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megamindsecretlair · 9 hours ago

Text

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for.

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries?

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex?

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit.

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time?

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate.

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan.

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors.

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent.

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner.

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad.

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief.

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend?

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it.

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest.

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice.

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not?

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes.

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit.

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body.

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy.

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you.

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing.

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun.

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks.

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic?

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off.

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut.

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath.

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed.

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box.

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick.

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia.

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits.

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies.

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire.

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out.

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said.

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said.

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?”

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips.

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes.

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser?

It was impossible. Hopeless.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn?

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release?

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said.

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body.

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro.

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question.

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said.

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man.

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute.

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall.

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell.

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them.

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands.

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal.

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it?

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent.

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas.

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside.

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with.

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face.

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring.

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered.

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

Taglist: You guys, ya'll gon make me cry with this taglist! Thank you!

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merlinmarvelandother-oneshots · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Your requests are open right? If so could you write undertale headcanons about a reader who selfharms? Nothing too graphic or anything ofc and totally understand if you're not okay with this :)

I also saw that you did Au's so would it be okay to do this but with the skeleton brother's from undertale, underfell and underswap? (Not the version where people think blue acts like a kid tho please)

Again if you're not okay with this I 100% understand and won't be upset at all :) I write my own headcanons but I prefer reading other people's (I'm not stealing tho dw)

Sorry it's a lot of text and have a great day/night :)

you got it, anon! it totally bothers me when people write blue like he's a child, too.

(my first request on tumblr let's go)

undertale, underfell, and underswap skeleton brothers with a reader who self harms

TW for self harm. if you self harm, there is help. it can get better. talk to a friend or a loved one, or my DMs are open.

Undertale:

Sans:

-he had noticed you acting weird lately.

-distant, almost.

-when he finally pressed you about it, you broke down into tears and told him you self harm.

-"oh, kiddo. c'mere."

-he wraps you tightly in a hug.

-asks you what you use, and asks you to hand it over.

-he tells you that if you ever need anything, or even just to talk, he's free. it doesn't matter what it is, he'll make time for you.

Papyrus:

-he asked you for several weeks what the matter was

-you finally caved and told him

-he was frozen in shock. what could possibly make you do that to yourself? he doesnt understand.

-he suddenly engulfs you into a hug.

-"i will help you get better, human! i promise!"

-he asks you that while you start to heal (both physically and from whatever was going on mentally that made you do it) that you dont do it again.

-he starts cooking for you. like, a lot.

Underfell:

Sans:

-it was an accident that he saw it. your hoodie sleeve rolled up while you were grabbing something and he caught a glance of your injuries.

-he harshly grabs your wrist.

-"who the hell did this to you?"

-you were barely audible when you said that you did it to yourself.

-the harshness in his eyes softened.

-"kid... c'mon, there's better ways to cope."

-he won't admit it to you, but after the monsters were freed from the underground, the stress of it all brought him to self harm for a period of time, too.

-which is why it's all the more important to him that you stop.

-becayse he knows what a slippery slope it is.

-"kid, you gotta promise me you'll cut that out. we can get you help. i ain't much of a therapist, but goddamn it, for you, i'll try."

Papyrus:

-he had to pull an aggressive monster off of you.

-he knew that because he was a member of the royal guard, and therefore disliked by many, that you would be a target.

-he had to take your hoodie off so he could tend to the wounds on your arms.

-"it's fine. don't worry about it," you had said.

-"no, you must let me do this. it is my fault he hurt you. you must let me help you."

-knowing he wouldn't give in, you relented.

-it was when you took your hoodie off that he saw your injuries, even though you tried your best to hide them.

-"human, these have been here for quite a while. who did this to you?" anger was evident in his tone, though he tried to hide it, so you wouldn't think it was directed at you.

-he obviously didn't believe you when you said it was an incident with a stray cat.

-"it's... i do it to myself, dammit!" you said. tears filled your eyes and your voice wavered.

-"that is unacceptable! you must quit this right now, do you understand me?"

-he didn't mean to sound so harsh, only stern. but if it got the point across, it didn't matter much to him.

-"now, tell me, why is it you do this?"

-he listens closely as you open up to him. he'll make you feel better, one way or another.

Underswap:

Sans:

-he knew something was off about you. what it was, though, he couldn't quite figure out.

-so, he asked you.

-"it's nothing," you had said. "nothing you need to worry about."

-"but don't you trust me?" he asked.

-that made you hesitate.

-a few days later, you told him. you didn't show him, but you told him.

-"but why would you do that to yourself? you are amazing, human! you have so much good in you. can't you see that? can't you see that you don't deserve it?"

-but you told him that you didn't know what he saw. you didn't see the good in you. and you're you! don't you know yourself best?

-he started listing off your great qualities, arguing with you when you wondered what the fuck he was going on about.

-he vowed that, no matter how long it took, he would make you see yourself as worthy again.

-but until then, he just made you promise to stop.

Papyrus:

-he had his suspicions for a while.

-the way you always wore long sleeves, no matter how hot it was.

-how distant you were, never telling anybody how you felt.

-he knew something was going on. so, he decided to see if his suspicions were true.

-it took a little coaxing, but you confirmed them. you were, in fact, self harming.

-he (like Fell Sans) also used to self harm. and he told you that.

-he asks you why, and he listens carefully as you tell him.

-he rubs your back from his position next to you on his couch as he says, "i need you to stop, okay? i understand it's going to be hard. i understand that it feels like you have to. but you can't, okay? you just can't. only once you stop can you start feeling better about yourself."

-he takes whatever you use away from you, and watched you closely, occasionally asking you to let him look for more scars.

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 7 months ago

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 20

wooo we hit chapter 20!! yeaahhh

MASTAPOST

Beautiful, sunlit beaches blanketed the coastline underneath the street level where colourful tiles crisscrossed. An umbrella kept the heat away from the rustic wooden table at which the Fenton family, minus their youngest, and Bruce Wayne sat. The SAV sat peacefully by the pier where they had disembarked.

They had been sailing for the better part of the afternoon, finally stopping to pick up lunch at Jazz’s insistence. Mr Wayne’s insisted on paying, ever the rich philanthropist.

Jazz Fenton couldn’t be more worried, although she had to hide it. Sitting opposite her, Mr Wayne idly chatted with her parents about their college days. Once she knew what she was looking for, it was painfully obvious that he was interrogating them for information on Vlad Masters, another billionaire thorn in the family’s side (not that her parents knew).

She fidgeted. Her foot tapped repeatedly on the stop, arched to not make sounds that would give her state of general anxiety away. Once she told Tucker what was happening, the boy had gotten to work right away. It would take some time to locate the files containing the specs for the newest inventions, and then more time to analyse them and pinpoint what damage she could do.

She’d need to call Sam next. Tucker had given her the number for Sam’s spare, although there was no guarantee she’d be able to answer soon.

Until then, Jazz was on her own. She picked at her sweet and sour fish broth soup, rolling the tomato chunks around. If she gave herself food poisoning somehow, that might give the boys potentially a week to get away. Then again, there was an equal chance one of her parents would stay with her while the other went with Bruce.

As it was, she could definitely malinger a stomach issue, and delay them for maybe half an hour. Sirens swam quickly, so that time could be valuable for them.

