#no wonder i ended up in therapy so young

[amihungryorbored]

ig not everyone was a bored gifted kid perfectionist with a hypercritical unstable mother and a questioning mind completely dependent on external validation for any semblance of self esteem

[pikachu-deluxe]

thinking maybe i do have something going on with me

like, i do have trouble focusing i guess it just never clicked before when i heard others say that but my thing is my brain refuses to let me think about the stuff i want to think about most of the time. i usually get music going on in the background of my brain but sometimes it turns into the foreground so it's like i can't think unless i specifically focus on obstructing the music but that's so much effort just to do things

that's why i never really thought i had trouble focusing bc i thought i was just doing it wrong or something but no this requires extra effort on my part that shouldn't be needed afaik

[auroreliis]

what if reader had k*lled someone before and the batfam (yandere) dis not know like «I dont need your damn protection» reader said to the batfam «but the world is so dangerous out there and your just a baby» the batfam said to reader « B!TCH I have k*lled someone the f you mean im a baby?!?» the batfam with horrified expresion «WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!»

That last little part is a funny little over dramatic way it might go.

Oh, you are COOKED. (Do pardon my use of brainrot language...)

CW: mentions of murder...obviously

The first thing they do is isolate you in a room and keep you there for a while until they figure out what to do with you (and so you can think about what you've done).

What happens next? Therapy sessions, which they all agreed on.

Don't worry, you will tell them everything, specifically Bruce, since he's the one carrying out the therapy sessions.

"Why did you kill that person?"

"How do you feel about it now?"

"Do you regret it?"

"How do you feel after our conversation?"

He pities the person you ended up killing and feels a little disappointed. A life was taken by you, an innocent person's life. He didn't raise you like this, did he...?

However, he also pities you. Unless you are trained to kill someone, it breaks you. He's seen it so many times, people commiting murders and then panicking, breaking down, because they couldn't live with the consequences of their actions.

You're a mere civilian, how could you ever have been exposed to that kind of environment? How could he let this happen? No, it is his fault for waiting so long before saving you from the world. He will teach you why it's wrong. He will make sure you heal and never take another life again. After all, it is his job as your father to guide you in life.

That's right, the only reason you could've done it is because you didn't know any better. You are a mere child in this old, cruel world, after all.

In the end, he holds himself accountable. He should've done better. He should've protected you better from the cruel world you live in.

Dick would be shocked. His little birdie, his angel, killed someone? Impossible. You're so innocent, like a baby, so how could this be true? He would take some time off to come to terms with the fact that you're not the kind of person he expected. When he comes back, after a week, he seems slightly distant.

With time, following your therapy sessions, he will return to his normal, clingy, annoying self. However, you can't help but wonder why he was acting so weird that one week.

Despite the fact that he also kills people, Jason is incredibly suprised and disappointed after hearing that you killed someone. Unlike everyone else, he feels anger. You're so young, so innocent, you grew up in a place where murdering someone was not necessary, so why would you do it? He doesn't kill people because he wants to, he only does it because he needs to. But you didn't need to do it.

That's what upsets him most. You chose to do it. You willingly took a life.

Despite being so hurt, so broken, he still feels an ounce hesitation when killing people, so how come you, someone who didn't go through what he did, could kill someone in a situation that wasn't even self-defense? Nothing could possibly justify it! And here you are, proudly announcing it to them. You should be ashamed.

He kills murderers, so what should he do with you? Does that make you as bad as the criminals he kills? God, he doesn't even want to think about it.

Jason won't get over it for at least a month. He'll be very distant around you and won't be seen smiling for a long time. Towards you exclusively, his behaviour becomes incredibly bitter. In fact, he's the one who most strongly encourages Bruce to carry out the long, grueling therapy sessions. He really thinks it'll do you good...

Tim's reaction would be more mild than expected. He would certainly feel uncomfortable with the fact that you seemingly feel not an ounce of guilt or regret. However, he wouldn't change his behaviour too much for too long.

During the first week, he'd be a bit more careful with his affection towards you. No, it's not because he's scared. He simply wants to observe you and see how effective the therapy sessions are. If he feels that your attitude towards murder hasn't changed, he would encourage Bruce to be more intense during the therapy sessions.

He would be more careful with the activities he offers you, since Bruce called a meeting with everyone to establish more rules, those being directed at Tim mostly. Tim's "cool, lenient older brother"-act needs to change.

From now on, no crime films or shows (especially not any violent ones), no crime documentaries, no crime or detective books, no vular language, no threats towards anyone or anything and for at least 14 months, no leaving the manor.

This change will probably be permanent.

[primofate]

You, Wriothesley's therapist.

TW: mentions of murder, depression, trauma

Sigewinne takes care of the physical injuries in the Fortress...but that place must have a lot of mental instabilities, trauma, depressive states as well, right?

Enter you who is hired by the Iudex to take frequent visits to the fortress and check on a list of people's well-beings.

The Iudex hired you, not the duke, though it WAS the duke's idea, he didn't think he was fit to choose and hire a "therapist", Neuvillette was probably more adept at that.

On the first day of your job, the list or people to check on is rather extensive and you talk and meet with a lot of new people just on the first day.

That guy who killed his best friend and is haunted by dreams of the scene.

That young lady who has spiralled into depression because she's separated from and unable to see her daughter.

That old man who has anger issues because he just didn't think he had done anything wrong.

It was probably a week or two after you were appointed that you finally met the person in charge of the place. The Duke, as they call him.

He seemed like a pretty strict guy, but when he thanked you for looking after the people here, you thought he wasn't that bad.

"I'm just doing my job,"

"A really hard one at that," he comments.

The next time you see him is months after, but this time he only passes you a glance, and rather quickly strides off to his office.

The next day, he seeks you out and apologizes for it.

"I was...in a bit of a rush,"

You wonder why he even apologizes. "...It's no big deal,"

"...I hope that you know that you're welcome here. I don't think you quite understand how difficult your job is, trying to shoulder everyone's past and fixing their psyche for their future,"

You look up at him, and tilt your head a little, squinting your eyes and trying to get a good read out of him...then it hits you.

The Duke needs therapy too.

"...I think you're a little stressed, your grace. Is there a quiet place where we can comfortably chat in?"

How were you to know it was going to end up in tea time? Yes the duke had issues, some deep seated ones, but not as much as the common folk that you were trying to work with. And yet you found yourself having tea with him even though it wasn't "work" related anymore.

All the two of you talked about were stories of the past, and shared a laugh or two about some silly or outrageous story he or you shared.

Weeks later there came a time when the angry old man you'd been working on had an outburst. He didn't mean to. None of your patients ever mean to, not when they had such big emotions, such big events to get over, such pent up emotions and such deep, deep regrets.

Old man had thrown a wrench at you, he was surprisingly strong, probably from working in the fortress for a while. You were caught off guard, not to mention you weren't even sitting too far away from him. You managed to shield yourself from it, but your arm bruised hours later.

You didn't think it merited a visit to Sigewinne, besides it was nearly home time for you.

"Done for the day?" You bristled a little at the sudden voice of the Duke, not expecting to see anymore of him today.

"Mmhmm," you simply answered his grin. You also didn't think it was something to hide from him. So your bruised arm was there for him to see in plain sight.

His grin disappearing and his eyes narrowing at the sight alerted you that it was perhaps something that you should've kept from him. "Where'd you get that?" He was 1000% sure you didn't have it when you had tea with him at noontime today.

"This...Well...Corrin was...having a particularly bad day," you moved your arm behind your back with a small smile, wanting to brush it off, but Wriothesley puts his hand out in expectation.

"Let me see it,"

For a moment the two of you just stare each other down. You wondering what the big deal was, him not backing down. When you didn't move an inch he gives in and adds the magic word. "Let me see it, please,"

You lift your arm up towards his head with a sigh and he receives it shockingly gently. He inspects it like it's some kind of puzzle he needs to solve, thorough and detailed. "Did you let Sigewinne see?" before you could even reply he adds "How did this even happen? Why was I not told?"

"It's..." You start. How do you explain? That you were supposed to be your patients' safe space. That nothing is supposed to harm them when in a session with you, that everything was in confidentiality. Working with troubled people, things like this were bound to happen, and it was only the first time.

He catches on to it quite quickly. "...It's your job," he finishes for you.

"...Precisely,"

The big sigh he lets out at the same time as releasing your arm has you wondering, really, why he seemed so stressed all over again. Over you.

Did you really not know the reason? You had an inkling why, you were a therapist after all. You got into people's minds for a living and Wriothesley wasn't exactly being subtle, but... you didn't want to assume.

"...How about I come with you next time?" he offers. You smile a little. "I don't think Corrin would be comfortable enough to talk with you hovering around,"

He grumbles something under his breath, like a defeated, stubborn puppy. "He doesn't have to know... I'll stand outside, or something,"

You laugh a little. "...The Iudex already has terms on my working contract when things like this happen. I'm supposed to drop the patient if "physical disputes" happen a total of three times and after three warnings are given."

Wriothesley huffs, though it sounds more like a scoff. "Leave it to him to think of everything. Doesn't seem fair," he moves so that he stands next to you, and places a hand on your upper back, pushing you the slightest bit to walk with him. You notice he's steering you towards the Fortress' infirmary.

"What doesn't seem fair?" You ask with genuine curiosity, not knowing what he was implying.

He's silent only for a beat more, but he doesn't look at you as he answers, only continues walking forward. "That he gets to protect you and I don't,"

You can't mistake the somersault your heart makes, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling silly.

The Duke needs the occasional therapy.

Or maybe he just needs you.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 18+

WHISPERED SECRETS Masterlist

Summary: After four years, your sister's ex-boyfriend comes back into your life. Can you keep your entanglement a secret? Will the guilt eat you alive? 

Pairing:  Sisters Ex Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader. 

Genre: SMUT, angst, hurt - comfort, romance. 

Warning: Explicit sex, fingering, Possessive Yoongi, swearing, reader is insecure, jealousy, punishment, unprotected sex, drinking, dirty talk, praising, degradation, spanking, spanking as punishment, teasing, hair pulling, arguments. Over use of the name baby. Squirting. 

A/N: I just wanted to say  thank you to everyone. I was so SCARED to post on here, not really knowing what I was doing. When I hit the post button, I wanted to delete it right away. I didn't expect anyone to read it, and when the first person liked it, I was so ecstatic. I want to thank all the readers, rebloggers, and the ones who messaged me. 

SMUT! SMUT! SMUT! SMUT!  

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“Yoongs, can you zip my dress,” you yell from the bathroom. You wait, wait, and wait. You can't hear him anywhere in the apartment. “Yoongs?”

“I'm here, sorry,” he says, turning the corner and entering the bathroom and finally helping you do up the zipper. “Look at you. That dress is quite….clingy.” 

“You don't like it,” you smirk and look over your shoulder at him. 

“Oh, I do,” he said, kissing your shoulder. “Why don't we just stay home tonight. I'll show you just how much I like it.” 

“Mr. Min,” you gasp. “You can't miss this event. What will Joon think if his partner isn't there?” 

Yoongi did it. He finally gave into Namjoon and has officially become a partner in Persona. His role at the company didn't really change that much. He still wrote, produced, and had his quiet little sanctuary. He just had to wear a suit every now and then for meetings. You couldn't believe it when he said that he was going to buy in and be a co-owner. You asked why he had changed his mind. His answers were always vague. You wondered if he had something up his sleeve. 

You, you loved your summer art program and learned so much. It was a lot of work, but it helped you grow as an artist.   You were nervous about the art exhibition at the end of your program. Yoongi showed up happily supporting you. Your friends showed up, and your dad showed up with his new girlfriend. She was nice, and you enjoyed getting to know her, and much to your surprise, your mom showed up. You found out your dad had given her an invite. Yoongi didn’t want to leave your side when she showed up and made sure to cling right to you. You told him softly that you needed to be able to talk to her alone.  He left reluctantly with Lisa and Jimin, giving you the space that you needed.  

You noticed your mom looked brighter and was actually civil to everyone. She had complimented your pieces and asked how your program went. She then apologized to you and said that she was proud of you. She went on to say how she started therapy and needs to learn how to love herself again so she can love you properly like she always should have. She told you how she always had a dream to travel and take pictures when she was young but never had a chance since she married young and then soon after had you and your sister. She's now taking your lead and is going to go for it. You hear your sister is upset about this, now your mom won't be at her beck and call anymore. You unblocked her that night. 

Yoongi had asked you if you would now finally apply to go to school full time. You surprised him by saying no. He wanted to argue, but you wouldn't let him. You loved your experience, but you loved him more. WIth his new role and your whole workload, you didn't have much time with him. You loved your job, and you loved your office with the parking lot view that you now shared with Seungkwan. You were happy to just do your drawings for you. You think you might open an Etsy shop or some form of online store and try to sell them one day…but not now.  You were happy, and he finally conceded.   

“Fine,”Yoongi sighs and kisses you. “Go get a necklace, and I’ll help you put it on.” 

You roll your eyes at him and enter your bedroom. You stop dead in your tracks and look at the bed. There was a plate with rolls on it sitting on the end of the bed. You stare at it in confusion.

“What's this?” You ask him.

“Early birthday present,” he calls out from the bathroom. 

You take the top roll off the pile and plan on shoving as much of it in your mouth that you can. However, you don't….you can't.  Upon taking it, you revealed a black velvet box. One much like your ring currently on your finger came in. You can't move. You feel frozen looking at it.  Arms come and wrap around your middle. Yoongi plucks the box from the plate and turns you in his arms, lovingly staring at you. He smirks and strokes the smooth skin of your cheek. Slowly, he drops down onto one knee. It's real, you realize. This is really happening.  He pops open the box, and you almost faint as you see what's inside. A huge square cut diamond ring placed beautifully on its cushion. It's huge…huge, you think it's bigger than the one your sister had worn all those months ago. Is this why he finally decided to partner with Namjoon? 

 “It's been almost a year since I found you again. I never believed in fate but that night when I saw you again. That night changed everything, ” he said softly. You could tell he was nervous by the way his hand shook just a bit. “I don't ever want to lose you again. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you say quietly. He slips the ring on your finger, and it's a perfect fit. Throwing your arms around him, the two of you fall to the floor. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he murmurs against your lips. Pulling back, he gives you a questioning stare. “You really didn't know about this?” You shake your head no. “Hmm, Lisa and Jisoo came with me to pick it out. I guess I owe her one for keeping a secret.” You laugh and kiss him again. 

Jisoo, Lisa, and Seungkwan all coo over how gorgeous your ring looks on your finger. The diamond sparkles and shines under the lights of the hotel lobby where the four of you gather. 

“I can't believe you guys kept this a secret!” You exclaim, looking at them. 

“I didn't know,” Seungkwan tells you.

“That's because you have a bigger mouth than me,” Lisa snarks. “I'm going to find Jimin.” Blowing you a kiss, she struts off and leaves Seungkwan pouting. 

“I’m going to go find Yoongi. I'm sure he's loving all the conversations forced on him right now,” you tell your other two friends, hugging them goodbye. 

Yoongi hates these events. Industry insiders all kiss each other's ass to get something they want. It might be a charity event, but social climbing will come first. It's the worst. Fake smiles, fake laughs. You've had to fake awe and excitement over some big names before, and Yoongi loves you for it. Supposedly…..you're charming. You spot him engaged in a conversation with two unknown men. They were good-looking, of course, and you silently cursed your boyfriend…fiancée for being in this damn industry. When you reach them, you slide your hand up his chest, smiling at his guests. 

“Sweetheart,” he says and widens his eyes a bit. You get it….game on. “This is Choi Seungcheol and Yoon Jeonghan. They own Darling Media, and they're looking to partner together for future projects.” 

“Oh wow,” you gasp and giggle. “It's so nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Jeonghan says, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. You giggle again, and it seems to do the trick. 

“Yes,” Seungcheol says, clearing his throat. His eyes definitely did a once over, and Yoongi definitely glared a bit. “We found a new, talented artist who we think would be an asset to Persona.” 

“Who,” Yooongi asks the handsome man. 

“His name is Kai. I believe that he is friends with Jimin. I’m surprised you haven't scooped him up already.” Seungcheol explains.  You try not to laugh, and you feel Yoongi stiffen.  Out of everyone trying to make it in music, they found Kai. This is the funniest thing you think you may have ever heard.

“The famous model and commercial actor?” You asked with an excited smile on your face. 

“Yes, that's the one,” Jeonghan answers. “ We have some great ideas for him, but we would like him attached to the record company first. Then, we can talk…maybe about long-term contracts?” 

“Oh, Yoongi, they have such a good eye for talent. Kai is so handsome and talented,” you gush.  You feel Yoongi pinch your butt kind of hard. Ow!

“Yes, my love, they indeed do. Why don't you give me a call on Monday?” He ends the conversation by handing them a business card. As they walk away, you wave coyly at them. “You think that's funny?” Yoongi hisses in your ear. 

