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yanderenightmare · 7 months

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Nanami Kento

TW: yandere, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, inexperienced reader, virginity loss, size-difference, abuse of power, lies and manipulation, captive darling, age-gap

AN: thinking about a pervy sex therapist Nanami~

fem reader

You started coming to his home office once a week.

Unsure of it all, in the beginning, you were so nervous. He looked so strict – sitting opposite you in his dark brown leather chair with such a tight expression on his face.

But you came around to like him soon enough.

He was a nice man. Serious but tender with you – putting out freshly baked muffins on the coffee table and always giving you a warm cup of chamomile with vanilla and honey before getting started.

And he was knowledgeable too – had that mature air about him that seemed so polished and proficient you couldn’t help but hang off every word like it was scripture.

When he told you to stop wearing bras because they hinder natural breast growth, you listened, and when he said that keeping your pussy hairless was important for hygienic purposes, you believed him because you trusted him.

He diagnosed you with virgin anxiety and has been so patient with you ever since, helping you overcome it.

Professional enough to practice with you. Sticking a gloved finger inside your pretty pussy when you’re propped on his examination bed, testing out your tightness with words reassuring you that you just need to wait and allow your body to provide the wetness – smiling at you kindly, that way old men do, more with his eyes than his lips, when you’re weeping with slick enough to accommodate all three of his lengthy fingers inside you – squeezing on him so tight.

You gush, shaking your head while spluttering apologies when you cum around them, but he just rubs your clit slowly, with veteran steadiness – telling you it's only natural and healthy for a young woman like you to be so sensitive under a man's touch – that it’s nothing to be ashamed or scared of – on the contrary, it’s something you should feel very proud of.

He’s also kind enough to give you extra sessions – at least three times a week at his home office – sometimes even breaking his own rules, treating you to a house call, coming to your apartment for a nice little chat.

He even assigns you daily exercises for you to do on your own – though he encourages you to call him so he can guide you through it. Instructing you to wet your fingers in your mouth first before you touch yourself down there.

He listens to your little moans filtered through the phone – bated breaths and whimpers as you get yourself all bothered and needy for more.

He tells you to turn on the camera so he can see if you’re doing it right, and you listen – placing the phone in view of your tiny fingers struggling to reach and stuff your cute cunt.

He praises you on your good job – his own camera off, for obvious reasons – he can't have you seeing his raging shaft just yet, or how he jerks it to the sight of your tight little cunt. A deep furrow between his brows and his jaw locked tight, resolute in his plans of coaxing you into giving him your first time. He groans just thinking about it, splurting his load into his fist, listening to you moan for him. “This feels funny, Nanami-san~ Is this right? ~ Please, Nanami-san, teach me~”

He's been coveting your virginity for months now – grooming you – making you pliant and gullible, and soon, all his patience and hard work would pay off.

It’s cute that you don’t know it yet… but your pretty little pussy is all his.

He expertly works it into your sessions as an exercise. One he promises you’ll benefit from. Telling you your condition can be blamed on never having studied a real grown man’s cock – that, because it’s such a foreign thing to you, you end up fearing it.

He reminds you how this is a safe space – tells you that all he cares about is your wellbeing – as he sets himself next to you on the couch, his thick thigh next to yours, while buckling up his belt and zipping himself free – taking his fat erection out for you to lay your innocent eyes on.

“Here it is.” He clears his throat with a rusty sigh, sounding relieved when his manhood springs free, standing proud and fat.

His veins flex along his arm beneath dark blonde hair as he strokes the length lazily – up and down slowly. Making old noises – heavy sighs and hums – dragging the foreskin back and revealing its plush mushroomed head.

You take it in with doe eyes.

“Don’t be shy. Tell me your thoughts.”

You swallow thickly at the assignment, blinking out of your stare. Shocked and embarrassed, though curious, but also a little grossed out – you’re not sure what feeling you end up with. “Uhm- It’s very… big.”

He chuckles low at that. “Come on, you can do better. What else?” He urges you, offering another deep but light-hearted laugh. “You can be honest. It’s a little funny looking, huh?”

“Yeah-” You giggle lightly in return, though you’re still somewhat uneasy – sitting as though you plan on leaving, but staying nonetheless, at the edge of your seat – eyes glued to the chubby member, studying the curve of its spine and the veins forking their way up to its head.

“Feel up to touching it?” He asks, and your eyes snap to his – lined with crow’s feet and something so trustworthy.

But still, you promptly shake your head in embarrassment. “Oh- no, thank you, Nanami-san-” But he’s already taken your smaller hand in his, pulling you back by guiding it to his lap.

“No, no, little one- this is what we've been training for. You won’t get better if you don’t try.” He scolds you, voice both dismissive and reassuring all at once. “Here- feel it.”

He wraps your tiny fingers around the stout shaft and overlaps your hand with his, helping you find the rhythm – stroking it nice and slow.

“There you go, just like that. Good.”

You hesitate at first. Giving your lip a soft bite while thinking about his previous words.

Was he right? Are you scared because you've never looked at or touched a real penis before?

You don't want to be a virgin forever – it's embarrassing as an adult – it makes you still feel like such a silly little girl.

So... if Dr. Nanami says that this will help you overcome your fears, then you suppose...

You'll do it.

You gulp and follow his movement – up and down the large and lengthy pole.

It's so warm – pulsing in your grip, twitching at your soft touch. Skin so thin, almost rubbery, holding something much tougher than you’d imagined.

In your hand, it’s a lot bigger as well. You can’t even reach your fingers around the thickness to touch your thumb.

“All of this goes inside me?” You ask, under your breath – swallowing thickly while he leads your dainty hand downward into the hair around his base, then up to the wet tip, which pilled and trickled with white pearls getting caught between your fingers – warm and sticky.

“That’s right, every inch.” He answers – voice relaxed – pleased by how well you were doing. “Does that scare you?”

You bite your lip and rub your thighs together. “A little…”

“But it makes you feel a little warm, too, hm?” He suggests. “Makes your mouth wet? And also, that soft place between your legs?”

You make a nervous sound, digging your nails into your knee, where you let your other hand rest awkwardly.

He hums again with a soft chuckle. “Don’t be embarrassed, little one. It’s a good thing.” He ensures, encouragingly squeezing your hand underneath his while lifting the other up to your face, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear – before sliding it across the back of your neck. “Let's see you be brave and give it a taste.”

You hesitate again – this time a little more decidedly. “I don’t think I can-” But Dr. Nanami is strong, keeping your neck in a pinch as he guides you down into a bow.

“It’s alright, I’m here to help you. Just open your mouth, and I’ll show you how.” He insists soothingly. Spreading his thighs out further while laying your head down on his lap, hips moving languidly when brushing his shaft up between your lips.

It’s so big, so hot, pumping with warmth where you kiss it on the side on a particularly fat and throbbing vein.

He lifts you up slightly and angles the tip into your mouth, creating a cute bulge in your cheek where he rests his hand to keep you down when you flinch at the salty tang getting caught by your saliva. The taste quickly coats your entire tongue.

“Mmh- that’s a big girl~ getting her first mouthful of cock.” Dr. Nanami sighs with a groan, dropping his head back against the couch cushions while pushing up into the pouch of your cheek in lazy thrusts. It strains – makes you feel like it might poke through and make a hole.

He lets it settle there for a moment, enjoying the wet warmth and the unsure movements of your sweet tongue – not knowing where to go with all the space occupied by his meat.

But then he tangles both hands in your hair, gathering it all into a neat ponytail. And, lifting your skull up directly above, he sends his cock down your guzzle even when you whine out in meek protest.

“Breathe through your nose and try your best to swallow it down as far as your throat allows.” He instructs, keeping a tight-knit grip around your hair in one fist whilst the other hand slides down to pet your cheek in soothing circles.

Forcing it down your tight little amateur throat even when your jaw feels like it’s unlocking.

“Good girl.” He sighed once he’d wedged himself in all the way until your lips kissed the pubes at his base.

Your smaller hands dent the muscle of his thigh, offering a meager push. Mewing out a “Mrph-” while you gag around the trunk.

He holds you there, roosting inside your throat for another satisfying moment before easing up, pulling you up by your pony.

You gasp, halfway choked on your spit – but he's not much concerned.

“Stand up- let me feel.” He rushes out in a stiff order, ignoring how you cough and slurp for air – forcing you up to stand between his knees.

His firm hands plant themselves on your hips, being the only sturdy thing balancing you as you wobble – unsteady when he tugs your skirt and panties down until they drop into a pool around your ankles.

He then pulls you onto his lap – seating you with your back leaning against his chest with his cock gliding up through your inner thighs, rubbing against your bare cunt.

You’re still light-headed, bracing yourself against his broad chest while he keeps one thick arm strong around your waist – holding you snug. The other jerks his manhood, tapping it against your clit in soft spit-wet slaps.

“Let’s see how it feels inside you.” He grunts against your ear, resting his chin-stubbled jaw in the dip between your neck and shoulder – looking to where he has your thighs spread over his own.

“N-no, Nanami-san-” You manage to squeak out softly with a voice both teary and hoarse from choking. “Please- I’m not ready-”

But he doesn’t listen – and any struggle you try to inflict ends up aimless where you’re barred beneath his arm – strict and tough with brawn like it’s a seatbelt on a rollercoaster ride.

“I think you're more than ready for it. Trust me.” He’s growling now – so menacingly, you don’t dare speak against it. Only watching the glossy veiny beast with bleary eyes while he rubs through your pussylips with the fat plush bulge topping it – catching your clit and making you gasp before zoning down to your pretty little twitchy hole.

You whine when it’s forced to stretch open as he nudges himself inside the pill-sized opening despite your effort to climb away from it.

“It hurts, Nanami-san!” You cry, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

“Your virgin pussy will understand it soon. Don’t worry.” He dismisses – continuing to ease his thickness into the tautness, knowing you must be feeling close to tearing apart once his head’s finally swallowed in with a pop, followed by his inches bullying through you one by one, each feeling like a painful mile.

You cry out, nearly screaming, “Please, Nanami-san! Take it out- it’s too much-” worming on his lap, trying to wiggle it out.

But he has you under reigns, and your struggling only results in him sinking inside you faster. Now, so deep you feel him nuzzle against your womb – and still it keeps sleaving itself until it curves against your walls and pudges out in a cute belly bulge.

“We've trained for this. You need to allow your body the time it takes to get comfortable.” He coos, sounding less on edge now that you’ve taken him inside your comfort.

His chest rumbles with satisfaction against your back as he sits there relaxed, bouncing you slackly but not too much just yet.

He keeps you seated but lifts his other arm to tug off your tiny T-shirt.

“Here, let's take this off. It’ll help.” He excuses, and you’re a little too desperate for the relief to refuse – listening to the kindness in his voice and lifting your arms in hope, letting him fling it off.

Only in socks now. You throw your head back and whine when he twists one of your pretty nipples into a sore nub – chest arching from the contact. The arm holding you in place slides a hand between your thighs and starts circling your cute button, flicking over it with a gritty fingerprint.

The friction makes your belly bloom all sorts of colors, making you lock and quiver around that big thing he has nestled inside you, throbbing against your womb as he only gently bounces you on his lap – stretching your little pussy out generously as it suckles him so very sweetly – so very wet, drooling on his lap –squeezing him oh-so-snug.

You feel sticky after a while of twisting and refusing. Feeling so full and feverish. Neck wet from tongue and lips – so wet, spit is running slow trails down your chest, cool in the chilly open air of his home office.

You still think you want to stop, but you’re not as tense anymore – resting prettily against his chest. Moaning for each swirl he does over your budding clit – having quaked with pleasure a whole of three times already, gummy walls rippling all along his shaft as you softly loll your hips on him in return.

There’s a pool of your slick between the two of you – having drooled form where it seeps around the tight edges of where he has you stuffed air-tight, running down his balls to gloss the leather seat beneath.

He takes it as a sign that you’re ready for the real thing.

It’s almost unfair – how easily your smaller body is held in his hands. Maneuvered so effortlessly as he lifts your thighs up against your chest, then spreads them wide.

He hooks your knees on his elbows and braids his fingers behind your neck. It's an awkward position, but you’re completely locked in it. Unable to do a thing except wail with moans once he starts pistoning his fat man-cock up inside you.

It’s way worse when he stands up – bouncing you in the air – holding you folded against his chest, your legs dangling over his arms, jumping as he pounds his meat inside you, stuffing your cunt full on every deep thrust – stabbing your poor stomach until you’re screaming and squirting from the pressure.

Feeling you soak him is the last straw – so tight while spraying a hot mess.

He sits down again, lifting you off his cock before fanning your clit with four fingers – making you gush out every last drop, screaming while raining on his cock until you’ve strangled it out one final time – left shaking.

You’re then ushered down to the floor, on your knees – the top of your head leveled with Dr. Nanamis's big hand, keeping your face forward as he faps his sturdy thickness at your mouth.

“Open your mouth wide.” He orders, his teeth grit while his bulbing cockhead kisses your lips.

You listen when he gives your little head a shake – rolling your tongue out while dropping your jaw for him.

“That’s a good girl-” He praises, placing his tip on the wet bed of your soft pink tongue, giving his cock only a few more tugs before his balls clenched hard and sent a big fat load through his cock out into your pretty little open mouth.

He groans heavily, almost angrily, squeezing every spurt out – some coming out so heavy it spills up your face and down your chin – but mostly getting caught where you have your lips parted to receive it.

“Good girl.” He repeats, taking in the sight of your painted face – so cute covered in his cum.

He smiles.

“Now swallow it all down. And don’t waste a single drop. It's rich in vitamins young girls like you need to become proper ladies.”

You don’t want to close your mouth – you want to spit all of it out and rinse the rest with toothpaste and water. But the hand petting your head is so heavy, you don’t dare. So you swallow. Sniffling at the yucky taste once it sits warm in your stomach, still so sticky and gross on your tongue.

But Dr. Nanami seems pleased.

“Moving forward, I think you’ll benefit from closer examination.” He says. “I've made arrangements to have you institutionalized here, where I can keep a closer eye on you and offer more frequent assistance. You still have a long way to go before you’re well, little one. I’m not close to seeing the results I need in order to release you from my care.”

You’re still too shocked by the former events to look confused, but the sick feeling in your gut just keeps growing.

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep training, and soon I’ll have you turned into a proper little cock-pet.”

You want to run, but after what you’re body had just been put through, aching and screaming at you like it was your fault – you knew you wouldn’t be able to do much more than crawl, and something about the still fat cock resting its weight against Dr. Nanamis thigh told you he wasn’t done with you just yet.

“Give my cock some time to rest, and we’ll try it again later.” He confirmed your fears, still with his hand stroking your head like a pet at his feet. “Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me how your sweet pussy liked losing its virginity- and how this little face enjoyed getting its first-ever taste of cock and cum, hm?”

sequel

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #yandere nanami x reader #yandere kento nanami #yandere kento #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami smut #kento smut #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #jjk nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk kento #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu nanami

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astrobiscuits · 4 months

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Astrocartography notes

🌍 Do you want to study abroad? Work abroad? Your MC lines show what domain to pursue:

Sun MC: photographer, actor; check the planet ruling your Sun's zodiac sign for more details

Moon MC: nurse, preschool/elementary teacher, childcare worker/nanny, doula, housekeeper

Mercury MC: librarian, language teacher, speech language pathologist, translator, working in academia, journalist, PR agent, receptionist, secretary, architect, economist, comedian

Venus MC: modelling, artist, fashion designer, hairstylist, makeup artist, art director, interior designer, garden designer, florist, wedding planner

Mars MC: surgeon, firefighter, working at the police, sportsman (the type of sport depends on the zodiac sign Mars is in your birth chart, for ex. Mars in Pisces = football, swimming; Mars in Libra = gymnastics); fitness instructor

Jupiter MC: international driver (driving to your Jupiter MC line brings bonusess💰💰), flight attendant, hotel manager, tour guide, philosopher

Saturn MC: general practitioner, dentist, law, working in the Parliament, working in public institutions, business (CEO), historian, construction worker

Uranus MC: STEM (engineering, ecology sciences, biology), electrician, weather presenter, astronomer/astrophysicist, astrologer, sociology, social worker, advocate for human rights/activist

Neptune MC: choreographer, scenographer, film/theater director, actor, ballet dancer, music composer, rehabilitation worker, bartender, yoga instructor, meditation teacher, reiki practitioner

Pluto MC: adult actor, therapist, psychiatrist, any job regarding forensics (detective, toxicologist, forensic accountant etc.), embalmer, funeral director, loan officer, research analyst

🌍 If you have no astrocartography lines passing through the country you lived for most of your life, you probably don't feel at home in that country and have always wanted to relocate to another country

🌍 When you have atleast 2 lines "conjuncting" each other through a certain country, the planet that is more dominant in your birth chart will have a higher effect in astrocartography

🌍 Mercury IC line can show where one of your siblings or cousins relocate at some point during their life

🌍 If you're a girl and you have daddy issues (hey, we don't judge here!!), travelling to Saturn DSC line will likely bring you lots of opportunities of meeting your perfect partner, but also harsh lessons regarding control in a relationship (this is a good line for you to heal your daddy issues)

🌍 If you want to meet your future spouse and you (personally) find international guys attractive, travelling to Jupiter DSC line is a very good idea. Your future spouse might also be a foreigner in that country, just like you :)

🌍 Sun ASC line shows you where you can find your life's purpose. Also your depression:📉📉 0%, while your happiness:📈📈 100% (unless your Sun is in your 8th or 12th house, then the mental health effect is the complete opposite)

🌍 You could give birth on your Moon IC line😳 or your mom could have given birth to you on that line

🌍 Venus ASC line shows you where you could take lots of pictures (of yourself, of the sightseeings). Also, where you could get diabetes where you will want to try every type of sweets you find there

🌍 You will either get very drunk, consume drugs or smoke some weird shit on your Neptune ASC line (pls take care of your health)

🌍 You could randomly meet an ex or someone who resembles your ex while travelling to your Chiron DSC line

#astro #astro community #astrology #astro placements #astro observations #astro posts #astroblr #astro blog #astro notes #astrocartography #zodiac

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lovelylinnn · 3 months

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steve uses the non-verbal safeword.

CW: slight NSFW, panic/anxiety attack, harmful stims (scratching self)

“tap three times on me if you ever can’t speak and wanna stop, okay?”

yes, steve had remembered those words. all throughout the times they had sex, he remembered those words. but it didn’t make them any less scary.

the thought of ever needing to stop in the middle of a scene made his palms sweat. of course he and eddie trusted each other; knew that if the other was in trouble and needed to stop, they’d completely understand. no judging whatsoever.

but still… absolutely needing to stop and move on made him so anxious. deep down he didn’t want to be a disappointment. he didn’t want eddie upset.

“baby, what’s your color?” eddie murmured to him, rubbing his shoulders and slowing his rhythm. steve did not reply, shakily breathing into the pillow and tearing up.

“steve, color?” he asked, louder, and more firm. yet he could not bring himself to talk. his mind went to the other times in previous relationships, where he felt like this exactly, and they didn’t even think to check in. and he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.

he could feel eddie shift, basically ready to pull out, before he asked again, “steven.”

oh. his full name. eddie only used it when he was deadly serious. this seemed to snap him out of his haze, and he shakily reached behind him and found somewhere on his body to tap.

one. two. three soft and hesitant taps, just like eddie told him to do months ago.

“red,” eddie mumbled to himself, worried, and pulling out immediately. he flipped steve over, pulling him close and cupping his tear-stained cheeks.

“what’s wrong? what can i do?” he asked softly, searching his eyes.

“i- i don’t know,” he choked out, a heavy sob leaving his lips before gulping down air he felt like was leaving his body too fast.

“that’s okay, just breathe. breathe, steve, okay? c’mere,” he pulled him into his lap, his head in his neck as he continued to cry. eddie ran his fingers through his hair, and steve clutched onto him tight.

“deep and slow breaths,” he told him, and steve was doing the opposite. breathing way too fast and inhaling far too much, to the point his chest and stomach hurt and he began to feel dizzy.