“What about you, Jasmine? What got you interested in psychology?” Came Bruce Wayne’s baritone. Shit.

Jazz was startled out of her thoughts. Before she could open her mouth, she did an awareness check. A mental checklist of where she was and what she needed to do and not do appeared in her head. If she tipped off this man, then it could very lead to her brother underneath a scalpel. No pressure at all.

“Uhm, well. Mr Wa- Bruce.” Jazz found herself stuttering when talking about psychology for the first time in her life. Dammit. She looked to the side, where her father nodded like an excited puppy. Not helping, dad.

“Well I’ve always been interested in people, you see.” Jazz kept a close eye on Bruce Wayne’s posture, studying him. “What makes them upset. What makes them happy.”

She side-eyed her parents. On one side, her mother glared viciously at her fried fish. On the other, her father arranged fries into smiling faces.

“With this family, I’ve had a lot to think about.” That was a good start, right? With any luck, he would be the one to give something away, something she could use against him.

Bruce Wayne chuckled, an easy (fake?) smile worn like a mask. “I can certainly relate. Many times my boys have left me pulling my hair out. It’s a chaotic house most days.”

That was right! Jazz recalled the preliminary research she had done earlier in the day. Bruce Wayne was known to be an endlessly kind man, but suffered several interpersonal issues over the years. One was the notorious apparent teenage tantrum thrown by an 18-year-old Dick Grayson, shortly before his second son, Jason was adopted.

The less said about Jason’s unfortunate fate, the better. Although he may have been brought back, somehow??

She wasn’t sure whether to envy his therapist or not.

It had been exhausting teasing the truth out of the myriad gossip articles on the Wayne family. If Danny were here, he’d bully her relentlessly for going back on her noted disdain towards the ‘shallow and vapid celebrity news industry dedicated to turning private interpersonal conflicts into products to be consumed.’ Oh how the mighty have fallen.

What she could be reasonably sure of was that the present-day family dynamics of the Waynes were testy, to say the least. Apparently their youngest, the Damian who had disappeared into the waves just two days ago, had been dealing with violent tendencies for some time and had no patience for entertaining the elites like his brothers used to. And that was just the public stuff.

Right. She could work with this.

“Was it difficult? In the early days, with your first son.” Jazz said, putting on tones of sympathy and empathetic connection, the kind she would use when she’d try to get Danny to open up.

A pained look came over Bruce. That was good!

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to poke any sensitive issues.” She added with false franticness. The longer the ball was in Bruce Wayne’s court, the better.

Mr Wayne waved her off. “No, it’s fine. Just old memories.”

“Are they fond memories?”

“Yes. It was the happiest time of my life. There was a lot of adjustment. I was a bachelor in my twenties, and suddenly I had an entire child in my hands. Dick had me running around like a headless chicken half the time.”

“Did it get easier?” Jazz asked. The billionaire’s eyes almost glazed over.

“Not particularly. If anything, things got harder. I learned very quickly that experience raising one child does not entirely transfer to another.”

Oh, that was good. Jazz filed this information into her mental notebook.

“But enough about me and my old man troubles.” With that endlessly disarming smile, she could tell why people fell for the playboy turned beleaguered father. “If you’re looking for a good psycho-analysis, I’m afraid I’m a bit basic compared to what Gotham has to offer.”

Drat. Was she that obvious? No, he’d just talked about her psychology interest. She could handle this easily. She just needed to be careful what she said, and didn’t say.

“I guess you could say I’m interested in non-traditional family dynamics. My parents have always been… eccentric.”

“That’s the Fenton way!” Her father shouted. Several other patrons looked at them scathingly. “Too bad Jazzpants hates siren hunting almost as much as… as…” Her father’s expression sank.

That calculating look came back in full force. Dammit dad! She needed to salvage this.

“My feelings towards my parents’ profession aside, the evidence points very strongly to Phantom being connected to my brother’s disappearance. I may not enjoy the siren hunts, but my brother comes first. What else can I do? Sit home and do nothing?”

Her father clapped her back, grinning proudly. “You wouldn’t be doing nothing, sweetie! You’d be keeping Vladdie company!”

Yeah… Jazz mustered all her will power to hide the cringe.

“And besides, have you seen my parents when they’re at work? Yesterday they spent like 36 hours straight preparing the SAV with only one single break.” Jazz’s head fell back. “They’d probably forget to eat if I weren’t here.”

“Hey that’s not true, Jazz! Your mother and I are excellent at this work-life balance you always babble about. Yesterday we took two breaks instead of one. Progress!”

Jazz gestured to her father with an exasperated sigh. “See what I mean?”

Bruce Wayne hummed. His head tilted in thought as he sampled his mackerel. “Have you always been this responsible, Jasmine?”

“Of course! Look, I may be sixteen, but I very much possess the maturity of an adult. If it’s my job to wrangle this family into healthy habits, then so be it.”

Bruce Wayne appeared to have something to say about that. Jazz’s phone buzzed at that moment, having been turned silent earlier. It was Tucker, you miracle worker.

She shot up from her chair, twisting her expression into an agonisied grimace. “Sorry I think I’m having a bathroom emergency. I’ll be right back!”

Jazz dashed away, feeling perfectly fine in the stomach, except for her nerves.

“I have questions.” Damian told him. They were well on their way south now, Danny’s tail swishing away at top speed. Mostly the boys stayed silent, enjoying each other’s company and the rushing of water.

“Shoot.” Danny said.

“Are you a male? Or is this merely an assumption that others have made?”

Danny sputtered. The question almost knocked him off course with how sudden it was. “W-What? Why would that be a question?”

Damian hummed. “My brothers have taught me not to make assumptions. In addition, siren biology seems heavily based off of fish, many of whom are hermaphroditic in some way.”

“Uhh…”

“Which leaves us with the question. What am I to call you? For most of time together, I have been thinking of you as a male. Was that incorrect of me to do so?”

Danny’s eyes subconsciously drifted to his navel. Was he actually biologically male anymore? He’d always assumed so, but being a half-siren in a siren-hating down didn’t leave much time to learn siren anatomy in and out.

Had he been a girl this entire time? No way… No, he always acted the same as he always acted. If he was a boy before being turned, and acted the same, he could be a boy now, right?

“Uhhh yes. I think I’m a boy. Maybe.”

“For that matter, I would like to inquire how sirens reproduce. Surely the turning of humans is not the only way your species increases its numbers?”

Danny’s face heated to boiling. Blue blushes crept down his cheeks and covered his neck. “Maybe you could ask your dad about human reproduction first?” He squeaked.

“I am already aware!” Damian grouched. “I believe I deserve to know the specifics of the body which I have been forced into.”

“What if I told you I didn’t even know where siren babies came from?” Which was a sad, sad lie, bullshit that Damian clearly saw through.

“Lies!”

Danny threw his hands up, which threw off his balance for a moment. “You’re tiny. Can you guarantee your dad won’t sell me to the GiW for telling you this stuff?”

“I absolutely can.”

“Not the point! Please ask something else. You ain’t getting crap out of me on that front. I am like Davy Jones’ locker. Zip. Shut. Tight. Not happening.”

Damian seethed. This close, Danny could feel the kid’s chest vibrate with growling sounds.

“Very well. What are sirens classed as?”