“It's hilarious,” you laugh, and Yoongi takes your hand. He gently pushes you to move forward, and the two of you walk toward the exit of the room. He pulls you down the hallway and into a shallow alcove just tucked on the other side of a statue.  Your back hits the wall, and he leans over you. Trapping you in the small space as he places his hands on either side of your head. 

“I'm not writing for him. Your boyfriend will have to find another company,” he snarls at you.  

“Yes you will,” you say, sliding your hands around the back of his neck. “You will write him a hit song and make him very famous.”

“I’ll write him the worst song I can think of,” he says, bending down and capturing your lips with his. “I'll tank his career.”

His hands are everywhere, and his mouth attaches to your neck. Your head leans back against the upholstered wall. You can feel your hair go staticky Yoongi though, he has no care in the world that you are in public and some important people could catch the two of you. His hands start to creep under your dress, hitching your leg over his hip when someone clears their throat. Whipping around Yoongi hides you behind him. You pull your dress down and pat your hair, trying to smooth the static. You look over his shoulder, and your eyes widen. It's Mingyu…with your sister. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu says, blushing. “Umm, I…we were hoping that you would be here Y/N. Your friend Lisa said she saw you come this way.” At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Yeah,...I…i'm…here,” your voice is small, and you think you sound stupid. 

“Min Yoongi,” Yoongi says, holding out his hand professionally. Mingyu smiles politely and shakes it.  You see Yoongi clench his jaw  a little as his eyes fly between Mingyu and your sister. 

“Kim Mingyu, it's nice to meet you again,” he says as he introduces himself. Mingyu looks at your sister, and so do you. She looks around at the room, staring at the different paintings on the walls. Basically, she's just trying to keep her eyes off of you and Yoongi. Your eyes sneak a peek at her finger. She still has her engagement ring on. 

“What can we do for you?” Yoongi asks stiffly, pulling you into his side. Unconsciously, you let your left hand rest on his chest, and you realize just how tense he was. You see Mingyu nudge your sister, and she sighs.

“The wedding invite we sent you came back,” she said, barely giving you a glance.

“Oh,” you say softly. “Oh, umm, I don't live at my apartment anymore.”

“That's good,” Mingyu says. “It was an honest mistake. We pushed it back to next fall after we had a little…chat.” He gives her another nudge, and she opens her clutch and blindly hands you a wedding invitation. 

“We would love it if you could attend,” her voice was robotic, like she practiced that over and over again. 

You look at the pretty invite in your hands and then look at Yoongi. He gives you a slight shrug. You know that he will go along with whatever you want to do. Mingyu smiles gently at you. You think that he has good intentions, and honestly, you don't want to ruin this relationship for her.  Looking back at her, she's staring hard. Her stare is burning a hole right through the ring on your finger.  Mingyu seems to notice as well.

“Oh, what a lovely surprise. When's the special day?” He asks.

“Umm, it just happened today. We really haven't had time to talk about it yet,” you explain. “Thank you for the invitation. It really does mean a lot but…I don't think it's a good idea if I come.” You look at your sister and say her name softly. she looks at you warily. “I'm sorry I couldn't be the sister you wanted but you're my sister and I still love you. Mingyu seems great, and I'm happy for you. I wish you all the best.” 

“Thanks,” she whispers. Her eyes look shiny, but she quickly blinks them away, and you wonder if you imagined it. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you again,” Yoongi tells Mingyu, shaking his hand again. “We have rounds to make and then home to celebrate.” Yoongi brings your hand to his mouth and kisses it. 

“Goodbye,” you tell them and once again walk away with Yoongi's hand wrapped around your own. 

The door to the apartment crashes open as you two stumble in lips attached. You almost fall, tripping over your feet. Yoongi is quick to catch you. He pulls his mouth from your own and drops kisses onto your neck. 

“Are you sure you want to do this right now?” He asks, worried you might be upset about seeing your sister. 

“Please, Yoongi. I want you…more than anything,” you whisper into the dark room. 

Reminiscent of that fateful night almost a year ago, Yoongi picks you up, and you wrap yourself around him. Holding on for dear life, as he quickly gets you to the bedroom…your bedroom…the one you share. 

Dropping you on the bed, he dives for your neck  again as you lie completely back on the bed. You welcome all his kisses and touches that he gives you happily. Wet, open mouth kisses start at your ear and slowly make their way to your chest. Yoongi nips at the exposed skin of your cleavage.  His hands take the fabric covering your breasts and tug it down just below your breasts, exposing you to the cool air of the room. You run your fingers through his dark, soft hair and gently pull, earning a groan from his lips.  You look at him, and he smirks up at you with a heated gaze.  Yoongi sticks his tongue out, and as you watch, he starts to rapidly flick your nipple. You close your eyes and arch your back a little up to him. You are hoping that he will give you more than that. 

“Look at me,” he demands softly.

You open your eyes and watch as he takes your peaked nipple between his teeth, giving it a slight tug. You feel that familiar jolt shoot down your body. You try your best to rub your lower half against him to find some sort of friction for relief, but he won't let you  have it. He chuckles and moves away just enough that you can't find what you need.

You huff and push him backward. He has to catch himself from falling off the bed, earning a giggle from you. You guide him down to your previous position and straddle his hips. Your hands fly to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them as quickly as you could. Upon finally getting it off, you brace yourself on his chest and press your mouth to his. His hand goes into your hair, holding  you to him. Your tongues dance together, breathing each other in. Souls connecting.

Your hips start to move on your own, barely touching the hardness still caged in his pants.  Unfortunately,  the dress stops you from opening your legs as far as you need to feel him fully, and you let out a frustrated groan. Yoongi's hands fly to your dress and lift it up over your hips, bunching it at your waist.  He grabs your waist and presses you down so you can rub against him the way you need. 

“You need me that much, huh?” he asked, letting out a breathless chuckle. You nod your head and press kisses to his neck. “I always need you too, baby.”

You sit up on him, trailing your fingers over his exposed chest. Yoongi hands gently rub your legs as he gazes up at you as you smile down at him.  You stretch your arm behind you as far as you can to pull the zipper of your dress down. Yoongi reaches up and pulls the front of your dress down completely. Exposing you further to his gaze. Sitting up immediately, he sucks your nipple into his mouth, and his hand massages your other. Your head tilts back as you hold him to your chest. His hands wander around you and travel up and down your naked back before attempting to pull your dress the rest of the way off down your hips.  Due to your position, he is unsuccessful in his mission.

“Lie down for me, baby,” he tells you when he pulls away from you. 

You bite your bottom lip and do as he asks. You watch Yoongi undo his belt and fling it across the room. You hear it hit something and fall to the floor. His hands make quick work on the rest of his clothes before they tug your dress the rest of the way off. Kissing your calf, he drags his tongue across your leg and up your inner thigh. Lightly, he bites at the sensitive skin, licking the red marks that he leaves behind. Settling down between your open thighs, his fingers toy with the inner hem of your underwear. His dark eyes flicker up to you.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N. I'll give you anything you want,”  He slowly moves your underwear to the side, and your eyes never leave his. “The wedding of your dreams.” A slow lick up your dripping pussy. “A home to call our own,” A kiss to your clit. “I'll give you the world if you let me.” His tongue starts drawing lazy circles around you. Your breathing starts to grow heavy and your eyes threaten to close but you don't let them leave him. “What do you want, baby? What do you need?” 

“Just you,” you whimper. 

Yoongi smiles at you and pulls your panties off. Diving back in between your thighs, his mouth is relentless on you. Tongue flicking back and forth on your clit as his fingers seek entrance into you. Your back arches as he is successful and pumps two fingers in and out of you. Yoongi sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning around you. Your hands fly into his dark hair and hold him to you. You hold the back of his head desperately, trying your damnedest to get him as close as you could. Pulling off you, his fingers still work their magic working your wetness out of you. His mouth attaches to your nipple for a quick second before giving your other breast the same treatment.  Grabbing his face you pull him down to your mouth. Lips meeting in a chaotic clash of tongues. A kiss full of want and desire. A kiss of craving.  A kiss of pure unadulterated neediness. 

“I need you now, Yoongi,” you say quietly against his lips. 

He stares at you for a moment while biting his bottom lip. Fingers massaging your innermost spot. Bending down, he kisses your lips once, twice, three more times. Yoongi pulls his fingers out of you, and he reaches down and takes a hold of himself. Tapping the head of his cock against your clit makes your neediness worse. Your hips start squirming trying to get him into you and it only makes him laugh quietly at you.

“You need this, huh?” He asks, sounding just as breathless as you. You nod your head eagerly.  

Running the tip along your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, Yoongi starts to slowly roll his hips. Entering you slowly until he is fully inside of you. “I've always thought about you. I had always wondered what happened to you.” His hips start to move at a calm pace. “If you ever found someone who loved you,” you shook your head at him and pulled him down closer to you. He allows you to, and he brings his weight on his forearms. “You didn't ever love anybody else?”

“No, I've loved you since I was seventeen. I've always loved you, ” you tell him honestly. 

Yoongi presses a hard kiss against your lips. His hips pick up in pace, fucking you into the matress. You pull away with a gasp, pressing your head back into the pillows. Your hands grab his sides, fingernails slightly digging into his skin. He moans at the feeling and buries his face into your neck.  The sound of his hips slapping against our own echo throughout the room, his panting breath in your ear. It feels so overwhelming, loving someone like this, making love like this. Something you could only feel with him. 

Yoongi adjusts both of you. He moves to sit on his knees and brings your own  to your chest, holding them there.  You hear him gasp as he slides in deeper, hitting all the spots that make you see stars. This may not be your favorite position, but the noises he makes are worth it. You'll start stretching every day for those noises. You bring your own arms around the back of your knees, taking over for him. Pulling them back just a little further and closer together.

“Fucking, shit. Do you feel how deep I am?” he moans, leaning back slightly, his thrusts never stopping. The change in angle makes his cock hit your sweet spot over and over again. “Do you need more?” he asks, he sounds like he's struggling himself.

“Yes,” you cry out. Your cries become louder as his fingers rub your clit quickly. The tightening in your stomach winding so tight your body is wanting to get away from it. You feel that familiar heat that starts to take over, your skin getting flushed, heart pounding in your ears.  Your core starts to tighten around him. 

“There you go,” he hisses. “Let go, baby, let go for me.”

You do. You let go, You finally let go of all the self-consciousness, all the self-doubt. You let go of every insecurity that you have ever felt. There's a high-pitched ringing in your ears. Your body tenses up.  You've never felt this pleasure before so deep. So, deep inside of you that you think you might pass out. You feel like you're floating, and you're not coming back down. You think you can hear him reach his end as he swears, but it sounds so far away and muffled. You feel so…high.

“Breathe,” you can hear a voice. “Y/N, baby, breathe,” it's Yoongi. You snap back to reality,  spotty vision clears, and your eyes land on him. His dark hair is sweaty and sticking up in all different directions.  He looks just as dazed as you feel with his mouth agape. He's breathing hard. He can't look away from you. 

“You….came really hard…uh,” he tells you and looks down. You look down as well, and your eyes widen. He is definitely wet as is the bed, and…you don't think it's from him. While it doesn't look like it does in the few adult videos you've seen, you know exactly what happened. Your hand flies to your mouth in shock.

“I'm sorry, that's gross,” you say, turning red. “Eww…I…” Yoongi dives on you, crushing you with a kiss. 

“ I can't wait to make you my wife, damn,” he says, going in for more kisses. Pulling you up out of the bed as he flings you over his shoulder. Yoongi gives you a quick slap to your ass laughing. “You better believe that's going to happen more often. Let's shower.” 

“Yooonnnngiiiiiii,” you screech happily.  Yeah, you finally let go.  You're going to give him everything. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦         ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

A/N: So, now that we have reached the end, I have an announcement.  Thanks to the wonderful Anon who asked about drabbles, I had come up with a few ideas about the future of the characters.  As of right now…….I'm about 4 loosely written chapters into a SEQUEL!!! However, I'm not super happy with the way it's going so….I think I will take my time and try to rewrite them. 

Secondly, I was writing another story before I started the sequel. I have 6 chapters done on that one. I'm thinking I might drop a teaser to the Whispered sequel next week if I can get on a clear path of how I want it to go. So, everyone….stay tuned.

Tagged Reader:

@marimarvelfan, @unicornbabylover,@minghaosimp, @seoullove96, @iheartsvt, @babyitscoldoutside

[eff4freddie]

Physical Therapy

Joel Miller x AFAB Reader No Outbreak AU - 4.4k words

For @punkshort's AU August challenge, in celebration of her one year Tumblr anniversary!

A.N: My prompt was 'lifeguard Joel' and I'm nursing a bit of a sore wrist at the moment, hence whatever this is was born. Thanks for the fun prompt! I would very much like Joel to save me from drowning now, please and thank you.

Warnings: None.

It had just started out as a kind of tickling feeling around behind your ear on your left side, and down along the back to the shoulder blade. When you’d first noticed it you’d thought you had a hair stuck under your shirt, and all day you kept reaching up under your bra strap to try and free it. Later, you would rub the skin red trying to lift the phantom follicle from your skin.

Later, it developed into a coldness, punctuated sometimes with ants marching up and down your shoulder blade. Your clavicle ached in cold weather, and you rolled your shoulders of a morning to try and shake the weird sensations from the joint. You were too busy to worry about it, you had too many deadlines, you could just type with your left arm resting on a pad of paper to elevate it. You knew you’d been working too hard on your paper for your next research symposium. As soon as it was over you’d deal with it.

When it started thrumming of a nighttime you’d just take ibuprofen to dull it, numb it off with a heat pack and an occasional glass of whiskey. But when it got too hard to type, when the daggers started shooting down your arm to the point that you could barely get your sleeve over it, when your shoulder was so frozen you couldn’t lift it over your head to brush your hair, you conceded defeat.

Your physiotherapist was lovely, and young, and fit, and you wished you could hate her. She ran marathons on weekends, on purpose and apparently without having first been threatened, and she gave you a bunch of exercises you promised you would do, made you pay $24.95 for a bit of stretchy rubber you could tie to your doorknob and stretch with, a couple of strength building exercises printed out and folded neatly, which you immediately threw on your coffee table and used as a coaster.

You went twice a week after work. She massaged you until you had tears in your eyes, biting back the pain by clamping down on your back teeth. You lied to her that you’d done your stretches, and she let you, because she was a nice person. Your recovery stalled, and you both pretended not to know why.

In the end, you just got fed up with yourself. You’d had to push back your presentation at the symposium, had found it too painful to sit at your desk for the long stretches it would take to be prepared. Your supervisor had insisted you take time off, that your PhD could be extended, and you had balked at the idea and then, eventually, conceded that too. Your stupid frozen shoulder was icing out everything in your life you cared about. You suggested to your physio you might like to swim.

--

It had been a while since you’d been in a bathing suit. Glad you’d at least thought to shave, you went into the change room dreading coming out again. You’d deliberately gone at 2 PM on a Tuesday afternoon, figuring the only people there would be either 100 years old or ladened with babies, and their bodies wouldn’t be so threatening to yours. You remembered a time when your body had felt strong, when your legs had carried you around European cities, up and down mountains. You wondered where that girl went.

You were a careful person, and you liked rules, so you shuffled as speedily as you could towards the pool, careful not to run. Your brother had slipped once, aged 9 and a half, and knocked out two of his teeth when he went down. Your mother had to wait three months to get them fixed, having to save up the fee, and your brother had whistled slightly on windy mornings. You’d teased him about it, and you felt bad about it now, holding your arm tight to your body so as not to jostle your shoulder.

The water was cool, and you took the stairs one at a time to get yourself into it. You gasped when it reached your belly, reaching down to splash yourself to try and acclimatise. It wasn’t an especially warm day, but the sun was out and it was warm enough on your skin. You sunk down, feeling the water lap at your shoulder. The relief was immediate, the cool spreading over your strangled nerves, and you let out a sigh. You didn’t think you were about to swim any laps, but it was enough to bob around in the shallow end and feel the water carry your weight. Your mind was quiet for the first time in a while. You watched two birds glide on the breeze, ducking down to skim over the surface. You hoped they didn’t shit in it as they passed.

Then, a giggle. A tittering, high-pitched thing that shattered your reverie and made you turn towards it, a scowl on your face as you looked up into the sun. A woman in a high-cut bikini straight out of the 80s was standing at the base of the lifeguard’s chair, looking up at the man sitting atop it. She was practically drooling, flipping her hair and nearly slipping out of her top. You couldn’t make him out, the glare casting him in darkness and too proud to shield your eyes with your hand to get a good look. She had all her weight on one foot so she could thrust her hip out and her chest up. You heard his voice rumble out of his chest, deep and heavy and surprisingly kind. You couldn’t make out the words. You reminded yourself you didn’t care.