“steven, listen to me,” there it was again, the full name, which brought him somewhat back to his senses, “deep, slow breaths. do it with me.”

and he tried. he breathed with eddie, taking in some air and blowing it out too fast before inhaling sharply again; coughing and sobbing.

“there, that’s it. it’s okay baby, just try again.”

steve only wanted to cry more. of course eddie was congratulating him even after he didn’t even do it.

“again,” he told him, beginning to inhale slowly, holding it, and exhaling slowly. steve followed, better this time, but still failing.

“i- i can’t,” he choked out.

“yes you can, do it with me,” he said, inhaling and exhaling again. steve followed, his hand going to his forearm, clawing to try and ground himself more.

“no,” eddie caught his arm, pulling it away and bringing it up to his chest, “do you remember what your therapist said?”

“he said,” he paused, his breath catching in his throat as he cried, “to find a different way to ground myself.”

“correct. now, just feel my heart. i’m right here, steve. i’m not leaving. try and match your heartbeat to mine,”

steve kept his hand flat against eddie’s chest, then did the same for himself. he could feel how fast his heart was going versus eddie’s, and it made him uncomfortable.

the other rubbed his back, and kept one hand running through his hair, breathing slow and deep and watched as steve tried to do the same.

“good job,” he praised, kissing his cheek. the pair’s breathing pattern was now the same, and steve was no longer crying. steve nodded as thanks, crawling off eddie’s lap and under the blankets, curling up. eddie stood to put his underwear and sweats back on, only to sit back down on the bed and run his fingers through steve’s hair again.

“do you want to talk about it?”

steve sighed shakily and shrugged, wiping his red cheeks.

“just started thinking,” he mumbled.

“about?”

“things in previous relationships. and then i started feeling like i was crawling in my own skin, and i started to panic,”

“what about your previous relationships?” he questioned, only curiously, with no mean intent.

steve let out a quick exhale before sitting up, “how i could never really say no, i guess? i know it doesn’t matter now. i trust you. and i started feeling overwhelmed in the first place, so i started thinking about the safe word, and how you told me to say ‘red’ or tap you three times. but it just made me anxious. i knew i needed to stop but i didn’t want to upset you in the process,”

“you could never upset me over something like that, steve, okay? that’s the point of the taps and the system we have. you know your limits, and in case they’re ever pushed, you do or say so. i’m so proud of you for using it,”

eddie pulled steve in for a hug, rubbing his back softly. steve’s heart kind of broke. here he was, in his boyfriend’s arms starting to cry again because he said he was proud of him. proud of him for something as simple as saying no, and stop. something he never thought he could do; something he was taught was wrong, and his boyfriend was praising him for it.

“i’m proud of you,” he repeated, to which steve only cried harder, nodding in his shoulder as thanks and sniffling.

he pulled back, laying down and wiping his face again.

“i’m gonna go bring you some water and some easy food to eat, okay? just stay there,” he smiled, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

steve smiled softly, getting comfortable under the warm blankets and inhaling the familiar scent of gain and eddie’s cheap cologne.

and he thanked the universe for a boyfriend that was actually a decent human being.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #overstimulated #safe word #angst #panic attack #overwhelmed #steven harrington #gay boys #boyfriend #gay men #short fiction #sweet #short but sweet

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sweatervest-obsessed · 9 months

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You're Keeping Me Down

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her)

WC: ~5.8k

TW: mentions of trauma, mentions of Maeve, kissing, previous relationships, swearing, alcohol, so much crying, bad decisions, girlbossing

A/N: ayo....angsty teehee. I hope y'all like it! It's a sequel to Dedicated to New Lovers and was inspired mainly by Sara Bareilles's Gravity, some Harry Styles, and other sad songs. I hope y'all enjoy it!! I really do love reading all of your comments, and tags, and feedback because it makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying the writing!! <3

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~Maya Angelou

Something always brought you back to Doctor Spencer Reid. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you fought it, something about the universe could not keep you away from him for too long.

It was like the two of you were attached at opposite ends of a string, always pulling you towards one another, ignoring whatever you had been feeling beforehand.

There was nothing you could do to escape him. You had tried traversing the globe, studying in Greece and Turkey, or taking vacations in the most remote villages of China; you had even done a two-week expedition traveling to Antarctica. But somehow, some way, Spencer Reid stayed in the back of your mind.

Sometimes, it was like he was right next to you. You could still feel him next to you in your bed, or if you were alone in your car, your hand was absently reaching toward the passenger seat, only to feel the leather and not his leg.

Maybe it was because all of those stupid little facts he had spouted to you were resting in the back of your mind, popping up when you’d come across anything he would have told you about.

It was something you missed. He would just ramble on about anything to you, watching the joy on his face as he continued to speak, so grateful to have an audience, to have someone who cared. But you’d have to remind yourself that Spencer chose her as his audience instead of you.

Her.

The guilt of Maeve’s death followed you around more than Spencer did. At first, it was anything to do with therapists. The thought of choosing someone to speak to outside of your circle was a betrayal you had felt, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Then it was your distrust of your friends, watching as they became less and less frequent in your life.

Work was all-consuming. You knew this fact well. Being one of the top profilers in the FBI meant that news of your transfer went fast, and the job offers came even quicker. But you decided to take some time off to rediscover the girl you once knew, someone outside her job.

The BAU was simply your life for the past eight years. You worked at the BAU, you dated inside of the BAU, and your friends were all within the BAU–It was honestly a joke that it all had decided to come crumbling down once you felt secure in your life, in your job, in your relationship.

You had filed the paperwork that allowed you to take two months of paid leave, not to leave the department. Your social media suddenly became filled with images of Ancient Greek monuments, Italian Vineyards, the French and Swiss Alps, and cities you once only visited in your wildest dreams.

Escaping reality was the best way to rediscover who you are. And so you tried.

When you returned from your two months, you had walked into the BAU bullpen and straight to Hotch’s office. Your skin was tanner, and your hair was a bit lighter from all of the sun. You were suddenly this confident woman again, but you weren’t who you were before, making you nearly unrecognizable.

“Y/N, please come in.”

You smiled warmly at Hotch, giving him a quick hug.

“You look good. How were your travels?”

You smiled and leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit since that meant you would be here longer than you wanted.

“It was everything I needed it to be, Hotch .” You nodded to the file on his desk with your name on it. “I take it Garcia ‘accidentally’ discovered my file and decided to drop it off?”

Hotch sighed and opened the file, looking over at you. “Of course she did. I thought you were just transferring after your leave; I didn’t know you were leaving the Bureau entirely.”

You nodded, a sad smile making its way onto your face.

Hotch looked at you, replicating the same sad smile.

“I wanted to tell you in person since I didn’t want you to find out via paperwork, but I should have known to come to your office first and then file it instead of filing it on my way to your office.”

A soft chuckle passed through Hotch’s lips as he nodded. “We’re going to miss you more than before, Y/N.”

“I won't be gone forever, Hotch. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I know.” He rounded the desk, giving you a quick hug, arm on your shoulder. “You have my number.”

You gave him a quick smile, nodding, “Don’t worry, Jack will still be getting weekly updates about my travels, and expect a box of goodies occasionally. I have to uphold my reigning title of the coolest aunt ever.”

As you left Hotch’s office, you didn’t notice Spencer at the coffee station. You didn’t see as he watched you quickly drop a note off on Emily’s desk and another on Derek’s desk before stepping into the elevator for the last time for the next two years.

You didn’t notice the heartbreak in his eyes, and you didn’t notice the fact that he had overheard as you told Hotch you weren’t coming back to the FBI at all.

But somehow, you found yourself back in that same elevator, visitor badge clipped to the new dress you had received as a gift from a friend during your month-long stay in India last year. The fabric draped across your body, highlighting how beautiful your curves were, and the colors brought out this newfound radiance in your skin, your eyes, your smile...

Color was the newest development in your life. The BAU meant that everything was in professional shades of blue, black, white, or maybe a subdued purple or green if you felt risky. But suddenly, your wardrobe burst through the rainbow as you experimented with patterns and shades, basking in this newfound joy beyond the world of suits.

Eighteen months of experimenting–with life, with colors, with places you called home, with love.

You had two brief “love affairs” as Garcia lovingly called them. One was only two weeks long, but the other was a few months. Yet both were missing something special and could barely converse with you. Maybe that was how Spencer felt. And the sex wasn’t all that great either.

And yet, after Eighteen months, an award, four nominations, a cat, a mediocre short-term relationship, and one groundbreaking dissertation that led to a Ph.D. later, you found yourself back in that damned elevator.

You inhaled sharply as you heard the tiny ding, doors opening up to a sight that made your stomach twist. It was truly bittersweet to be back, to visit the place that once carried everything in your life, and to have it be so foreign to you.

But what was not so foreign was how one Derek Morgan looked up as the door opened and his eyes filled to the brim with light.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He dropped his file on his desk and met you in the middle of the side aisle of the bullpen, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “My woman.” He muttered into your hair, giving you an extra squeeze before pulling away slightly.

“What’s up, sexy.” You laughed, thrilled to hear he hadn’t changed too much while you were away.

“I’m sexy? Have you seen yourself recently?” He laughed, and you gave him a twirl, eager to show off one of your favorite dresses. “And where did you get this? Wait, wait, let me guess.”

You pursed your lips, failing to hide the smile that was beaming across your face.

“Was it your time in Taiwan? No no…Pakistan?”

“So close. India. Maybe next time, champ.” You patted his arm, turning your head at the gasp behind me.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, world traveler extraordinaire?”

“JJ, you saw me three days ago.”

JJ pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, over Facetime,” she grumbled, not even trying to pretend she was upset at the sight of you in person. “You seriously have to stop sending Henry so much stuff.”

“Some of it is for the other one, too.” You muttered to her, knowing she wasn’t fully public with her pregnancy at the BAU just yet.

“I’ll be right back, I promise, I just have to say hi to Hotch first.” You placed your hands on their arms, turning towards Hotch’s office. As you went to knock on the door, it opened, leaving you face to face with the only person you weren’t ready to confront just yet.

“Hi.” He breathed out.

And fuck you, he looked so good.

“Hi, Spencer.”

You watched as a wave of emotion rippled across his face. His name almost tasted weird in your mouth, not something you’ve often said in the two years apart.

“I’ll, um..” He moved to step out of the way, letting you maneuver into Hotch’s office.

But you had also tried to move, causing you and Spencer to almost collide, causing his hand to barely grace your waist. A spark flew through your skin at the thought of his touch, causing goosebumps up and down your body.

You both muttered an apology, eyes not leaving the other until you quickly moved into Hotch’s office, causing him to move back, still watching as you closed the door in his face.

While you spoke to Hotch, catching up, Spencer was down in the bullpen at his desk, barely even trying to move them away from the windows.

JJ and Derek stood around his desk, looking from the office to Spencer and back again.

“She’s back.” He said simply when Kate approached them, wondering why they were all standing around, staring at Hotch’s office.

“Who?” Kate crossed her arms, looking between the agents, hoping for an answer.

Spencer said your name for the first time in a very long time. And it was almost as if his brain whirred to life, like some part of him had been dormant for a long time.

“Doctor.”

Spencer gave Derek a weird look. “What?”

“It’s Doctor Y/N Y/L/N now, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer let his mouth fall into a small oh, letting his mind sink deeper and deeper into the pit of you.

When you had originally left, Spencer decided to try and ignore you. It didn’t work, but he wouldn’t seek you out purposefully. He never looked up your name and tried to steer clear of the conversations involving you. But he wondered why you had never mentioned wanting to get a doctorate beforehand. He would have remembered something like that. He should have remembered something like that. ______________________________________________________________

The thought of Spencer’s fingers on your waist was the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day. Your skin hadn’t stopped tingling, and suddenly you wanted to drown in his touch, let his hands roam over your body and— “Stop it.” You said out loud as you put in your earrings.

Your mind wasn’t playing far.

“What did you say, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, just talking to myself!” You called back, sighing as you smoothed out the front of the dress you had changed into.

The team had decided to throw you a welcome-back party that night, generously hosted by David Rossi. And since they had all wanted an excuse to get dressed up, you gave them that much, meaning you had to dawn heels and a touch of makeup to accentuate the features you wanted. It also meant you got to pull out another stunning dress you had bought.

Celebrating your doctorate, which you completed a year early, you had flown to Milan with Emily Prentiss and decided to go shopping, which is how you ended up with the current dress you were wearing.

It fits you in all the right places, showing off just enough cleavage to be tasteful but maybe tempt something a bit more. You wondered if Spencer would like—

“God, I forgot how hot you look in that dress.”

“Emily Prentiss, I could kiss you on the mouth.”

Emily laughed and looped her arm through yours, staring at the two of you in the mirror.

“Thank you for flying in on such short notice.” You whispered, unable to take your eyes off of the reflection staring back at you.

“We can call the whole thing off right now…”

You shook your head and smiled at her. “It’s for me. And I really want some of Rossi’s cooking right about now. Especially now that I can compare my worldly experiences with the Italian Masterchef himself.” You laughed, causing Emily to laugh with you.

“Let's get going, yeah?”

The ride to Rossi’s house on the outskirts of Washington D.C. made for a relaxing drive, filled with updates from your best friend about each other’s lives, even though it had only been a month since you had seen each other last.

“I think you’re being perfectly reasonable, hun.”

“You’re saying that because all I do is cry these days,” you grumbled, kissing the head of the black cat in your lap.

Emily laughed and took a sip of her wine. “Or maybe I just know that you need a change of scenery. You’ve dedicated your entire life to the BAU and now you need to explore the entire rest of the world.”

“I think you just want to go to Greece with me.”

“You know how much I love Mamma Mia….”

You cracked a smile and picked up your glass. “Maybe Em, I’m not sure…I just…”

Emily watched as you looked up, trying to keep the tears from your eyes.

“I know he’s not worth the tears,” you mumbled, but you exhaled slowly. “It’ll just hit me sometimes.”

She stayed quiet, watching as you slowly worked through whatever was happening in your head.

“It’s like he’s right next to me sometimes. I…It’s like sometimes my own head is against me for not talking to him. I heard a song the other day, and I immediately turned to tell him something about it and–It’s like he’s ruling over my mind—” You huffed angrily. “I feel like I’m not making any sense–god.” You downed your wine and placed the glass on the table. “Maybe I’m just meant to wallow and drink wine and be completely useless for the rest of my life…past my prime, past my worth. I was so—I was so fucking sure he was the one…Like there's this strong attachment to my chest and I’m connected to him for eternity, regardless of whether he loves me or not.”

Emily pulled you into her arms while you cried, rubbing your back.

“You are so much more than him, hun. You will go out in the world, figure out who you are again, and stand so tall, just how you’re supposed to.”

“So tall.” Emily looked at you as she parked the car in Rossi’s driveway.

“Just the way I’m supposed to be.” You whispered, looking over at her, smiling. ______________________________________________________________

You’ve been to Rossi’s more times than you could ever admit, but it managed to take your breath away every single time. After his first wife had passed away, he had put in a garden near the edge of his backyard, providing beautiful color for you to look at from the porch.

Somehow, you always had a half-full glass, managing to have someone always get you a new drink when you seemed low.

You managed to talk to Jack and Henry, telling them all about the wonders of the world you had seen, then being pulled away by Garcia to discuss that brief love affair you had in Argentina, which then led to telling Derek about your time in England, studying for your doctorate.

Gratefully, you excused yourself when Rossi announced that dinner had been served, leading you to the tables set up in the backyard, filled to the brim with all your favorite foods. He had simply done too much.

Dinner was filled with smiles, laughs, and chatter about the ‘good ol days’ and the newer memories being made. You had become acquainted with Kate Callahan, Emily’s replacement. She seemed nice enough, but you both were hesitant of one another.

Spencer was sitting across the table from you. The two of you would catch glances at one another, passing moments where you couldn’t help but notice the way the wind ruffled his hair or the way the garden’s fairy lights reflected in his eyes.

“So, what brings you back to Washington,” Hotch asks you the question every person at the table has been dying to hear the answer to.

“Oh! Well…” You blushed slightly and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, but I was just offered a position at Georgetown as an adjunct professor. If I take it, I’ll teach classes for at least the next semester. That is if I like it more than King’s College in London..”

The table erupted into congratulations, ending with a toast from Rossi.

You all raised your glass in “Salut”, and took a sip from your drink, but you couldn't help but look at Spencer, who was already looking at you.

Excusing yourself from the table, you went inside quickly, walking towards the kitchen sink. You ran your hands under the cool water before splashing it across your face.

“Y/n…”

There it was. The moment you had been dreading. The two of you were alone, no one else to buffer you, no one else to take your arm and drag you to the dance floor.

“Spencer.” You turned around, your body leaning against the sink. God, you felt so small, so unable to watch yourself.

“That’s a–that’s a beautiful dress.”

“Milan.” You mused, fiddling with the ring on your pinky finger, unable to look away from the man before you.

“Ah.”

The silence hurt. Watching the two of you must have been painful because you could feel it. You once told this man everything about yourself; he once knew how your day went by one singular sigh. He could have told you what you were in the mood to eat for breakfast just by how you woke up.

But now, you didn’t even know what to say.

“Georgetown.”

You nodded and looked down at your nails, seeming that they felt like a safer bet to look at. “Yeah, uh…should be fun. Can I–” You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

Spencer’s head nodded, and you pursed your lips, looking out the window and watching as your friends and family all laughed together and ate together.

“When I was…um.” You cleared your throat, willing away the tears that had instantly sprung to your eyes. “When I was packing up all my stuff two years ago…I found the…W-Was it for her or…” You braced yourself for impact. Waiting for him to respond.

Spencer’s eyes glassed over, and his mouth formed a small oh. He fiddled with his ring finger and looked out past you through the window. He couldn’t bear to watch the travesty he was about to cause.

“You.”

“Oh.” Fuck this. Fuck. You had sobbed over finding it for three hours while packing and then sobbed again as you moved out. Somehow, hearing it out loud was worse.

He was going to propose to you.

Spencer Reid had wanted to marry you. And god, that hurt. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and then he told you that he wasn’t in love with you anymore.

You didn’t care if you were reserving a spot in hell for yourself by damning an already dead woman. Her death meant Spencer could feel an ounce of the grief you just dug up. A sliver of the pain.

Suddenly, you felt his hand on your jaw, a thumb on your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped your eye. “I am so sorry.” He whispered.

And that broke the damn.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him, surrounding yourself with Spencer. Letting the smell of his cologne wash over you, letting him squeeze you tightly like he used to so long ago. The feeling of his chest rising and falling gave you such comfort that your brain was screaming at you to run away from it. You had finally built all your walls back up; you felt as if you could finally exist, but here in his arms, the world was silent.

In his arms, you felt fragile; you felt so small. All of the strength you had was gone. And it felt so fucking good to not have to be the strong one, the person with the brave face.

“I’m so sorry.”

His lips kissed your hair, arm running up and down your back, trying so desperately to bring back that sense of comfort he once could provide you. And it was fucking working. God, why was it working. Why did it feel good? Why couldn’t you pull away?

“Spence…” You mumbled into his shirt, that had been stained by your tears. You shook your head. “I can’t…We can’t…”

He pulled away from you slightly, eyes saddened, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were rejecting him or because he still loved you just as much as you loved him.

“I love you.”

You pulled away from the kiss, hand on his chest, smiling brightly at him. “What?”

It was the most beautiful you had ever looked, Spencer decided.

Your lips were puffy from how much the two of you were kissing, hair messy from his hands running through it, eyes wide with just as much love repeated in his own.

“I love you.” He repeated, smiling beyond measure.

“Say it again.” You mumbled, yanking him back down to your lips, kissing him again and again.

“I love you so much, y/n y/l/n.”

You pulled away, laughter filling up the entire room. Pure joy echoed and bounced off of the walls.

Spencer bit his lip, pulling away slightly. You hadn’t set it back.

“Spence…” You cupped both cheeks with your hand, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “I love you too.”