“Inhuman non-sentient sea monsters bent on the destruction of humans.”

His back stung as Damian slapped him with his tailfin. “Biologically!”

“I dunno! Do I look like I have a marine biology degree?” Danny shrugged.

Damian lowered his head. “So you are uneducated.”

“Hey, rude!” Biology was never Danny’s strong suit. His mother was the one with the however many PhDs. And Sam was the one campaigning for animal rights every other week. He was more of a space guy! This was not new information to Damian! “You tell me! You’re the kid with the animal obsession.”

“I shall lay out the evidence. On the one hand, we possess scales, gills and fins, like all fish do. However, the heat your blood, despite the cold water suggests warm-bloodedness. Furthermore, I have paid very close attention to you, and the female sirens we met in your cave.”

“And what did you see?” Danny tilted his head back.

“The nipples.” Damian ground out. “Which suggests breastfeeding, which is a mammalian trait. However, I am not sure if my own are because of my former status as a human. That is why I must ask you this.”

This was definitely going to be awkward. Danny preemptively suppressed the cringe reflex.

“Do sirens breastfeed?” Damian asked. Danny blanked at that one. Yeah. That question was a hard no clue. “Have you ever breastfed?”

Damian. Oh Damian. Kids just say the darnedest things. Damian. Danny’s cheeks heated up again. He squeaked out an answer. “N-no! I’ve been on my own in the ocean.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. Did suspicion have a smell? Because Danny felt like it did, and he was smelling it.

“Do siren parents not take care of their children?” Damian finally asked.

Danny thought back to Youngblood, how Ember basically made him her younger brother (which made her teasing of him for having Damian around totally hypocritical). It was in this moment that he realised he didn’t know any sirens outside his normal enemies. 99% of all times he had interacted with another siren. Hell, any other sea person, was when he was fighting them.

“Danny? Danny?” Damian’s voice raised.

Danny shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just thinking…”

He sounded so pitifully sad in that moment. When a series of familiar whale calls breached the surface, he eagerly welcomed the distraction.

“We’ve caught up to the whale pod!��

Damian gasped, attention turned fully away from his interrogation. “Where are they?”

Danny carried him forward, surging to greet Damian’s new friends again. However, what he saw chilled him.

About a hundred feet away there was a small boat with a flat open deck, a dingy vessel with barnacles coating its hull, and men carrying harpoons and operating cranes, pulling in a net that thrashed violently. And on the deck, tied up by rope and netting, was a baby whale.

Damian swore in a language he didn’t understand. Danny swore too.

Damian’s fins shot ramrod straight. His teeth bared with an inhuman growl. His hand went to the sword sheathed at his waist. He itched to sink it into the bodies of these treacherous men.

“Wait.” Danny said. Wait!? What a preposterous thought. They needed to save Dorothea and her pod now.

“Are you insane!?”

His companion’s voice lowered dangerously. “You realise if we attack them, then the GiW will know, right? The whalers will call for help, or get to shore and it’ll be on the news. We’ll be hunted again.”

Damian did not hesitate. “Do you intend to prioritise our own safety over that of an endangered species being poached illegally?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Let’s go fuck them up.”

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #dcxdp #merman #merboy #mermaid au #gender questions #sirens #sirens are hermaphrodites #kinda like clownfish #mer!damian wayne #mer!danny #bruce wayne #jazz fenton

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satan1999 · 4 months ago

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TALK SHOW - TYLER OWENS

DESCRIPTION | Tyler is stuck in couples therapy with his significant other, explaining their troubles. The therapist leaves them alone to make up and it leads to something more.

PAIRING | Tyler Owens x Female Character

WARNING | 18+

A/N: Took me under an hour to write this

Her eyes scans Tyler as he moved from the living room chair. The argument they had earlier had died down and she’s still bitter about Tyler’s little comment about her job. The therapist sitting in front of them with her clipboard propped on her leg and her glass tilted on her nose. She opened her notebook and began writing.

“So, I’m going to leave you two alone for an hour and see if you can rekindle after that whole thing.” she spoke softly, The therapist stood up and exited the office.

Tyler eyed her down and uncrossed his arms, his leg now man spread as he sighed and scooted his chair closer to her. He knows in the heat of the moment he’ll say something he doesn’t mean and regret everything. She sat completely still with the same look on her face and arms stuck crossed on her chest. After that stunt, She didn’t know if she could trust him anymore. The way he spat at her and cursed like a sailor, who was he? He changed after they moved from Oklahoma. She was starting to think that whole social media gimmick was getting to his head.

“Look at me, baby. I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean it.” he apologized as he tried to grab for her hands but she stayed still.

“Leave me alone, Tyler.” she mumbled as she breathed through her nose and sighed.

Out of frustration, He kicked his chair and stood from his chair. “I’m not doing this with you all day. You’re always giving me the silent treatment, Just speak dammit.” She snapped her head towards and finally stood up from the chair, Her hair covering her cheeks as she scoffed and stepped closer to him.

“Don’t pin this on me. I work too god damn hard for us to fight like, I put the food on the table. What do you do for me?” she spat.

Tyler grabbed a hold of her and pushed her to the wall and pinned her hands together. His breaths hit and heavy as he stared into her soul, Her chest pumping as she looked him in the eyes. That same tattoo of her name stamped along his neck as her eyes followed it down to his shoulder and down to his muscular arms. Even though she was pissed at him, She couldn’t stop thinking about how he effortlessly pinned her against the wall. Tyler grabbed a hold of her hips and held a tight grip on em. He watched as she unbuckled his belt and placed her hand on his groin, a moan escaped his lips as she explored the area. The sound of his groans turning her on as she reached inside his waistband and grabbed a hold of his member. She gently stroked it as he fell deep into her eyes allowing her to let him feel good. His hands gripped her ass for support as she sped up her pace and rubbed her thumb against his tip. His moans thundered in the room as he reached his peak and made a mess on her hand and in his undergarments. With this feeling, He wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed against her.

She smashed her lips onto his and let her tongue fight for dominance. Tyler quickly removed her shirt and tossed it to the carpeted floor. Her lacy bra making an appearance as he grabbed her bra strap with his teeth and pulled it down, Her bare breasts on display where he could see em. He latched his mouth onto her areola and began sucking. She bit her lip to keep her moans from escaping but the warm sensation made scream. His long fingers weaved into her slacks and began massaging her folds. He leaned her against the bookshelf causing items to fall to the ground around them with a BOOM. The couple laughed into the kiss as they listened to the items surrounding them. Tyler dug deeper reaching her spot, She bounced on his fingers as he continued thrusting his fingers.

The therapist knocked on the door to check on the two but didn’t turn the knob. “Is everything alright in there?” she asked concerned. Tyler slapped a hand over the woman’s mouth and chuckled quietly.

“Yes, Everything is fine.”

They listened as her footsteps descended for the door. Once gone, Tyler changed positions and bent her over the window. He took his cock out and immediately stuck it in. Another scream escaped her mouth as she felt him breaking and entering. Tyler stuck his two fingers in her mouth and held her waist with his free hand. He bang thrusting roughly into her causing her to groan onto his fingers. Pedestrians below watched the two give folks a show down under. They pointed and took photos as he continued to fuck her against the window. Her breasts and face smushed against the window as he moaned into her ear.