--

Your physio was proud of you, and you wanted to hate her for that, too. You reported your attendance at the pool, lied about doing your exercises, and paid another $24.95 for another rubber band thing after you pretended you’d misplaced the first one. You knew exactly where it was, on the doorknob where you’d tied it the first night and then ignored it. But it was a good, if expensive, excuse.

The next time you went to the pool you chose a time slightly earlier in the day, hoping that the midday sun might tan you a little as you rehabilitated. You bobbed around again in the shallow end, experimentally rolling your shoulders and moving your arms in small semi-circles in front of you. The water carried the weight so you could just focus on moving the joint, and when the ache set in you could just float there, let the water carry you completely as you floated on the surface. With your face to the sky and the sun beating down the whole world turned bright and colourless. It sanded down the sharp edges, turned the detail to pulsing fuzz on your retinas.

80’s Bikini Lady didn’t resurface, but you got out when an entire class of 4th graders arrived for their swimming lessons. As you went for your towel you heard that rumbling voice again, booming out over the top of 20 excited kids, instructing them to quiet down so he could teach them to tread water. You wondered if that was what you were doing now, your research and your thesis gathering metaphoric dust on your laptop. Treading water.

--

It took you until your fifth visit to try an actual lap. Your shoulder had been feeling lighter, the joint freeing itself under the water just enough that you could bear the weight of the it as you moved. You had been experimenting with little half breaststrokes, just two or three with your head high over the water and only deep enough that you could plant your feet at the first twinge of pain. But you wanted to try something different, today. You wanted to make it down to the other end, even if you had to grip the lane rope and pull yourself there.

You felt eyes on you as you walked to the edge, and you turned quickly to see the lifeguard was at his station. It was early enough in the afternoon that you could see him properly, his aquiline nose, his curls unruly and chocolate brown. He nodded at you, an acknowledgement that he was keeping watch, and you nodded back to him. It was just you and a man in his 60s in the pool today.

You hissed a little as you descended the stairs, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. Today it was cloudy, and the water was cooler than you had been expecting, and you worried for a moment it would be bad for your shoulder somehow, that your muscles would be less malleable, less cooperative, in the cold. You swallowed, wondering if you really wanted to do this today. Then you remembered your thesis, and the way you had thrown yourself on dancefloors, in spin classes, ridden boys in your dorm room like your hips would never ache. You wanted that girl back. She was at the other end of the pool.

You pushed off, holding your arms straight out in front of you and using your feet against the wall of the pool to propel yourself forward, letting the momentum drift you the first few feet. With a brave breath in you spread your arms wide in a breaststroke, kicking with your legs to keep up some sort of speed. Three strokes, then four, then five and you were nearly a quarter of the way down the pool already. You just had to keep breathing, stick with it, pace yourself out. You cupped the water with your hands, pushing it away from your chest as you moved. There might have been a little twinge, but you banished any worry. You were doing it, if slowly, if gingerly.

You swam over the point where the bottom of the pool fell away, past the point where you could stand. The water felt cooler, the depth of it stealing some of the warmth, and you felt a little warning tingle up your elbow. Your neck pulled a little to the right to try and dodge the pain, and you faltered a little, lost some of your rhythm. In your surprise you’d opened your mouth and taken in a little bit of water, and you spluttered.

Suddenly your arms were out of sequence, and you were struggling to bring them back together in front of you while kicking with your legs. They felt uncooperative, like they were on different strings, and you were finding it hard to keep your neck bent up high enough to keep your face out of the water completely. You jerked to try and regain your momentum, and sent an electric shock through your shoulder, pain spreading out all the way down to your wrist. You gasped, the pain making you pull your arm into your body, trying to cradle it against your chest, and you started floundering, your nose and mouth dropping beneath the surface as you struggled to stay upright. You swatted at the surface of the water with your good arm, panic in your chest, as you tried to figure out if it was better to turn and head back to the shallows or carry on to the other end.

You heard a splash behind you, a huff of air as a body broke the surface and then an arm around your waist.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said, and you leant back into the warm body behind you, trying to suck in air.

‘My shoulder, my arm,’ you cried, keeping it tucked against you as the lifeguard pulled you to where you could stand. You gasped, choking a little on water but mostly just from shock, your face burning red with humiliation and the pain of your throbbing collarbone. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said, suddenly feeling like you wanted to cry, as you caught your breath, the man still holding you gently around the waist and leaning down to study your face.

‘You’re OK, you’re OK,’ he said, his voice like warm honey as it oozed over the panic in your brain. ‘Take a breath, I’ve got you.’

Oh fuck, you were definitely going to cry if he kept being so nice to you. You felt heat in the back of your eyes, bit down on your bottom lip so he couldn’t see it wobbling.

‘I just wanted to swim a lap,’ you said, and you could hear the desperation in it, feeling as small as a child.

‘You injured?’ he asked, and you nodded. He tugged you further towards the shallow end, led you by the good arm over to the steps.

‘My physio said exercise would help it,’ you explained, throwing her soundly under the bus. ‘I just…I thought I was ready.’ You felt the frustration bubbling over. You had a terrible habit of getting teary when you were mad. ‘It’s just been so shit, and I wanted to…I just don’t even know this body anymore, you know?’ you complained, wincing when you realised you’d just trauma dumped on him.

‘Can’t rush these things,’ he said, unfazed. ‘Gotta take it at your own pace.’ Standing up in this part of the pool the water only came to his waist, and he gestured to his belly where a jagged scar punctured his left side.

‘Jesus,’ you said, at the sight of it and also realising for the first time he was shirtless, water running in rivulets down his golden skin. He was so broad it was no wonder he’d managed to get to you in the centre of the pool in all of three strokes. You felt yourself start to tremble, and you weren’t sure it was from shock.

You’d known, of course, that he was handsome. You had eyes, after all. But up close, standing over you, hair slicked back as his brown eyes roamed your face for any sign of distress…up close, he was devastating.

‘Joel,’ he said, holding out his hand, and you took it, awkward and shy. He told you he liked your name when you mumbled it to him, and you realised he was very good at his job. You wondered where you could find an 80s bikini.

‘Thank you, Joel,’ you said, when your heart had finally settled back into its normal rhythm. ‘I’m sorry you had to…’

‘Trust me, pulling beautiful women out of the deep end is not the hard part of my job,’ he said, and then you watched as his eyes widened, like he was only just realising what he’d said, and you felt heat crawl up your cheeks.

You wanted to ask him what the hard part was. You restrained yourself, because you’d been humiliated enough for one day.

--

You skipped your next session at the pool, instead using the rubber stretchy thing to try and elongate the joint. It didn’t feel as good, and you nearly snapped it into your face more than once, and you definitely didn’t think about Joel’s golden skin glistening in the sunlight the entire time you did it. You didn’t think about his arm banding around you as he pulled you to safety, not even a little bit. The rubber thing was fine. It was going to solve all your problems.

--

You hated the fucking rubber stretchy thing. For one, it smelled like condoms but in a weirdly stale kind of way, and for two you were fairly sure it was going to rip your door off its hinges in your crappy little apartment, and you really didn’t want to have to call your landlord when that happened. It might mean you’d have to tidy up.

Also, it was late Spring and pretty soon school would be out, and the pool would be heaving, and so you had to get your shoulder back to normal as soon as possible before the place got flooded with kids. The bikini you fished out from behind a bunch of old clothes in the back of your closet was so that you could move your shoulder more freely. You were being pragmatic. You were planning ahead.

It was hotter again, the warmth of summer encroaching, and you were genuinely relieved to see the sparkling, clear water when you arrived on the pool deck. You walked, head held high and chest out just a little, past the lifeguard chair, studiously not looking but also really trying to look. You spent an extra few seconds fishing around in your back for your sunscreen, trying to steady your pulse. When you swivelled around, preparing to smear it over yourself, you glanced over at the chair.

Unless Joel had aged 20 years in the week since you’d been, and gained forty pounds and lost all of his hair, he was not on shift today. You felt yourself deflate, your shoulders slumping, your left collarbone sending out a thrum of pain in warning.

It was probably for the best, of course. You were here to do rehab. This was serious medical stuff.

You didn’t want to hazard another lap, not with Beergut McBaldALot on patrol, so you floated a bit in the shallow end and practiced making circles with your arms. You were stiff, having taken a week off to whip yourself up into a pointless frenzy over the lifeguard. The water eased some of the tension in the muscle, and you once again felt your mind start to still.

You wondered if, on his down time, Joel preferred board shorts or speedos. You couldn’t imagine him in a full banana hammock – you could, but you didn’t want to – but you wondered if he was a Daniel-Crag-In-His-First-Bond-Movie-When-He-Emerges-From-The-Ocean-Booty-Shorts kind of guy. That didn’t feel right either, though. His work uniform was boardies, and you decided that Joel was the type of guy who just wore them on his own time anyway, because they fit and they were on hand. As for what was going on underneath them. Well, that was something else entirely.

As you bobbed in the water you imagined his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and letting you rest your head on his broad, tanned shoulder. You wondered if you’d be able to feel his heartbeat on your cheek, if that close you could hear his tight little exhales as he glided you through the water, held you up so that you could finally, finally let go. You sighed a little to yourself, drifting in the middle of the pool and hoping no one had any plans to swim any laps. You let your hair trail out behind you as you drifted, imagined the slight pull of the water was his fingers threading through.

--

You weren’t hungry but you had nothing at home, so you stopped off at the grocery store on the way home, your shoulder feeling better for having had a little bit of movement. Sleepy from the warmth of the sun and your weightlessness, you barely noticed the man standing at the end of the cereal aisle until you were tripping over him, his arm shooting out to catch you before you could really, properly fall.

‘Ooof,’ he exclaimed, and you knew that voice, felt the furious rush of blood to your cheeks as you righted yourself and were met with the same warm, brown eyes.

‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ he said, smiling down at you, and he was just as beautiful on dry land as he was submerged. You felt your hands start to tremble and you worried you’d drop your basket.

‘Joel,’ you said, trying to hide the comingling shame and excitement on your face. ‘You look different when you’re wet.’

Murder you. End it now. It would simply be kinder.

Joel, to his credit, just laughed a little.

‘Hair’s a lot fluffier,’ he said, reaching up to tug at it and making you want to chew on your own fist.

‘There’s that,’ you said, your voice oddly strangled.

‘You breakfast shoppin’ at 4 in the afternoon?’ he asked, gesturing to the cereal box in your hands.

‘Dinner, actually,’ you said, strangely proud at your sheer level of disfunction. ‘Ever since my shoulder, cooking hasn’t really been…’

You trailed off. Your mom had sent over a couple of frozen lasagnes, and you’d worked your way through those in a week. For a while you got dinners delivered but it got expensive, and then worst, it got boring. Before all of this started there were some nights you’d been so engrossed in your thesis you’d forgotten to get dinner at all. You missed those nights, too. To be so distracted.

‘How’s the arm?’ he asked, and you realised you were cradling it again, holding it fast against your side.

‘It’s slow, and I’m trying to be patient,’ you said, honestly, and his brows saddled. He hummed in thought, pouting his lips out a little. You fought every atom in your body not to lean forward and pull them between your teeth.

‘Your physio given you exercises?’ he asked, and you nodded, avoiding his gaze. ‘You doin’ em?’ he asked, and you were suddenly really interested in the nutritional content of your Cheerios. He snickered out a laugh. ‘No one ever does ‘em.’

‘You speaking from experience?’ you asked, and he smiled.

‘I used to…well, not a physio but I did a little personal training, and uh…basically unless I was there barkin’ at ‘em no-one did what they were told.’

Bark at me, you thought. I’ll do anything you say.

You coughed, trying to collect yourself. Fuck, he was beautiful, but you realised what you liked most was just the warmth in his face, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. You trusted him, you realised. You didn’t know him, and you trusted him.

‘I’m pretty sure my physio knows I’m lying to her,’ you confessed, and he smiled.

‘She definitely does,’ he agreed.

‘I’m otherwise a very honest person,’ you added.

‘I have no doubt,’ he said, with a little twinkle in his eye that made you want to gouge the things out so you didn’t have to deal with them torturing you anymore.

Instead, you looked into his basket and saw kale, a bunch of carrots and a carton of eggs. You grimaced.

‘Please tell me you’re not on a cleanse or some shit,’ you said, and he smiled.

‘Nah, you got me just before I headed over to the candy aisle.’

‘You like candy?’ you asked, and he grinned.

‘Got a sweet tooth,’ he confessed.

‘Name your poison.’

‘Reece’s. The umm…the cups.’

‘The cups. A peanut butter man?’

‘Yes ma’am,’ he said, that southern drawl appearing again. You felt it hit you like a bullseye in your core. You wondered what else you could get him to agree to.

‘A man of taste,’ you said. You were flirting over grocery items and you didn’t fucking care. You would banter about the phone book if he kept grinning with his whorish little dimples out.  ‘Thank you for helping me out the other day,’ you said, and he shrugged.

‘S’my job,’ he said, and you shook your head at him, swishing your hands in front of you as if you could push his humbleness aside.

‘Yeah, but you chose that job, and I’m glad that you did,’ you said, simply. ‘It’s a generous thing, putting yourself on the line for someone else.’

‘Always been a kind of protector,’ he said, almost to himself.

‘I can see that,’ you replied, honestly, and he turned his gaze to you, considering you for a moment. ‘Although I guess a lot of the time it’s just watching people splash around.’

‘Ain’t hard to watch some people,’ he said, gazing down at you, his jaw muscle twinging a little.  You felt your stomach do a silly little flip.

‘No?’ you asked, your throat dry.

‘Mmm-mmm,’ he said, shaking his head but not breaking eye contact. You wanted to grab his broad, golden shoulders and hitch your thighs over them. You wanted to reach up and take his curls in your fingers, pull him onto his knees and his mouth to your nipple, let him nibble where they pebbled. You wanted to drown the gorgeous fucker, just for being so pretty he was setting your brain on fire.

For a second the two of you stared at each other, trying to pretend the sparks weren’t flying.

‘That can’t be dinner,’ he said, after a while, and you realised he was talking again about your cereal.

‘I could get some grown up muesli if that would make you happy,’ you offered.

‘Wouldn’t want you to get malnourished, come by the pool and drown from lack of…vitamins,’ he finished.

‘Lack of vitamins?’ you teased, and he blushed.

‘Can’t have you wastin’ away on me.’

‘So, you’re saying I have to eat the muesli for your benefit?’ you asked, and he shook his head.

‘No breakfast for dinner,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can fix you somethin’.’

Your heart stopped, right there in the grocery store, in your flip flops with your hair still wet from the pool.

‘…’ you said, and he finally broke your gaze, finally allowed you to breathe for a second. He looked thoughtful, maybe even a little sorry.

‘Not professional of me to ask out the patrons,’ he said, after a while.

‘Do you work at the grocery store?’,’ you asked, bolder than you were feeling. He moved closer towards you, just a half-step, so that you could feel his breath ghosting over your face.

‘If I gave you some exercises, would you do ‘em?’ he asked, his voice so low it came straight from the Devil himself. You felt the jolt of want spear between your legs.

‘My physio might get jealous,’ you said, and he grinned.

‘As your lifeguard I feel like it’s my duty to overrule, baby,’ he said. He lifted a hand to your bad shoulder, holding it gently, supporting the joint. You sighed a little, the extra support releasing some of the pressure from the tendon.

‘If you think it’s that serious,’ you whispered, as you leant in towards him, his mouth hovering just out of reach of yours. ‘Life and death.’

‘I’m afraid I might,’ he replied.

His lips tasted like coffee and sunshine. You lifted your arms to rest them on his shoulders. There was not a single twinge.

[merrybloomwrites]

She's (Not) Afraid

Summary: Y/N's living her best life as a guitarist for One Direction until faulty tech leads to an unexpected injury. Luckily, her boyfriend Niall is by her side to help her through.

Word Count: 1.7K

CW: burns, fire, injury

AN: Welcome to Whumptober! I'm a big fan of whump and hurt/comfort so I'm excited to be participating this year! Quick note that I am not a medical professional so if there are any incorrect details here, I'm sorry! I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

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

Never in a million years did you think you’d get hired as one of the guitarists to tour with One Direction. But still you had to try. So you sent in your audition tape, not expecting to hear back. 

But then you did. And they had you come play in person. After a few more auditions in front of numerous people, you got offered the job. 

It’s been a dream come true. It’s hard, intense, the schedule is packed with shows, travel, rehearsal, recording. But even though you’re exhausted, you’re having the time of your life. 

You’ve grown close with all of the boys, but by the end of the first tour it was clear there was something special between you and Niall. It makes sense, since you both played guitar, leading you to spend more time with him than the others. 

So it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when he’d asked you on a date right when the tour was over. 

It’s been more than a year of you and Niall being together and everything has been perfect. He’s an absolutely wonderful boyfriend, and you’re over the moon in love with each other. 