Just saying it caused you to giggle, full of love and pure joy.

Loving anyone else would have caused you to gag–it still does.

But the memory makes you shudder, causing you to step out of his arms, quickly wiping away your tears or trying your best to.

The thought of love made you want to rip your head off. It made you want to sink to the bottom of the ocean and never resurface.

Spencer said your name, making you shake your head.

“You don’t love me Spencer. You haven’t for a long time.” The admission caused a resurgence of tears, making him take a step towards you. “No, Spencer, no.”

You shook your head again. “I-I can’t…you hurt me. You…you left me for someone you had never even met. She was–god.”

“I never loved her the way I love you.”

“No.” You whispered, chest heaving. “No, no. You can’t..fuck. Don’t say that shit–why would you say that shit to me.”

“Because it's the truth.” He said softly, too calmly for you to just ignore it.

“How can you stand there and say that to me? You don’t mean it—You can’t..” The past two year’s worth of therapy, of moving on, of becoming your own, came crumbling down because fuck, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. “How can you just…You don’t fucking mean it.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I–”

“Don’t believe you?” You laughed at that, tears mixing with the stabs in your chest, dropping past your mouth as it laughed and laughed and laughed. “Then why did you fucking leave me. Why–Why–Why did you tell me to move out and…God Spencer, why did you come here tonight.”

You were almost hysterical at that point; all Spencer could do was watch. He couldn't touch you because every time he tried, you’d move away or lose some part of your mind even more.

“What about me was so–so–so, so boring, so understimulating to you, so desperately ignorant that you told me you didn’t love me anymore, that you kicked me out of our home, that made you reconsider wanting to marry me. And you know, I get it, I do. You found someone on your level intellectually, I get it. But still, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life–what did she have that I didn’t, huh? What about her made her more appealing to talk to than me? ”

“She…”

“She what, Spencer.”

“I wasn’t–”

“No.” You were leaning back against the counter, trying to gain some semblance of yourself back from the spiral you were on. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me some ‘unworthy’ thought process because maybe you’re fucking eidetic memory doesn’t remember all of the conversations we used to have, but I fucking do. I couldn’t cut them out of my skin if I tried, and god did I try.”

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t function. All he could do was watch the pieces of you shatter all over, reliving the exact moments you were, but instead of being able to make it right, all he could watch as you closed yourself off more and more.

“Y-you tried?”

“God, Spencer, did you even look at me during those months.”

“I…” He just looked at you, really looked at you. “I couldn’t.”

You scoffed, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and straightened out your dress.

“The only fucking thing I know is that if I don’t walk away now, then I will hate myself for the rest of my life for letting you talk me back into loving you again. And the worst part is, I still do. I don’t think I could ever love anyone again because of how much love I have for you, after everything we had been through, but—”

He kissed you.

Or you kissed him.

You weren’t sure.

But all you knew was that his hands were on your waist, and your hands were on his cheeks, and his lips were touching yours, and everything felt so right within the world, and your body was against his and just–

“Fuck.” You quickly pulled away, both of you panting, staring at one another, unsure about what happened.

You two just stared at one another for what felt like forever until you heard Emily call your name from the porch. You took another step away, back against the kitchen counter, smoothing your hair and crossing your arms.

Emily walked in and eyed the two of you, misreading the tension as something more antagonistic from before than what had actually happened.

“Uh, Rossi made you a cake…” She looked between the both of you, watching as you nodded at her, standing up fully. You followed behind her, sparing one last look at Spencer, who was just looking at where you were standing.

______________________________________________________________

“Uh, hi, sorry, could you point me toward Agent Hotchner’s Office.”

The person whose shoulder you tapped turned around and gave you one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen.

“Well hello, gorg–”

“Derek. Don’t be rude.” The woman next to Derek had elbowed him in the ribs, preventing more HR training for the both of them. “Hi. You must be Y/n. I’m Penelope, and that’s Derek, don’t mind him.” She looped her arm through yours and started to lead you towards the little staircase on the side of the room.

“Hotch’s office is right up here.”

“I–Thank you, Penelope.” You smiled at her.

“I’ve read your file.” She whispered, smiling back at you. “I’m really excited to work with you because you are one impressive woman, let me tell you.”

You blushed slightly, about to respond, but Penelope had knocked on Hotch’s door, causing a voice to tell you to “come in.”

“Welcome to the team.” She pulled away, leaving you to enter Aaron Hotchner’s office for the first of many times.

You opened the door and smiled at the man at the desk. “Hi, I’m–”

“Y/n Y/l/n, You have a very impressive resume. Please, take a seat.” He stood to shake your hand, gesturing to the chair before his desk. You quickly scanned the photos along the walls, the books on his shelves.

“Everyone knows who I am before I know who they are.” You laughed slightly, taking the seat.

“Yes, well, We’re all very excited to have you join us here.”

The memory of your first day hit you like a wave when Aaron pulled your seat out for you back at the table outside. You stalled for only a second, but it was long enough for any of the various profilers at the table to notice something was off.

You smiled through the speeches, and you laughed at the jokes and cried at the sweetness of your friends, but you were somewhere far away, dreaming about the moments that led you up to where you were.

“And that is why I am glad to have you back because clearly, the universe respects you enough to let us all come together to celebrate the return of our Y/n.” You raised your glass and cheer with Rossi, standing up to hug him.

“Now.” You smiled at all of the faces that looked up at you. “Let us eat cake!!”

The table erupted and while Rossi cut slices for each of you, you sat back down, listening to what Garcia was telling you, but your eyes kept darting to the person directly across from you.

You could feel his eyes any time they were on you, and you knew they were fleeting glances, but it was just too much.

“Want to take a walk with me through the rose garden?”

You nodded, standing up and accepting Derek’s arm, letting him lead you towards the garden, enjoying the fresh air and the sudden weight off of your shoulders. You couldn’t feel his gaze anymore but you knew he was still looking at you.

“What’s next on your list of adventures.” Derek looked at you, watching the millions of emotions race across your face before settling on a smile and a shrug.

“I’m not sure yet. You know about Georgetown, but I don’t know about D.C. anymore….”

Derek nodded and pulled out the chair at the small wire table. It sat under a trellis filled with gorgeously bloomed roses and baby’s breath. The smell was almost overwhelmingly fragrant.

You gratefully took it and watched as he went and sat across from you.

“You looked like you got a bit overwhelmed back there.”

“What happened to not profiling me like I asked?”

Derek chuckled, “It’s not profiling if it’s written on your sleeve.”

You sighed and looked out at some of the flowers. “I don't…”

He let you work through it in your mind, just glad to keep you company while you figured your shit out.

Eventually, you spoke up. “It’s weird.”

Derek hummed in agreement.

“I don’t know. Just. I felt like I was doing so well, and I was becoming my own person, figuring out who I was, and then I come back here, and suddenly I’m back to being that twenty-two-year-old kid who breezed her way through the academy. It’s like I did everything in my power to end up where I did, and then the universe told me I fucked up and should have done something else.”

“I don’t think you fucked up in the slightest. Do you know how many people you saved?”

You went to brush off his comment, but Derek didn’t let you get a word in.

“I know your entire world got completely fucked over, but you were meant to be in BAU. You were supposed to be there. I cannot think of my life without you, I know Garcia can’t, and I know Emily would tear you a new one if you even brought up to her the possibility that you being in her life was a mistake.”

“Yeah, and now I’m thirty, with a doctorate and a cat, and no idea what to do with my life.”

“But you also just spent the last two years seeing the world–how many countries did you go to…”

You pursued your lips, trying to count in your head. A blush spread across your face as you mumbled the number.

“Sorry, wanna repeat that for me?”

“At least fifty…”

“That’s what I thought.” A very proud look crossed Derek's face, smiling at you.

You looked down at your left hand, fiddling with your ring finger. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter how much you enjoyed his company and the way he was keeping your ego healthily inflated, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you could have been married–you could have been happy.

“He told me when he bought it.”

Your eyes snapped to Derek’s, and he looked at you with such soft eyes.

That was something you had always loved about Derek. No matter how much he cared for you, no matter how gently he was being, he never treated you like a piece of glass.

“He, uh, I was the only one he told.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“When did you find it?”

“When I was moving my things out of the apartment.”

“Damn…”

“Yeah.” You laughed. It was colder than usual but still antagonistic at the whole situation. “I…um. I found it on the last day when I was cleaning out my bedside table. He knew I never went into the bottom drawer because I literally never kept anything in there, but I checked because, you know, I was asked to leave, and…there it was. It was just…It’s ironic, really, how perfect it was, too. They say that if a guy can’t get the ring right, then he’s not the one for you, but no one preps you on if it’s the perfect ring, perfect size, but you had just broken up two days before you found it…”

Derek nodded, letting you ramble.

“I feel like I’m being weighed down by a million different things, yet they’re all him.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

"Sometimes good things fall apart, so that better things can fall together." ~ Marilyn Monroe

Part 3

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Tags: @lilrios-world @gubzgirl @mynameisnotokay @hereforfun22-blog @yoursarahg @mega-kittyglitter-1 @onlyspence

#x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spence reid x reader angst

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vexingwoman · 1 month

Note

girlypop I have a question about your post with the rancid ass take about what jobs men apparently should no longer take. What the fuck do you actually expect men to do?? Because if we go with your suggestion to kick men out of all professions where they might encounter a woman at some point, the only option left would be to stay at home and do nothing all day while the wife does literally everything, which in my books is the exact opposite of feminism (equality) but okay pop off ig 💀

Terfs: ugh men are so shit and stupid and do nothing all day

Men: do a reputable job that helps people

Terfs: ugh how fucking DARE they

Like make it make sense girl

The common denominator among the professions I listed in that post wasn’t simply that men “might encounter a woman at some point.” The common denominator was men, either in positions of authority or asymmetrical power dynamics, having guaranteed and unsupervised access to highly vulnerable individuals.

Men themselves repeatedly demonstrate that these are not positions which they are worthy of when they commit atrocity after atrocity against the individuals under their supervision.

And you know, I could the take time to really showcase why excluding men from these professions is necessary. I could dole out the usual statistics on male depravity, and how it unequivocally spikes when men have access to women who are either undressed, unconscious, isolated, mentally handicapped, or underage. I could mention the frequency of male morticians raping corpses, or the frequency of male prison guards sexually exploiting female inmates, or the frequency of male therapists molesting or fantasizing about their female patients.

I could mention all the Larry Nassars of the medical world, like the male anesthesiologist who raped countless unconscious women, or the male doctor who carved his initials onto women’s abdomens during C-sections, or all the male gynecologists who have been caught taking pictures of women’s vulvas during exams. I could even bring up the fact that in most of these professions, you already have the option to choose a female provider, because other people besides evil radical feminists like myself recognize how catastrophic it can be to give men of authority unsupervised access to highly vulnerable individuals.

But it would all be futile, because at the end of the day, I’m never going to be convinced that naively giving men the benefit of the doubt is ever worth increasing the risk of female victimization, even by a minuscule amount. In reality, assuming the worst in men is often the safest and most reasonable approach, no matter how hurtful your ego may find it. And if that offends you so much, take it up with the men who created these fucking circumstances.

#radical feminism #answered asks #female separatism #gender critical #misogny #sexism

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tarjapearce · 3 months

Text

Chapter 7: Silent Violence is Humbled

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Tension, Angst, emotional discomfort, fluff and comfort towards the end, Strained friendships, verbal abuse, character introspection, character study, anger, hurt, family dynamics.

Summary: Karma keeps it's siege, and a new milestone hits the mark.

A/N: So. sorry for the delay, had to make some reports for my internship (I'm almost done and out with it 🥹 yay.)

Leaving the hospital wasn't precisely good. A new debt was added to your already trembling credit and to top it off, you were left with meds, a scheduled appointment with a therapist and a plethora of vitamins and supplements.

Of course you had reported everything but the gruesome details to your immediate boss. Not that she didn't sound convinced, rather shocked you were in the hospital.

You only could hope complications wouldn't be a regular guest in your life and bank account.

"I can hear you thinking from here. You ok?" MJ mumbled as she stirred a couple of eggs into the pan. You stared into the endless and spiralling void. Picking at the hospital's pale blue plastic band around your wrist.

You had spaced out as soon as you got home, the remnants of the perilous encounter with Miguel somehow still remained etched to your skin and mind. Unable to let go completely.

"I think I'll start looking for a better paying job somewhere else."

MJ watched you for a second, "You'll quit Alchemax?"

With a groan, you slouched on the dining table, placing a hand ontop of your head

"I'd love to, but I can't yet. Not until I have something certain anyways. Gotta suck it up for a bit more."

"I'll help you look up on other companies, who knows maybe we find a better thing for you. I don't feel comfortable with you being there with that crazy asshole working in there too. Do you want extra bacon?"

"Pretty please. Thank you, MJ. And yeah, if you're not a scientist in Alchemax, you're basically another exploited worker."

"Stop thanking me. You're my best friend. And I'll help, let me ask Peter if he knows about something somewhere."

She served the breakfast and placed the plate before you. Mayday announced her awakening with a mumble, her tiny hands rubbed her eyes to then look around sleepily, until her blue eyes met MJ.

You couldn't help but stare at the motherly displaying ritual.

Mayday's eyes lit up, shining brighter as MJ approached with a genuine smile that only matched her daughter's.

Your best friend enveloped her little girl in her arms, showering her in affection, earning her a couple of lovely squeals.

"Rested well, sweetheart?"

"Ma ma"

Those syllables alone made your heart leap as a myriad of emotions flooded your brain. The concept you had of it wasn't nothing alike what you were witnessing. There wasn't unnecessary yelling, cussing or physical abuse. All the opposite. A little rush of envy coursed through, but it faded quickly as it came.

It was odd, really. To behold such intimate moment of bonding between the both. It came so natural, full of love and everything you, sometimes at your age still were getting acquainted with. Patience, understanding and caring.

Mayday rested her head on MJ's shoulder and stared at you. Like seizing you for the first time ever, paying attention to your very moves, curious, scrutinizing your soul with her lovely and innocent eyes, leaving no room for disingenuous acts.

You gulped

"Hello" You waved coyly and your heart trembled with something unknown as she giggled your way, approving of your presence. She knew no evil nor judgement. Mayday didn't judge you. Just like her mother. She was pure joy.

"When's the shrink's appointment?"

MJ's voice snapped you out of your mutinied thoughts.

"Uh in a month or two." You mumbled while digging in your breakfast. It tasted like utter love and heaven after having nothing in your stomach for more than a day, and your stomach tolerated it well.

"Are you nervous?" MJ fed Mayday with the bottle, your mind subconsciously took notes of the way she held, fed and talked to her.

"Very. Not a fan of spilling my issues to strangers, even if it's their job."

"I know it might be difficult for you, considering the shitty attention you had before with them. But if the doctor says so, you must do it."

"I know." Your lips sighed, heavy with resignation to then purse into a tiny smile, " I just wanna move on, you know?"

"You will, I know so. You're strong, sweetie. Now eat up and drink your vitamins."

You chuckled, feeling her maternal instinct through the table.

"I think I'm already gaining weight."

MJ chortled as she wiped Mayday's cheek and lips, to then kiss the tip of her nose.

"Wait until you get your feet swollen, the hormone changes. Acne on your back, and the need to jump on-"

"Ok! ok, got it." Your cheeks flushed as the redhead just laughed now at your embarrassment.

"It won't be easy, but you'll get used to some stuff. You'll see."

-----

If there was something that Peter wouldn't openly admit, was the fact he disliked Miguel's sense of disposition of his time.

Sometimes his friend's hubristic demands had him juggling between his own time and his family.

Peter hated when Miguel simply let him know he was on his way. He didn't care if he was busy or was about to be, but also meant one thing. Stress was eating Miguel alive and he, as his best friend, was the only he could rely onto to take away such heavy burden.

With a sigh, Peter prepared mentally for the night. Specially to give his ever patient wife an explanation of a sudden visit. As if the universe made sure MJ and Miguel to never properly meet beyond pleasantries. If they had seen and meet eachother a couple of times was too many.

MJ was either out because of work, leaving him and Mayday alone, or the days and hours Miguel visited were when MJ was already asleep or too busy to sit and socialise with her husband's friends.

Peter has known Miguel for a couple of years by now, and still things didn't change.

He put a couple of beers to cool, then stirred the pasta. Miguel wasn't a picky eater, yet it made Peter stress over the food choice. But MJ wanted pasta and he was none to ignore his wife's whims over his friend's.

How long has it been since he saw Miguel? Months? Half a year? He didn't remember, but hoped that he wouldn't stay too long. Work had chewed, ate and spat him on the floor way too many times to count today.

His shoulders slumped, defeated before hia daughter's sweetness when Mayday gave him a toothy grin, he returned the smile, although tiredly.

"Let's get you some dinner."

He held his daughter in one arm, as he served a bit of noodles in her favorite spider-ham bowl and somw juice in her sippy cup. Peter put her in her chair and placed the food before her just in time as the doorbell rang.

"It's not that I don't like him, you know? I'm just tired today." Peter mumbled to himself and Mayday as he scratched his stubble and walked over the door.

May could only look at him, curious, bur the bright colors of her cup demanded her attention. To his little surprise, the man in question was there, scrolling through his phone in the meantime. Dressed in a casual button shirt, dark jeans and dress shoes, holding a small bag of sweets as a gift.

"Could you please start letting me know when you're coming over from now on? It's not that hard."

Peter's frustration wafted through his words as Miguel chuckled and followed him, the smell of cologne tickled the host's nose, almost a bit too pungent.

"Had to. Needed a distraction. Here"

He handed the paper bag to him, full of artisanal mexican sweets. At least this time, Miguel was thoughtful enough to bring something he knew Peter liked.

But it also meant one thing. A long night ahead.

With a sigh and defeated shoulders, Peter went to the kitchen, rummaging through the simple glassware to fetch a couple of glasses.

"I have... soda, apple juice, can't give you the beer until Mayday's asleep."

Miguel just quirked a brow and went for water. It was kinda bothersome for him how something so trivial as drinking a beer was a forbidden thing among parents whenever their children were around.

Overprotection and alienation from such things would only make them curious if anything. At least that's how it worked for Miguel. Still, it was Peter's home, and he had to play by the unspoken parenting rules his friend followed to a T.

How inconvenient

Miguel's eyes wandered through the table to land on Mayday. As a happy kid she was, the sauce was smeared all over her cheeks and chin, even her hands and forearms. Some noodles hung on her chin.

Even though his logical side appealed towards a scientific fact about babies discovering everything through their hands and mouth, the sole idea of having to deal with it on a daily basis and probably at every hour the kid would be awake and eating, made his eyes to tear away from the child and sigh, relieved he didn't have to cope with that sort of problem.

He had done his part, and against all logic, you had decided to keep the baby.

Pendeja. (Dumbass)

He huffed, annoyed to none but himself.

What would you do? It wasn't his problem anymore. He had more important things to think about than you and your stupid choices. His jaw clenched.

" You're gonna scare Mayday if you keep glaring like that."

Peter spoke as he cleaned up his daughter after feeding her with some bits of sausages. Miguel sighed as his arms untangled from his chest. A habit he subconsciously adopted as he was way too deep in negative thoughts. He gave his body some slack. He had came here in order to relax amd distract himself.

"Wanna tell me what happened or you wanna wait by having some pasta?"

In fact, now that Miguel was here he could take a good look at the scene before him. Peter had changed so much to the point of transforming himself into a completely different persona.

There was no more staying up past one am, lost in beers and talking about whatever thing alcohol made him spill out of his mouth. Reluctantly, good days. And now Peter was serving him some overcooked pasta that somehow tasted good. Even for him.

Hypocrite.

His mind reprimanded himself. He had wanted kids once but now seeing how it changed and rewired the brain chemistry and your fiasco, the thought of them had been shoved to the very back of his priorities. He had a career and money to make, not play house amd happy family with a stranger.

As much as Peter was his only true friend, he didn't want to look awful and perpetually tired because of a kid, like him.