“You like giving everyone a show? Gosh, darling. You look a mess.” he whispered as he pulled out and bent down to devour her precious jewel.

She grabbed a handful of his hair and tucked at it as he sucked and licked on her folds.

“I’m close! Don’t stop.” she shouted as he grinded against his face as he went harder.

She screamed one last time before tears dropped down her face and she fell to her knees. Tyler carefully put her clothes back on and carried her back to the chair. He smiled as he watch the damage be done and she was satisfied.

“Same time next week?” he asked as he slipped his shirt back and grabbed his coat.

Tyler left her to sit in her fluids and wipe the tears from her face.

#original writing #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #glen powell #ao3 fanfic #original post #smut #oneshot

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annoyedlord · 1 year ago

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Do you have any other funny anectode or conversation between you and jerome? I literally die of laughter everytime i find your posts with him and i wanna laugh more

I do have fews haha

Me, ending my powerpoint: And that's what happened to me during the last 2 months we didn't got to see each other. Therapist: ... Listen, I'm gonna be honest, I had a blast with your powerpoint, but I still don't understand why your boyfriend's cat wanna murder you. Me: Oh that's the part you remember of the whole powerpoint??? Therapist: I mean, you drew a cat with a knife in his mouth of course I remember it.

---

Me: I'm going to [place] for vacations! :) Therapist: Oh that's nice! Never been there! Me, jokingly: Aw, im having a first time before you. Therapist: Don't be silly, you're doing many thing I never did. Me: Like guys, haha. Therapist: No. Me: Me: WHAT.

---

Me talking about traumatic events: (...) my father- Therapist: He's a bitch, a horrible person, a moron and a terrible human being. Me: Me: I feel like you're not very objective. Therapist: No, I'm being factual.

---

Therapist: You should come back to group therapy! The group changed, you'll fit in, we have many queer people now! Me: Oh, did it really change? Therapist: Yes, but also they ask sometimes questions I don't have answers to, like stuff about neopronouns and I don't know shit about that. Me: I do! Therapist: That's also why I'd love you to come back to group therapy.

---

Me: I wanna smoke a cig, dammit. Therapist: Me too, hold on i'm gonna open the window so we can do it. Me: Isn't that illegal to smoke inside the building? Therapist: I don't do by the laws if it means having an early cig-break.

---

Me: Oh, last time I was bored af, I decided to look up some people I knew on facebook, and I found you. Therapist: How. How did you. Me: My dude, I know your full name and your face AND you're sometimes on facebook while i'm here. Therapist: Alright, for the last bit, I admit it's not a very smart move of mine.

---

Therapist: I wanna see you next week, but I've no room on my schedule, hold on... Me: I can see you the following week, no big- Therapist: I moved one of my professional meeting, so see you on friday. Me: Me: Please tell me it wasn't important. Therapist: I won't :)

#Jerome the therapist #Have a few i don't think they're as funny but we had very serious sessions recently sooo xD #But sometimes he calls me son and I find it funny haha

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plum-pitt · 9 months ago

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Holy shit. I just realized i’ve never even yapped about my headcanons for the rise guys. This is a criminal offense on my part! Must be rectified immediately!!

Disclaimer: Don’t think there’s a lot of hot takes here, but feel free to disagree and talk about your own interpretations if you’d like!! Headcanon is fun and i love discussing it. it’s all fictional and since the text doesn’t give us much concrete shit on these topics we’re all free to make our own, equally valid readings of it. :3

Leo- Transmasc He/Him, gay as fuck who here could’ve guessed, ADHD haver, definitely smokes weed. Fluent in spanish from watching telenovellas as a child. Wants to be a flirty whore/aff so fucking bad but whenever he sees someone he’s legitimately attracted to any charisma he might’ve had gets thrown out the window and into a woodchipper in favor of helpless stuttering. His portalling mishaps early in the series have led him to silly sidequests all over the world that he just,,,, doesn’t really talk about. This won’t come up until they’ll end up in some random ass place and find out just how well travelled and connected he actually is. He’s also got a job at Hueso’s for fun and extra cash to fund his addiction to pot and ordering stupid shit he doesn’t need online. He’s a server, wears rollerskates to “move faster” on the job, just ends up running into shit more often than not. Great with the kids tho, performs little sleight of hand magic tricks and tells jokes to make them happy, never had a fussy kid he couldn’t calm down in a snap. Calls himself Hueso’s nephew and nepotism hire, ignoring the fact that he’s actually a decently competent and well liked employee outside of the several skating related accidents. Shell was cracked badly in the invasion, when they sealed it up, he asked Mikey to paint the healed cracks gold, mimicking the japanese practice of Kintsugi.

Mikey- Definitely queer but not into labels ;3 He/Him is what he defaults to, but any pronouns work for them. Semi fluent in italian, don’t ask me why, just feels right, let chef boy speak italian dammit. One of those mfs on instagram who insists on posting pictures of the food he makes, except his actually looks good and not painfully mediocre so they get a pass. Has been tagging walls in hard to reach spots all over the city for years at this point, after Raph confronted her abt it, fearing that he’d get caught someday, he told him that he’d stop. Yeah, that was a lie he kept doing it, just sneakier now. Makes money off of art commissions, still broke as hell tho cuz he spends it all on bougie ass ingredients and art supplies. Post canon definitely delved more into mystics and spirituality, trains with draxum but also took up meditation in his free time. Fucks with weed and the occasional psychedelic when working on art, says it helps get the creative juices flowing. Considering asking donnie to forge some documents for him so he can attend college online and earn a psych degree. His speech patterns flip on a dime between vague, wise fortune cookie therapist man and typical gen-z slang so abruptly it gives anyone not already familiar with him total whiplash.

Donnie- NonBinary They/He Bisexual but i can’t decide if they’re the kind that can’t stop pulling or can’t pull to save his life. Fluent in several languages, ASL, French, Russian, Japanese. Actually one of their few acedemic endeavors that he doesn’t typically show off and gloat about, makes it all the scarier when his siblings hear him muttering vaguely threatening sounding shit in russian when shit doesn’t go their way. Has tried most substances for “research purposes”, ultimately decided he doesn’t like the feeling of their big ol brain being hindered under the influence, this has a few exceptions tho, mainly when it’s with Leo. Has John Bishops IP address and threatens to drop it on 4chan to “see what happens” every time he tries messing with their family or stopping him from “borrowing” material resources from the US government. Almost considered bs-ing his way into college before they used a cloaking broach to shadow april at school for like 2 days. It was there they learned that the education system fucking sucks and he probably knows more than most professors about his topics of interest anyway. Does freelance work for cash, as far as their brothers know they’re not building and selling anything dangerous (which is code for probably arming both sides in a far away military conflict with deathrays). Spends his free time cyber bullying children on roblox and twitter, and caring for their greenhouse of plants that all have names. (yes he grows weed. his GeniusGrown™️ zaza is known far and wide for its consistently excellent quality. and no, Leo does not get a family discount. Mikey does tho.)