He knows everything about you, every dream, every favorite, every fear. 

Which is why he tried so hard to fight against pyrotechnics being used for this tour. He knew you had a bad experience with a campfire when you were young, and it had left you with some trauma and fear of fire. 

You wouldn’t go near another bonfire or a lit fireplace, never mess with sparklers or fireworks, even gas stoves made you nervous because of the open flame. 

But management insisted that pyrotechnics were non-negotiable. Niall continued to press and got them to agree that nothing would be set up close to your spot on the stage. 

Now, months into the Take Me Home Tour, you’ve gotten used to the flames shooting up at every show. You still don’t love it, but there must be something to be said about exposure therapy, because by this point you barely notice it anymore. 

You’re on stage, playing guitar in front of thousands of people, sharing some secret glances with Niall. You’re on top of the world, the excitement and adrenaline running through your system making you feel invincible. 

But then your worst fear comes true. You finish “She’s Not Afraid” and go to switch guitars. You place your current one on the stand, but before you can grab the other one, a wave of heat rushes over you. 

Hands grab you and pull you away, but not fast enough. Your left arm is radiating the worst pain you've ever felt. It’s all you can focus on, the sounds of the people in the arena going silent as your ears start ringing. 

You’re shaking head to toe full body tremors, your breaths coming out as broken gasps. Familiar arms slide under your legs and around your back in order to carry you off stage. You tuck into Niall, letting his presence comfort you. 

He places you down on a folding chair backstage, taking your right hand in his when you begin to cry at the separation. 

“I’m right here, baby. Just giving them room to check you out, see where you’re hurt,” Niall says. 

You nod to show you understand, taking a deep breath to calm down and finally choking out, “I think it’s just my left arm. I was reaching for the guitar so that was the closest so I think it’s the only spot that got hit.” 

“Okay, that’s good sweetheart. Chris is here, he’s going to check the burn.”

Slowly, you extend your left arm to the EMT crouched next to you. He’s gentle as he cradles your arm, turning it to see the extent of the injury. 

After a moment he says, “It’s mostly surface level, but there’s a couple spots that are definitely second degree. You can see here, where it’s blistering,” he explains pointing to a spot on your skin. Rather than looking at it you watch Niall, who is focused on every word Chris says. 

“Does she need the hospital?” Niall asks. 

“Yes, she’ll need to see a doctor. I’m going to run cool water over her arm first and then she’ll need to be brought to the hospital.”

“Niall!” A shout catches everyone’s attention, Niall whipping around at the sound of his voice. Robert, one of their least favorite members of management, is walking over. “Encore time, let’s go,” he says. 

“What are you talking about? A member of the band just got burned on stage and you’re continuing the show?”

“They disconnected the faulty tech. Michael’s going to fill in for her. And you will go back out there and tell the audience that it’s a mild burn and everything is just fine.”

“I can’t just leave her-” Niall begins to argue, but Robert cuts him off, saying, “You can, and you will. Now get out there and finish the show.”

Knowing he had no choice, Niall quickly cups your face in his hands. He presses a kiss to your lips and says, “I will be right back. You’re in good hands, Chris is going to take care of you. I’ll only be gone a couple minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, though this situation is anything but okay. 

Niall leaves and your anxiety spikes once again. 

“C’mon kid, let’s get you patched up,” Chris says as he helps you up. He leads you back to your dressing room and into the bathroom within. He leaves you standing there for a moment while he starts the shower and gets it to the correct temperature. When he turns back to you he notices how shaky and pale you are and how quickly you’re breathing. 

“Y/N, I’m going to have you lay here and put your arm in the shower. Careful, gently now,” he says and he helps you lay down on a couple of towels that another EMT placed down. Chris leads your arm into the stream of water and it stings at first before you finally feel relief from the burning. 

Minutes pass and suddenly more voices fill the room. 

“Baby, I’m here,” Niall says and he holds your free hand once again. You look at him with a weak smile and he asks how you’re feeling.

“Better,” you answer. “Doesn’t hurt as much. I’m a little cold.” You’re just realizing that you’re shivering, which you feel is wrong considering you literally got hit with fire, but maybe the cool water is really doing its job. 

“Grab a blanket,” Niall says to someone behind him and you turn in time to see Louis step away. You look out the doorway and see the other boys standing there, all wearing matching expressions of worry. 

“Guys, I’m okay,” you say, hating how scared they look.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to be okay right now. We’ll take care of you,” Niall says.

“I love you,” you reply, not able to keep that thought in. You’re used to being strong, you’ve never been one to be coddled. And Niall knows that. He’s the first person who’s been there for you. It’s still unusual for you to depend on other people, but you’re grateful for the reminder in this moment. 

Louis comes back and hands Niall the blanket which he then gently places over you. 

“How much longer does she need to keep her arm under the water?” Louis asks.

“Few more minutes and then I’ll wrap it up so she can get to the hospital,” Chris answers.

“Ni?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Can you have everyone else leave? Please?” Immediately understanding that you’re overwhelmed by all the attention, he turns to Louis and asks him something quietly. Shortly after that the room clears of everyone except Niall, Chris and the other EMT. 

“Time to dry and wrap it,” Chris says. He turns the water off and pats the area. He’s as gentle as possible, but it still hurts. You turn to Niall who leans close and presses kisses to your face to distract you from the pain. 

Once the wound is covered you head out to the ambulance that they insist you take, which feels more embarrassing than anything. Niall stays with you the entire time, holding your hand for the drive there as well as the entire hospital visit. The doctor there examines the burn, applies cream and bandages it once more. He gives strict care instructions which Niall listens to intently, promising the doctor that he’ll be making sure you heal properly.

Luckily it’s not a travel night, and you head back to the hotel at some godforsaken hour of the morning. Management doesn’t even try to fight it when Niall joins you in your room, knowing that’s a fight they wouldn’t be winning. 

The pain medicine is doing its best, but you’re still somewhat uncomfortable by the time you get in bed. Niall holds you close to him, singing quietly to lull you to sleep.

Of course peaceful sleep is too much to ask for, and you’re plagued by nightmares, multiple ones that are so intense they wake you up sweating, unable to catch your breath. Niall is there, never complaining about the lack of sleep, letting you cry and vent as much as you need.

You’re given time off to recover, and though management still argues to keep the pyros, only two remain onstage, far away from the band. 

Your fear of fire returns, worse than ever. And while some people may laugh at you for getting scared by lightning or campfires, Niall never joins in. He validates your fears. He understands where you’re coming from and never belittles you. 

Over time your burn heals, though the scar remains. You hate looking at it, seeing how ugly it is and remembering one of the scariest moments of your life. But Niall is always there to tell you how beautiful it is, and to remind you how strong you are. While you hate that this happened to you, it’s proved that Niall is there for you, no matter what. And that means the world to you.

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

AN: Thanks for reading! Louis x reader up next in 2 weeks!

[havenesc]

the "everything is the same but jason was a low-key horse girl AU" (bear with me here this is what i call....niche)

jason doesn't take anything for granted when he's newly minted as bruce wayne's newest ward, fresh ink on his adoption papers and no complaints towards the long hours of training that it takes to be molded into robin, boy wonder. he's granted access to everything he could ever want, everything he ever wanted to be. his biggest hurdle is the private school, with the children of the upper echelon, who cannot and do not want to relate themselves to him aside from what bruce's name gives him. the feeling's mutual; he can't relate to them any more than they can to him, and he oftentimes struggles with social situations. it's incredibly isolating at times, but he's batman's robin, so most days, it's enough.

batman and robin end up working on a case with a string of animal thefts when a murder turns up at the local stable yard not far from wayne manor. when batman is investigating, or interviewing the nightcheck crew for the yard, robin ends up having a moment with one of the horses who hangs his head over his stall door and tries to nip and nibble on robin's hair, his ear (tickles), his cape, his costume, until jason relents and gives him attention.

"sorry," one of the night checkers says, when robin barely stifles a laugh as the animal lips at his cheek, "he can be a handful."

this becomes a habit for the duration of the case -- if robin is looking for clues, or in general in the vicinity, he will seek out his nosy-ass four-legged friend with quiet eyes and a penchant for being too in his personal space.

all of this does not go unnoticed by the batman.

bruce, for what it's worth, has minor investments in the racing industry. it's a good way to get leads on bookies and crime cases, as horse racing tends to be rife with corruption and embezzling funds in gotham city -- that, and the first boy wonder saw 1979 classic The Black Stallion and briefly took an interest in horses himself when he was small enough to entertain the idea of jockeying. the wayne family had a string of polo ponies in the early 40s and 50s, and alfred grew up watching foxhunts in england. bruce is also aware how beneficial equine therapy can be, and in jason's case, how it may help him have an outlet that is not violence but is also not a thinly veiled attempt at networking through sports like tennis and lacrosse.

bruce asks one morning at the breakfast table, "would you like to learn to ride?" and at first, young jason snorts and waffles a little on his answer, because it's mostly girls at the stables, and he would encounter the same issues of upper echelon, but bruce simply says, "it could be a good skill to know," framing it in context of their other work, and it's enough for jason to be convinced that it's alright to want to be at the stables.

so he takes lessons after school, once a week first, then quickly switches to twice when he learns fast and outgrows his first lesson horse. alfred takes him -- he quickly becomes the old butler all the horses recognize with nickers when he comes down the alleyway, because he carries peppermints in his pockets, and where jason is, alfred-the-treat-bringer usually follows. bruce comes to watch here and there when he can, but he also wants it to be something jason has to himself. something jason enjoys, not because bruce asked him to do it.

jason finds that he does -- he likes riding. he likes the smell of the hay, the sound of animals chewing grain, the science of biomechanics in riding and how the horses are usually better companions than people. he starts helping out here and there at the stables where he can, and the workers grow fond of the wayne heir. he likes being there when he needs to cool down after a long day of school, he likes sneaking out to sit in the loft after a night of patrol or maybe the unsettling arguments with bruce. he sits in the stalls and he listens and even, yes, still gets harrassed by the same horse that initially introduced him to horses. it helps him regulate his emotions more when he's robin. it gives him the outlet bruce hoped it would.

moreover, he's good. he can ride out hot horses without fear, channel that abundance of energy into something productive and competitive. people start asking him to take on problem cases, or timid riders ask for tips from the fearless kid with guts and a velcro seat. the first time he ever competes, he sweeps his classes. even dick hears about it when alfred sends him a photo of young master jason, smiling and proud and holding a blue ribbon next to his infamous cheeky horse, and then another photo, when jason's face is buried in the neck of his horse, because bruce revealed that he bought it for him.

(this also leads to dick showing jason the same movie that had enamored him as a kid, and for a brief moment jason thinks of alec ramsay washed up on that island all alone, and feels in some kind of way a kindred spirit.)

even when bruce and jason begin to butt heads, and the fights increase in both frequency and tenacity, jason still finds solace in the stables. he never stops being offered horses to ride. he makes the time to compete, even when he has to get up at 6 a.m. to braid his horse's mane, but patrol ended at 4. his anger doesn't reach him in the smell of hay and sweet feed.

and then he dies.

bruce never sells the animal. can't make himself do it.

he doesn't visit -- visiting the stable aisles feels like visiting a crypt, and he can't snuff his grief long enough to reach the golden plaque that engraves JASON TODD as the owner of the horse. alfred comes by every once in a while, but not as often as he used to. the horses stop turning their heads in recognition.

when jason comes back as red hood, it takes him a long time to make himself go back to the yard. but when he does, an old friend still turns his head to him, ears pricked, eyes quiet but looking for attention all the same.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hi,

love your writings,keep it up!❤️

Could you please write a one-shot, where the reader is Will‘s best friend and Hannibal is in love with her?He met her when the reader dropped Will off for his therapy. Will is scared that Hannibal will hurt the reader, after Hannibal decides to court her.But she assures him,she will be safe and ends up with Hannibal.(nsfw?)

Hannibal X Reader: The best friend

Warnings: smut, fluff, jealousy (very little), nipple sucking, penetration (p in v), fingering, kissing, cursing, pet names, Hannibal being a tease, no use of y/n, not proofread

Word count: 3,1K

Wills mentioned you about a hundred times during therapy. You are and have been his rock for years now so it’s only natural he talks about you a lot. It was safe to say Hannibal had developed a curiosity about you. Will talked about you in such an angelic light the doctor couldn’t help but cultivate a desire to meet you. Lucky for him Wills car had started having some mechanical problems so you ended up needing to drop him off one day.

Hannibal opened the door, expecting to only see Will in the waiting room but instead his eyes fell on your back. You were gazing at a painting on the wall, your head tilted to the side as you observed it. Hannibal stared at you for a small moment before his eyes fell on Will. 

“Hello Will.”

You spun around at the sound of Hannibal's voice. You don’t know why you’d expected Hannibal to be an old man. Will had never described him in such a manner but for some reason in your mind therapists were old men with white hair and wise eyes. Hannibal was nothing like that. When he opened the door you’d thought maybe he was the son of Will's therapist but when your best friend turned to face you, gesturing to the young man before you, and introducing you it's safe to say you were shocked. It took you a small moment to regain your attention, your eyes moving over the features of the handsome man before you. Will called out your name causing you to snap out of it.

“Sorry. You’re not what I expected.”

“Oh? I hope I've exceeded your expectations.”

“You could say that.”

Will picked up on your teasing tone, one you would often use when flirting with someone but he decided to ignore it for the time being. He watched you stick out your hand to Hannibal giving it a firm shake. Hannibal's hand tingled at the feeling of your skin on his. For some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off you, it was like you had some sort of magnet hold over him. It took a cough from Will to break his daze. But it was already too late you’d picked up on the way he looked at you. You couldn’t help but smile at the attention he gave you.

“I better leave you to it. I’ll wait in the car, call me when you’re ready Will.”

You moved over to him tugging him into a hug. He let you embrace him, his hands moving to hold onto your frame. Hannibal watched the interaction, his heart clenching when he saw you place both palms on wills cheeks before tellings him

“It will be okay. He’ll help you. Won’t you Hannibal?”

“Of course.”

You placed a small kiss to Will's cheek, before releasing him and turning to leave. Before you got a few steps in though Hannibal's voice boomed across the room. 

“You could stay inside. It’s rather cold out there and I'm sure sitting in your car would be rather uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“I insist, make yourself comfortable. This could take a little while.”

You gave him a smile and Hannibal swore his heart almost popped out of his chest at the sight.  He turned around usering Will into the room before moving to close the door. The entire session Hannibal's mind was preoccupied with the thought of you. He tried his best to focus on Will as he spoke but he couldn’t help but turn to face the door that separated you from him. Despite the distance he could smell your perfume. The scent seemed to seep through the cracks just to tease him. He wondered what you were doing. His waiting room was never equipped with magazines or books because his clients usually never waited for a long time. He wondered if you were bored out there. Perhaps he should have offered you one of the books from his large bookshelf to keep you company. He doubted they’d be entertaining to you though, most of them were filled with medical lingo. 

You were almost falling asleep when the door opened. Your eyes snapped open at the sound, body moving to straighten itself in your seat. Will made his way over to you, extending his hand out. You took it, allowing him to lift you up. 

“How was the session?”

“It was good. Not that different from what it usually is like.”

You placed your hand on Will's chest, trying to feel his heartbeat.

“Do you feel lighter now?”

Will let out a small nod causing you to smile. You turned to face Hannibal. He looked up at you forcing his gaze to move from where your hand clung to Will's body. 

“You really are a miracle worker Hannibal. You should have seen him on the ride over here. He was practically shaking.” 

“She’s exaggerating.”

“I am not! You always think you’re fine until you aren’t. And don’t you dare deny it, I've known you for years. I know how you work.”

Hannibal couldn’t quite tell if the two of you argued like an old married couple of like siblings. He hoped it was the latter. Hannibal reached into his pocket pulling out his card.

“Here.”

“What's this for?”

“It’s my number. Will has it but if he gets bad and decides to be stubborn about it you can always call me.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure to call if I need to.”

“Come on, let's go home. I’ll drive you look like you’ll fall asleep on the wheel.”

With that you walked out of the room, hands reaching into your pocket to store Hannibal's number.

One night you were feeling a bit bored and decided to give Hannibal a call. You wanted to go out to eat but were feeling like having some company. You knew Will was busy with a case so you couldn’t count on him to go with you. You felt kind of bad for using Hannibal's number for a social call, he had given it to you for “emergencies”. Still, a part of you wondered if there had been another reason. To your delight Hannibal picked up quickly.

“Hey Hannibal.”

“Hello, is everything alright with Will?”

“Oh yeah! He’s fine. I actually called because i…you know what, maybe this was a bad idea. Sorry for bothering you.”

And then you hung up. 

Not a second later your phone rang again, Hannibal's number popped up on the screen.

“I think we lost connection.”

“Actually I hung up. Sorry.”

“Oh. Are you alright?”

“Yeah I'm fine. Just lonely and wanting some company.”

