her head then tilts to the side as she leans forward. "You know I think about you often." She admits. "That so?" You ask intrigued, a small grin plastered on your own face. "Well I mean I'm sure the feelings mutual." She then adds, making your eyebrow raise again. "Says who?" Her smirk widens. "Well you did have a crush on me as teens." For some reason that makes your body stiffen. You never thought she actually had suspicions about it. "I don't know what-" But her face gets impossibly close.

"Don't even finish that sentence, because we both know I'm telling the truth." You were, silenced. "Still know how to zip it when told. Noted." You stare into her eyes. The perfect ocean blue. Except they had something more taunting in them now. Almost challenging. "So what if I did." You then speak. She looks down at your lips. "Yeah?" Silence. Her eyes meet your own. "Feelings mutual baby." As soon as she uttered those words you grabbed her face and kissed her, it was hasty. Feverish. Her hands move to place them on your thighs, getting you to lay back on the floor. You then pull away. "Won't someone come in-?"

Your worried expression just makes her grin. "Nah, rules are no one comes in here til I come back out. Even if they need me for something." You breathe out a relieved sigh. When her lips are back on yours in an instant. "To be honest-" You began as she kissed your neck. You always were a blabber. "I don't even know why-" your words cut short as she bit down, causing a small noise to come out of you. But nonetheless you continued. "-I liked you.. you were kind of bitchy to me- teen years." You breathe as her face comes in view with your own.

"Really huh? Bitchy?" You shrugged. "Ever think that was my way of saying, 'hey you're so fucking hot I just have to have you?'" Her eyebrows raise in question. Your face goes totally still. "That shut you up." Once again her smirk returns. Her soft lips returned to your neck, leaving a small mark. Your eyes flutter close. Was this really happening right now? "Ever since those years you've invaded my mind." Her hands move to pull the straps down on your dress, surprised you had no bra on. But she was definitely not complaining.

Her hands make contact with your tits, kneading gently. You gasp a tiny bit, still having your eyes closed. A small whimper leaves you as her lips travel down to them. She takes her sweet time, worshiping every sliver of skin around your breast. She was soft, but definitely firm with her intentions. "We-" You gulp back a moan, causing her to look up at you. "What? Dont think we should be doing this?" You nod ever so slightly, just a tad worried. She grabs your jaw getting you to open your eyes and look at her. "I promise. It's just you. And me." Her eyes stare into your own, and for some reason you just trust her by that single look.

Grabbing her face again and bringing her down to kiss you. Maybe you did still have a crush on her, maybe that feeling was still lingering. Her hands make their way down your body. Her fingers teased the thin fabric that laid under your summer dress. "Please.." You breathe, just wanting it to finally happen. "Eva please." You grew needier when she wouldn't budge. But that only causes your eyes to open again, looking to see her staring down at you. "Patience." She then says as your eyes meet. It was a warning. She was making clear that she was in control here. You whine with annoyance until you feel her hands back on your jaw.

"Uh uh, don't do that. You'll get what you want." Her fingers danced around your face delicately, moving down to your neck. "With time.." She finishes. "Being sooo good for me though." You swallowed at her tone, God she was even more mesmerizing than years ago. Her hands move under your dress, pulling your underwear off, letting out a satisfied hum. "Haven't even touched you and you're sopping." Her fingers go to touch. "Was it my words? My voice?" You're in a daze when you hear her fingers snap. Causing your attention to be back on her. "You wanna answer me pretty girl?" Your eyes meet. "Y-yes.. your voice.." Her face shone with admiration. "Your touch..." You carry on. As you soon feel her fingers sliding into you, you're gone.

Head back, arching just slightly to feel more. The worry of someone walking in fading away. "Keep going, know you can. Tell me." Her voice was like a drug. Her fingers curl inside you, feeling your gummy walls suck her in. You gasp at the feeling. "Come on, just want to hear it. Unless you want me to stop, is that it?" A fake concerned, pitty look is on her face. You swallow hard. "N-no please don't." She hums lightly. "What, else." - "Y- your eyes.. and-" Your lids screw shut as she suddenly adds another finger, making you stretch like crazy. "Fuck!" But her hand is quickly over your mouth.

"Quiet angel, not too loud." Her hand slowly moves but you grab it. "And.. your lips." You continue, grabbing her finger lazily. Sticking it in your mouth and sucking. She's impressed with all your sudden obedience. "That's better. Good, girl." Your eyes roll back as her pace quickens once again and you feel it. It gets harder for her to move before she pulls them out. You let out a whiny cry around her finger.

"I know my girl I know." She soothes. But Eva truly meant that, she wanted you to cum. But she needed it. To be against her. "You're being so incredibly good I just need to do something ok?" She pulls her finger out of your mouth as your face is tired, pouty. "Awww." She bites her lip at your face currently, it was too precious for words. "You're just so sweet."

"Just like all those years ago." She began, standing up to take the layers of clothes she was wearing. You watch intently. "Always nose deep in those books, not giving a care in the world. Style is still the same. Always made me want to rip those dresses off your beautiful body." Your head falls back as you couldn't keep it up any longer. "Eva-" You were about to say something else when you felt something warm and so soft on your cunt. Causing a moan to escape you. "And i get to fuck her raw." She breathes the words out. Your eyes open so quick.

Looking down at where you two were connected, her pussy against your own, making your mouth hang open. They fit perfectly together, your wetness making it easy for her to grind against you, the pleasure building up again for the both of you. "What if I told you I craved you." She then says, her velvety voice making you ache for her to speed up. A tiny whimper leaving you in the process. Your eyes shut again.

Focusing on the pleasure she's giving you. But she was teasing, causing you to whine. You just needed it. Her. But she needed to hear you say it, beg for her. "Please fuck me." You moan out, having your eyes closed. "What was that?" You let out an annoyed whimper. But you open your eyes to be in line with hers, they were full of adrenaline, lust. "Speak." - "Please just fuck me Eva please!" And so she does, more intensly fucking against your cunt. The feeling was everything, she felt way too good against you. "Mmm Eva." You whine out, going to grip her arms.

She leans over you, your breasts touching one another's as she grinds harder against you. Her head rests in your neck, kissing, biting sucking. "I'm so close don't stop!" You blab as if she was going to do that. She was enjoying this too much. As she ruts against you a moan of her own is let past her lips, against your neck and ringing in your ears. It was so hot you might cum from that alone. She balances on her hands still hovering above you. Face, to face.

"Cum against me, know you can." She breathes, out of breath herself, matching your ragged breathing, chest rising and falling fast. The eye contact increases every sensation you were both feeling. "Fuck, you really are an angel.. look at you.." She moans. "Eva- i-" She nods. "With me, come on baby." She says when you both shortly after cum against the other. The feeling was even better than you had anticipated. Your head falling back completely against the hardwood floor. Catching your breath and so was she. Until you make eye contact again, no words. No nothing. Just a beautiful silence.

Maybe she was brainwashing you. But at the same time she wasn't. You were just so intoxicated by her and you had to stay.

"Do you think we'll be inlove?"

"I count on it."