Raph- Someone please send the big man some help😭 he/him(?) Definitely queer in some way shape or form but refuses to confront any identity crisis because he’s just so busy keeping his dumb ass siblings outta shit. Tried weed once and will never touch a substance again, makes his anxiety spike real bad when he doesn’t feel in full control of himself. Runs around with Cassandra and sometimes Jr to do vigilante justice on the side of he and his siblings’ usual patrols. Living garbage disposal and i mean that quite literally. He has and will eat anything, rocks, toys, silverware, sometimes on accident, sometimes on a dare, and sometimes just because he wants to. He grew up gnawing on the legs of furniture, rusty sewer pipes, really any nonliving thing that he could fit his choppers around (unlike donnie who just bit any living creature within a 5 mile radius of his location). Since the invasion made Leo step up as leader Raph has been able to step back a little bit and not have everything in a chokehold, he has a mini crisis about his place in the family and his sense of identity without being a leader. Tries to hide how much it’s affecting him but ofc, living with mikey, this does not last and his ass FINALLY gets chucked (very lovingly) into therapy. Loves to knit, definitely in some kind of old lady facebook group centered around it (he has so much nursing home gossip floating around in his brain hehe)

Alright that’s all for the teetlez. lmk if yall wanna hear about my thoughts on the rest of the main cast, or some of the side cast! Can’t promise i’ll have this much to say on all of em but i’ve definitely got thoughts lol. I might even make a post diving into different character dynamics. idk tho, my fingies are tired typing all that shit😭

Anyway i hope u enjoyed my ramblings, have a lovely day :3

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #thoughts from the pit #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt

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philaet0s · 4 months ago

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Celebrity/Social Media AU - Part 23

Previous Part: Part 22

Simon

The bell at the door rings as I’m counting the cash drawer. Dammit. This is going to make me lose count. Can’t people read a ‘closed’ sign anymore?

“Sorry, we’re closed,” I say as I look up.

And I freeze.

“I know. I thought I might still come in. Or should I wait for you outside? It’s raining, I’d rather not,” he says. His voice sounds tired. He always sounds tired when he comes home. He shouldn’t come home if it exhausts him more than his tour…

I’m so glad he came home.

I put the stack of banknotes in my hand down and jump up. He’s standing still –he’s an idiot, he should know he can come to me. It doesn’t matter I come to him instead. I want to hug him but the front of the shop is all windows. So instead I take his hand. No, not his hand. I loop my pinky around his. It feels more intimate, somehow.

He smiles at me. God, my kingdom for that smile.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi. Why’d you come back?” I ask, a knot already forming in my throat.

Because I know why.

I wasn’t alright. Missing him was becoming painful, and he knew it. I told him.

So he came home.

But he doesn’t say that. He never would. He’s gentle on my heart, he knows I wouldn’t like him admitting he traveled all the way home because I was feeling down. (I do need to talk about my struggle with being vulnerable to my therapist, the bastard’s right about that)

“I missed Mordelia’s birthday, I thought I’d make up for it somehow. Would you be okay heading for Oxford tonight? I can’t stay in the UK for very long…”

I try to ignore those last few words and the weight that fell on my stomach upon hearing them. He only just arrived. I have no reason to think about when he’ll leave again yet.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I just need to head home and get a few things. How long do you want to stay there?”

“Pack enough for three nights, okay?”

I nod.

“Good. Now, do you want help closing?”

…

I settle comfortably in the passenger seat, smiling as Baz sits behind the wheel. I love it when he drives, though I always do it if he’s not feeling up to it. He almost crashed his car once because his leg decided to act up while he was driving. He’s been very careful ever since. Everyone around him –me included, if I’m honest– advised him to rely on a driver more often, but none of us argued for very long. He loves driving too much. I didn’t know him then, but he had to give up on a lot of things after he injured his leg. It feels cruel asking him to give up on one more.

Though he could be a little more careful…

“Where’s your cane?”

He tenses.

I almost take back my question, but I don’t. It’s something that’s been bugging me for a while. Since Las Vegas. He used his cane the whole time he was home before the beginning of his US tour, but when I saw him in the US, and then again in France, he wasn’t using it.

I kept quiet about it until now, but seeing him drive is pushing that concern at the front of my mind.

“I try not to use it when I’m on tour.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. That’s when you need it the most. You’re doing more physical effort than usual.”

He sighs. He takes a turn and drives a few seconds in silence, so I think he’s decided to sulk, but then he says; “Are you wearing your contacts today?”

“Uh, yeah? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Say you hadn’t put them on this morning, and had just gone about your day without them. Would you have the impression of seeing better than if you took them off right now and finished your day without them after having them on for hours?”

…I see where this is going.

“Yes, but that’s completely different! I don’t even need my contacts all that much. My eyes are decent.”

“My leg isn’t so bad. I can walk fine without the cane. I can drive, I can exercise.”

“But it causes you pain. Don’t try and tell me it doesn’t because I know it does.”

“You get headaches if you read too much without your contacts,” he argues.

“Baz, that’s not the same thing. It really isn’t. And I… I didn’t mean to upset when I brought up your cane, it’s just, well, I want you to feel good. As best as you can. I’m not sure than going about your day every day without your cane when you do several shows a week is something that makes you feel good.”

“Well, I’ve been alright so far, haven’t I? I suppose I’m not as crippled as you think.”

“Baz, I never said that, and you shouldn’t say that either. You’re not… You’re disabled.”

I shouldn’t have talked about the damn cane. We’ve had this argument so many times. How many more times will we have it? It feels useless…

“I’m also the one who’s living in my body. So I know how I’m feeling. And how I’m feeling is fine. I’m not fucking stupid, alright? Besides, I have a doctor checking in on me. You know, someone with actual proficiency in the medical field. If she says I can go on as I am, then I can go on as I am,” he answers in a cold, biting voice.

I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, sorry for worrying about you! Really, how dare I care about your health!”

“You’re my boyfriend not my mum. I don’t need you… fussing over me like I’m a stupid kid who needs an adult to take care of him.”

“Fuck off, Baz. Seriously. You’re being a dick for no reason.”

“I’m just so fucking sick of you treating me like a fragile little thing because of that damn leg! I’m not incapable!”

“I don’t… Oh, you know what, I don’t even want to argue anymore. It’s useless,” I say, shaking my head.

Then, in a very mature gesture, I turn to the side to have my back on him, my eyes staring out the window stubbornly.

He turns on the radio. That means no more talking.

…oops

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #co/ws/awtwb #social media au

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year ago

Text

Lavender - Ch. 12

A mass casualty incident results in a close call as Joel tries to figure out what he can live with. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1 - 11, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence. Whole fic is very violent and smutty so Minors DNI, 18+ only. No use of Y/N.

Length: 4.8k

Tuesday, April 7, 2009 - 6 months later

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Andrew was leaned back in the office chair behind the front counter of the clinic, looking up at you. “I’m pretty sure you could set that man on fire and he’d still worship the ground you walk on.”

“There’s something wrong,” you shook your head, perched on the desk, your nails rapping on the underside of the table top. “Something’s going on, I can feel it. It’s like he’s pulling away from me…”

It was a slow day in the clinic. You’d had three patients in three hours. But you weren’t about to SAY it was a slow day in the clinic, that was a sure fire way to get flooded with emergent patients and make it so you were stuck here all night.

Of course, the way things had been with Joel lately, being stuck there all night might be a bonus.

“You could try actually talking to him you know,” he said. “Maybe ask if there’s something wrong…”

“Is that what you and Jess do?” You teased. “Talk about your feelings like adults?”

He laughed.