Hannibal's heart raced at your confession. He tried to understand why he’d called him instead of Will. 

“That's perfectly normal. Humans often crave connection. Is Will not around?”

“He’s busy with the FBI. It’s why I decided to actually call. I was thinking of going to a restaurant that just opened up and was wondering if you wanted to come.”

Silence filled the other line. You shook your head cursing yourself from assuming Hannibal wanted farther contact with you.

“Listen, it's fine if you don’t want to. I know you gave me your number for-”

“I’ll pick you up at eighth. How does that sound?”

“Oh yeah that's perfect. See you at eight.”

Just like he promised Hannibal was at your door at eight sharp. He rang the doorbell and patiently waited for you to open the door. He’d researched about the restaurant and noticed it was somewhat fancy so he opted for using a button down instead of one of his usual suits. When you opened the door Hannibal's jaw felt like it had fallen to the floor. You had cleaned up rather beautifully. He extended his arm to your and you couldn't help but smile at the gesture. Once you got to the car Hannibal moved to open your door for you.

“Well, aren't you quite the gentleman?”

“A lady like yourself deserves to be treated as such.”

“Well thank you kindly.”

The restaurant was very cozy. You were surrounded by couples out on dates but surprisingly you didn’t feel out of place. In fact you and Hannibal seemed to fit right in. Your meals came quickly and your conversation came with ease. You talked about everything you could remember and by the time desert arrived you felt like you’d known Hannibal for years. Hannibal watched you eye his desert in curiosity, he’d picked what most people would consider the strangest option on the menu.

“Would you like to try some?”

“Sure.”

You expected him to hand you his spoon or push his dish you way but instead Hannibal filled the spoon and rose it to your lips. You leaned over a bit allowing the spoon to come in contact with your mouth. Hannibal watched your lips wrap around the silverware, his blood racing down to his groin as he watched you close your eyes in pleasure. A small moan made its way from your lips as the exquisite taste.

“My gosh that's amazing.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You really know your stuff when it comes to food.”

“It’s a bit of a hobby. You have something right there.”

“Here?”

“A bit more to the left. Here let me get it.”

Hannibal's hand moved from across the table, his palm cupping your cheek as his thumb moved over your lips to swipe away the residue of food. You watched him eye your lips for a moment before moving back into his chair. He raised his thumb to his lips, suckling it clean. Your thighs clenched at the sight. There was no way you could deny your attraction for Hannibal. 

Once you two finished your meal you paid and got up to go home. Hannibal drove you to your house. He stopped the car expecting you to simply get out and call it a night. Instead you turned to look at him from your seat. You gave him a smile.

“I had a lot of fun tonight. Thanks for joining me.”

“I’m glad to have been invited. I enjoyed spending time with you.”

You inched yourself closer to him, moving your face closer to his. Hannibal seemed to take the hint of his own body moving towards you. He met you halfway, his lips softly coming into contact with your own. It was a quick kiss, almost a way of saying goodnight, but it was also filled with promise. You pulled away, moving to open the door. Hannibal watched you exit his car leaning back down so that you could see his face.

“I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.”

With one final smile you shut the door and made your way towards your house. Hannibal waited for you to get inside before speeding down the road.

As the months went on you and Hannibal started hanging out more and more. You’d go to museums and operas. Hannibal would show up at your house with a bag of groceries out of the blew to make you dinner. With time you realized you wanted something more official with Hannibal which meant you needed to talk with will. It's safe to say he did not take it very well.

“No way.”

“Will you can’t tell me what to do.”

“You can't date my therapist. Actually scratch that you can't date Hannibal Lecter.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's dangerous!”

Your body flinched at the sound of Will's raised voice. He noticed the look of fright in your eyes making his eyes soften.

“Sorry. I shouldn;t have yelled.”

“It’s okay. I can tell this really bothers you.”

“It’s not that i don’t want you to be happy. It’s just that Hannibal isn't all he seems to be. People who get too close to him get hurt.”

“Did you?”

“Well yes.”

“And was he the one who hurt you?”

“Not exactly no.”

“Then why do you think he’d hurt me?”

“He’s odd.”

“So are you. And you’ve never hurt me. Ever.”

You were right. Will wasn’t exactly the most common person but he loved you and would never do anything that would harm you. Will knew how Hannibal could be but he also knew what the doctor was capable of. If he really liked you he would stop at nothing to protect you. Will could also tell that Hannibal made you happy. The past mouths you’d never stopped smiling. He couldn’t bear to take that away from you. It would be selfish of him. He turned to face you taking a deep breath.

“Does he make you happy?”

“Yes. More than I thought was possible.”

“Alright. But if he ever hurts you i’ll fucking kill him.”

You grinned at Will, running over to wrap him in a bone crushing hug.

Hannibal moved over to the door as the bell rang for the third time. He was starting to wonder what kind of emergency had happened for someone to be ringing his doorbell in such desperation. His eyes fell on your fame, lips moving to call out your name but before he could make a sound you’d crashed your lips against his. He stumbled backwards grabbing onto the wall as you continued to attack his lips. He placed his hand on your hips holding you against him. He breaks the kiss, noticing the large grin on your face.

“As much as I loved that, what made you so happy?”

“Will is okay with us being together?”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I almost didn’t believe it.”

Hannibal kisses you again and you can feel his smile against your skin. His hands move lower to grope at your ass. You squeal against his touch but he only laughs at the action.

“You know what that means right?”

“No. What does it mean?”

He drops his face to your neck, his lips inching closer to your ear. 

“You are mine.”

With one swoop Hannibal magganes to lift you off the ground. He holds your body close to his as he makes his way to the bedroom. He throws you on the bed causing the mattress to bounce beneath you. Before you can react he rips your clothes off with a hunger in his eyes you've never seen before. You can’t help but lie still, libs buzzing at what is about to come next. Hannibal removes his own clothes before crawling over your body. His hands draw small circles against the inside of your thigh causing you to whine.

“Please Hannibal…”

“What do you want?”

“Touch me please just touch me.”

“Touch you where? Here?”

He places his hand on your stomach, bows raised in questioning. You shake your head no.

“What about here?”

His hand moves to your breast and as much as you enjoy the feeling it's not where you want him most. 

“Hannibal.”

You grit out his name in warning but he knows you’re all bit and no bark. He’s got you under her and you’ll only get what you want if you explicitly tell him what it is. 

“Can’t touch you if you don;t tell me where.”

Impatience fills you. You grab onto his hand tugging it off your chest before roughly guiding it to your pussy. 

“Here. I want you to finger me.”

“Why didn;t you just say that?”

You scowl at his testing but it doesn't last long because soon his fingers begin to play with your folds. Your hips buck up at the contact, silently begging him to move faster. The moment his fingers delve into your pussy you can’t help but moan out his name.

“I love the way you sound with my name on your lips.”

You moan out his name again causing him to let out a pleased groan. Hannibal's head moves to your chest, his lips wrapping around your nipple. Your hands curl into his hair as he gives your breast a suck.

“Ah shit… that's it baby.”

You can see the muscles of Hannibal's arm flex as he continues to plunge his fingers into you. You enjoy the feeling of his hands on you but you’d waited for a long time to feel him inside you and you couldn't wait any longer. You pull him off your breast causing him to release it with a satisfying pop. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Aren’t i?”

“I mean. I want you to put your dick in Hannibal.”

Sometimes being literal with what you wanted was the only way to get it. Hannibal seemed to enjoy teasing you until you told him, in rather graphic detail, what you wished him to do to you. 

“Open your legs for me.”

You did as he asked, allowing him to slot his frame into yours. You eyes his dick bob up as he moved. It wasn’t the first time you;d seen him naked but you only now registered his size. Hannibal placed a finger on your chin lifting your face so that you would look at him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Just breathe, dear.”

Slowly Hannibal inched himself inside you. He watched your brows furrow as he continued to push in, causing him to place a kiss on your temple. A groan asked his lips as he bottomed out. He could feel your breath on his neck as he stilled for a moment allowing you to become used to the feeling of him. 

“Please move.”

“You sure?”

“Yes pleas just fucking move.”

He rocked into you slowly, his chest swelling with pride at the sounds he managed to pull out of you. It was a tender sort of thing. Your bodies molded into each other as if they had been made from the same clay. Hannibal rested his forehead against yours as he continued to fuck into you. Your hands moved to his neck tugging at the small hairs there. 

“I love you.”

Your breathless confession caused Hannibal's eyes to snap open. He gazed into your eyes in a dazed state for a moment. Once he realized you had in fact spoken those words to him a large smile made his way to his face. He placed a kiss on your lips.

“I love you too.”

Your mouth opened in a quiet moan as your orgasm washed over you. Hannibal's hands moved beneath your body tugging you closer to him as he came into you. He rolled over pulling you on top of him. He didn;t bother to remove his body from yours. You felt his dick soften inside you, a sigh leaving your lips. You closed your eyes, allowing Hannibal's heartbeat lull you into sleep.

[sickseraph]

the way you can look at the whole show of supernatural as a representation of trauma.

hunting as an analogy for generational trauma or abuse. we saw mary’s parents exposing her to the dangers of the hunting world as a young girl (teen? 18?). demon-possessed grandpa then ruins her life and dooms the boys. john introduces them to hunting from CHILDHOOD, is actively an abusive alcoholic as the boys grow up, and then also gets literally possessed by a demon. seeing a theme of repetitive demon possessions only in the men who can’t get over their trauma… hmm…

sam and dean being actual addicts as a parallel; the demon blood & the alcohol. dean has more going on than just alcohol but that’s how i’ll sum it up. sam is able to kick this habit because he actually has sufficient supportive ‘father’ figures in his life. dean doesn’t. that says a lot about how each of them ends up.

sam finally breaks the cycle of abuse and ‘hunting’ at the end, whereas dean never really gets the chance to become stable. maybe he was close, but i think part of the analysis i’m making is that dean isn’t a success story. he’s supposed to represent an addict dying to his trauma (hunting). sam overcame his literal addictions (demon blood) therefore he overcame the others (hunting).

moving on: angels and vessels. how many vessels are begging to be let go, only for the angel to ignore them? the way that angels promise a greater purpose full of wonder and then the vessels are just torn to shreds for however long the angel dictates. classic abusive relationship, no? can’t leave, abuse of power, long-lasting effects even after the angel leaves. jimmy was a good example of how once an angel touches you, you’re unsafe at best, and dead at worst. we saw angry former vessels, we saw them being tricked in a mind palace like sam within gadreel’s control. we got an entire storyline about how castiel irreparably ruined an entire family and, although he feels guilt, he never really atones for it. the show then lets us see maybe hundreds of angels in human vessels throughout the series, and we’re supposed to ignore that these people are potentially hostages.

god/heaven being “unaccepting parents”; heaven hating castiel specifically for his love for dean. the minute castiel laid a hand on you in hell he was lost. remember how they lobotomize him repeatedly until he’s able to murder dean without a flicker of emotion? they put him in conversion therapy bro!!!!!

anyway im not a professional so if anyone has more examples of this id love you to add them hehe

[janeyseymour]

A story where R is really self conscious about their mobility aid (a cane if possible). Maybe one of the middle schoolers says something rude. And mostly a lot of comfort from Mel

i hope this is good enough because i wrote it in between teaching a bunch of first graders and babysitting two little gremlins

Lean On Me

WC: ~2.5k

You had finally decided to bite the bullet and get your knee replaced after months of agonizing pain with a little nudge from your wonderful wife. You had hoped it would be replaced and healed by the time the school year started up again, but unfortunately that was not the case. You weren’t able to get it replaced until the end of July, and with class being back in session at the end of August, you’re still using the cane and you’re under pretty strict restrictions.

“Maybe I should just take a month’s leave until I can walk without this damned thing,” you mutter to yourself as you’re sitting in Melissa’s classroom while she finishes prepping her room for this year’s upcoming little eagles. “I don’t want the kids to see me with this.” You lazily gesture to the cane that’s next to you.

“That’s up to you, my love,” Melissa tells you as she passes you by to hang a new Eagles sign. “But I do think that you’ll be incredibly bored while you’re recovering and no one is around.”

She’s right. You’ll be bored out of your mind if you decide to take off for a month- especially without her to keep you entertained. And you know that you hate having subs; if the principal would even be able to find a substitute for you this late into the game. So you decide that you’ll just have to tough it out despite the fact that you’re incredibly self-conscious of having to use the mobility aid at such a young age. You get stares while you’re just in the grocery store and hobbling around with your wife (she tries to insist that you stay home and rest, but you tell her that you like spending the time with her and that you need to stay at least somewhat active).

Development days come and go, most of your staff and team doing everything they can to make life easy for you- Ava even going as far as spray painting your parking spot in the front so that she knows not to rent out the space during the Eagles barbecue that she holds every year (both you and Melissa thank her for that). Janine and Jacob help you to set up your classroom while Gregory finds different workouts that are supposed to help it heal faster on top of the rigorous physical therapy that you’ve been attending. And Barbara is there to make sure that both you and your wife were well-rested and eating- offering moral support in any way she possible can.

And so, the first day of school is upon you. The redhead insists on carrying your things to your room, and she sets a chair outside of the door for you to be able to greet your students when they come in. As your old students run past you to get to their new teachers, they give you the biggest and warmest hugs, telling you that they hope you feel better. You see Melissa standing outside of her door, greeting her new students with the same gusto that she always does, and then she looks over to you. She gives you a questioning look, and you nod and smile in her direction- quietly raising your mug filled with coffee in a toast. She reciprocates your action and blows you a kiss subtly.

You hobble your way back into the classroom and take a seat at your desk while the kids settle in and do the morning work that is on their desk. After morning announcements, you have them all gather on the carpet and explain to them how this year is going to work. One of them raises a shy hand.

“What’s up, hun?” you ask one of the girls.

She asks you hesitantly, “Why do you have a cane? I thought only old people have a cane.”

You smile at her gently. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart. Mrs. Schemmenti had a knee surgery over the summer, and I’m still recovering. I’ll only need it for another month, maybe a little longer. But while I have it, everybody needs to be careful and gentle. I can’t walk around much either, so I’ll be teaching from my desk for the time being.”

Your class is overwhelmingly supportive of this, and they are so sweet about asking if you ever need anything or if they can help pass out papers for the entirety of the morning. This group is a bunch of love bugs who make you get well cards when you give them a bit of free time while you’re waiting to be called down to the gymnasium for the beginning of the year assembly.

You’re incredibly thankful that Ava calls your grade first so that you can make your way down slowly and find a seat before anybody else can swoop in- the last thing you need is to have to stand in the back because all of the chairs are taken. You’re pretty sure if that happened, your wife would riot for you, but that isn’t necessary.

You have your kids take a seat, Melissa slides in next to you and takes your cane to prop it up against the wall, and then you settle in for whatever ridiculous first day of school assembly will present itself this year.

Because you were the first ones in, you’re also the last ones out. It gives you time to get yourself and your kids ready to head back to the classroom for the small break they have before they head to lunch.

But when lunchtime comes, you get swept up in the sheer chaos of trying to get your students to the cafeteria in time so that you have your full lunch break. There are the little ones who are walking through the halls with their eyes wide and full of wonder, your kids who are walking at a fast pace that you’re having a hard time keeping up with, and then there are the older ones who couldn’t care less that you’re attempting to make your way through the halls without bumping into anyone. It doesn’t help that half of the middle schoolers now tower over you.

In a rush, one of them knocks the cane out of your hand with their lunch bag and snorts with laughter. “I thought canes were for old heads!”

Another one of them shouts that you’ve really let yourself go, and maybe it’s time for you to go into early retirement if you can’t walk around without the help of your mobility aid.

You stumble without the crutch there to lean on, and you nearly fall until Melissa has looped an arm around your waist and is helping to hold you up. You lean against her heavily as you try to steady yourself again. She turns to shout at the two who were making fun of you, but they’re already swept up in the sea of children that are all wearing the same uniform. She doesn’t know who to yell at, so she quickly turns back to you.

The student that is standing next to you looks absolutely appalled and picks up your cane immediately. She hands it to you gently. “Are you okay?”

You nod and gesture for her to continue walking. Your students do as they keep their eyes trained on you to make sure that you’re okay.

Once all of your kids are in the cafeteria and you see that they are all seated and eating or in line to get a school lunch, you turn. Melissa is still right at your side, her arm still looped around you.

“Go enjoy your lunch, babe,” you tell her gently as you take her hand away. “I’m just gonna sit in my room for lunch if you wouldn’t mind bringing my kids back down with you when the period is over?”

“You don’t want to have lunch with us?” the redhead asks you quietly.

“I don’t know if I can make it down to the staffroom, and then the lunchroom, and back today,” you admit softly. “My knee is really hurting from physical therapy yesterday.”

“I’ll be down with your lunch,” Melissa promises. She squeezes your hand gently before turning on her heel.