With a sigh he dug on the food while staring at the both. The tangy smell of the sauce induced the little hunger he ate the pasta. A couple of minutes later passed when the key's tinkering echoed from the main door, revealing none other than MJ balancing a couple of paper bags in hands.

Miguel watched as Peter immediately rushed to her side and helped her out, while welcoming her with a kiss.

"Smells good!" MJ chirped and made her way towards the kitchen, Mayday's eyes lit up as soon as she saw her mama. A bubbly squeal received her when MJ ruffled her fiery curls and took her in her arms, rattling Miguel's ears.

"Hello there, precious" MJ kissed her cheek but then focused her gaze on Miguel. He tensed briefly to then give a polite smile.

"Hey."

MJ nodded and gave her respective hello back. Peter came into the dinning table with an awkward smile. He didn't need to explain the presence of his friend to his wife, as she quickly picked up the cue to get Mayday to sleep.

For some reason, the energy in the room was suffocating. As if Miguel was the black hole sucking the life and energy out of everything even without intending. Yet, Peter tried to shoo the negative aura that lurked around ominously by unpacking the groceries as he talked to MJ

"How was your day?"

"Good, a bit tiresome. But definitely better now than I'm home."

"Want extra cheese in your pasta? Oh! Miguel got us some candies."

MJ smiled politely at him, "Thanks for that. I loved the eh... Maz-uhpan?"

"Mazapán." he corrected gently.

"That thing. Peter, dear can you get the tub ready for May?"

It was Peter's cue to meet her in private.

"Excuse me." She took Mayday and Peter followed, leaving Miguel alone for a moment. Giving him a break from unwanted displays of family dynamics.

Once in the bathroom and away from prying eyes and ears, MJ cleared her throat

"Before you get angry, I didn't know he was coming until fourty five minutes ago."

MJ quirked a brow knowingly and huffed.

"I know. Still, the least he could do is to let us know he's coming over, Pete."

Peter nodded while rubbing his face, tiredly.

"I'm sorry, ok? Will make him go away soon. He's not having a good time right now."

MJ rolled her eyes while Peter added some soap to the water.

"Yeah, he only comes for a visit whenever he needs something out of you."

"MJ" Peter grunted the silent plea. 'Not now.'

She chuckled and kissed his cheek, "You know it's true. But, if it works for you, then ok. Just don't stay up past one. You snore too loud whenever you get little sleep."

"Relax, he probably just want to ramble, take a beer and leave."

"Alright, alright. He could tone his perfume a bit though. I can smell him from here. Go have fun."

-----

The beers clinked in the table, their taste numbed briefly Miguel's throat and tongue. It burned good as the sour liquid rolled down his esophagus, while Peter rambled on about the many pictures he showed him of Mayday.

Not that he didn't appreciate Peter's attempt to make him forget whatever problems were pestering his mind. But if honest, he grew tired after the sixth photo.

"You should have another."

That made Peter shut up and he chuckled.

"No no. With her is enough."

"You sound regretful."

Miguel mumbled as he finished his beer, Peter shook his head vehemently.

"At all. I know I look like shit, Mig. Still, would do it all over again. Like, look at this!" Peter got the screen close to his bored face with another picture and Miguel pushed it away softly.

"Yeah, she's a pretty girl. Got it."

"You don't get it. Once a kid shows up, everything changes."

You've got no idea...

His mind replied, as his body tensed once more.

"Have you talked about this with Dana?"

The name only made the urge to down the other beer in a go, but his mind almost slapped some sense into him and reminded him this wasn't his home.

MJ's steps alerted both men briefly as she came for her extra bowl of soggy pasta and wash Mayday's bottles.

"We broke up." He stated simply with a disdainful shrug

"What the fuck?

MJ turned to Peter, a brow quirked at his choice of words but focused again on the bottle.

"Miguel, you texted me, saying you were looking for wedding venues with Dana. And now you're single again?"

MJ's breath hitched.

Dana

Oh God

Dana D'Angelo.

Miguel's fiance. And the one that slapped you.

MJ had been so busy with work and her motherly duties that totally forgot about her husband's companion.

Miguel.

The man that only relied on her husband's company whenever life was too much for him. An acquaintance that she had only seen a couple of times and shared the same roof as her, although briefly in the few times Peter invited him over.

And also, the man that had gotten you pregnant, and had sent you to the hospital in a fit of rage. The very man that was causing you so much pain, had taken a place on her table, with her family and now was talking comfortably with her husband about his failed love, thanks to none other but himself.

Her heart wrenched and beat so fast in between powerful contractions that it made her breath shaky.

A monster was in her home. A terrible man had waltzed into her safe space and was tainting with his rottenness everything he touched, with his pungent and hubristic smell. His cologne and attitude only made her stomach churn.

"It didn't work out."

She turned to see him, unbelieving in her green eyes. So well behaved, ever polite and not an ounce of guiltiness in his judging stare. Entitled even, as if the world owed him just cause he existed. MJ understood now why it was so easy for you to fall into his trap, but the anger that clawed at her brain was greater than anything she had experienced before.

How dared he come into her home and play the victim when he had forsaken you and his child? How dared he disrupt the natural balance in her house with his mere presence?

"She was getting too annoying for me, anyways. Always behaving crazy." Miguel gestured with a terse movement of his hand before slicking his dark brown strands back.

Oh, how dared he. Those last words made her patience thread to stretch impossibly thin, that it broke.

"Well of course she'll act crazy! You fucking cheated on her!." MJ's hands balled tight at her sides, and glared daggers at Miguel.

Both men snapped to look in her way.

Miguel's eyes widened and Peter blinked almost stupidly at his wife and then at his friend that seemed like a deer caught in the headlights. Few little things in life managed to surprise Miguel, and MJ exposing his dirtiest secret to the only person he trusted outside Dana so carelessly and abruptly, had definitely caught him off guard.

"W-What?"

"He cheated on Dana, Peter."

Miguel swallowed thickly, a shaky breath turned into a steady one, anger coursing through his veins, his mahogany eyes narrowed.

Not them too...

He rubbed his face and hair again, trying to remain composed. If Dana had came for him and gave him no truce, MJ went straight to the jugular. Remorselessly for the kill.

How did she know?

A new wave of fury washed over him at the sudden implication his mind was brewing with, his hand clawed at his bouncing knee.

Did she know you?

What a sick, twisted and small world he lived in. Of course she did. Or else he wouldn't be here, trying to come up with a reply to his shocked friend. But he was cut short from everything, even thinking.

"You don't know shit." Miguel couldn't help but hiss, and his words were enough to throw Peter's patience out the window.

"That's my wife you're talking to, pal." Peter scowled, flabbergasted at Miguel's words as he stood with a warning finger waving at his... friend?, "Tone it the fuck down."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, Pete!"

Miguel felt ridiculous, not only cause the now constant need of explaining himself, but the absurdity of the situation. He was holding his friend's arm, trying to get Peter to believe him, just like he did with Dana.

But Peter was focused into getting MJ calmed down as she kept cussing his way

"Of course I know, asshole!" She spat, "I know enough of you to say how much of a piece of shit you are!"

That definitely earned her a growl "Whatch your fucking tone"

"Or what?! You'll try and hurt me too like you did with (Name)?! My friend has been suffering nonstop because of your pathetic excuses of being a man!"

If the many years prior to marry MJ taught Peter something, was that if she used foul language meant she was beyond pissed, and rightfully so. She wasn't one for cursing, and things surely would end up terribly wrong.

"You cheated your fiancé, got my best friend pregnant and demanded her to get an abortion-"

"Wait... You... you did what?" Peter's eyes widened and hardened, Miguel was cornered as Peter faced him, still containing his wife.

"No, no. That's bullshit!" Miguel's hand gestured as the other anchored to his hip. His poor attempt of bravery did nothing but set the fire ablaze in its full glory, it all had caught him so off guard he barely could think of comebacks to fend for himself.

"God... You're such a fucking liar!" Peter held MJ back as she seethed, trying to get a hold of Miguel, "I was there at the clinic with her! Cause she tried to correct your fucking mess!"

"I tried to fix-"

"You don't get shit fixed by writing her a fucking check and tell her to get rid of your child! Man the fuck up already! She's so under so much pressure now-"

"Because she's so stupid and chose to fucking keep that thing!" roared Miguel. Tired of being cornered without his usual pretense of control. Shoulders heaving with shaky and wrathful breaths, realizing the mistake he just did.

Peter glowered at him. Not only had he dared to yell at his wife but had been lying to him this whole time. And Mayday was crying. The commotion had been too great that woke her up.

Another pillar in his life was crumbling around, shaking the little constants he still remained with, to their very core.

Peter seized with him a look he had never seen before in his apparently dumb face. Disgust. He was about to protest but Peter's question only brought him to a too bright and unwanted spotlight.

"Is that true?" The tinge in Parker's voice held nothing but utter disbelief, not accusing, but skeptical. As if realizing he was being fooled this whole time as well. Peter slapped Miguel's hands away as he tried to reach for him again.

Shit

His aloof act had spreaded way too fast that didn't give it time to properly root and settle on his inner's circle brains ro control later. Peter growled at the stretching and pregnant silence.

"I'm fucking talking to you." The hard push of his hand made him sway softly, "Is that true!?"

Miguel's eyes widened. Peter's bravado and anger was something he didn't know until now. If honest, Miguel thought of him a complete goof that did everything his wife told him to. A complete mandilón.

If MJ told him to bark, he would and even do a flip while at it. But this man before him was different. Confident, authoritative, honorable, pushing his patience to new limits and oh so disgusted at his actions. A true father and man, unlike him.

A reluctant daddy.

Miguel really had a hard time grasping the magnitude of his doings and how they affected others, cause his remorse was absent. Everything he should be feeling at this collective verbal berating was gone. He was more focused in the defensive than offensive, and he failed.

Upon Miguel's silence, Peter just stared at him and sighed. He wasn't worth it.

"You need to leave, Miguel."

Ash soured the aforementioned throat. A thick lump knotted tightly on Miguel's windpipe.

"What? You're believing every word that comes out of her just like that?"

The question itself was stupid, he knew much so. But Peter didn't budge, in fact, he didn't even look at him as MJ went to fetch her daughter.

"You gotta be kidding me, Parker"

"Am I fucking joking? No. Leave." He shimmied away from Miguel's grasping hands with a disgruntled growl

"Look, I know I fucked up, okay-"

"Damn right you did" Peter pushed him away once more

"Can you listen?! " Tanned fingers sunk on Peter's arms forcefully, preventing him from escaping further, but that only earned him a powerful shove that made him nearly fall. Unlike you, that barely moved him an inch .

"Not this time. I talk and you listen. My home, my rules. Don't like it, get the fuck off." Peter hissed, the day's misfortunes and stress had piled up in his brain and Miguel's actions did nothing but set it all on fire.

"You can't just come into my house unannounced, yell at my wife for calling you out and your bullshit and expect me to remain quiet." His hands moved frantically, "You can't go around acting stupid, being a shitty friend, hurting people and believing the world owes you shit, Miguel!"

Peter turned his back on him, breathing deeply, trying to control the rising anger, finally breaking contact. His shoulders slumped with defeat.

"I knew you were an asshole, but c'mon man... Your own child? Really?" His blue eyes felt like an iceberg caressing upon seizing him a over his shoulder.

"Y dale con la misma pendejada... I did what I thought was right, okay?!" Miguel protested, trying to appeal to that good side that definitely lacked right now.

Peter turned again and stepped in a few strides closer to him, fear lacked in his glare, instead a fiery and scorching fury burned within

"Manning up is the right thing." His calm seething only made Miguel gulp, "Owing your mistakes is the right thing to do!" Peter's voice raised an octave louder

"What kind of fucked up logic is to think you can choose to cheat but choose to not face the consequences?!" Peter jabbed with force his index finger at the treacherous man's chest before him as he hissed every word.

"Funny thing is that you always saw me as a clown. Always bragged on how perfect your life was and thought of me a man child." Each word that came out from Peter was like a stone hitting Miguel,

"And look at you now, acting exactly like that!. How ironic that the roles reversed now." Peter's voice trailed off.

Miguel rolled his eyes so hard it hurted "No me jodas, Parker. Don't fuck with me with your shitty morals You didn't want children either, remember?!."

Disappointment and repugnance plastered all over Peter's face as he shook his head.

"People can do something called change, Miguel. Call me whatever you want, but at least I can say I am a man, cause I owe my mistakes. I don't go around screwing people over and then leave them to fend for themselves."

Peter went to the main door and opened it, with nothing else worthy to spill at Miguel, "Get out."

"You're an hypocrite. When you didn't want kids, everything is alright, but when I do I'm a fucking monster?"

He wasn't welcomed comed anymore. And this only added a couple of more weights in his already heavy bag of burdens, igniting his arrogance even further.

"Are you seriously playing the victim right now?" Peter huffed, "Grow a pair, Miguel. You need them. Get out."

Peter was done, all the energy that had been left was sucked out of him and the stranger before his presence was his biggest leech, he awaited for Miguel to leave, which made the exposed man's chest tighten uncomfortably. The friendship had crumbled. There wasn't anything left for him to salvage anyway.

"Fine." He took his jacket with a forceful grab, "Have it your way then." He spat and left the house with a slam that shook the doorframe.

Your eyes raked over the cream colored walls, as your back nested comfortably against the stretcher. Silence reigned with such deliciousness it soothed your underlying nerves.

A month and a half had gone by ever since yiu had that unwilling visit to the hospital, hitting the sixteen weeks of pregnancy. Your meds worked relatively good, and so did the vitamins to the point of getting a bit more strength and color in you.

But today was different. Everything felt different ever since you woke up. The sheets felt divine, the mattress had the right amount of hardness to help with the lumbar area.

The water in the shower felt heavenly on your skin, it was as if the universe was preparing you for a surprise after so many tough times.

Whatever it had planned, you hoped it was good, or at least, digestible enough to not choke you with it.

The doctor, Mrs. Vincent, typed some information in her computer, then stood to whir the machine alive.

"Lift your shirt up, please." Once you did, she smeared a dollop of blue gel on your naked belly, something you barely had the chance to admire, too busy trying to adapt to the emerging changes in your body.

Some clothes had stopped fitting and if they did, they were a chip too tight. The baby bump wasn't enormous like you had thought, but it wasn't small either, after all, Miguel was a big man. It had enough curvature to make your belly poke out from any clothes you had.

I feel like a walking avocado...

MJ was sitting next to you. Although you felt guilty because of the scene Miguel created at her home, she was more than happy to put him in his place, and so her husband. Peter.

Bless him.

You haven't properly known the man but that action alone of standing up for you against his friend of years, made you a bit hopeful.

You weren't looking for a partner, much less a father to the creature growing within, the least you wanted to do was to complicate yourself even more and add another thing in the already long lists of stress you went by.

But in truth, you wished to be there to see his downfall. Not that you were spiteful, but karma surely was a beautiful thing to watch. And the thought of him being this scared and uncomfortable man, the opposite of what you had seen and experienced, made your lips curve into a satisfied smile.

Life had heard your pleas and you were thankful.

Your breath hitched as soon as the machine's accessory made contact with your skin. Cool plastic, like the cold gel all over your skin.

"Let's see", Dr. Vincent mumbled as she adjusted her glasses in her nose bridge. The white light illuminated well the, place, her faint smell of vanilla perfume tickled your nose, it wasn't an offensive perfume, but it made you a little queasy.

It definitely shut down the medicinal smell you had been received with.

Dr. Vincent's gloved hands took the transducer and gently moved it around your belly.

"Does it feels cold?"

You nodded with a nervous smile, "A bit, yeah."

Mayday's giggles echoed behind you, MJ shushed her with some gentle words and her breath hitched when she looked at the screen.

The redhead looked like was experiencing so many things for the first time again, yet she held your hand with excitement thrumming in her skin.

"Look at that, Mama"

The word still made you uncomfortable, but the way the doctor had spilled it felt oddly soothing. The baby was there, etched forever to your womb, growing within your guts each passing day, squirming like a little worm, making it's presence known with a kick.

MJ could only watch as you chuckled. Your features softened the more you stared at the screen. But then your eyes widened at seeing the baby's 3D image.

Resting against one of your womb, comfortably, squeezing it's little hands over and over.

And if honest, curiosity had gotten a vice like grip on you. The way the baby moved and nested within you was equally disturbing and beautiful.

The transducer moved all over as Dr. Vincent looked up the right angle. Breath grew short and caught in your throat at the doctors next words.

"There she is"

MJ gasped, excited and your eyes turned bleary.

A girl. You were having a girl.

"Congrats, Mama." The doctor printed the pictures.

The little bean inside was a girl. There was no longer an it, no longer the creature, or the baby.

Despite the though times you've endured, she was healthy. Perfectly developing, a bit underweight, but healthy.

A myriad of things crossed your mind, panic, admiration, fear and so much confusion. They all swirled inside your jumbled head, fighting over the control of your emotions.

MJ squeezed your hand as soon as she noticed the red-ish hue blooming in your nose and the glossy eyes.

A little sniff was stifled. The doctor smiled at your apparent emotional reaction.

"It's ok to cry. I've gotten too many boys in the week, seeing a girl a was a change of pace. Thank you for that, hun." Dr. Vincent spoke with a sweet voice.

You couldn't help but sob silently. Digesting every second of what had just happened. The nauseas had subsided momentarily, as if sensing you needed your strength for something else.

It didn't help your hormones that Mayday took a hold of your finger, big blue eyes staring at you with pure child like wonder as if demanding your attention. Your lips quivered, and when she cooed your way, you broke.

It's alright.

She'd surely say. MJ held you close, rubbing your back in soothing circles, letting you absorb the news at your own pace.

"You ok?"

You nodded, holding onto her tightly.

"It's a girl, MJ"

Your best friend smiled sympathetically your way, "Indeed. And she's healthy. You've done a fantastic job in keeping her that way, sweetie. I'm proud of you."

Her words did nothing but make you cry harder.

"I'm so scared, MJ"

"I know. But it's alright. I'm here and Mayday too, remember?"

You chuckled in between tears and sighed, while wiping your tears.

"I'm so scared cause... I don't wanna repeat things all over with her."

"Then let's make them differently, ok? I'm here. You're not alone."

You hugged her once more.

"Let's celebrate, yeah?"

"I... I don't know if I should even do that, all things considered."

MJ chided your name gently.

"You deserve it. You've faced so much already, this little girl right here" She placed her hand in your belly, "has stayed healthy and perfect because of you. You've done so much. So let's celebrate that, ok?"

Even if you thought yourself undeserving of such thing, you nodded and followed her.

You wouldn't admit it, but a deep deep part of you bloomed with a little seed of curiosity and excitement.

-----

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@serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @8xbygirl @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @katitakenway @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiixo @spiderpapi2099 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @damhanallagorm @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @ittybxttykxttytxtty @smartyren @plumplum2099 @angel-of-the-moons @reader-1290 @kaidxra @kimmis-stuff @amberpanda99 @orangemango7

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Of Flowers and Hummingbirds #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara angst

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lace-coffin · 4 months

Note

Hay, Sugar ~ ✨

Sorry if I bother you but, do you mind if I give you my rq about Billy lenz and Brams heelshire with mommy kink.Fem s/o look at them like babies because every time they do that~ they love sucking on her tits.

Sorry to bother you and thank you ❤️

Slashers with a mommy kink x fem!reader (Nsfw)

Warning for mommy kink, focus on nipple and breast play, humiliation/degradation

Requests are closed (for now!)

You’re no bother at all!! As a lesbian I’m always happy to write or read a mommy kink ; )

Brahms Heelshire

It was really only a matter of time with Brahms, any time spent together curled up on the sofa ended with him suckling on your tits sooner or later.

The first time it happened you hadn’t known what to think. Both of you had settled onto the sofa for the night, throwing on a movie you’d inevitably loose interest in and slumping over eachother. It had been a hard day for the both of you, you heading to the village for home supplies and additional items that weren’t exactly Malcom’s job to bring, and Brahms staying at home trying not to loose his mind whilst you were gone.