“Adults seems like a strong word for it but,” he shrugged. “Have you ever told him anything that happened? Anything at all? Or have you just tried pretending as though we still live sometime before the world ended?”

“You’ve become more of a smartass in your 20s,” you glared at him. He snorted and you sighed. “You know, Joel and I dated for three years before. Two of those were long distance. And that was somehow easier than this.”

“Well his kid died and you’re hiding everything that traumatized you when the world ended so that’s part of it,” he said dryly.

“Jess needs to stop giving you psych major advice,” you muttered.

“No, the QZ just needs a therapist so you can go work your shit out.”

Marta, a girl who had just started working at the clinic came and leaned on the counter.

“Man, it’s slow today,” she sighed, looking bored. You and Andrew both groaned. She frowned. “What?”

“You’ve cursed us,” Andrew muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever happens in the next 10 minutes? On you.”

“What’s going to happen?” She scoffed. “It’s been dead all day.”

“Stop making it worse!” You groaned.

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Nine minutes later, a security guard from the main gate ran up, out of breath and splattered in blood.

“Convoy from Atlanta got swarmed,” he was panting. “Need medical, everyone you can spare.”

“Shit,” Marta said.

You ran and grabbed the go bags of emergency supplies, sending Marta to go grab Dr. Lee and Dr. Elias from home.

“Kristen,” you yelled to the one remaining nurse in the floor as you ran out the door. “Hold down the fort and try to keep everyone alive until we get back!”

“Dammit Marta,” she muttered, sitting down at the front desk and glaring at the door, almost daring anyone else to come in.

You, Dr. Martin, Lucy - another nurse - and Andrew ran clear across the QZ, loaded down with medical equipment until you reached the front gate.

It was absolute chaos. People were bloody, moaning. Someone - a kid - was screaming. Your ears rang, tension growing in your chest. You dug your nails into your palm, grounding yourself, and took over.

“Set up a supply station there,” you pointed to an alcove of a building that should provide shelter in case a spring ran decided to move through. “Andrew, you’re lead on triage with Lucy. Lucy, you handle everything yellow down. Move yellow to the clinic when you can. Flag Martin or I for orange and higher. Security can do infection scans once we’re through triage unless there’s a visible bite, overnight holding for green and blue transfers at the main gate, we don’t have the kind of room at the clinic for this…”

“This is fucked,” Andrew looked out at the 100 or so people.

“And it was a slow day,” you muttered.

You all jumped into action, Andrew and Lucy only getting one or two patients in before flagging more emergent injuries. One person had part of a steering column lodged in their stomach and you got security to rush him to the clinic to get stabilized until you could get there. Another had an almost totally amputated arm and you completed the amputation in the field with Andrew holding him down. You stitched chest wounds closed, set exposed bones. Blood that wasn’t yours was on your face. Lee and Elias showed up about an hour in.

“We’ve got it,” Martin said, working on a head lac that looked like it came from a skull fracture. “Go handle surgical.”

You just gave him a nod, racing back across the QZ and directly into a scrub room.

Kristen had managed to stabilize the patient with part of a car in his stomach - her trauma nurse skills from before the outbreak being infinitely handy in the QZ - and it took you hours to patch him up.

You were relieved that Martin was back when you got done, working with other patients that he’d stabilized in the field.

“They’re doing infection testing now,” he said by way of greeting. “These folks are cleared to go into holding but there’s a lot of failures at the gate. Can you run some euth kits down?”

You glanced at the clock. It was pushing midnight. You were still covered in blood.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’ve got it.”

You gathered the supplies and ran, again, back across the QZ to the gate. Your legs were tired. You wanted to just lay down and sleep in the road. Or at least have the luxury of trudging to the place where you’d be killing people. But you had to run. If you didn’t move quickly, people who could have been spared the horror of turning would need to be shot instead of humanely injected, putting them out of their misery before the misery truly began.

You still hated it.

Security directed you to holding. There were about two dozen people who were pinging as infected. You gave them a quick examination - confirming a bite - and tried to tell them what was about to happen in a way that wasn’t horrific. But how did you tell someone you were about to kill them - even if it would be painless, even if it would be a mercy - and not have it be horrifying?

Some were numb, just nodding along. You asked if they had anything they wanted to say, anyone they wanted to leave a message for. Few did. Others were inconsolable, screaming and sobbing. You stayed with them until they fell unconscious - which only took a few minutes - and tried to set your feelings aside until you were done.

It was after 2 a.m. when you reached the teenaged girl’s room.

You saw her through the pane of glass in the door first. She was sitting on the bed, staring into space. Her face was wet.

“Oh no,” you breathed. You couldn’t help it. You knocked once and then opened the door.

“Hi there,” you gave her a sad smile.

“You’re here to kill me aren’t you?” She asked, her eyes wide.

“I need to check you over first,” you said. “Confirm…”

She stuck her arm out, a bite mark at her wrist.

“Then yes,” you sighed. “I’m here to kill you.”

She sniffed once and then nodded.

“I can tell you it’ll be better this way,” you said softly. “I’ve seen people turn. It’s hard. This is better. Like falling asleep after a really long, hard day.”

“I don’t want to die,” she was crying. “I didn’t even do anything yet, no one is going to remember me yet…”

“What about your family?” You asked, cautiously taking a seat beside her. She didn’t object.

“My parents died out there,” she nodded toward the gate. “Before we made it this far. We were supposed to be coming here, FEDRA sent my dad here…”

You nodded slowly.

“What’s your name?”

“Bethany,” she sniffed. “Beth.”

“Beth,” you said. She nodded. “Would it be OK if I remembered you? I’d like to remember you.”

“You don’t even know me,” her chin quivered.

“We have a few minutes,” you said, glancing at her wrist. “Tell me some things about you. How old are you?”

“I’m 13,” she said.

“What do you like to do?” You asked.

She paused for a moment.

“I played soccer, before,” she said. Her tears were slowing. “I scored three goals in the last game I remember. My dad called it a hat trick.”

“That’s impressive,” you smiled. You brushed some of her hair back from her face. “You must be good.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, smiling a little. “Yeah, I am.”

“What else do you like?” You asked. “What makes you feel something?”

“I write poems,” she said, looking down at her lap.

“Poems?” You asked.

“They’re not very good,” she shrugged. “But I like them. They help me think, understand what I’m feeling. I’m not great at making them rhyme, though.”

“Poems don’t have to rhyme,” you said. “They just need to capture a feeling. Do your poems capture a feeling?”

“I think so,” she shrugged.

“Then they’re good.”

You glanced at her wrist again, the signs of Cordyceps working their way up her arm to her brain.

“I need to inject you now, Beth,” you said. “You’ll be awake for a few minutes after that. We can keep talking if you want.”

“Will you stay with me after?” She asked. “I don’t want to die alone…”

“I’ll stay,” you said. She nodded. “What’s one thing you’ll miss about Atlanta? Did you live there a while?”

“Since I was nine,” she sniffed. You prepped the syringe. “I liked the weather. It was always warm there.”

“Just a small poke,” you said, pressing the needle into her arm and pushing down the plunger. You pulled it back and massaged the spot on her arm gently. “I bet it is always warm there. I went to college in Texas, it was always warm there. It was nice. I miss that, too.”

She looked at you.