You settle at your desk, and despite yourself willing the tears not to spring to your eyes they do. You wipe at them furiously. The comments from the older kids really shouldn’t be affecting you the way that they are. And you really would rather not have your wife see you shedding tears over their idiotic comments- you know she’ll be roping Ava into a manhunt to see who it was anyway, and it’ll only be that much worse for the students if she catches you crying.

Your wife comes in with both of your lunches and an icepack for you- not that you requested one. You quickly wipe your tears as you hear her heels hitting the tile underneath of her, but she still sees it.

“Hun, does it hurt that bad?”

You turn to her with a sad smile. “No. I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, but your voice betrays you and it cracks ever so slightly.

She sets your lunch in front of you and pulls up two chairs. She gestures for you to set your leg up on the second chair as she sits int he one next to you.

“Mel, you really can go enjoy lunch with he crew,” you tell her gently. “I’ll be okay by myself.”

“Ice,” is all she says as she takes a bite of lunch. She sets the pack on your knee, and you flinch slightly as the cool sensation ripples through your body, sending a shiver down your back.

You sit there, and she watches worriedly as you don’t make a move for your lunch at all. 

“Babe, you have to eat,” she says softly.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not that hungry.”

“My girl? Not hungry?” the redhead teases you. “C’mon.”

You don’t know what happens, but something within you snaps. “When I’m not burning nearly as many calories as I used to because of this fucking knee, I don’t get as hungry!” You burst into tears again. “God, I never should’ve gotten it done, and then I wouldn’t need this damn cane!” You throw it across the room in anger before curling in on yourself.

Your wife is up and retrieving it in seconds, only for you to throw it past her again.

“Babe,” she warns as she picks it up again.

“I don’t fucking want it! I’m sick of everyone staring at the young woman who has to depend on a god damn cane to walk!” you cry.

“Is this because of-” she starts to ask you, but you cut her off. 

“I’m sick of being stared at in the grocery store, or when we decided to go to Hershey and I had to use one of the wheelchairs! I don’t want the kids to go home and tell their parents that I’m some poor, crippled woman who can’t teach standing up!” you choke out. “I- I just want to be normal again!”

“So help those kids who pushed past you,” she grumbles before taking her seat back and wrapping her arms around you. She kisses you gently. “It’s all part of the healing process. You’ll be back to running around in no time, and you aren’t going to be in as much pain.”

“It’s going to be at least another month before I can walk without the cane,” you yell, frustrated tears falling down your cheeks.

“And you know I’ll always be here to lean on, your kids will clearly do everything they can to help you, and you know the staff here has your back,” she tries to comfort you.

“I couldn’t even properly take my kids to lunch,” you sigh, and you hate how whiny you sound.

“So I’ll take them and bring them back for you with my kids,” your wife tells you. “That way all you have to worry about is getting to and from the staffroom.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You already do so much for me.”

“And I will continue to do everything I can for you for the rest of my life,” she tells you with confidence. “When I said for better or for worse, I was serious.”

“I love you,” you whisper as the first genuine smile appears on your lips since the lunch incident.

“I love you too,” she mumbles as she leans in to kiss you. Then she pulls away and pushes your lunch towards you. “Now eat. I know you’re hungry.”

You pick up the fork and shovel some food in your mouth. So maybe you lied to Melissa when you said you weren’t hungry.

Come the end of the day, your wonderful wife picks up your kids and takes them out for dismissal while you ice your knee again. You see the kids off with a wave and a smile as they tell you that they hope you feel better soon. You’re given quite a few hugs, and a few drawings of you with the students are mixed in.

When you expect her to come back in once the kids are gone though, she doesn’t. And you can’t really leave without her because you can’t carry everything and navigate the halls with your cane just yet. You shoot her a text.

Did you forget about your crippled wife?

I’ll be down in a few, she responds quickly. Just chatting with Ava.

She’s telling the truth because the next thing you know, she’s in your room and grabbing your bags along with all of hers, and you’re heading out for the night.

“Why were you chatting with Ava?”

“Just had a few questions for her about this school year,” is all the redhead says. “Now let’s get going- you have physical therapy at 4:30, and then it’s an early night for the Schemmentis. I am wiped.”

The next morning, you and your wife are sitting and standing outside your classrooms getting ready to greet your students when two of the older kids come up to you. They hand you apology notes and hazard a glance at Melissa- they look terrified of her. She just folds her arms over her chest and smirks.

“Mel,” you sigh once they walk away. “I appreciate you defending my honor, but do not make two middle school boys look about ready to sh… their pants on the second day of school.”

“Nobody makes fun of my wife,” she shrugs. “Especially when it’s about something she’s already insecure about.”

“Is that why you were with Ava? You were looking at the security footage?”

Again, she shrugs. “Let’s just say, we’re having a school wide assembly next week about how we shouldn’t make fun of people who have mobility issues or any other sort of disabilities.”

[dynasty889]

I Can’t Help but Wonder (Warrior!Penelope AU)

Disclaimer: I will not pay for your therapy. I will also feed on your tears

CW: Some mentions and descriptions of blood and injuries

——————————————————————————

Blood was everywhere, on the walls, on the floors, on Penelope. She was drenched in it. Every single suitress lay dead on the floor. Arrows, swords, spears were scattered across the room. Penelope took in the sight stoically.

“Mother?”

Penelope’s body instinctively turned, as if that word were second nature to her, yet it sounded so foreign. There, standing before her, was the princess of Ithaca.

“Daughter…” Penelope breathed out. Her daughter. It felt unreal, like an illusion.

Telemache looked around the blood-drenched room. She, too, had blood on her hands now, though nowhere near as much as her mother. They exchanged silent gazes, faces softening with gentle, unsure smiles. She approached Penelope slowly and swallowed nervously.

“All my life, I’d have died to meet you. Thought about your name so much it hurts,” Telemache spoke. Her voice shook slightly and she couldn’t tell if it was emotion or nervousness. “For 20 years, I’ve dreamed of how I’d greet you, and now you’re here.” Her voice caught on something in her throat and she managed a smile that threatened to be overcome with tears. “I can’t find the words,” she whispered.

Penelope’s breathing quickened. Hearing her daughter’s voice break had broken a layer of the wall she had built around her heart. Just seeing Telemache stand before her—it was like her heart had started again.

“All my life, I’d have died to know you.” Telemache’s voice grew strong again. She recalled all the stories her father had told her about her mother. “Days and nights I wished that I could show you.” There were so many. Countless days. “For 20 years, I never could outgrow you, but now you’re here.”

Telemache’s eyes met Penelope’s. They were the same brown as hers. Penelope saw so much of herself in there, so much of Odysseus. And among all of that, she saw a unique human being.

“I can’t help but wonder what your world must be, if we’re like each other, if I have your strength in me.” Her eyes carried a hidden sadness in them, a tinge of desperation. “All this time I’ve wondered,” Telemache went on, “if you’d embrace me as your own. 20 years I’ve wondered, for so long I’ve felt alone.”

Penelope took both of Telemache’s hands into her own. They were soft, unlike her own. They did not carry the blood of hundreds on them.

“Oh, sweet girl, look how much you’ve grown. Oh, my child, sweetest joy I’ve known. 20 years ago, I held you in my arms, how time has flown…” Penelope absorbed the young woman in front of her. A bittersweet image stood before her. Telemache was a woman, one she would no doubt be proud of, for she could feel the maternal pride swelling within her heart. But she had missed all of her childhood.

She squeezed Telemache’s hands to steel both herself and her daughter. “I used to say I’d make the storm clouds cry for you,” Penelope said. She had. She had made Amphitrite cry for mercy just to get home. “I used to say I’d capture wind and sky for you.” She had done that 10 years ago, though she couldn’t say it ended well. “I held you in my arms, prepared to die for you—” She felt tears starting to well up in her eyes, too. “…How time has flown.”

Telemache pulled her hand away to wipe a tear that fell down her face. The torn away hand caused panic in Penelope until she felt a gentle thumb on her cheek. Pride had not been so present, so strong, throughout all of her life. Until now.

“I can only wonder what your world has been, things you’ve had to suffer, and the strength you hold within.” She looked around again at the mangled corpses of the suitresses. How awful that must’ve been to endure… “All I’ve ever wanted was to reunite with my own. 20 years, we’ve wandered, but today you’re not alone. My daughter, I’m finally home!”

At this, Telemache leaped into her mother’s arms. She cried without shame, and so did Penelope. “Mother, how I’ve longed to see you!” she sobbed.

Penelope’s embrace tightened. She felt tears beginning to soak through her cloak. “Telemache, I’m home!” she proclaimed.

“Home,” she heard Telemache repeat softly. There were oceans in her daughter’s eyes, oceans of repressed emotions: longing, sorrow, happiness.

Penelope felt the world slowly grow distant. She recognized this feeling immediately, like her own existence was flickering in and out of the world, though she had not experienced it in a decade.

“Go. Tell your father I’m home. I’ll be there in a moment,” she advised. She didn’t want the moment to end, but a new one was forcing its way in.

Telemache nodded. “Of course,” she obliged.

The walls of the palace began to disappear and were replaced with a crimson sky with stars that dotted the endless void. Penelope was no longer standing on the bloodied palace floors, but on the top of an hourglass. “Show yourself,” she demanded cautiously. She looked around. “I know you’re watching me, show yourself.”

Then, she spotted him. Sitting on the edge of the hour glass, body turned away, was Ares. The sight brought to the front of her mind the unpleasant memory of when she stood on the edge of the cliff of Ogygia. She shook the thought away and focused on the god. He didn’t look as ruthless as he once had been.

“You were never one for hellos,” Penelope mused. She refused to let much warmth or affection tint her tone.

Ares began to speak, but he kept his back turned to her. “I can’t help but wonder what this world could be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy…”

What?

“I can’t help but feel like I led you astray. What if there’s a world where we don’t have to live this way?”

Penelope processed her former mentor’s words silently. It was certainly not what she had expected from him, the god who represented the bloodshed of war. Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled.

“If that world exists…it’s far away from here. It’s one I’ll have to miss, for it’s far beyond my years,” Penelope bitterly surmised. The tunnel still seemed so dark, the light still so far away. She didn’t know how Ares could even wonder of a brighter world. But she guessed that this thought had been in his head for a while now.“You might live forever, so you can make it be. But I’ve got one endeavor. There’s someone I have to see.”

Silence passed between the two.

“Very well…” Ares replied. His voice was as deep as ever, but it had lost its harshness. He just sounded bittersweet, and it was a tone and feeling Penelope was used to now. Finally, he glanced at the woman he had mentored. She looked different. He couldn’t see the fire in her eyes he had ignited in her when she was young, as it had long since sizzled out.

Penelope’s eyes immediately fixated on Ares’ appearance. The entire right half of his helmet was destroyed and it revealed a massive scar on his face, pulsating and glowing. The resentment she still held towards him melted away. She had never seen his face before, not even a part of it.

His presence began to fade. The maroon sky returned to the palace ceilings, the ground beneath her back to its gory state. She mulled over his words until Telemache returned.

“Mother,” she said, “he’s waiting for you.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You: Chapter 1

Plot: You're readjusting to life after a gunshot wound to the shoulder in Vietnam, figuring yourself out and navigating the waters of life back in the States. The only thing that really kept you steady was the thought of Logan, although after his letters to you dropped off, you still thought about him, and begin to wonder and doubt- if anything had ever been there between you two at all.

A/N: Okay, I PROMISE the next chapter will have more Logan. I really wanted to build on where reader was at in life both physically and mentally, and what they were going through. It's important I SWEAR. This also came out really long. I just kept typing and adding more and more to it. It's not perfect but if I don't post it now I'll never post it

Warnings: Reader gets horny af thinking about Logan (18+ please, although it's not super descriptive), mentions of blood and gore (not super in depth), politics regarding Vietnam, allusions to PTSD, and reader has anxiety and slight depression, mentions of nightmares mentions of weed, making out, etc. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes

Word Count: 6319

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CHAPTER 1: That’s Really Unhealthy Honestly

1971, New York City, New York

“You’re not going to pursue becoming a doctor?” 

You sat across from Doctor Frank Jones, the military doctor you were working under back in Vietnam. Today was your last day of physical therapy, rehabbing your arm and shoulder after getting shot in the jungle, a stray bullet hitting you- instead of the soldiers that stood guard around you while you were attempting an amputation on a young private, who had gotten stuck in a grisly dirt trap made by the Vietcong, and you were not able to get his leg out with the damage that had been done. Medics, doctors, nurses, were usually never targeted, either side knew not to hurt the people of medicine, that was just a rule of war, but that still didn’t mean you weren’t in any danger. 

Doctor Jones wanted to meet with you, having kept track of your progress when you returned to the states. It wasn’t his job to do so, but he was fond of you, and saw potential of making a good doctor out of you. You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure about it anymore. You hoped he wouldn’t push you.

Jones was a good man, a good doctor. He was older, and had served in the military a long time as a doctor. Salt and pepper hair, handsome, with a polite and genuine face that was beginning to see his years of military, worry lines that merely added to his character, he reminded you of an older version of Rock Hudson. His voice was steady and low, and he talked like a professor, quick and precise with his words. 

“Not now at least, I haven’t decided.” You informed him, cupping your mug of warm lemon herbal tea you ordered from the pleasant little coffee shop that you agreed to meet him at. It was in one of the less crowded neighborhoods of New York, but traffic and people were still bustling by the window, the door of the shop opening and shutting every few minutes, as a people came in to grab a coffee or a donut as they continued their daily routine, routine full of coffee, work, and some kind of personal dilemna, some angsty problem they face in their day to day life, and maybe a touch of romance, if they’re lucky. It was 8 in the morning, the world was waking up, and carrying on their lives.

As if there wasn’t a war going on. 

You have not exactly adjusted to your new life and routine. You had been formally discharged from the military, with some kind of honors, something your CO pushed for you, due to the work you did over in Vietnam. You didn’t really care about that though. You never joined the military for fancy honors and discounts, you joined because you wanted to help people. You had all your reasons why, your own personal backstory, but in the end it was just what you wanted to do. Although you do appreciate your CO vouching for you.  Now, you were left wondering what to do with yourself. A month of recovery and rehab, you spent it trying to figure out what you wanted to do when you finally were done with it all. Life back in the States was an adjustment, your sleep schedule was wrecked, a mixture of nightmares and insomnia. Your family and friends were happy to have you back, and you gotten countless visits from them- and while you were happy to see the familiar faces to, it felt weird just to jump into this new reality, where everyone is okay, happy, and not counting on you to save them. You’d think it give you some release, the pressure and stress dissipating the moment you got your discharge papers, but to be honest, you could never be more tense. 

It occurred to you that you had zoned out, staring at your tea that was slowly becoming cold, Doctor Jones having called your name multiple times, and it wasn’t until he gently touched your arm that drew you from your thoughts. 

“Have you seen a therapist?” He asked you, concern spread across his face. 

“What?”

“I get returning back to reality after what you went through can be…disorientating. There’s nothing wrong with searching for some help.” He says gently, letting go of your arm and returning to his espresso. 

“Reality?” You sat back in your chair, sitting your tea on the table, your voice tinged with irritation. “Felt pretty real back there.” 

“You know what I mean.” He mutters. “So, have you?”

“No.” You shook your head. It wasn’t that you saw anything wrong with therapy, or that you had trouble admitting you needed help. You were still adjusting, and you just weren’t ready to go and start working through the last four years of your service in ‘Nam. You wanted to figure out your next step, and get yourself settled first. “I will, I just want to figure things out first.”

He nodded. “So, are you planning to stay in New York?” 

You pursed your lips together, and shook your head. “Probably should, since my familys nearby. Honestly though the city just…isn’t where I want to be right now.” You said, your mind flashing with the place you did want to go. Somewhere you originally planned to just visit, but now your mind- your trusty gut instinct, was telling you that maybe it’s where you should be all along. “I’m thinking of moving out into somewhere small.”

“Ah, searching for a little peace and quiet?” He hummed, a tight lipped smile. You returned the same smile back and nodded, hunching in your seat a little bit. 

“Yeah, it’s…a place in Canada. In Alberta, a small little town.” You say. A look of surprise came across his face. “A friend, told me about it. He was from there and he always talked about how beautiful it was. He always thought I’d enjoy it, long as I get used to the harsh winters.” Your smiled turned into something warmer, as you thought about Logan. There was an ache in your chest though, something in your heart. 