Brahms was getting better at keeping his cool when you had to leave, you’d been working on it together, even convincing him to see a therapist on the grounds that it was over the phone and you were present to help him verbalise his thoughts. However healing is an upwards fight and it takes time, so despite making progress the notion of you leaving for long periods of time is still distressing to him.

Needless to say Brahms was a cuddle bug when you returned, meeting you at the door like a lost puppy after padding back and forth past the window waiting for you 20 minutes prior. You had already accounted for this, you knew he’d need some extra love when you returned, picking up some snacks as a treat for him whilst you were shopping. After placating him with soft kisses to his mask and finally detaching him from your waist you convince him to watch a movie.

Not even 15 minutes into the movie Brahms is getting handsy with you, large hands pawing at the hem of your shirt, fingers wiggling under to press against your warm skin. You pretend not to notice and he doesn’t go any further than that for another 20 or so. You know he can’t help himself.

Calloused hands slip under your bra and you let out a groan, biting your lip and finally paying full attention to the man next to you. “You miss me that much baby?” You murmur, scooting closer and speeding things up by pulling your shirt and bra over your head. Even behind the mask you can tell your partner is blushing, tips of his ears a soft pink. Brahms doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing you topless.

You sigh contently as he fully cups your breasts, fitting perfectly in his hands, a squeak of surprise escapes your mouth as a finger glides over your nipple, pinching and pulling, working you up just right. An idea crosses your mind, despite not having brought it up before you know Brahms is game to most things if they involve getting to touch you.

“Brahms?” He slowly looks away from what he was doing and meets your eyes, tilting his head in question. “You wanna try something new?” He visibly perks up at this. “I need to take your mask off for it though, is that ok with you honey?” “Take it off for me?” He asks back. You nod and gently pull it away from his face, setting it on the side table. “There’s my pretty boy” you coo, running your fingers across the puckered burn scars.

A beat passes and you work up the courage to ask. “Do you want to suck on mommy’s tits baby?” An almost pained noise of arousal slips from his mouth, you don’t even get another word out before he’s latching onto your chest, hot tongue laving over your hardened nipple, the other being given attention with his free hand.

“Fuck..just like that, my perfect boy” Brahms whines around your breast in his mouth, hips bucking at the praise. Swapping to the opposite breast he switches to kneading your tits in his other hand. You can already see he’s hard and leaking in his boxers. So cute. You’re equally as needy from all the attention to your sensitive tits, but unwilling to let it end this early in favour of getting off, he looks so lost in it, worshiping your body like a god.

Billy Lenz

Billy isn’t shy when it comes to his sexual wants and needs and with the way his childhood played out it’s no surprise he has a mommy kink, he didn’t stand a chance let’s be honest. Luckily you’re more than eager to indulge him in this, loving the power exchange and the confidence it fills you with, seeing your partner pathetic on his knees, cock needy and wet for you.

Crossing your legs you sit on a deep green velvety chair, bought just for this purpose. It’s ornate and exemplifies your expensive and untouchable aura in this setting. Below you sits Billy, in nothing but his boxers. There’s something thrilling about you being fully dressed whilst he’s stripped at your feet.

Billy isn’t hard to please, letting him rut his leaky cock against your leg as you spit filthy words at him is enough to get him off if you’d be kind enough to allow it. You drop your gaze to him, sickly sweet look on your face, patronising. “Are you close you little freak? Almost cumming in your pants from rutting against me like a dog in heat? That’s disgusting.”

Billy grunts in agreement, words going straight to his cock. You hum, raising your foot to press into the base of his cock, making him squirm. “Use your words, slut.” He pants again, pushing his face into your calf and whining. “Y-yes mommy, I’m disgusting, pathetic..fuck. Gonna cum please-“ you cut him off before he can finish his plead.

“Quiet, come up here and help mommy out and maybe I’ll think about it” you snap back, unbuttoning your shirt and removing your bra, revealing your chest to him and revelling in the way he eyes it hungrily. Billy wastes no time in pulling himself up shakily, plopping down on your lap and attaching himself to your nipple. You let out a gasp of surprise and groan, slipping your hands into his curly chestnut hair and guiding him.

It’s wet and sloppy, saliva cooling slowly on your skin. His tongue is eager and making sure to switch between both nipples. Popping off he gives you a bit of respite, sucking red marks into the meat of your tits that he knows will bruise beautifully tomorrow. “Mmm there we go, that’s what you’re good for isn’t it? Just a slutty little mouth for me?” Billy moans in reply. It’s like he’s in a trance, lost to the sensation and taste of your skin under his teeth and tongue, eyes glazed over and unfocused, only interested in pleasing you and taking as much of you as he can into his enthusiastic mouth.

You could watch him forever, he almost seems content if it wasn’t for the obvious hardness pressing against your thigh, you’ll reward him well for this, after you’ve had your fun that is, you aren’t ready to let him go just yet.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz #black christmas #slasher fucker #slasher hcs #slasher #slashers x reader

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hollyhomburg · 8 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.60)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Life changes come in many many forms; courting gifts, leaving jobs, and...Murder

Tags: Slow burn getting warmer, Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Trans! Tae, Transphobia, gender thoughts, workplace discrimination, flashbacks, murder, the word 'r*pe' is used to describe what Geumjae did to her but there are no graphic depictions of it, allusions to physical abuse, graphic violence, there is a brief moment where someone not in the pack touches the m/c's ass without her consent, blood, briefly implied suicidal actions- but it's nothing like what you haven't seen before.

W/c: 12.6k

A/n: i'll be attending my cousin's wedding at the time this is posted so! give me lots of love when you read it cuz i'm so nervous~ i've never been around so many fancy people before <3

Previous part ~ Masterlist

You dab at the skin under your eyes carefully. You know they must look red and puffy. Tae’s careful instruction to treat your skin well as all good baby pups should has somehow stuck.

Even here. Even now.

“Do people like always loose it with you? Like when they walk in, do they all cry?”

Your therapist (yes, your therapist) across the narrow room is the opposite of threatening; soft face, pulled back hair, neutral clothing that might just as well be out of a country living catalog.

You don’t know where Jin found her, what little medical booklet he perused like a take-out menu, or how much her services cost per hour. Those kinds of details were not for delicate little pups like yourself to worry over in his opinion.

Most of the time, you're glad not to have to worry about things like this. But right now you're chomping at the bit. Weighting your odds. The other unknowns hover before you. One sticks out. One you're most concerned about.

Is she trustworthy?

Nothing about Dr. Rima seems outwardly threatening, yet you curl in on yourself. She smiles, scrawling something on the top of her notepad before she answers, and something taught in you ticks tighter.

“You’re correct in assuming that most people I meet cry in the first few minutes when they meet me, but you are the first person to cry on my threshold. Most of the time people wait until they’re at least in the chair.”

That has a smile tugging at your lips, albeit unwillingly. Your smile is like a leashed wild animal, with too many teeth when you feel threatened. Contained for now.

If you got up and walked out right now, would she call someone to restrain you? Will you be committed if you tell the truth? Or are you just misinterpreting the stakes?

You are here of your own volition. Even if it was a condition that Jin and Namjoon weren't willing to budge on after the events of last week. It's not like the pack is having you put in a mental institution or something, although they did come with you today. For moral support.

The waiting room was stuffy and yellow, one of those little waterfall mirrors in the corner that you’d watched in a fog sat between Yoongi and Jimin while Jin filled out the necessary paperwork. His pen hovering over the small boxes every few seconds. He'd taken the afternoon off of work to make sure he was there, just to fill out paperwork.

Are you on any medications? Do you have a history with substance abuse disorders? Do you have any intent to harm yourself or others?

Sending glares to anyone who dared to come too close, Jimin had looked and smelled threatening. You're not sure he’d have let you go into an isolated location with her if she’d been an alpha. Jin too had looked close to snapping.

yoongi was the only one who looked somewhat calm, althoug his hand was tightly laced with yours (and a little sweaty)

It’s a wonder that the rest of your pack had agreed to stay home for this. This was just one of several concessions you’d made after what the pack has politely begun referring to as 'sad pup time' during your more vulnerable moments, and blatantly 'your breakdown' during less fragile ones.

But sweet words or not. The facts remain; You are here in this chair after a nearly tearful departure.

You’d met the therapist in the doorway, shaking in your boots, and upon being separated from your pack with the promise that they’d be just downstairs in the lobby, you’d followed her inside.

Yoongi had made a noise in his throat, making you turn back. Dr.Rima turned to watch as he’d pulled you in for a last-minute hug, ducking down to your level. “One hour, okay? We’ll be just downstairs. Text me if you need me.”

His eyes were heavy-looking at the stranger. Unwilling to let you go just yet. A little stalwart, a little standoffish.

“Take good care of her please. She’s very precious to us.”

Precious.

That much was evident by the nearly three-page document that both your pack alpha and omega sent through once Namjoon and Jin had selected Dr. Rima as your therapist. Dr. Rima has quite a bit of experience dealing with overprotective pack alphas and pack omegas. Let alone a pack alpha and pack omega who have such a clinical background.

Yes, you must be well taken care of. At least on paper.

She’s already itching a little, to get her hands on all the others. Packmates and their names are written out, as a part of all intake files. Large packs aren't so common anymore. Her eyes fix on one name; Min Yoongi (beta, mate) unemployed.

The big windows help it feel not so small, on the second floor, the trees block out most of the view of the park below. A small voice that sounds like Hobi whispers that it’s a shame she doesn’t have any plants in here, they'd do so well with all of this natural light.

Your knees clack together a little, moving listlessly, the anxiety in your body begging to be released somewhere.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t we start with why you wanted to come in today.”

You avoid her eye contact, looking instead at the tops of the trees, you don’t know why they haven’t changed color yet, all of the trees on your street are half bare already. She has a smooth inoffensive scent, but you’re mated to a beta so you know what to expect when it comes to the relaxing effects, the subtle haze at the edge of your vision. It must come in handy, having the biological upper hand, when it comes to patients in distress.

If therapists are rare, beta therapists must be even rarer.

You can practically hear Jin, “Nothing but the best for my pup.” There is a part of your brain that won’t ever turn off, appraising everything around you. The designer pumps that she wears. The knickknacks on her desks, there are no photos of any packs that she might call her own, just a pink calendar in the corner.

Your breath goes just a little bit rapid, just a little, hitching when you think of it.

“Did Jin tell you anything?”

“He didn’t. Although my secretary did inform me that he filled out the paperwork for you.” The air in the therapist’s office is cold. Cold enough that it has you wrapping your sweater sleeves over your knuckles.

Your cheeks heat “My pack they- get a bit- protective.” Your fingers circle your wrist. You’re glad that Hobi convinced you to take one of his sweatshirts. He'd had a strange look on his face while he zipped it up, and you'd had to worry and wonder about it the whole morning. You'd worried more once he texted, just after he must have gotten to work.

“I have kind of a history of self-destructive behavior and I- I kind fell into bad habits a few days ago and blew up. It was all kind of triggered by this like- thing that happened with me and my other packmate.” It’s surprisingly easy to tell the truth.

You’re a right side better than you have been the last few weeks, now. A little bit more present, less foggy. The doctor just looks at her screen and not at you. What is it with her asking questions that make you not want to lie? Why does it feel like you should anyway?

Dr. Rima reads between the lines, what you're trying to say without saying it. “Is there a possibility of you hurting yourself again?” She clicks at the screen a little rapidly.

“No.”

The truth is you have no idea. It seems best to lie in this situation. But you consider it; one of your packmates making the call that you are too much to handle, that you need more help than they can offer. You imagine what it would be like to be in inpatient care. Grippy socks and group therapy and probably observed mealtimes. Maybe Iv's and feeding tubes if it came to that. Away from the pack and away from Yoongi.

He’s just downstairs, but that feels too far. There was no way that he was going to let you do this alone, you wouldn't be surprised if he never left the waiting room.

It’s just a therapy session. The very thing that you once refused. But now that you're here you might as well heal, you might as well work to stop this endless train of brief highs and endless lows. you'll give it a go, why not? What do you have to lose?

And yet, the texts from Hobi remain unanswered:

Ho-🐝 (9:48): Hey, I’m really proud of you.

Ho-🐝 (9:48): I’m really happy I get to be your packmate. In case you ever worry.

Ho-🐝 (9:49): And your best friend too <3

Ho-🐝 (9:51): Just so you knowwww

The pack has kept you substantially plied with little solutions since your breakdown last week. They haven’t let you rot like usual. They’ve kept your days full of little activities; nothing too extravagant or tiring. Letting you rest when you need to and encouraging you to get outside of your comfort zone when it’s clear you’re giving in.

It comes down to that more often than not; giving in or not giving in.

Not giving in looks like trips back to the beach with Hobi. Like going to the salon with Tae and shopping with Jimin. Or another workout class with Jungkook where you’d spent more of the time lounging on the yoga mat than actually moving your body. But you'd still tenuously agreed to sign up for more classes under the encouragement of Wonho and Jungkook.

And now twice a week, you’ve got a mat to call your own during any classes, in the back, if you decide you want it. Your callender hasn't felt so full in years, it feels strange, to have something to do during the weeks that isn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel and doing house chores. Strange in a good way.

Not all of the pack's solutions aren’t silly but sometimes, silly is a good way to push out the dark.

The morning after your breakdown; you'd watched your pack work, fighting back a flush. Sitting at the kitchen bar stool while Yoongi applied painter’s tape to the floor, not intent on keeping back paint this time, but marking it off for you.

You’re a little bit more determined this morning although your first night without nightmares in a little over a month had kept you in higher spirits. You feel more well-rested than you have in ages.

“You don’t need to- I promise- I’m not going-“ but your requests had fallen on deaf ears. Worry building until Jungkook stood up fast grinning up at you, pupils wide brown pools from getting scented stupid this morning.

(Scented stupid, you'd been scented by the pack too, had struggled a little against it, too shy as Namjoon dragged his throat along yours, squirming until yoongi held you down a little, checking with you each few seconds that you wanted that, that your squirming was really just needing to feel a firm touch, a dominant one.

You will go nowhere until your pack have had their right to you, scenting you up, making your scent gland tender and swollen under their teeths and tongues.

It felt so much better to be made to handle it, each of the pack, even hobi, hovering over you to scent you with their wrists and throats. until you smelled so claimed by them that you couldn't breathe without smelling it- Pack.

Jungkook had pouted until he'd gotten the same treatment, although the omegaspace haze had lasted longer on him than it had on you.

He stands up so fast that his hair fluffs. Catching himself on your leg with a giggle before he topples over. grinning up at you before pressing a sleepy sloppy kiss to your knee and then another to your lips,

“No pup zone!" Omega Space Jungkook can get a little bit ridiculous even at the best of times. He's got a case of the morning omegaspace zoomies as he giggles and nips at your nose. You playfully push at his chest. He doesn't budge.

"Your whole face is a no-pup zone." The dissatisfied pur-chirp he'd let out had sounded half hurt, half encouraged.

Namjoon had eased your discomfort. Pulling you from the stool to lean back against his chest, fingers drumming out a rhythm on your legs as Jungkook huffes into your throat.

Having this failsafe- this rule, does not mean that they think you’re going to fail, these are guard rails to keep you on track. Namjoon looks down at you, his full bottom lip tucked a little, not a pout but close. “This is the easiest solution, if you don’t go near it then maybe, maybe it helps.”

His fingers drum against your skin again, and you lean back into him. Uneasy but willing to let him soothe you.

So yes, you’ve been banned from the kitchen, banned from crossing that line that runs from the edge of the coffee stand and just in front of Tae's library room, to the island and over to the fridge. Unless there is someone else close by. You are not allowed here without supervision.

It’s a simple solution, limiting you from the place that you use to hurt yourself. Never mind the fact that there are dozens if not hundreds of other possible avenues you could use. Your creativity knows no bounds when it comes to pain, but you quiet that part of yourself when the desire for hurt gets loud.

You can’t say it hasn’t helped. But then again, the pack has kept you so busy since your breakdown that you haven't had any time to think of hurting yourself let alone put any plans into action.

Across from you, Dr. Rima waits expectantly.

"It was kind of triggered by this thing that happened."

The tip of her pen bobs a little as she writes. “Could you describe the event to me? Or is that something you're not ready to talk about?" You nod and she waits patiently. It takes you a breath to answer.

“A little less than a month ago one of my packmates and I found a dead body."

You feel a little vindicated at her inhale of breath. Wide eyes that say yes- that is something traumatic, yes, it's fair that it kinda triggered you into a more fragile state.

"It dredged up a lot of feelings about my past. Before that, I was kind of starting to feel s-safe which I haven't like, ever been able to feel."

“And your packmate?"

There is new treacherous wetness balancing on your waterline. “Hobi’s a lot stronger than me, his past and mine are really similar but he just- handles his better. A lot of the time it feels like I learn from him even though he’d tell you the opposite is true. He’s my best friend." Your voice goes quiet, "I love my mate more than I love anyone else, but sometimes- Hobi just- gets me you know?" You go a little misty-eyed. Hands tightening on Hobi's sweatshirt.

“Yet he’s not the one sitting in my chair right now.”

You close your eyes, "he's not."

“For what it’s worth- you can have more than one best friend.” Dr. Rima writes as quickly as she can, taking it down. “How long have you been romantically involved with him? Who came first, your mate or him?”

You jolt forward, “Oh no- we’re not- Hobi and I aren't-" You take a deep breath to clarify. "Everyone else in the pack is together but Hobi and I are just friends. We all have our like… little units?”

"Primary partners." Dr. Rima offers.

"Yeah, that." But even that doesn't really cover it, because while Jin and Namjoon are JinandNamjoon and Jimin and Tae are JiminandTae. Jungkook is everyone's problem (in the best of ways) and you and Tae are something else too. The pack's girls the rest of them would say.

(You and Hobi are, well, YouandHobi.)

It sounds weird to say it once it comes out of your mouth. It makes an odd choked feeling lodge in your throat. Too much hope and too much shame for hoping blooming in your chest.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about him.”

She folds her hands over her knees, setting her pen down. Dr. Rima has chubby hands, disproportionate to her body. They look like they'd be soft.

She reminds you of your mom a little bit.

“That’s okay, we can talk about whatever you want. What you want and need is going to be the focus of our sessions. You’re the pilot here. I’m just here to help you interpret your thoughts and feelings.”

She folds her hands over themselves, setting her pen aside, “Why don’t we talk about the last time you remember feeling safe.”

"Physically or mentally?"

"Either, you can choose."

The rest of the session passes frightfully quickly. You can’t say that you don’t cry again. When you finally talk about Geumjae, her smile quickly dissipates. You talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw. Until you’ve depleted the whole box of her tissues. She shows you she's got more hidden under her desk when you apologize, her secret stash gets a laugh out of you.

“The fact that your pack omega filled out your paperwork isn’t the most unusual, but his preference for daily meetings or every other day is a little bit on the nose for a pack omega, I’m wondering if you share his preference.”

“He’s just overprotective.” She eyes you like Jin has good reason to be. You don’t blush this time, a little more comfortable with Dr. Rima than you were at the beginning of this. “I think maybe more than once a week but not every day.”

“How does Monday- Friday sound?”

~-~

When you walk to the door with Dr. Rima Yoongi stands abruptly from his chair.

You can tell by the shiny edge to his to his scent that he doesn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. He gets the information about your next appointment and then tugs you out the door.

Jins got his legs crossed, fancy leather shoes glinting in the sunlight by the windows. The lobby is buzzing with people coming and going. This building isn't just a therapy office but a collection of other businesses with a few shops and restaurants on the ground floor as well. He looks up and double-takes when he spots you, not standing from his chair, but he opens his arms and you fold yourself along his side, conscious of the other eyes but this.

This you need.

You press your face along the column of Jin's neck, breathing his cream scent in deep.

“Oh pup.”

Your red-rimmed eyes are too obvious and you sniffle wetly, “It was okay, I like Dr. Rima.” He laces your hands together and resists the urge to pester you with questions. Yoongi's hand is still tangled in the hood of your (Hobi's) sweatshirt. Your therapy sessions should be yours and only yours. Yoongi and Jin do not have Dr. patient confidentiality.