“If I lie down, will you hold me?” She asked. You nodded. She stretched out on the cot and you lay behind her, tugging her back against you. She snuggled into your body. “Can you stay until I…”

“I’ll stay,” you said quietly. “Is there anything you want to tell anyone? I can find someone, get them a message…”

“My friend, Cara, in Atlanta,” she said. “Can you just tell her goodbye for me? That I’ll miss her?”

“Is she 13 like you?” You asked. She just nodded. “I can find her.”

“Thank you,” she said. She was quiet for a minute. “I think I’m going to miss the sky. I always liked the sun and the clouds and the stars. It was so big. And the moon. I always wanted to be someone who got to walk on the moon.”

“It’s a good goal,” you said. You could feel some of the tension leaving her body. “You’d be a good astronaut."

She nodded a little.

“I’m getting tired,” she said. “Really tired…”

“It’s OK Beth,” you kept holding her.

“There are poems, in my bag,” she said, her voice fading. “Can you keep one for me?”

“I’ll keep them all,” you said. You held her closer, stroked her hair. “It’s OK, Beth. It’s OK.”

You held her until she stopped breathing.

You were numb as you gently pulled yourself from her body, going to her bag in the corner. Inside there was a notebook. The pages were crinkled and the cover was peeling but it was almost filled with poems. Your eyes couldn’t seem to focus enough to actually read any, but you held it to your chest and went to the next room.

You weren’t paying as much attention as you should have been when security let you into the next room. You were focused on not crying, trying to treat the person you were about to kill with the dignity they deserved.

“Hi there,” you said.

He turned toward you and ran, arms outstretched, teeth bared. It took you a moment to understand what was happening, process it fully. You barely had a chance to scream before he collided with you.

You tried to hold him back but he was large and you were tired, your arms giving out quickly as your hands instinctively clutched the notebook and the euthanasia kit. The man’s mouth got near your throat just as security burst in the door and shot him, covering you with blood. They pulled him off you and screamed for something but you couldn’t really understand what. It was like they were speaking a different language. They pulled you up and moved you to the cot and you sat there, staring into space for a moment. You set the kit and the notebook down as one of the guards gently took your chin and tilted your head, examining your neck.

“No!”

Andrew’s voice snapped you out of your own head. You blinked for a moment, surprised to see him there, surprised to hear him screaming. He tried to come in the room but a guard held him back.

“She’s not…” he was straining in the guard’s arms. “You’re wrong!”

It confused you for a moment. You weren’t sure what he was yelling about, it didn’t make sense.

“We haven’t tested yet,” the guard said. “It doesn’t look like a distinct bite, it could just have been a cut in the scuffle and it’s nothing…”

You frowned, your hand cupping your throat. There was a sharp pain at the side. Your hand had a smear of blood when you pulled it away.

“I got bit?” You looked up at the guards for a moment.

For a moment, part of you was relieved. If you’d been bitten, you could just be euthanized and that was that. You wouldn’t have to keep trying anymore. No more days where you killed more people than you saved, no more wondering what the child you lost would be like now, no more trying to figure out why the person you loved more than anything else was growing distant.

“We don’t know that,” the guard said quickly. “We’ll get a scanner in here in just a second…”

As if on cue, Elias ran in, eyes wide.

“They don’t know yet,” Andrew said quickly.

“I’ve got a scanner,” Elias said, pushing past the guard who was busy holding Andrew in place. He all but ran to you, kneeling at your side and taking your arm. You felt the prick as it collected a sample and waited a moment. The scanner glowed green. Elias’ shoulders relaxed.

“Negative,” he held it up to show you.

“Thank fuck,” Andrew sighed from the doorway.

“It could be a false negative,” you said.

“It’s not,” he said, voice certain, his eyes soft. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen Elias like this. He’d taken you under his wing, worked with you for years. He was probably the closest thing you had to a father. You just hadn’t realized he might have felt the same way about you. “You’ll be fine, hear me? You’re going to be fine.”

“Do we move her to holding?” One of the guards asked. “We can’t leave her in here with…”

“We can take her to the clinic,” Andrew said quickly. “She should be at the clinic.”

You barely remembered the walk across the QZ. Your legs were heavy. Andrew’s arm was around your shoulder. There were guards around you. You were still covered in blood.

“I’m going to go get Joel,” Andrew said from the other side of the bars as soon as you were in holding.

“No,” you shook your head. “No, don’t… that’s OK.”

“He’d want to be here,” he frowned.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Don’t drag him down here, it’s just 12 hours, I’ll be fine. He doesn’t even need to know, he has to work early tomorrow anyway…”

“Can’t have you back here,” the guard said to Andrew.

“Oh come on,” he protested but the guard shook his head. Andrew narrowed his eyes at him. “Fine.” He looked to you. “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. I’ll be back here in 12 hours. You’ll be fine.”

You smiled a little and nodded, waiting until he left before you let exhaustion and numbness consume you.

***

“Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot, Joel,” Tommy snapped as they sat in their sparsely furnished living room, beers in hand.

“It hasn’t gotten better,” Joel replied, taking a drink. “I don’t think I can keep doin’ this.”

“At some point that girl is gonna stop forgiving you for being a dumbass and she’s not gonna take you back,” Tommy warned. Joel sighed.

“Maybe she should,” he said, swirling the beer in his glass.

For Joel, adjusting to QZ life had been shit. He wasn’t used to existing with people anymore, functioning with rules and not just taking what he needed when he needed it. He’d blown the three chances you’d gotten him for permanent job placements. He’d been so bored doing building repair he’d snapped at his coworkers one too many times. His manager at the warehouse job had been a fucking jackass and didn’t take too kindly to Joel telling him so. The third one really hadn’t been his fault, a guy on the delivery crew he was on cat called a girl who couldn’t have been more than 14. Joel decked him in the middle of the street.

“Don’t know why I can’t just come work in the clinic with you,” he muttered one evening, sitting at your kitchen table.

“Really?” You’d raised your eyebrows at him, incredulous.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “You must have something that needs doing.”

“Well yeah,” you laughed a little. “But Joel, come on. You have no medical experience or interest in getting any. Your bedside manner is shit….”

You trailed off. He waited for you to finish.

“And?” He asked. You sighed.

“And…” you looked at the ceiling for a moment before looking at him again. “I helped set that clinic up. It means a lot to me. I don’t want to damage it by convincing my boss to hire my boyfriend only to have him punch the first guy who looks at me funny.”

He ground his teeth before getting up and going for the door.

“Joel,” you sighed. “Please don’t…”

“Should go check on Tommy,” he muttered. “Haven’t seen ‘em in a few days.”

He stalked out and didn’t come back for two days. He’d been stuck doing odd jobs ever since.

The unease at being away from you hadn’t gotten any better. Every time you weren’t near, he felt sick. His chest got tight, his stomach turned. He couldn’t handle it. He knew he couldn’t live his life glued to your side, always touching you, always knowing you were OK. He knew that. But he wasn’t sure he could live his life loving you, either. It was too scary, too painful. It was like his mind was bracing for the worst, all the time. Anything at all was better than being caught off guard by losing you. It was self preservation, trying to not love you. He wouldn’t be capable of surviving your loss. It would be safer to cut things off when he had control. He’d stay alive if he could just fucking do it. Love was just too big a risk.

“You really just want to live in misery for the rest of your goddamn life?” Tommy asked, getting worked up. “Because that seems to be what you’re gunnin’ for.”