You weren’t able to say goodbye to him. He wasn’t there when you got shot, and everything happened so fast, as they had thrown you onto the closest evac to get you to some medical hospital, since no one could take care of you there the way you did for them. When your belongings got sent back to you, sent to the hospital you were staying at in the States, he had written a letter, urging you to rest, and a heartfelt apology for not being there for you. It was that, and a polaroid photo one of the medic boys took of you two, his arm around your shoulder, his body turned to you, as he practically glared at the camera in his trademark expression, yet still managing to look handsome as always, and you, a big smile on your face, your hand up in a “victory” sign, which somehow turned into a symbol of peace in this era, and you were leaning in to him. You keep it on you all the time, a small comfort of him carried in your bag or pocket.  You of course quickly wrote back to him, telling him everything that happened, and expressed how deeply you missed him. It was unusually emotional for the both of you, considering you typically took jabs at each other, and joked around more often than not. Yet you both were always able to open up to each other- without fear of judgement. It was true, you missed him, and despite the fact that you were home, surrounded by loved ones, you felt more alone than ever because he wasn’t there. Perhaps that’s why you’re chosing to move to his hometown. 

“That sounds nice.” He nods, noticing the way your cheeks turned pink at the mention of your friend. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you’ll be putting off med-school. I’m glad you’re taking the time to rest though, that’s more important.”

“Thank you.” You say softly. “It’s not a permanent decision. I just want to figure myself out-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You have a good head on your shoulders. I know whatever you do will be the right thing. I simply want to just encourage you.” He stops you, holding a hand up, and then using that hand to brush his hair back, before resting it on the table. Despite his words, his body language told you he was slightly disappointed. “If you do however, change your mind-”

“I’ll call.” You smiled. You knew why he wanted this for you. Society was changing, while women doctors were not unheard of, it was still a rarity. It was part of the reason why you weren’t sure about going to med-school, you weren’t sure if you were ready to face the scrutiny that you would surely get. Not that anything like that has ever stopped you before, but Vietnam had changed something in you, you were lost in yourself and what to do, the world was moving so fast around you and you couldn’t keep up. He smiled back. “What about you?” You asked him, 

“I’ll be staying in New York. I was called to work on a project not far from here.”

“You’re still in the military?”

“Of course. With the injury I sustained,I can’t go back to ‘Nam, I wouldn’t be fast enough to work the pace it’s like there. They figure I’m more useful with this project, will supposedly help with the war effort.” 

“Help with the war effort?” You asked, annoyance creeping up your stomach. “Surely you don’t still think this war is necessary, right? It’s gone on long enough?” 

“Of course. I still feel a duty for my country though. I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do-”

“Frank, c’mon.” You scoffed. “There’s no reason to be over there. I watched so many young boys, and men, die, or get so messed up they lose apart of themselves-”

“I know, I was there too-”

“Then you shouldn’t want to help with the effort.” You voice rose a bit, filed with tension and anger, falling back into your seat and crossing your arms. “Every little thing you do for them, in regards to Vietnam, just keeps this war going, those boys over there - innocent people in that country are still dying and-” You stopped yourself, as he looked at you with indignation. “Sorry.” You mutter. 

“I get your frustration. I do believe the war should end, and I believe If I help with the effort, then perhaps I can help make things end faster too.” He explains himself calmly. Your hands were shaking, it wasn’t the first time you gotten heated over the topic of Vietnam since you’ve been home. It frustrated you to no end watching people endlessly argue on whether it should happening or not. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, sipping at your tea, now having gotten cold because you completely forgot about it. 

“Lets…just move on.” You suggested, feeling like if you linger on the thought of ‘Nam any longer you were going to burst in the middle of the shop. He nodded, and you listened to Doctor Jones ramble on, mentioning he couldn’t give you details on the project, but it was exciting nonetheless. Then he switched to talk about his kids, his son having turned into a huge hippie - which ended up making you laugh, as Jones was very patriotic for the most part, loyal to the country, but he seemed to understand and accept his sons opinions and lifestyle. Perhaps his injury had given him a new perspective on life, a new meaning, even if he was still aiding the military…

You, though, you were still trying to find your meaning.

1972, Alberta, Canada

“Oh shit!” 

You yelped as you stepped outside the porch of your house, into the freezing cold air that surrounded you. You wrapped your arms around you in attempt to warm yourself, as you quickly ran down the steps of your porch and to the mailbox. The metal door immediately froze your fingers as you pulled it open, peering inside for mail, and you spotted two envelopes. You reached in, snatching them and quickly ran back into the house, stomping your feet on the outdoor rug that sat in front of the door, and kicking them off once you stepped into the warmth of your house, the heat cloaking around you- just biting at the cold that stung your cheeks. 

“Girl you are CRAZY!” 

You smiled at your roommate, Rose Mitchell, a lovely yet feisty woman, around your age. You met her at your current job, nursing at the “local” hospital. (Not so local, but it’s the closest hospital to this little town you’ve moved too.). She was a new nurse too, and you invited her to be your roommate at the shaggy little house you found and slowly worked on fixing up. You had the money to be on your own, but you and Rose had become fast friends, despite being polar opposites in some ways. 

You loved rock music, but she was all about pop and that new disco, and you both found balance in enjoying jazz. Your styles couldn’t be more different as well, you sported jeans, bellbottoms, band shirts, jumpsuits, crop tops, the more comfortable style of clothing in this new era you were finding yourself in, while she wore short skirts, leopard prints, heels, tight dresses that barely covered your thighs- and she looked damn good in it. With such opposite styles of clothing, it guaranteed you wouldn’t steal each others clothing. You admired Rose for her honesty and confidence, her ability to fit in anywhere and everywhere because she was sure of who she was. She didn’t allow society to turn her into something she was not, especially with the discrimination she had to face growing up. She was a party girl, and why she decided to move to this small town with you, instead of the bigger city where your work is located, you won’t understand- but she had become your closest friend, another girl you could talk about those girl things with. She was close to your height when she wasn’t in heels, had a beautiful natural afro that she was quite proud of, and dark brown eyes that matched her skin color. She’s the only reason you haven’t technically become a hermit yet, as she pushed you out of zone, making you go to parties and bars and concerts with her nearly every weekend - and while at first you dreaded it, you began to grow to enjoy the time and memories you were making. In fact, you’ve really begun to start building a life for yourself here. 

When you first moved here, you were still struggling with yourself, adjusting to your life, a new job, and a completely new environment compared to New York, that you were previously residing in. You were shutting yourself off from people, staying in the comfort of your home, trying to pick up old hobbies you left behind before you had joining the army medics. You believed yourself to think that you were doing fine, but the longer you went, the more anxiety began to build inside you, nightmares plagued you, and you even found yourself growing paranoid when out alone in public, afraid of getting jumped, of getting shot. As much as you didn’t want to do it and begin to work through the trauma of it, you forced yourself into therapy. It got you to be a little lighter, to open up, which is how you ended up talking to Rose, and how she ended up your roommate. Slowly, as you were working through things, life became a little brighter, and less lonely. You made new friends, new connections. You still struggled deep inside, there were still days where’d you feel haunted by the ones left in Vietnam, men who always appeared tough as steel, clinging to you and sobbing, young boys begging for their moms to save them, the blood and the gore you witnessed that no human should witness. You’d have these impulsive urges, to pack up and go back to the country and do something. You may not be able to save every life but you could at least provide comfort to them, you could help, but you knew better. Going back wasn’t the answer. Looking back wasn’t the answer. It was time to move forward, and you always been good at embracing the future.

The only thing missing, was him

Rose was curled up on the couch, a blanket settled over her, as she had a book in one hand and tea that you made her in the other. “You are so obsessed with the mail, it’s really unhealthy. Just because your waiting for a man to write” She clicked her tongue. 

You sorted through the two envelopes, one addressed to her, which you flicked at her playfully, it flying across the room like a boomerang until she smacked it away with her hand, gasping dramatically at your audacity. You giggled, looking at the other envelope- it was addressed to you, but it wasn’t from who you wanted it to be from. You groaned, dropping your shoulders. Roses smile faded. 

“Nothing?” She asked. You shook your head, setting the envelope into a basket, stacked with mail addressed to you that you didn’t care to open. “Sorry hun….” She says sympathetically as you move to sit next to her, crisscrossing your legs. 

“I don’t get why he hasn’t been writing.” You say, bringing your nails up and chewing, an anxious habit you’ve formed. 

“He’s probably just busy.” She wrote. “You’ve been over there, didn’t you say you can’t get a break some days?” 

“Yeah…” Your eyes stared at the ground. As embarrassing as it was for you to admit, his letters were like a lifeline for you. You had been writing back and forth a little over a year now. You excitedly told him about moving to his hometown- even bought a polaroid and took pictures of the town, the forests, and your house to send back to him. You wrote about your job, and the friends you’ve made. He’d tell you about the things going on over there, the camp you were at has now been taken down, moved to a different location, nearby a village, he’d tell you the antics he and the others would get up too- and complain about how the new doctor that was assigned to the camp was a huge asshole, and that he was glad he had self-healing abilities because then he wouldn’t have to deal with his smug ass. His letters would make you smile, and blush, because he’d often tell you he thinks about you a lot. You two shared feelings more easily through writing than you would in person, because putting your feelings on paper than saying it outloud was easier. Although you still hadn’t addressed the other feelings you had for each other, ironic, considering if anyone had read your letters- they would have thought you two were involved. 

“I hate seeing you like this.” Rose says, turning in her spot to face you. “You’re so depressed over a guy you haven’t even slept with!” 

Your eyes widen and you gasped. “What- No- I’m not! I’m just worried about him.” you felt your cheeks start to burn.

“Yes you are. Girl it ain’t WORTH it.” She exclaims. “You shouldn’t be getting all worked up over him. You got to focus on your OWN life. I mean, you’re breaking your own heart, and you sit here all worried about him and if he writes letters and all, what if he’s come back, and ya’ll do the nasty and he’s got a small -”

“Oh my god, don’t-” You interrupted her, holding you hand up to make her stop, “ and Uh, excuse me, I have focused on my own life.” You rolled your eyes. “I got a house, a good job, you!” You argued. “I’m happy. I get out and socialize, do fun stuff-”

“Yeah because I make you.” She crosses her arms. “You’re so heads over heels with this guy, who’s literally halfway across the world. You don’t date and you turn down every man that does ask you out!” 

“Just because I’m not interested in dating doesn’t mean it’s because head over heels, for Logan. We are literally just friends, nothing romantic. And DEFINITELY, nothing sexual like you’re claiming- you vixen.” You rolled your eyes. 

That was a lie. You were definitely hard for Logan. When you were in Vietnam, you were too busy to think about sex or any kind of personal pleasure. Then Logan showed up and your hormones flared to life for the first time in a long time and haven’t stopped since - leaving you with the biggest, non-stop hard on you ever had- even if he isn’t here. Now your home and it’s so much worse. The only temporary relief you get is late nights alone with you, your hand, and your imagination. Hell any moment you’d see him shirtless around camp, or even just think about him shirtless, had you soaked within seconds, with his hard pecs covered in coarse hair, his chiseled stomach, hard abs that flexed anytime he strained his muscles, which led to a happy trail below his pants, a prominent vein that travels up from below his pants- that you have spent more time than you care to admit, staring at in secret. You’d watch how his biceps flex as he carried heavy boxes and guns, and you’d wish he’d put you in a headlock with them as he railed you from behind. It filled you with guilt to feel like that over someone you did consider a close friend, but sometimes your mind wonders, and suppose you are just a lady…Embarrassingly enough, your CO had caught you staring at him in a dreamlike state multiple times, and reminded you to keep your head straight and out of the clouds, but you did notice he began sending Logan to give you your supplies and papers more often. 

“You so are. I see how you blush when you look at that picture of you two.” She points accusingly. “You need to get laid girl. And not just in your head.”  she continues, leaning over to poke at your temple. You laughed, shaking your head. You were becoming embarrassed at this conversation. Yes, it’s true. You didn’t have a sex life, or a dating life. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have the choice, you had plenty of opportunities, you’ve been asked out, flirted with. Some of the men Rose was friends with were handsome, charming, and would usually be your type- but you just didn’t want them. Maybe it was a little unhealthy, holding onto Logan, you guys were still just friends, no matter how often you may fantasize over him, and build up your relationship with him in your head. Your little bubble was about to pop, the more Rose spoke in your ear. “I’m serious!” She practically shrieks. “This is the most freedom us women have ever had when it comes to sex. Take advantage of it!” 

You rolled your eyes. She was right. Things were starting to change in the world- slowly, and for the better you hoped. Society was beginning to be more open and accepting, signifying that maybe things will start to get better. There was peace talks with Vietnam, the US was considering officially pulling out of the war. Even mutants weren’t getting the hard flack they usually were, albeit, they’re still getting painted as violent criminals in most parts of the states, but the government had dropped the bill that would put restrictions on mutants, and force anyone who was a mutant to identify and register themselves as mutants. Much to your relief. It wasn’t that you wanted to go around banging every guy you see - which is an activity that Rose pursued often, not that you cared, but you did just want that human connection with someone that just wasn’t over paper. 

 You weren’t ready to let go of Logan though, even if you’re starting to wonder if maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak, and not because he may have a small… Well, y’know, that was not important. He may be over there, writing letters to you with one hand, while he has another woman- who knows maybe another nurse- in his other hand. How’d you know he really feels anything for you? He hasn’t written a letter back in weeks. Part of you though knew better, Logan wasn’t the type, you’d seen if even when he didn’t know you were watching. While surely he was a man with desires, he’d never participate in the “locker room” talk you’d overhear many of the soldiers do. He’d sit there in silence, eating his rations, or sharping his knife, or staring into the fire, not joining in whenever they asked him if he had a type- or if he liked this particularly pair of tits on a playboy magazine that somehow got snuck into the camp. It was part of why you liked him, respectful, even if he was given all the room to be…well, a man. Another part of you still worried though, Vietnam was already dangerous, and even if he could heal, neither you- nor he, knew his limits in that. He was smart and knew how to survive, you heard the stories the other privates would bring back when they came back from patrols. What if he gets discovered as a mutant? You got by lucky, he may not. What if he’s not writing because he got too badly hurt? What if he got discovered? What if he was captured by VC? You couldn’t bear the idea of someone you cared about so deeply being hurt.

Maybe you were just overthinking everything. You do that often nowadays. 

Rose could see it on your face, as she moved to sit next to you, resting her head on your shoulder. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for holding out. He is pretty darn cute in that polaroid you’re so attached too.” She hums, making you both burst into giggles. 

1973, Alberta, Canada

“So, you were in Vietnam huh?” 

You stared blankly at the fellow that Rose has introduced you too. He was leaning against the doorframe, where you were standing just in case you needed a quick escape, but now that he was here, that wasn’t going to be an option anymore. He raised a brow waiting for an answer, but you were lost staring at the mustache above his lip. It was becoming a common style nowadays, and you heard a few friends start referring it as a ‘pornstache’. You didn’t want to know why. The thing looked like a giant fuzzy caterpillar on his top lip, and honestly, it was grossing you out.  

“Um. Yeah.” You say plainly. “I was a army nurse.” 

“Groovy.” He smirks, a small nod of his head. “Bet you’re glad the wars over then, right?”

“Yeah. Glad.” You nodded. You hugged your cup to your body, looking around the party that Rose invited you to. Well, invited was a nice way of putting it. She practically dragged you here kicking and screaming. 

President Nixon declared that the US and North Vietnam had signed an agreement, officially ending the war between the two. Troops have been pulled from the country, coming home to the States. It was great news, finally ending the dreaded conflict that shouldn’t have started in the first place. Celebrations popped up everywhere for the last few month as the boys came home, but it left you feeling solemn, you were worried about the fallout. What was going to happen now? These boys coming home, having gone through hell on Earth. You’ve had two years to adjust and learn how to live and cope. You’ve had support. What about them?

It’s been a year since you last heard from Logan. You had to resign yourself and accept that you may never hear from him again. You weren’t given the privilege in learning what happened to Logan. After a month had passed with no letter, you gave into your worries and attempted to make calls to find out what happened, and no avail. You either didn’t have clearance, or they didn’t know. It wasn’t like you couldn’t find his family and reach out either, he had no family aside from his brother who was there with him. You were just starting to let go- and for some Rose thought that meant you were ready to mingle. You weren’t sure yet but you definitely didn’t want to mingle with this guy. 

“Why’d you go over there?” He asked. “Beautiful lady like you, you could have stayed home, shoot the fat, hang the breeze.” 

“I…Really rather not talk about it.” You say, trying to show how disinterested you were. Hoping he would get bored and go away, allowing you to slip out unnoticed. He just smiled though, 

“You seem tense.” He reaches out to touch your arm, making your eyes quickly dart down to where he was holding onto you, your lips pursing together as you tried your best not to rip your arm away and cause a scene. 

“I’m fine.” You say, slowly pulling back from him. 

“We could always slip away from here. Get to know each other a little better?” He grinned, flexing his eyebrows sensually. “I could help you relax.” Now you just wanted to puke. 