And yet the need to know if that helped burns through them. They won't have to wonder for long.

By the coffee stand, Jimin waves and he returns to you when the barista hands over a bag of sweets and a quad of cups. Jin continues scrawling something out for another second before he’s standing and pulling you in for another chaste scent mark.

“Let’s go home.” It's somewhere between an order and a request. But no one disobeys.

On the drive back (37 minutes total) you're a little quiet. You let the sounds of the others be your buffer. You look down at your phone and stare at Hobi’s texts. You respond with just a little heart emoji when you finally still can’t figure out a good response and you're close to home.

Home is its usual conflagration of moving bits and pieces. Each of your packmates is like a shiny cog in a pretty clock, tick tick tick tocking along. Tae and Namjoon are at the table looking through some of the pack’s bills, the pastries and coffee cups litter the table with little piles of powdered sugar and cinnamon. jimin bought enough for the whole pack.

You look at them a little too long, although not because you don't want to eat them. It’s been a while, a few weeks since you’ve made something like that, but every single one of the pastries is something you know how to make. You don’t know why you keep looking at them.

Tae smiles at you, still in the doorway. and it makes you feel a little less like you want to burst into tears. Her voice speaks of the quiet time you have in the library (the tenderness of having someone else do your makeup, another person combing your hair). You hope you'll get some dedicated one-on-one time with her soon.

"Hey little lovely, How was it?"

"She put me through the wringer but I think she got some suds out."

She and Namjoon giggle and you smile small. and you can tell that Namjoon wants to ask you more but he doesn't after a pointed look from your mate. There are footsteps in the hall and before you can move to take off your shoes Hobi is standing in the archway.

Yoongi efficiently strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt with a frustrated huff. It's Kind of like he’s trying to peel away the sadness (your clothes are soaked with your sour scent, rainy and unhappy. Regardless of Jin’s scent mark, you kind of stink).

You might have overheard their words just before you got into the car. Jin's hissed admonishment. “A lot of people cry during therapy Minnie, she’s not in trouble, can’t you smell it?”

Your scent is mellow underneath the memory of your distress, going sweeter by the second. Yoongi wants all memories of your sad scent banished from the house. Hobi stands at the door to the hallway, shifting back and forth, his eyes a little warmer than usual, hands shaking a little bit.

You’ve caught him looking at you a lot since the night he ran away, in the quiet moments when he thinks you’re not noticing. Eyes a shade warmer than usual, a sweetened franticness to his scent. Nervousness and happiness mix like blueberries and whipped cream.

When he pulls up beside you during movie nights and sits thigh to thigh with you. When his hands intertwine with yours over his knee or sometimes or when he pulls your legs sideways across his lap. He looks at you like that when he's doing the small things and he's looking at you like that right now.

You know how love starts, that it starts with the small things.

Hobi resists the urge to open his arms. would you come to him? Would you fold your body along his front so that he could feel your heartbeat? Pressing again and again to the opposite side of his chest with every thump?

He doesn’t say hey, but he does step a little closer. Fingers reaching out. The pad of his index finger slides down the meat of your pinky till it reaches the ball of your wrist. His own special hello.

Your breath hitches, just barely, almost imperceptible if it wasn’t for how close he stands.

A look behind you says Yoongi hasn’t made himself scarce, instead fussing with the pack's coats. Now that it’s getting colder, they don’t all fit by the door. You look behind Hobi and find Namjoon watching the three of you, he raises a singular eyebrow.

“How was it? Bad?” Hobi asks, breaking the silence and the tension, drawing your attention back to him. The next breath you let out is a lot less heavy, and your eyelashes flutter as he steps closer. Hobi smells good, a little earthy, mellowing out his usual sweetness. Sweet for an alpha.

“It was kind of hard, I kinda wanted to run away for a bit at the beginning." You can't keep meeting his eyes with how intensely he's looking at you and they flutter down to his hands. "I almost did.”

"I'm glad you didn't pup." Jin comments, full of reproach, the mirror to you and Hobi as he leans down to press a kiss to Namjoon's forehead. Shucking off his lapelled jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

“If you’d have called me, I’d have picked you up. We could still like- run away, if you're down.”

But the house is starting to heat up, and Jin and Yoongi are starting to cook. The light is still honey-yellow happy. And you tip your cheek into his arm. He finally- finally lets his arms settle around your waist.

“Nah, not yet.” You drag out the syllable all playful, and something forbidden stirs in Hobi’s gut. “Jin’s making my favorite tonight. not until later?”

Hobi goes silent, pulls back, biting his lips, eyes flickering from your eyes down. and-

You laugh and Hobi blushes. “Just spit it out.”

Everyone’s been a little bit touchier with you since that night (a little more overbearing too). You won’t immediately chalk Hobi's touchyness up to what you're all thinking. But the affection makes your scent gland feel tender. Zinging when Yoongi steps up behind you and nuzzles into it, huffing again.

Friends can hug each other after therapy right? Hobi swallows thickly and you feel it against your collar bone as he pulls back and steps away from you. “I ugh- got you a present?”

You brighten up instantly, and Hobi's anxiety increases tenfold. A bit of casual mischievousness on the edge of your lips that always have Hobi feeling like he’s being teased even though he knows he isn’t.

“Oh? A present? You’ve never gotten me a present before!”

He kicks at imaginary dust bunnies, fighting back what he knows is a noticeable flush. “I ugh- still owe you, from the car you know and honestly it's not even like a big gift it's like- so small in comparison and-”

Yoongi huffs and continues to disrobe you. Pulling your sweater over your head when he’s not satisfied that your unhappy scent has dissipated. Muttering something like. “hopeless alpha” under his breath. Your tank top pulls up, inches of your hip and skin on display. It's nothing that Hobi hasn't seen before and yet the blush reignites. The sunshine to your morning glory.

“I guess you're right.” But it doesn’t feel like it. Hobi doesn’t owe you anything for that, not when it was so easy to give. Not when you’ve gotten so many late-night drives from that gift.

Hoseok got the idea for your courting gift, one morning while watching you say goodbye to Namjoon:

The pack alpha has always been a fan of goodbye kisses, good morning, and goodnight kisses too. The particular kiss that morning had ‘I’ll miss you’ written all over it. It was so pretty in the way that you lingered, arms around Namjoon’s neck. His hand is underneath your shirt on the small of your back. Such a small touch and yet so gently possessive that it had Hobi aching to see it.

Hobi is unfortunately prone to jealousy and it turns the back of his neck hot. Makes his hands feel oddly tender. He's distracted by the visual, the task of packing up his work bag forgotten. Hoseok’s shift at the flower shop doesn’t start for another few hours, and he’s waiting, watching, an unhappy voyeur.

You and Namjoon have quite the height difference, if he was in between the two of you he’d be the perfect middle ground. That’s just another stupid thought, another stupid thought in the countless number of stupid thoughts that he’s had. (I like my alphas a little pathetic, and nothing's more pathetic than an alpha pining after an omega.)

He grumbles.

Yoongi prattles on, more awake than all of them as he outlines what you have to do today to make progress on the house- which is to go find a place that sells cheaper tile than the ones you first thought of using in the bathroom on the first floor. And maybe change it up a little.

The bathrooms escaped the renovations somehow, and a few nights ago- Jimin had admitted how much they actually use it even though it’s not the pack's primary bathroom anymore. Now that it’s not in use, they’re more willing to part with it for a few days for some very necessary re-styling. it toes the line from vintage to old a little too hard. The yellow is a little…yellow.

Yoongi wants to go light and airy with the color scheme, like he did with the upstairs bathroom and it's seafoam and brown tones. But like with most of the house, your vote is for colorful. “How about a light blue-” Yoongi continues to argue while you kiss Namjoon a little senseless in the doorway, at least Namjoon seems properly dazed, chasing your lips when you pull apart.

“No- we don’t have a room that’s magenta yet!”

This starts the same argument as always; “We can’t make every room in this house pink for Tae.”

But goodbyes take precedence, and when you turn back and smile at Hobi he flushes, shy to be caught looking. He moves, stepping around you and Namjoon to put his water bottle into his bag when you shout, “Stop, Seokie!”

Seokie is a new nickname, one that Jin only uses in the quietest of moments that you've somehow adopted when you don't want to call him Hobi. Hobi always thought that if you’d use any other nickname with him- you’d use daisy (he might want you and yoongi to share that pet name). But he’s a good pup and stops what he’s doing. Every atom in his body every electron no longer circulates neutrons but circulates you instead. Pulled in by your gravity.

You’ve moved so suddenly that you’ve spilled a bit of your coffee onto the floor. Maybe kissing Namjoon has left you feeling a little dizzy too. Yoongi just sighs fondly and wipes it up. Jimin looks up from his phone, smiling when he sees.

“You’ve got a rainbow on your cheek.”

It’s a trick of the light, early morning sunshine refracted through the mottled window just right to cast a single rainbow on the wall and on Hobi when he steps in front of it.

You cup his cheek, finger skimming across where the rainbow sits.

"Pretty."

Hobi feels hot all over.

At Tae’s call of, “If I have to do my eyeliner one more time I’m going to scream!” You giggle and dart away from him. Going to tend to Tae with a soft reply of "I've got you baby."

Hoseok is left, blushing in the morning light. Staying still like you might come by and cup his cheek again, Like a flower staying still in the hope of pollination.

Hobi is left, wanting to scream and somehow demand you back, both would be fair. His plight isn't missed by his packmates, who lean in like a set of jackals, grinning ear to ear at hobi's flustered predicament.

She's going to send him into rut if she's not careful Jin thinks, but doesn't say. instead he teases, “You’ve got to leave in the next ten-minute Hobi.”

Only then does Hoseok move- released from his spell and finally losing the rainbow on his cheeks though they might as well have stayed with how happy and warm he feels. How absolutely incandescent the love is glowing in his chest. A full spectrum of feelings, longing for you to come back.

He almost trips over noodle, darting after you with his tail raised high, catching himself on the edge of the couch at the last second, one shoe on and one off, his water bottle falling and spilling in the process.

yoongi sighs, and stoops to wipe it up. Jimin giggles and pulls Hobi up by his hips, the alpha's fingers feel hot where they've touched him, scalding. “What’s wrong, omega got your tongue?” yoongi returns to his breakfast, throwing the wad of soggy paper towels into the trash.

Jungkook laughs, “It’s more like he wants an omega to have his tongue in her-“

“You guys are gross,” He pushes at Jimin’s shoulder finally moving right. Yoongi hides his smile in a mouthful of Captain Crunch.

Hobi doesn’t think about the rainbows again until his next afternoon shift. When the low angle of the autumn sun cuts through the windows and catches the suncatchers that they hang in the doorway of the flower shop and cast more rainbows- dozens of them really across him and the flower.

He remembers when you came to visit, how you'd lingered over them, looked at them a second longer than you looked at the plants.

It’s a bit of a kitschy display. Other polished stones and nick nacks sitting on the deep shelf along with some smaller potted plants. A little tray of rose-quartz stones falsely advertises themselves as ‘heat reducers.’

The colors start to blend, and the rainbows sway softly in the light, gentle and pretty. He snaps a photo and thinks about sending it to you, but doesn’t.

The store is blissfully empty of Hobi's coworkers when he selects three of them. It's quiet when he packages them in tissue paper, one with a huge pink stained-glass moon at the top, another with three tiers. Each of them is delicate and pretty in their own right. No one’s bought a single one of them in the last three months anyway. They'll hardly be missed. Hobi gives himself a fat employee discount.

Hobi is unfortunately bad at hiding things, especially when he's nervous. Luckily the pack alpha doesn’t have it in him to tease. Namjoon had in fact been only too encouraging and given him a pep talk just this morning about courting and courting presents.

“The worst that can happen is that she doesn’t like it- and then you just have to try again which you were already planning on doing anyway.” Namjoon is quite simply the best at courting. It doesn't matter which subgender; alphas, beta’s, and omegas have all fallen under his touch. At least Hoseok has the opportunity to learn from a professional. Somehow the thought that you'd compare him to namjoon doesn't cross his mind.

Hoseok isn’t good at the romantic gestures that courting necessitates. He’s more of the ‘there when you need him’ kind of lover. Ready to make the small changes to make his loved ones' lives more manageable. Ready with his car keys for adventures. Those parts are easy, this is out of his depth.

Especially when it comes to you. Even After the love confessions, (are confessions still confessions if they’re so internal?) Hobi feels mostly unmoored. About to shatter upon unknown shores.

God, crushes are so frustrating (in the best kind of way, the way that keeps you sighing and daydreaming, the kind of way that makes you look in the mirror a little longer).

Tae helped him half an hour before she started on the pack's paperwork. They'd spent an hour deciding which places were best to hang them to get the greatest number of rainbows. She had even fussed with his hair a little to make it lie right. Having him hop up on the couch so she could see Hobi's face from your angle.

Hobi wanted to make sure there were at least one or two rainbows when he shows you. But when he leads you to the sunroom, his hands over your eyes (the same position you found yourself in when Namjoon surprised you with the nesting pod) there are more of them than there were when he set them up, whole constellations swaying softly.

The suncatchers are pretty and twinkly sparkly in the golden hour light, and your lips part in a simple show of awe when Hobi tells you you can open your eyes. It's so bright, they send dozens of little rainbows across the walls and your nesting pod. Over the white couch and the fig in the corner.

It’s very very pretty. and when you turn back to look a thim, Hobi once again has a rainbow on his cheek.

Your eyes twinkle, but you don't say anything. you stay quiet for long enough that Hobi gets nervous. his anxiety makes him talk fast. “I hung them here- but you can put them wherever you want- in the kitchen or upstairs or I can get you more for any places you want to put them- or- or- ”

You just about tackle him, arms looping around his neck resting your weight in his arms that instinctively grip around your waist. Hobi teeters, unsteady with such a heavy heart, toppling both of you onto the couch as you cry. "I love it!"

You’re sprawled not lying across him but his hand goes out to support the way you cling and rub your face into his chest, a happy little chirp slipping past your lips.

The wild thing in Hobi’s chest settles, settles, and curls around you. Tight and protective like a vice. You pull back, and your smile is just as bright.

Hobi sags, and rests his neck back against the couch, "Good- thank fucking god- I was so fucking nervous-" You fiddle with the buttons on his flannel, it's one of Yoongi's. It seems fitting that you steal his clothes and he steals Yoongi's.

"What brought all this on?"

Hobi doesn't have a good answer, in the quiet with the rainbows, or at least an answer he's ready for. He doesn't say that this is a courting present, and he doesn't need to because instead of answering your question- he replies with one of his own.

“Wanna go for a drive later?” he asks, voice tremulous like he thinks you might refuse him. You’ve never said no to him before, never said not tonight only not right now. Do you treasure our little talks the same way I do?

“Sure, after dinner? like I said? Just-" You lean back against his chest, and Hobi’s hands go tight tight tight around your waist. Holding you close. Clingy. He does not slip his hand under your shirt to cup the side of your hip the way that Namjoon might, but the thought crosses his mind.

Hobi is a good alpha, he won't cross that line until you tell him it's okay. Until then a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from yours. You're still warm to the couch.

“Sit and watch them with me?” You ask quietly. Almost shy, like you think he’d refuse you. He nods and the two of you sit on the couch to look at the rainbows together.

Eventually, Noodle finds the two of you, meowing and hopping up to stretch out along your thighs. Worming his way between the two of you.

The rainbows don't last forever, but Hobi sits with you until they fade.

~-~

Tae’s library is just like every public library:

Tall windows, wide quiet shelves with room for the stories to breathe. A colorful young adult section and an even more colorful kid’s section. A bit aways from the tables and computers so that any over-excited pups don’t disturb the adults. Big deep beanbags for small children to cuddle up to while they ponder fairy tales and adventures only a plastic-covered book away.

Tae’s long plaid skirt barely makes a whisper along the ground. The colder weather has allowed her to live all of her cottage core fantasies, her dark academia aesthetic truly flourishing. Her shirt is a little translucent today, and the fading summer tan of her skin pokes through it in spots where her tank top doesn't hide. Pretty long earrings dangle and clink in the quiet while she works on her shelving.

Wearing her chosen clothing items at work has been a bit of a work in progress.

Most of Tae’s coworkers approve of her transition in that overly willing-to-be-an-ally way that middle-aged women who generally consider themselves progressive outside of closed doors all do. And the ones that don’t approve have swallowed their words with lingering sour eyes and raised upper lips after the general receptiveness to Tae’s social transition.

It's hard to know who's genuine with it, who just doesn't want to cause a fuss, and who just doesn't give a shit. But most of the time her outfits get one or two compliments and thats it. Tae would rather them say nothing than anything negitive.

Tae likes the quiet of the library at this time of day, the silence gives her enough room to let her imagination wander. Tae likes to file away books in mid-morning, when there are fewer people around and her humming is less likely to disturb any of the library’s patrons. She sings to the stories and they sing back, tempting her with every well-worded title and delicately chaste summary.

But she doesn’t just think about stories or the book she's writing (her book is currently giving her hell on the 30th chapter) No. Today- there is a much more interesting love story blooming in her head, in the pack's den too.

She’s been thinking about you all morning (Tae thinks about you almost every morning) there are even little poems scrawled on the edge of her newspaper. Lines that are you and a bit of Hobi too.

I wished that I might be your hair clip / to know what it feels like / to be pressed against the nape of your neck/ To be your suntan/ perched on the edge/ of what you show everyone and what you show no one/ To be the bearer of every freckle/ like the sky holds the stars/ To hold and never let go/ Like birds hold sunshine / and flowers hold songs.

Everyone had noticed of course, how much time you and Hobi have been spending together.

The pack had even talked about it during a quiet moment without you and Hobi. Yoongi’s lack of communication regarding you and Hobi. “I don’t know anything” he’d unsuccessfully lied, and nearly been heaved up and wrestled to the couch as a result. But Jungkook’s puppy eyes had unsuccessfully endeared him.

Yoongi has kept Hobi's secret, but it's kind of hard not to notice. Tae isn't a fool. Tae is a much better liar than Yoongi is- because when you'd come to her after your late-night drive to gush with her about Hobi and the rainbows over makeup. She hadn't said anything about what she knows.

Tae couldn’t tell you how many times she’d noticed little touches, Hobi’s hand lingering on the small of your back, grabbing your waist when he moved behind you in the bathroom. When he take the greatest care to set out his sweatshirts in the morning and even asks Jungkook to make sure they’re clean. They’re practically not even his sweatshirts anymore with the amount you’ve been wearing them.

Tae isn’t an idiot, she knows that Hobi’s finally realized it. While she doesn’t trust herself to play matchmaker given how poorly the first time she pointed out Hobi’s attraction went. that doesn’t mean she’s not going to park herself firmly on the edge of her fantasy land with a box of popcorn.

If they were gonna get married, would Hobi wear a red tux or black or grey? Her brain is already thinking of wedding dresses. One of these days she’s really going to have to make a Pinterest board. Hobi would probably want to do sunflowers, and that might clash with the red unless it was a fall wedding- ooh, and what about pearl details and daisies? a beach wedding might be a little too on the nose for you.

Tae is so absorbed with her shelving and her daydreaming that she doesn’t notice the sound of small shoes on the carpeted floor. Nor does she notice the light-up flash of tiny iorn man sneakers. Her musings are easily interrupted by a small tug on her skirt, shy almost. She startles a little, looking down at the sudden touch.

The little pup's thumb is wet from where it was clearly placed behind their bucked teeth. He's got wide brown eyes and soft-looking hair, Tae can't stop the smile that comes to her lips.

“I wanted to read a book but I couldn’t reach, can you help me? Please?”

Tae’s heart swells as she leans down to the pup's level. “Of course, I can! Why don’t you show me what one you wanted,” diligently Tae follows the little one a few isles over, tugged along by their insistent pulling as he tells her about the pretty cover.