“I just want to not be afraid all the fuckin’ time,” he snapped. “I want something quiet and easy, something that isn’t overwhelming all the goddamn time. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Fuckin’ moron,” Tommy muttered, downing the rest of his beer and going to bed.

Joel stayed up for a while after, staring into nothing, trying to imagine what life without you would be. He could still keep an eye on you. Check in, make sure you were safe. But if there was some distance, maybe he could pull himself away from you. Have some hope of disentangling himself from you enough that it wouldn’t destroy him if you got hurt. It was the end of the world, you were going to get hurt at some point. You were safer in the QZ than outside it, the life you’d built here was relatively safe. But at some point, you’d get attacked by a patient, piss off FEDRA, get bit by an errant infected that had worked its way inside the walls of the QZ. It was coming. He could feel it coming. He needed to be far enough away from you when it happened that it didn’t kill him. Otherwise what had been the fucking point of all this? He had to live for Tommy at the very least. Keep his kid brother’s nose clean. He couldn’t do that and lose you, not like this.

He got up early, worked a shift dealing with some sewer maintenance. Wednesdays were shorter days for you so he decided to go to your place after getting cleaned up. He hadn’t figured out how to extract himself from you yet, not really. He used that as is excuse for still showing up at your place almost every damn day. It was self preservation. He needed to be near you until he could figure out how to not be.

But there was something off about your apartment when he walked in. The air was oddly stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in more than a day. The note he’d written to tell you he was planning to sleep at his place was in the spot where he’d left it on your table. It was like you hadn’t even touched it. You hadn’t been home.

Oh God, you hadn’t been home.

He ran out so fast he had to double back to lock your doors. He took the stairs two at a time, the fist that wrapped around his chest when you weren’t near gripping tighter. He ran for the clinic. Fuck, he hoped you made it to the clinic yesterday. If he hadn’t, he’d have to rip the fucking city apart to find you. He would, he didn’t give a fuck, but a starting point… he needed a starting point.

He ripped the doors open. Andrew wasn’t at the front desk, instead a woman he’d seen in passing but whose name he’d never bothered to learn was sitting there.

“Mr. Miller,” she called but he ignored her, going for the doors leading to the back. He yanked them open and started checking exam rooms. No sign of you. He yelled your name, looking around for some sign of you, someone who knew where you were. The woman from the desk caught up to him.

“Mr. Miller,” she said. He looked down at her. “She’s back in holding…”

His legs damn near gave out.

“Holding?” He fought to keep his voice steady. His head spun. The grip on his chest got tighter. “What… how…”

“There was an incident early this morning,” she checked her watch. “She should be free to go any minute now. Andrew is waiting too…”

“Where?” He asked, looking around. He’d spent almost no time back in the exam area, he didn’t know where shit was. The woman pointed him down a hall and he ran for it until he almost ran into you, tucked into Andrew’s side with his arm around you, a blanket over you. You were covered in blood, staring straight ahead like you were in a daze.

“Good of you to fucking show up,” Andrew glared at him.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Convoy from Atlanta got overrun by infected,” he muttered, continuing to guide you through the clinic. “We were out doing what we could until well after fuckin’ midnight. Guards said she didn’t sleep either… Around 3 a.m. she was doing euthanasias when one turned earlier than they expected. We thought it might have gotten her on the throat, the scanner was negative but there was a scratch… She was already so covered in blood we weren’t sure what it was from…”

“Oh Baby,” he went to hold your face but you flinched away from him, clutching something in your arms closer to your chest. A notebook. He frowned. “Can I see that?”

He went to take it from you but you pulled it away.

“She was like Jessica,” your voice was flat. “I killed her, too…”

Joel frowned, looking from you to Andrew.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Let’s just get her home…”

The three of you got odd looks from everyone around you, two large men helping the dazed, bloody woman home. No one dared stop them, though. Joel let you into your apartment. Andrew peeled the blanket off you slowly. You were still in the clothes you’d worn the day before but they were caked in blood and mud. You clutched the notebook to your chest.

“Hey,” Andrew said, brushing your hair back. “Can I leave you with him? Is that OK? Will you be OK?”

You frowned a little but nodded.

“Good,” he kissed your forehead. “I need to go see Jess, give her an update… Don’t shut down on me, OK?”

You nodded again. He looked to Joel.

“She goes totally non-responsive?” He said. “Come get me. Immediately.”

“Non-responsive?” Joel asked, keeping a hand on you.

“I’ve only seen her do it once,” he said. “It took a lot to get her there but last night was fucking awful…”

“I’ve got her,” Joel said. Andrew looked him up and down.

“Fuckin’ better,” he muttered, giving you a last look before turning to go.

Joel needed to get you cleaned up. He tried to extract the notebook from your grasp but you held tight.

“Baby, you have to let this go,” he said gently.

“I told her I’d keep it,” you said softly. He wasn’t sure he’d seen you blink yet. “I promised…”

“You can have it back after you shower,” he said. Your hold on the notebook loosened and he was able to pull it away. He steered you to the bathroom and turned on the water as he slowly, carefully removed your bloody clothes.

“She was like Jessica,” you said again. Your voice was quiet.

“Who was?” He asked, hesitant to push you too far.

“Beth,” your eyes met his for the first time. “I killed her, too. She wanted to live, too.”

Joel got your shirt over your head.

“Who was Jessica?” He asked quietly. Your eyes searched his for a moment.

“Louisa’s daughter,” you said eventually. “She called me after you did that night. She was afraid. Louisa had turned, she needed help. I picked her up. I killed… There was a neighbor. She had a collie named Rebel, Louisa used to sing ‘Rebel Rebel’ when they’d walk by the house… She’d turned, too. I killed her, got Jessica out.

“We were OK for a while,” you were staring at Joel’s chest now but it was like he wasn’t even there. “Found Andrew in the woods. But, on my birthday, we got overrun by infected… I held them off but one came from the side, got her from there. We were so close to a check point, they saw the bite, they killed her… I didn’t see it coming, not the infected, not them shooting her… She was so scared, Joel. I held her, tried to make it better… She didn’t want to die and I let her… I told her I’d keep her safe and I let her die…”

Joel pulled you into his chest, his arms going around you so tight he should have been worried that he was going to break you but he just couldn’t hold you close enough.

“It’s OK Baby,” he said, voice cracking. He was drowning memories of that night. Running with Sarah, promising to protect her, feeling her die in his arms… You were still covered in blood.

He finished getting you undressed and helped you into the shower. He stepped in with you, fully clothed. He carefully tipped your head back, rinsing the blood from your hair before moving on to the rest of you.

“It’s OK Baby,” he said again.

It took time to get you cleaned up. He helped you into sweats and put you to bed when you got out of the shower. He climbed in beside you and you wrapped around him, clinging to him. He looked down at you, his chest still tight. You were going to be the death of him. He could feel it. If he didn’t get some distance soon, loving you was going to kill him.

A/N: I did warn you that drama was coming. I'm sorry to say that things are going to get worse for Joel and our FMC for a while before they get better. But they will get better EVENTUALLY. It'll just take some time. And some plot points.

Thank you again for reading and interacting! Reading your thoughts and feelings about this piece is such a joy, I appreciate each and every one of you. So much love!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #fanfic #hbo the last of us

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