“No thanks.” You say pulling yourself away from the door. You’ll just have to look for another way of escape. You entertained the party long enough. It was inside a huge house, spanning outside over a large decorated lawn- some friend of Rose who was apart of a rich family was throwing it to celebrate his cousin coming back from the war, which you could appreciate family appreciating each other like that. Your own loved ones had done something similar, accept with maybe less questionable substances hanging around all over the place. Honestly, it seemed more of an excuse for people to make out and get high, than celebrate said cousin. Although as you moved through the crowded rooms and halls of people talking, drinking, dancing to some kind of funk playing in the background, and smoking cigarettes and molly. You spotted said cousin, who was introduced to everyone that came in, sitting on the couch in the living room, with scantily clad women at either side of him, giggling and petting at his chest and thighs. Well, at least he was enjoying himself. You can get along with almost anybody, but this type of party just wasn’t your beat, and not to mention you already had a long day at work, you’d like nothing more than to go home, get into something comfortable, curl up on the couch with some warm tea, and watch Clint Eastwood movies. You could appreciate Rose supporting you and pushing you out of your comfort zone, but you figured out a long time ago that comfort zone or not- this was not your idea of living. You’ll support her all the way, while you sat in pajames and slippers at home.

Searching for Rose in the crowd, you found her making out in the corner with some tall, dark, and handsome guy clad in leather. For a moment you’d pondered how rude it would be, if you interrupted her, at the same time though, she’d be madder if you left without letting her know. 

“Rose- Rose!” You called her name over the loud music, before tapping her shoulder, and she tore away from the leather beast. Seriously, he was wearing a lot of leather. That couldn’t be comfortable. 

“Hey! What’sup?” She turned her full attention to you, one hand still holding onto the mans hip, assuring him she wasn’t leaving, but still wanted to make sure you felt heard. 

“I’m going home-” You spoke over the music. “But thank you so much for inviting me- I’m just, tired, you know?” 

“What, you didn’t like Jeffery?” She asked you, seemingly surprised, as if she hadn’t learned what your type is by now. You laughed, shaking your head. 

“No, but thanks.”

“Well, are you sure? About going home?” She asks worriedly. You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. 

“I’m just fine,” You say amused. “You’ll be alright?” 

“Girl,” She looked at the man, who was watching you both with amusement. She leaned in towards you, a huge smile spread across her face, her lipstick catching your eye, a bright pink, slightly smushed from her tongue dance with leather daddy behind her, as she lowered her voice, “I’ll be more than alright, that’s for damn sure.” 

You both laughed, as you playfully pushed her back towards him, you blew a kiss to her, and turned around with a small wave to Rose’s new playmate, as you managed to find the back door and leave, not wanting to risk going back to the front and running into Pornstache again. 

The house was on the other side of the small town you were living in. You and Rose had a car, but the weather was warming up, and you both decided a walk over, which was your way of planning to be able to escape on your own if you needed to. Hopefully your solo walk would be a little nicer, since the walk to the party, Rose ended up complaining because she wore heels on the walk over. 

You zipped up your bolero jacket, and stuff your hands into the pockets of your jeans as you made your way down the quiet streets, the music and smell of weed fading off with each step, leaving you with a clear head. You had to applaud yourself. If you were there a year ago, you would have likely gotten a panic attack, locked yourself in a closet or bathroom until things had quieted down, or Rose found you and got you home. This time though, you felt good- glad you got out- but you don’t feel that tight squeezing in your chest, the way your blood would began to freeze, as your limbs began to feel weightless, your vision becoming unfocused. Nope. Not this time.

Now you get to enjoy the air, and the spring breeze. 

Of course, your mind wandered to Logan again. It often did, you couldn’t help it. You still missed him. You’d find yourself rereading his letters, searching for any signs of why he may have never written back, but you could never see it. He seemed just as eager as you to write. You’d stare longingly at the polaroid, which you’ve retired to stay by your bedside table, since carrying it around so long as started to wear it out, fraying the edges. You’d walk around the town he’d grew up in. He said it looked different then, compared to when he was a kid, which you’d imagine since it was over a hundred years ago,but you still imagined what it’d be like to see him there, tell you what things used to look like, how things used to be. It’d been a long time since you seen him, and even though you had the picture, you could still close you eyes and picture every detail of his face and his voice. 

How pathetic

It’s been a year since you heard from him, and two years since you last seen him! You were so caught up your friendship with him, turning it into a fake romance in your head because you were lonely and didn’t want to admit that. You felt embarrassed at this whole thing. Why were you so hung up on one man, when there was plenty of others out there, that you could easily build a connection with just as you did with Logan. Okay, maybe you felt like he saw you the way nobody else could, maybe he was the first guy to ever make your heart flutter with just a smile, maybe he was the first person ever to have taken the time to really gotten to know you, your faults, your quirks, the way you like your tea….

Ugh!

Maybe that’s why it was so frustrating. Because you felt like you had found someone you could truly connected with, and somehow it had whittled away. You were grasping at what used to be a rope, hanging off of it in the darkness- attaching you to Logan, looking at you with those hazel eyes that still made your brain fuzzy as it did the first time you met him, even a year later of getting to know him while in Vietnam. The rope was now just a few pieces of string, and it was officially about to snap. Whatever happens, or happened to him, you could only hope that he was safe, and happy, wherever he was, as you closed your eyes, and felt it break. You had to move on. Right?

You opened your eyes and found yourself in front of your house. You were so lost in your thoughts, you don’t even remember half of your walk anymore. You sighed, hands sticking in your jackets pocket to pull out your house keys as you approached your porch. 

“Stuck in your head again, huh bub?” 

A familiar voice ripped you from your thoughts, as you swung around, dropping your keys in shock at the figure that stood at the end of the sidewalk, your breath stolen at the sight, 

And you smiled.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi team! I was wondering if you might have some recommendations for Aziraphale-centric fics? Not really looking for whump, or fics where his feelings for Crowley are his sole focus (though I'd still enjoy it if were a significant part of the story), but moreso fics that look at Aziraphale holistically. First fic that comes to mind as an example is "Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach" by Nnm. Thanks!

Hello! Here are some Aziraphale-centric fics for you...

Could you breathe with me? by Euny_Sloane (T)

Aziraphale goes to counseling/therapy with an unnamed therapist and spends some time exploring his feelings related to love, loss, and family. Note that this is an imagined counseling session, and so may bring up uncomfortable feelings, regardless of how many tags I place, especially if you have the unfortunately common experience of feeling unloved by your family, or unworthy of love. Nothing graphic happens except a reference to Pompeii, though.

In a Perfect World, I would Hold your Hand and Kiss your Cheek by boredom (T)

A chance encounter with a young man leads Aziraphale on the path of healing and discovery. Maybe now he can finally admit to what he wants, without guilt and without fear. Maybe now he and Crowley can finally move forward, together.

Human Labels, and Angelic Discovery by Hemlock_Holmes (G)

Aziraphale discovers autism, and goes on a one-angel mission to learn everything he can about it. This is a purely self-indulgent fic about discovering yourself after many years, because I am so tired of reading books (not fanfic!) where the word autism is skirted around and treated like taboo, even when everyone knows that's what the author means. Just say it people! Also because nothing gives me greater joy than watching Aziraphale stim.

something wretched about this by IvyOnTheHolodeck (T)

You might wonder why Aziraphale can't seem to enjoy his retirement in peace. You could ascribe his distress to the series of terrifying thoughts that haunt his days, or the only book he wishes he'd never read, or even the wound that still hurts after six thousand years. Really, though, you should blame the fact he's never learned to talk about his feelings.

The Other Arrangement: or, How the Angel Got so Hungry by burnttongueontea (T)

‘It’s just… funny. Don’t you think it would be funny, if it turned out we’d had it the wrong way round all these years? If I ate all the time, and you hardly ever?’ Crowley discovers that Aziraphale has been strictly and obsessively limiting his food intake for millennia, due to fear of punishment from Heaven if he gets caught eating too regularly. The angel’s confident facade comes apart at the seams after they move to the South Downs, as he struggles to cope with new-found freedom while still keeping his past a secret. With the future of their relationship soon hanging in the balance, Crowley must find a way to convince Aziraphale that he is a safe pair of hands to collapse into – and that they can rebuild things from the ground up.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws, DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process. When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one. A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

And the one you mentioned...

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (G)

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

- Mod D

[yellowraincoat]

I wonder sometimes what the L&Co crew did after they aged out of having the sight. Obviously Lucy makes some mention of them helping DEPRAC clear the other side and you can help with that even w/o sight thanks to the Orpheus society, but I don’t imagine they did that forever or even full time.

I’ve actually thought a LOT about what I think they end up doing as adults so… here’s an extremely long post about it:

George’s path is obvious to me. He becomes a foremost voice on the nature of the problem, and he’s able to go to Oxford for university (or the most prestigious UK university still running) on this basis. He gets a degree in history and goes on to a PHD. He then dedicates several years to writing a complete, multi-volume, history of the problem/agencies/corruption/visitors (which will go down in history as THE TEXT about the problem)

… I’ll put the rest under the cut bc this is fr going to be lonnnng

We also know from the existence of Lockwood and Co the books that Lucy at some point metatextually writes a memoir detailing the antics of Lockwood and co. (Which, go off girlboss, she did a great job.) For Lucy’s career path, I imagine that she is a formal DEPRAC partner for a time goes to the other side more than any of her other L&Co colleagues to help out.

This may be a weird take, but I also think that Lucy’s relationship with the Skull and all the weird experiments on ghosts she witnesses lead her to go all GHOST RIGHTS. She campaigns for seeing ghosts differently and repsecting the dead and works to get DEPRAC to create better regulations for how sources are treated when contained and advocates for figuring out how to release them to the other side rather than destroying sources as a first move. Idk I think it suits her relationship to ghosts; she’s definitely more invested in their humanity than other agents.

I don’t think Lockwood would try to hire young agents as a supervisor to keep the agency going after losing his sight. Especially since he’s aware that the problem is fading and considering he’d still have work available through DEPRAC. I think Lockwood spends his first few post-sight years in lots of therapy and takes time off from working since he’s been running a very intense business since he was like 14. I also think he foots the bill for Flo to get a therapist as well.

They’re both able to work through their grief and trauma from the people they’ve lost, Lockwood works through his habit of repressing his feelings, and Flo works through her feelings of being cornered while in doors. Flo eventually moves into Portland Row, and she and George and Lucy and Lockwood spend most of their young adult lives (whole lives if you ask me) living in the same house or living right next door to each other.

As for Lockwood’s actual career path I think Lockwood’s would make it his life’s work to share his parents findings. He spreads the traditional burial practices and ways to ward off ghosts like that Lockwood’s parent’s researched to help people protect themselves from ghosts around the UK as the problem fades.

I don’t know that I see Flo having a real job. I could see her in advocacy for housing insecure youth (we know London has MANY due to the Problem) but I’d also like to see her have a relaxing-ass life. Enjoy therapy and her friends, date George, plant a vegetable garden. Flo’s never cared much about material goods so I could see her working odd jobs here and there to help contribute to Portland Row Expenses, but mostly focus on nonprofit work and political activism while enjoying her life.

I think both Kipps and Holly stay on at Lockwood and co until it permanently disbands, then I imagine they both work to advocate for the rights of former agents in some capacity. If Holly could further her eduction I think she’d work in the legal system, maybe working in administration/research on cases that are attempting to hold leaders of the Orpheus society and high up Fittes and Rottweil people accountable for compensating traumatized former agents. Oh and she asks out that girl from DEPRAC she was living with (and they were roommates oh my god they were roommates)

I think Kipps might (after he’s matured a bit) get involved with a young adult professional development program trying to address all of the former agents and nightwatch kids who forwent education at a young age to hunt ghosts and help them access free education and classes to gain new marketable skills as the ghost hunting industry declines and kids age out of the sight. He also stops beefing with teenagers (so much) and lives out his destiny as surrogate brother/20 year old adopted father to Lucy George and the rest. And he gets himself a husband bc he deserves it 😤

As for the Skull… I’m in the camp that he does return and he occasionally stops by Portland Row to chat with Lucy and pull poltergeists type pranks on the other residents. When Lucy can no longer hear him 🥲 I still think he sticks around for a while, making his presence known by moving objects and helping keep the house cool in the summer (yayyy ghost chill), he also still speaks to Lucy when she does work on the other side with DEPRAC. But eventually, maybe when Lucy’s in her late twenties, the skull feels ready to move on, and Lucy visits to the other side to say good by and help him pass on.

[adventuringblind]

Deserving

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: while she falls into the pit of her mind, Charles is there to pull her out.

Warnings: mentioned self-harm, anxiety, toxic media, mentions of addiction

Notes: A Nonny request, I hope you like it!! This one is definitely an insight into how my brain works.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Everyone says rookie years are the hardest. Which, she won't say everyone is wrong, just that she also had consistently bad years. They blend into each other now. A never-ending cycle of the same lame excuses as to why she's so downcast.

She's a rookie driver and having a pretty decent season. Logan and Oscar are two of her closest friends. She's dating Charles Leclerc of all people.

So why is that piece of her brain still nagging at her? Years of therapy and help hasn't done the trick. The stinging still pushes through to the front of her mind.

The habit started so young. It was a distraction from the pain of whatever she'd been going through at the time. A means to satisfy her the voices in her head. Now it's to remind her she's still alive. That the media hasn't shattered her already frail will to live quite yet.

Everything in her wants to just... stop. Everyday she's reminded that her place is somewhere else. Not in the car, not with Charles, not even on the planet.

It doesn't matter that she's having a good year, that the car is good, or that she has people who love her. The voices always come back in those dark hours when she's alone.

She staggered herself in the beginning. Enough that her physio wasn't catching on. She lived in Charles' hoodies, and he thought nothing of it. Just another source of comfort.

He'd seen the faded scars, asked her about it every occasionally. He never pushes her to talk about it.

She doesn't deserve Charles, or anyone for that matter. Mentors, family, friends, they are all to wonderful for her to drag them down into her misery. The constant pity party she throws herself has no guests, only her and her demons.

Redbull isn't the best environment for someone as fragile as her. Despite the boosts of confidence Christian gives her daily and the constant reassurance from Max, she doesn't feel like she deserves it. The media is eating her alive. The next teammate to be crucified to Redbull and Mad Max.

It's starting to become noticeable again. The lack of sleep and covering clothes. Charles is skeptical and keeps reassuring her she can talk to him.

If she does that, he'll leave. Her mind can't take being alone yet.

Max is the first to catch sight of the new lines adorning her wrist. He asks if she's alright, but again, nobody pushes for more. Maybe if they did, she would break. Her fragile walls would come tumbling down.

Oscar is the next to push. A good friend of hers and they've both had good seasons. He and Logan show up one night with comfort food and cards. It manages to make her smile like when they were younger.

But they have to leave eventually. The voices swallow her whole the second she's alone again.

Charles finally pushes for answers. He finds her alone, body slumped along the hotel bathroom wall. She's exhausted, but manages to give a crooked, tired smile.

He crouches down in front of her and looks at the fresh line on her thighs. Bandages are something she has readily available, and Charles knows exactly where to find them.

He works quietly, just humming softly as he patches her up. It's a classical song that he listens enough that she knows the tune but not the name.

Charles dresses her into comfy clothes and tucks her into bed. A hand plays with her hair and strokes her cheek.

She doesn't deserve him.

"Tell me what's eating away at you, chéri. Please, I hate that you won't talk to me."

She scoots her body closer to Charles so she doesn't have to see his face. "Just hard - I guess."

"It's okay to have hard days. It's okay that you feel the way you do. But this thing, hurting yourself, is not the way to make it better."

"I know that, Charlie!" Her voice cracks at saying his name. "I just can't help it."

Those fragile walls she has come tumbling down. The pit of despair finally swallows her, and she can't stop the tears.

It hurts. Her head, her heart, her bones, it all hurts. She falls and shatters, but Charles is here to put the pieces back together.

"I don't deserve you. You're everything people love, and I don't want to drag you down with me."

"Who put that idea in your head?"

"The voices," She sniffles. Her words muffled when Charles pulls her into his chest.

"Well, the voices are incorrect. I, of all people, know what it's like for the media to pick you a part. Whether it's appearances, my driving, my relationships, they will always find something." Charles pulls her back just a bit, enough for him to make eye contact. She hates how his eyes are as glassy as hers. "You don't have to suffer all alone, in silence. You have people around you that understand and want to help. None of us are asking for perfection. We - I - don't want to see you hurting so much."

"What if it's too much?"

"Then we figure it out together."

She falls asleep in Charles' arms. Tears soak into everything, but he doesn't tell her to move. He comforts, because Charles loves her.

She has people who want to be there for her. Yes, slips happen, healing is never straightforward, but she can try. She can lean on Charles, let him love her; let him be the steady rock she needs in her life.

"Progress chéri, not perfection."

"You sound like all team principles."

"And? It's a good saying!"

Charles pulls a laugh out of her. A genuine laugh at something that isn't even funny. She blames her love for him.

"Maybe I do deserve you."

"If this is an insult, I'm taking all the covers tonight."