The little pup turns back, furrowing his bushy brows up at Tae, “are you a princess?” he asks. Tae almost has to laugh, a bright happy gender euphoric feeling filling her chest, that feeling of I could be filling her.

She makes her whisper just a little more hushed, playing along, “Don’t tell anyone okay? It's a secret.” The little pup nods, eyes darting around like there are dragons that would threaten her.

“What gave me away?”

“Princesses wear long skirts!” the pup says cheerfully, like it makes the most sense in the world. He's a little too loud and Tae winces. He finally finds the shelve with the story. The spine glimmers pink and gold and Tae is unsurprised to find the illustrated copy of Cinderella. Not the Disney or PJ version, but the Brothers Grimm version.

Tae cringes at the pair of doves on the cover.

Tae doesn’t say that the little pup is too small to read a book so big, or that there is one with more pictures much more appropriate away from the young adult section. The child can’t be more than 6 years old.

But still, Tae retrieves it and delivers it to their waiting arms. The little one clutches it to his chest, thanks Tae, and then promptly plops themselves onto the carpeted floor right there.

He opens the first page, huffs, and then looks up at her imploringly.

“I just realized I can’t read.”

He pouts and Tae melts. Tae wonders where the pup's mother is, but really, there certainly can't be much harm in this. This isn't the first time Tae has been guilted into reading a story to a pup while their parents work or make use of the library's computers.

"Just the first page.” She intones, caution for the child’s hopes in her voice, she presses her skirt under her knees and sits on the scratchy carpet. The pup curls close to see the pictures. Resting his tiny chubby cheek in the billow of Tae’s big puffy sleeve.

Tae's chest is all tight as she reads. The pup is very well-behaved, he pauses, and asks questions in a soft voice only when Tae gives him space to respond. Tae easily ommits the parts that aren't appropriate. but tae finds herself watching the pup a little bit more as the minutes stretch.

In a few years with your own little ones around, will Tae become the defacto bedtime story reader? Will she do this with the pack's pups one day? Will she be the one to take that bright little light in their eyes that imagines things as greater and more and cultivate it? Her cheeks feel warm at the prospect, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings in excitement.

Your pups and Jin's pups too- they're gonna be so loved. Tae's gonna be the best mom to them, The best alpha too.

One page turns into two and then three. In this quiet corner with only Tae’s voice as ruler and god, the little pup hinges on every word. Until there’s another voice close by. An adult not wishing to be loud, a whispered name.

“Jae?”

Tae smiles up at the woman at the end of the aisle of books. Her smile turns sweeter when Jae hops up and runs to press his face into her jeaned thighs. Tae remembers how that felt, how every scent besides Tae’s own omega mother felt overwhelming and icky.

Tae stands with a crack of her knees and makes to hand over the book, “This makes a great bedtime story until about chapter 8, that one you might want to skip until he’s a little older.”

The woman makes to smile, but it only goes so far. Tae watches in perfect detail, everything in slow motion, as her eyes flicker down to Tae’s Addams apple.

She drags her child close by their wrist quicker than Tae can blink. Tae sees the moment that the child realizes this touch isn’t gentle, wide eyes going fear-stricken as he's tugged behind her back. And then it's all downhill from there.

I'll spare you the more vile bits.

But the saddest moment of the argument that follows (Which involves not one but three of Tae's co-workers to calm down the hysterical woman whose screeches echo around the quiet library) is when the pup tries to get his mother's attention. "Mom, I liked that she was reading to me."

"He" the certified Karen hisses, moving in a way that makes the pup flinch back. "-should know better than to corrupt a pup with such- such-" her eyes dart down and up, and Tae's skin burns. "Disgusting behavior."

The misgendering doesn't even sting. What does hurt is the eyes peering in. She isn't being quiet and it's causing many of the library's patrons' attention is diverted. Tae's coworkers have put themselves between Tae and the woman. But there still aren't enough people (enough packmates) in between her and the verbal tirade.

An hour later, after the woman has left after threatening to call the police, Tae talks with his boss and his boss’s boss. The room behind the front desk is glass, and he knows that the door doesn’t keep the sound of their raised voice out.

“I wasn’t harassing her child; I was just helping him find a book for Christ sake!”

The worst part is that this isn’t the first time that this has happened. No- since Tae came out there have been two other complaints leveled against her from bigoted patrons. Both right at the beginning before she got the hang of presenting how she wanted to.

At least those confrontations weren’t face-to-face. At least those complaints didn’t end with someone threatening to call the police and a pup cowering, tugged along too roughly out the door.

The little pup had glanced back at Tae, mouth in pout, eyes swimming with tears.

Even if the woman felt righteous in her anger, the least she could have done was not yell in front of the pup. Tae promises herself right then and there, that she'll never raise her voice in front of the pack's pups, not in anger.

The book has stayed on the counter at the front. Pink and gold and treacherous. Tae hopes that if anything, the pup finds it and reads the ending one day. Stories have a way of finding us, even when the world makes us let them go.

Now in the back room behind the check-out counter. Tae’s boss levels her with an expectant look, the kind that people give when they don’t want to be transphobic not really- it’s just so hard for them not to, so learned. Tae is the nail that sticks up. It’s bullshit really. Tae can tell it's bullshit before she opens her mouth.

“Really? He asked for Cinderella?”

“Yes.” Tae’s biting tone is an alpha’s tone, not a man’s, and yet she knows how it sounds.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not lying.” Is Tae supposed to only help some children find the books they want? Is she supposed to look at them and make her best guess if they’ve got homophobic parents and skip them over? It’s not her fault that the sweet sweet pup’s parent was a bigot.

“I can’t help but feel like- you’ve got a personal agenda-“

"Charlie-" the district manager cautions.

Tae can’t stop herself from snapping, alpha anger sparking with the intent to burn. “Little boys should be allowed to read Cinderella if they want to” Rats and all. Her hands are shaking, and it isn’t missed by them. The room smells thick with Tae’s spicy cinnamon anger.

The district manager sets her hand on Tae's shoulder, and her anger ebbs just a little. “I think maybe you should go home a little early today, just to cool off. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Tae doesn’t want to go home early, Tae doesn’t want to go home at all as she packs up her books. Her bag lighter than usual, absent of the stories that she wants to take home. For once there aren’t any that she wants to read.

She walks to the train station because Jimin won’t be off work for another 2 hours and that’s when he’d usually pick her up, the last three days he’s gotten her flowers too; white roses the first day, pink the second, and red the third. She sends him a text.

Tae <3 (1:48): I left work early today, you don’t have to pick me up, I’ll get an Uber home.

Mini-alpha (1:49):!!!!!

Mini-alpha (1:49): What happened? Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up? I can leave now.

Tae sighs, looking down at her phone while she waits for the crosswalk light to come on. Red still, green in a few seconds, she only has to wait. She can practically feel Jimin's nervous energy through the phone. it's a wonder he doesn't immediately call her.

It makes her soft. It isn't in Jimin's nature to give any of his lovers any space but he always makes an effort when it comes to her.

Tae <3 (1:53): No. It’s fine. I’ll talk to you when you get home.

Tae doesn’t want to talk to Jimin about transphobia again. At least not yet. It’s too much energy. It’s not that Tae doesn’t want to make what happened during Namjoon’s rut better. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it- it’s just that there’s nothing to talk about, the explanation of his actions are such a burden for Tae to bear. And Tae trusts that Jimin’s heart is in the right place even if he makes mistakes. And even telling Jimin off, yelling at him, wouldn’t change it.

Either one day Tae will not have to deal with bigoted parents, either one day she’ll pass and won’t have to worry, or she'll always be in this awkward middle ground.

Trans people are like toupees, you only notice them when there’s something off, something a little misplaced about them. Tae fears that most of all. Femininity, as much as she wants it, as much as it's hers to take, what if it won't ever fit right? What if she never passes?

Tae loves her job at the library, it’s the perfect mix of boring and safe and easy even if it doesn’t pay enough. But even as she's gained things like skirts and puffy sleeves, she's exchanged them for days like today. Really, the library was her favorite place before today and now, every step away from it makes her feel a little lighter. She's not even angry anymore, just exhausted mentally.

Tae decides to walk home at least she’s in her most conservative channel flats, they could use a little bit more wear and love and Tae’s thoughts are still too sharp. She dulls them to a palatable edge that all falls apart when she gets home.

You’re there, thank fucking god you’re always there when she gets home. You’ll always be Tae’s comfort person.

Tae opens the door with a creek and push of cold air, you're saying something to Yoongi turning with a toss of your hair, eyes brightening when you see her before you've even said her name.

You look a little healthier today, with a little bit more of a rosy glow to your cheeks and a healthy brightness to your eyes, not all glassy.

"Tae! You're home early!"

Tae will never stop being proud of how hard you try, and will never stop being a bit envious either because Tae-

Tae looks at you and wilts, bag flopping onto the floor, and predictably burst into tears.

"Oh- oh Tae."

"Baby girl-"

You and Yoongi are just about the best security blanket a packmate could ask for. You're so good as you pull her down to your level so you can kiss away her tears, maneuvering her like a perfect team onto the couch. Yoongi's strong hands slide off her shoes. Yoongi's fingers digging into her sore heel as you kiss away her every tear.

A substantial amount of babying and a Sos packmate in distress text later, and Tae is reclining across a freshly fluffed nest, the muscles in her body relaxed. The blisters on the back of her feet are bandaged and kissed. Every inch of her body is too.

You don't talk about it until after the pack's facemasks are finished, and hobi's clear coat has dried over the tiny nail sticker that you left. a small bumblebee.

Your skin smells sweet after a long long bath full of fancy bath bombs. Jinnie had also rubbed oil onto her freshly shaven legs. You helped, dragging it along oh so carefully to not nick her skin. Ending each pass with a kiss to her ankle and then upper thigh.

Tae’s head is in your lap now, cheek pressed against your (slightly chubbier) thighs. Her sniffles the background music as Tae gives her final recap of what happened.

Your nose gets a wrinkle in it when you go cross. "There's so much meanness to the world, I hate how people have to add to it."

Jimin’s anger leaves an undercurrent in the air, dragging the other alphas along, Hobi’s hands are strong where they dig into Tae’s shoulders, belly down in the nest while you play with her hair, braiding it back and forth. The attention makes her feel a little tingly.

“Do you know what her name was? Did you get a look at her car-“ Jimin asks, nearly barking. The library has cameras. Jimin knows it does.

Jin sets a hand on the back of his neck, a scruff threatening. “Down pup. Tae doesn’t need you to track them down.” Jimin’s teeth look particularly sharp in the light. For a face so soft he has quite the mouth on him.

“They made her sad,” he growls, but it's softer, more pointed as he crouches over her.

Namjoon’s quiet voice unlocks the whole world's worries, massaging gently down the column of Tae’s delicate neck, rough hands, worn tender touching her regardless. Namjoon is rarely ever so pointed, but it's logical, from an alpha's perspective, Tae knows what he hints.

"I think that if your bosses aren't going to protect you from people like that, then I want you to leave your job." Jin gives him a look like, 'Now you know where I'm coming from' but Tae's the important packmate right now.

Tae rolls Namjoon's words around her tongue, her hand loosely twined with his. Namjoon has the steadiest hands out of everyone in the pack and a few minutes ago he repurposed his surgery skills to do her nails. Took off the chipped red and re-did them because Namjoon knows she feels best when her claws are polished. He checks them now. Tapping them lightly to not smudge them.

It's a girl's night, the first girl's night you've ever had with the whole pack. Tae's face is still glossy from the face mask.

“I don’t think I want to quit; I don’t think that would help at all that’s not going to like- solve the world and all its issues.”

“No, but- if it’s making you more sad than happy. Then maybe it’s worth considering.”

Tae knows Namjoon’s not saying that she doesn’t make enough to affect the pack's finances, but that's still the truth. Hobi pulls himself along her other side and you watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Hobi presses a kiss to Tae's temple, “All you want to do is write every day anyways, and we just want you to be happy,” 6 heads nod their agreement.

Hobi isn't wrong; The last four weekends in a row Tae has woken up several hours earlier than the pack would usually stir from morning cuddles, just to get a few hours of uninterrupted writing done. She’s also spent nearly every night in her library room, staying up late after the pack has retired upstairs until one of you comes down and wrangles her upstairs. The pack's prettiest alpha needs her beauty sleep.

But is it enough to count on? Is it worth quitting her job over?

You duck down low, kissing the same spot Hobi did, your lips touching just a Tae away. a heavy breath wooshes out of her chest. "Yeah why wouldn't we want you to quit? If you're always here then I can always do this."

Your kiss is gentle, and it tastes like belonging more than Tae would ever be able to write, to describe. A love that makes you feel like you belong is a rare thing. And Tae's hand goes up to tangle in your hair, keeping you there for just a shared breath longer.

The next breath tastes a bit like freedom. It's scary to be free.

(But Tae leaves her 2 weeks' notice on her boss’s desk before the end of the next work day, and she doesn't feel bad about it one bit).

~-~

(1 year prior)

Maybe the truth is that the reason why you don’t feel you deserve agency is because you know what your agency looks like. The choices you’re willing to make when it comes down to it.

The secrets you tell and the lies you have buried deep in your pocket like one of Hobi’s found things. Something you can’t get rid of and cast back into the ocean. No matter how hard you try. There is something about murder that sticks, that stays no matter how many times you try to wash your hands of it.

It's not guilt, because you don't feel guilty for what you had to do.

Being backed into a corner can make someone do a whole hell of alot of monstrous things. And back then Life was monotonous. Back then there was Anguish without change.

Your life went like this: Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Meet up with Hyejin. Make poison. Make pastries. Go to the Don’s house. Feed it to them. Listen to Moonbyul tell you to wait. Go home. Get beaten again and again. Get raped every night. On and on and on.

Clean up your blood from the tiles. Clean it from the carpet. Hydrogen peroxide and not bleach. Cover the bruises up with color corrector first before you put concealer over them.

Smile and tell everyone that your husband and you are perfectly happy. There will be a pup on the way soon enough, I'm so lucky to have someone who supports me, and I'm so lucky to have a love like this.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Go to sleep and don't cry because then he'll beat you for keeping him awake.

In the darkness that curls around you. Blood going tacky between your legs, you start to dream of wicked sweet things.

What you've been through would be enough to make anyone go crazy, Enough to make anyone consider drastic action. Enough to make anyone consider murder.

Enough for you to slide a pair of small syringes off of Moonbyul’s night desk and a small packet of arsenic too. You know how to make a simple syrup. You know how to mix in arsenic to it, how to make it liquid soluble without breathing it in.

You make it in the fine china and break it after so that you can throw it out without worrying. You get a beating for it but you hardly feel it when Geumjae drags you across the floor by your hair. It hardly breaks your heart when he steps on your ribcage with the intent to break bones because you know what you have to do.

After, with your own blood on your teeth, you make sure to leave it in the bottom of the trash, and ask the cleaning staff not to take it out yet. They're supposed to find it.

You don't care if you die, you just want to make sure the necessary villains are punished. When it comes to blame the person who is most to blame is you anyway. You are simply numb to pain, numb to your own anguish. Numb to the idea of your own death too. Geumjae's already killed you in every way that matters.

Cut off a wolf's head and it still has the power to bite; give a girl an enemy and she'll do dangerous things.

Your meetings with the Don and beta always go the same; gossip, and greetings. Sometimes when you come bearing bruises, they tell you to wait just a little longer.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Just give it time for his temper to settle. Once you're mated it will get better.

Even Moonbyul and Hyejin tell you that planning the perfect crime takes time. That you'll be saved if you only wait. Help is coming.

Bullshit.

You’re tired of waiting for him to kill you, you're tired of waiting to die. You're smarter than all of them because you know exactly how to get everything you want and you're willing to do anything to get it.

The next time Moonbyul and Hyejin take you to the Don and Beta’s house under the guise of afternoon tea, you are prepared for war and dressed with revenge in mind. Your white dress knotted at the shoulders falling in a heavenly sheet, like an avenging angel, neither pious nor sinful.

You are a force of nature and nature does not ask when it takes lives.

What’s worse; the people that enable the abusers or the abusers themselves? Who is more to blame for the pain caused?

You are no longer hiding and you won't let them hide this time. The bruise on your cheek is purple and mottled, the rings of bruises on your wrists from his hands while he held you down.

When you smiled at Geumjae over breakfast this morning, there was only one thought in your mind.

You’re next.

Your agency looks like this; elegantly done hair your skirt a little short for fall. A basket of arsenic-backed goods in a basket as is usual. Fluffy pink cupcakes with the perfect Swiss meringue buttercream in little spirals.

A gentle smile at the beta when she opens her doors for you, letting the monster in, because you’ve been over enough times that she trusts you. You suppose that's your doing too, you've fooled her into thinking you're just another idiot girl who decided to marry rich and didn't bother to consider the strings attached. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, you bare your teeth when you smile.

Hyejin has helped on that front; over the past few months, she has taught you exactly the kind of conversation that the beta likes- the useless conversations about family drama, the small little bits that you let through about your husband’s opinion on which pup is marrying whom, which alpha is good or bad for the packs near dozen omega pups that aren’t mated yet. Which alphas are likely to be a liability? This kind of gossip is all information and strategy.

You might have lied in your call to her and told her you were fearful of one of the younger ones- and a conversation you’d happened to witness on a street corner, a shadowy figure that looked a little too severe not to be the authorities. Of course, these kinds of things have to be handled with discretion and ginseng tea.

The Don does not bother to turn down the TV when you walk in, sitting vulnerable in his recliner with his feet up. It doesn’t appear that he has any sort of inclination or plans to interact with you when you sit here at his kitchen table and talk. Instead, he lounges and watches his sports, loud because his hearing is so bad, nearly deafening.

It’s good. hopefully anyone nearby will not overhear.

You hope that if this goes south before you have a chance to confess that they find the letter you wrote at home; the one that says your husband is the one that put you up to this.

You know that the pack’s retribution will be swift, that any sort of alibi he has will be null and void with the evidence you’ve been leaving. A little trail of breadcrumbs that leads right into a pretty little grave for your husband. Even if you won't be around to see it.

You're already a friend of pain. You already find comfort in it. If they kill you (which they will) then at least it will finally be over.

You wait until the moment you know is coming, when the Don looks over his shoulder at you and comands “Be a dear and bring me one.”

You put one of your artfully created confections on a pretty gold-rimed plate and walk to his side, you lean over to put it in his lap as he indicates. the same way he does every time you come over with sweets.

The lingering hand on your ass is hardly abnormal. behind you the beta's tea cup clinks as she sets her tea down and says nothing. even though you know she notices.

He’s so busy coping a feel he doesn’t notice your other hand, going to the syringe duck taped to your thigh.

It happens quicker than the Don can blink. The most powerful man in the underworld can't be bothered to protect his life for a pretty little piece of ass. You smile down at him, and his hand squeezes the round apple of your behind.

His hand is still on your ass when you whip your arm around with as much force as you can and drive the syringe and plunger into his neck.

You must have hit something in his neck because he barely has a second to splutter before he’s going still and quiet. Mouth falling horrifyingly slack. His breath rattles and his eyes dart as his whole body is paralyzed near instantly, in the time it takes for his blood to circulate.

Two paces, swing, plunge.

The beta barely has a second to scream or stand to attack you. You are so much younger than they are. Your body might be fragile and frail but It’s still stronger than hers. Her brief scream is easily drowned out by the scratch of the TV.

She ends up on the floor, the icing on the cupcakes sticky as she falls into half of them, tossed onto the floor by your brief tussle as you straddle her struggling form. Her pushing gets weaker and weaker and she sobs.

It doesn’t surprise you when you see the black tracery of a dying mating mark itching up her skin.

One thing that the family had always been oh so careful of was to talk only in their mother tongue around you. Secrets are best kept when they’re spoken in foreign tongues. It was a way to isolate you. To make them speak English for you to understand felt like a beholden request. At one point It was a point of insecurity for you, always left out of the loop, always relying on your husband to keep you in the know.

You bend over her as her pushing gets weaker and weaker, the arsenic doing its job, causing numbness and the tingling of extremities before it causes paralysis and then coma and death. Your hair falls in a sheet over the beta’s face.

You’ve studied much over the last few months. Enough that you lean in close over her and speak your words in perfect Korean.

“You look so angry,” you croon softly, dragging a finger down her cheek. Spittle froths at her mouth as she breathes heavily. “You shouldn’t- if you want someone to blame you only need to look in the mirror.”

You lean in close until your lips brush her ear, “it's your fault you see- you're the one who lied" you mimic her voice, making it scratchy, "'just wait a little longer, it will be better for the family if you stay quiet." you laugh, "as if that where true, the only person it benefits is you. You where ready to let him hurt me and kill me if i just stayed quiet."

You wipe away a bit of spit from her lower lip, "You always told me how it was your duty to protect the family- but you only serve yourself. If you'd have done something, if you'd have helped me I wouldn't have had to do this. You just wanted me to shut up and die quietly.”

You switch back to English, “Well now it’s your turn.”

You watch her tongue go numb, paralyzed, but the poison hasn’t advanced far enough for her not to speak.

“Fucking- worthless bitch.”

You laugh and stand brushing some crumbs from your skirt. She’s already too weak to move, to shout, or fight you. You watch the light start to leave her eyes, winking out so slowly, like a dying star. But she still looks so pissed.

“You don’t have a right to be angry, you killed me first. You can’t blame me for fighting back.”

She gives her last breath and the TV plays on. Your shoe ticks her hand, her fingers twitching weakly. You watch as she gasps her last breath, a small smile on your face.

You sit at the table and turn the TV down. You wait a few minutes, but it quickly becomes an hour. You have yourself a nice little treat while you watch, turning the channel to a food network while you eat.

You really are a fantastic cook. The crumb on this batch is so nice you don’t even taste the metallic tang of poison. You eat through one, and then another, until the whole basket is empty.

Before you know it there is a concerned knock at the door. The lock clicks and turns when you answer it.

When Moonbyul opens the door, you laugh at the expression on her face. Licking the frosting from your lips. Even that is delicious.

She takes in their bodies, crumpled on the floor the frosting on your cheeks. The evidence. Both of them dying. A violence you cannot undo.

Her voice is somber. “Oh Pup, what have you done?”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

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Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

~-~

Notes:

this chapter is a very classic bily chapter, in the fact that there is a fuck ton of fluff and then bang the mafia bits just take you out. we needed to get back into the mafia bits of the story sooner rather than later though 💀

i felt like i was going a little too over the top with certain bits of puptalk in this chapter, but i really wanted to use it to show that like yeah- the pack has been treating her alot more gently since her breakdown, they've been babbying the fuck out of her, even if we don't get to see it :(

Hobi's texts are so???? Fucking cute?? He's so hopeless my god he wants to make her feel loved without actually saying it and i hope you read them and just go "oh, you're an idiot."

I have this whole elaborate backstory to how wonho's gym works with monthly subscriptions to classes where people can decide how many classes they want to take a week, ie gym dues for facilities and then discounted classes on top if they pay for it before hand, with several tiers.

this chapter almost feels clerical- this is definitely more of a set up chapter- where i needed to check off a lot of boxes, like hobi's courting present- before we go any further into the story. things are going to start amping up in terms of stakes pretty quickly.

That one part, where hobi is kinda malfunctioning after the m/c touches his cheek and everyone teases him feels the most representative of the pack as a whole. like that part where they're all replying- feels very real. i struggle a little to capture a sense of domesticity in concise ways, but i think this part is very tidy.

That little touch with hobi- where he touches her wrist and her finger, that touch has so much weight to it, i personally think the whole pack was tasting the sexual tension on the air, can you guys feel it too or is it all in my head?

idk why yoongi calling tae babygirl makes me so flustered but it does 🥵

i really wanted to work calling tae mommy into the chapter someway but tbh this chapter felt complex enough without it.

there is like- one plot hole in this whole story, and that is in the first chapter of the story when yoongi gets a call the person on the other line says "grandfather is dying." implying that his death wasn't instantaneous like this is shown to be. however, in my mind- the injections don't actually kill the don and beta but plunge them into a coma that they never wake up from- is this an actual possibility with arsenic poisoning- NO IT ISN'T lol, you're just going to have to suspend your disbelief for me.

the m/c has always been the person who killed the don and the beta- i've known this since like...maybe the 4th chapter? it wasn't in the og og plan for the story but almost everything in bily has been hammered out since then. and tbh you already knew she killed them just not that it was this violent! does this count as a secret???? idk! maybe!!!

she's a little murder baby just like minnie <3

408 notes · View notes

persevereforahappyending · 10 months

Text

This isn't Your Fault (Sam POV)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “Let’s go,” Sam said, somehow sounding calmer than she felt, Tara needed her to be her rock at the moment though and that’s the one thing she knew she could do right for her sister.

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 6.9k+

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Sam was slumped in the chair in the family room, her head hanging low as she had it buried in her hands. They had just gotten back to the apartment a few minutes ago after Sam had dragged Tara out of a frat party. Sam had just gotten off her second job at a crappy diner, she had come home hoping to just order a pizza and have a nice night in with her sister, but Tara had different plans and now Sam had tased a creepy guy in the balls, had a drink thrown on her, and Tara was mad at her, the exact opposite of a nice night in.

Sam knew Tara wanted to have a normal life, Sam knew she was probably hanging on a little too tight, but how could she not? She didn’t get how Tara could completely ignore what happened to her, it happened a year ago and she hadn’t talked about it with anyone. Sam was actively trying to find a therapist to talk to and was still struggling, she didn’t get how Tara could just ignore it all.

Richie and Amber attacked Tara because she was related to Sam, because Sam was the secret daughter of Billy Loomis. Everything that happened last year was all Sam’s fault. Then all these reddit users started saying Sam lied and she was actually the killer, setting up Richie. Tara being related to her automatically put her in danger. Sam couldn’t just back off and let Tara do whatever she wanted because if something happened, then once again it would be her fault.

She didn’t know what, but she knew Tara was keeping something from her. Tara still acted normal, arguing with her, and fighting her on every little thing but there was some nights Sam would come home after therapy and Tara would be placed on the couch, happily watching a random show. She also had her phone gripped tightly in her hand, always keeping it just out of sight of Sam so she couldn’t see who she was texting. Anytime Sam found the courage to ask, Tara would brush her off saying it was just Mindy or Chad, occasionally it would be some person from class she had to work with.

She just wished Tara would talk to her. Tara never talked to her anymore, she didn’t even share how her classes were going. Sam didn’t get the whole movie thing, especially after what happened but she tried to show interest because Tara still loved horror movies. Tara would always just brush her off saying class was fine or saying she had homework, going to her room and kicking the door closed. Sam knew it was her fault, she left for five years and then came back trying to parent Tara, telling her what to do.

Sam had to admit the truth to herself, Tara didn’t need her. Sam left when Tara was thirteen, not coming back for five years. By that point Tara was eighteen, she was still young and despite what she might believe she had a lot to learn but she was an adult. By the time she came back Tara didn’t need her anymore. Sam knew exactly who their mom was when she left and yet she still did it. She left Tara alone with their mom who was an alcoholic and an absentee mother at best. Sam was all Tara had and Sam just left her to basically deal with their mom and raise herself. Sam couldn’t blame Tara for hating her.

“You good T?” Mindy asked.

Mindy’s voice broke Sam out of the downward spiral she seemed to be in. Sam looked up at Mindy, noticing her looking behind her. Sam turned her head to see Tara standing in the doorway, phone up to her ear, tears in her eyes, not looking at any of them.

Sam shot to her feet, her mind instantly going to the worst-case scenario. “Tara?” Sam asked slowly, trying to get her sister to meet her eyes. “Who’s on the phone?” Sam held her breath, hoping Tara would snap out of it and just say it was some jerk making a prank call.

Tara’s eyes slowly moved from whatever spot she had been staring at finally to Sam’s eyes. Sam wished she could let out a sigh of relief, but it just made everything worse. Tara met her gaze and her tears finally started to fall. Tara’s lips quivered, her mouth moving as if she wanted to say something but was too afraid to speak. Sam looked back at the others, going on high alert, whoever Tara was on the phone with wasn’t a prank caller.

“Y/N?” Tara asked, finally speaking for the first time since she entered the room. “Y/N?” she said again, more concerned.

Sam scrunched her eyebrows at the name, she didn’t recognize it. She had never heard Tara so much as mention anyone by the name Y/N but clearly Tara knew whoever was on the phone. Sam turned, silently trying to ask the others who the hell this person was, she knew Tara didn’t tell her everything, but she figured at least Mindy or Chad would know.

Chad had no idea who Y/N was based on the way he just shrugged. He did turn off the TV, setting the remote down and turning to Tara, just as concerned as Sam. Mindy furrowed her brow at the name, so she recognized the name. It was Anika who had the real reaction though. The second the name left Tara’s mouth, Anika was on her feet, concern filling her eyes. Anika knew who Y/N was, well enough to be worried about them.

“Baby, are you there?” came Tara’s concerned voice again, the tears freely falling from her eyes now.

Sam’s head snapped back to her sister so quick she might have gotten whiplash. Baby? Tara had called this person on the phone baby. Tara knew Y/N a lot better than Sam thought. Sam knew Tara was keeping things from her but now it seemed as if she truly didn’t know her sister at all. She couldn’t help the way her mouth hung open, shocked that Tara had someone who was clearly important to her in her life. She looked back to the others seeing everyone just as surprised, even Anika. It made Sam feel slightly better that no one seemed to know who Tara was seeing, even though that meant Tara had been lying not just to her but all their friends.

Tara jumped, then jumped again, and again, and again. Tears quickly filled her eyes again as she slowly began to hyperventilate. Sam moved forward instantly, gripping Tara by her shoulders. She tried to get Tara to look her in the eye, to focus on her but Tara just looked through her. Sam searched Tara frantically, she needed her to get control of her breathing before she had an asthma attack.

Sam watched as her little sister stopped jumping, she held her breath as she slowly started to cry. It was clear Tara wanted to sob, her body shaking, but she wasn’t making a sound. She stood there frozen, focused on whatever was going on, on the other end of the phone. Sam looked back to the others, hoping one of them might have a plan, they also just stood there confused and concerned like her.

“Don’t hurt them, please,” Tara begged, her voice cracking.

Sam’s heart broke at her sisters’ words. That’s when she knew for sure, he was back, Ghostface was back, and he was attacking whoever Tara had been sneaking around with. Sam turned to the others, a newly determined look on her face, she saw all three of them on their feet, looking to her for leadership.

“We need to move,” she said. The others nodded, quickly shuffling around the room, tripping over themselves as they tried to move so quickly. “Call 911,” she ordered one of them.

“An address would be helpful,” Chad commented.

“On it,” Anika said, her voice wavering, tears had slowly started to fall down her cheeks as she fumbled with her phone.

“Please! She has nothing to do with this!” Tara sobbed, making Sam turn back to her. She saw the way Tara gripped her phone, clenching her hair in her other hand, the pain of not being able to help you.

Seeing her sister that desperate, begging for Ghostface to not hurt you in the moment made everything clear to Sam. You weren’t just some random hookup Tara had been hiding and doing just to defy Sam, another act of rebellion. Tara actually cared about you, maybe even loved you. In that moment Sam realized she knew exactly what her sister was going through, her heart broke all over again. Tara looked exactly how she felt a year ago when Ghostface had called her, toying with her while they were in the hospital asking Sam to choose between Tara and Richie. At the time Sam didn’t know Richie was behind everything, so Ghostface trying to make her choose between her sister and the guy she loved was the worst feeling in the world. Being on the phone as Ghostface taunted her, knowing Ghostface was right there, attacking someone she loved. Sam was losing her mind, desperate to help her sister, but literally not able to do anything but beg to a killer, beg for her sister not to be hurt, even though she knew Ghostface would do it anyway.

“Please,” Tara said in another desperate act to try and get Ghostface to listen. Sam knew he wouldn’t, he never did. He played a game, pretending he’d let someone live but then kill them anyway. Sam refused to let Tara listen to someone she cared about die.

Tara was sobbing, her breathing completely erratic. Sam looked at her sister, descending further and further into panic. She ran to Tara’s room, grabbing the inhaler that had been tossed on the bed. Sam frowned at seeing Tara had been using her inhaler before she came into the living room. Sam clenched her jaw; she didn’t know how long Tara had been listening to someone she cared about being attacked before she came out to where they all were. Her sister was in her room, panicking over someone she cared for being attacked, while Sam sat in the living room feeling sorry for herself. Sam shook her head, gripping the inhaler tighter as she ran back out to Tara.

“No!” she heard Tara scream when she got back into the room. She stood before her sister again, seeing her frantically look around the room, desperate to help you even though she was miles from wherever you were.

Sam had had enough, she tried reaching for the phone. She didn’t want Tara listening to this anymore, if Ghostface wanted to taunt and torture someone then she wanted it to be her. Tara didn’t deserve this and even though Sam had no idea who you were she knew you were innocent; you didn’t deserve whatever Ghostface was doing to you. When Sam reached for the phone though, Tara slapped her hand away. Tara turned, finally seeming to see Sam again because when Sam moved to grab at the phone again, Tara stepped out of her reach. Sam gritted her teeth at her sister’s stubbornness.

Sam gripped Tara tightly by the shoulder, forcing Tara to face her again. Sam saw Tara clench her fist, ready to spin around and deck her, just like she had been ready to jump at that girl who threw her drink at Sam earlier that night. Sam stilled herself, waiting to feel the impact of a fist on her face. Getting punched by her sister was hardly the least of her worries at the moment. The hit never came though, when Tara’s eyes met hers again, she slowly unclenched her fist.

“We have to go,” Sam said, she loosened her grip on Tara slightly.

Tara quickly shook her head. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I-I-I-can’t. I-” Tara was stuttering, unable to get her words out. Sam looked at her sister, her eyes wide with worry. She gently opened Tara’s hand, placing the inhaler in her palm. Tara looked at her hand and Sam guided it up towards her face, hoping Tara would take over the movement. Thankfully she did, taking a huff of her inhaler, then another one. Sam let out a sigh as Tara’s breathing slowly started to even out.

“Let’s go,” Sam said, somehow sounding calmer than she felt, Tara needed her to be her rock at the moment though and that’s the one thing she knew she could do right for her sister. “We can’t help here,” she looked at Tara softly, needing her to understand. “Let’s go.” When Tara finally nodded, Sam grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the front door. “Chad!” she called out, she needed to know he was on the phone with help.

“Already calling 911,” he said quickly, phone to his ear as he started talking to the dispatcher.

“Anika-”

“Already texted you her address,” Anika said softly, her eyes red from the tears that had started to fall. Sam pulled out her phone, seeing the text, she mouthed a thank you to the girl then gently pulled Tara out the door.

Sam rushed down the steps, jumping down half of them. She knew exactly how little time they had to get to someone during a Ghostface attack, she was going to do everything in her power to make sure Tara didn’t have to go through losing someone she cared about again. Once on the street, Sam flagged down a cab, practically running into the middle of the street to make sure one stopped. She flung open the door, giving the cabbie her phone before she was even seated.

Sam watched Tara carefully as she took the phone away from her ear, tears streaming down her face. She was starting to struggle with her breathing again. Tara’s knuckles were white with how tightly she was gripping the phone, she was staring off into space. She was gasping for breath as she tried to slow down her breathing, but the more she tried to slow her breathing down, the more worked up she got.

“No!” cut through the phone. Sam’s head snapped to the phone, gripped in her sister’s hand. She hadn’t heard your voice yet, but you just screamed loud enough for her to hear from a phone that wasn’t even near her ear.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam said, gently grabbing Tara by the face to turn her towards her. “Breath,” she said softly. Sam took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. She did it a few times, hoping Tara would match her breathing and calm down.

She saw Tara trying to match her breathing, but it wasn’t working. Tara had to bring her inhaler back to her mouth. After another huff and taking a few small breaths, her breathing started to even out. Sam let out a small sigh of relief, but she knew it wasn’t over yet. She knew Tara was going to be struggling until she was by your side, and you were safe.

She furrowed her brows as she watched Tara take the phone away from her ear again, holding it loosely as she held it in her lap. She stared down at the phone, tears streaming down her face. She had never seen her sister look so broken before.

“I can’t lose her,” Tara whispered. She started sobbing, violently shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t,” she kept repeating.

Sam quickly wrapped Tara in her arms. Tara gripped her shirt tight, pulling at the fabric to hold onto Sam as tight as possible. Tara buried her face in Sam’s shoulder and just sobbed. Sam tried to comfort her sister as best as she could, holding her tight and running her hand through Tara’s hair for some comfort. She didn’t care that Tara’s tears had already completely soaked her shirt, she just wanted to sister to not be in pain anymore.

Sam jolted forward a little, her hand going out to brace herself against the front seat as the cab came to a screeching halt. She was fishing out her wallet when Tara let go of her and was already throwing open the cab door. The cabbie started to yell since he hadn’t fully come to a stop, but Sam just tossed him the money and rushed out after her sister. She knew Tara was worried, but they didn’t know if Ghostface was still there, he could have called knowing Tara would come running, and then he would be able to kill her as well.

By the time Sam was out of the cab Tara had the front door flung open and was already inside. Sam held back a sigh, it wasn’t the time to berate Tara over her disregard for her own safety, but that didn’t mean Sam wouldn’t bring it up later. Tara didn’t need to be as paranoid as Sam, but Sam would appreciate it if her sister had just an ounce of self-preservation instead of just blindly going with whatever she wanted.

Sam rushed into the house, her eyes darting all around. The first thing she saw was the giant knife mark in the front door. She reached up, her hand running down the side of the cracked wood. She turned, seeing Tara kneeled down and sobbing over your body. Sam couldn’t help let out a small sigh of relief, you were obviously struggling to breath based on the ragged breaths coming from you but as long as she could see your chest moving, she was happy, it meant you were alive, it meant Tara wouldn’t lose someone else she loved.

Sam did a quick once over of the place, making sure Ghostface wouldn’t come out and try surprise attacking them. She glanced up the stairs but didn’t move to go up, she wouldn’t go that far from Tara. She did a quick check of the rooms, finding nothing. She noticed the back door in the kitchen was left wide open. She assumed Ghostface took off right as they got there, knowing he most likely couldn’t take both Tara and Sam. She was still cautious, her head on the swivel as she moved to be by Tara’s side.

She stood over you and Tara, slowly kneeling down to be by her sister’s side. She saw the crushed phone by the couch and a baseball bat by your side. Sam took in the scene; she didn’t see any blood or stab wounds like someone would during any other Ghostface attack. She figured you probably had the bat and tried to defend yourself and when Ghostface got the upper hand he decided to taunt you by using the item you tried to defend yourself with to hurt you. You had your hand clutched to your chest, and it was clear it had been crushed, most likely stomped on hard, based on the boot print Sam could still see on your skin.

“Baby,” Tara whispered. “I’m here, I’m right here.” Sam sucked in a breath as she saw your eyes slowly start to drift closed. “Hey, no, stay awake baby,” Tara whispered loudly, the desperation coming through. “Stay awake.”

Sam watched as your eyes finally closed, she couldn’t help the tears that filled her own eyes. She had never seen a Ghostface attack like this. Sam had always come in after the attack when the victim was already dead, like with Wes and Judy. Or she was always part of the attack and to busy trying to stay alive and save her sister. Even with Tara’s own attack Sam never saw it. Sam didn’t have to come home and find her sister bleeding out. Sam got a call and when she showed up, she already knew Tara was alive and in the hospital. Sam never had to go through this, the waiting, the finding you alive but waiting to see if you’d actually make it.

Sam realized this is what Tara must have felt when she was attacked. Tara was home alone at night, like you were. She was caught unsuspected and had to fight for her life, thinking she’d die. You weren’t apart of Woodsboro but were made a target because of your connection to Tara, you never would have imagined being attacked by a psycho. You and Tara were both left for dead, left to slowly die alone. The only difference is you were on the phone with Tara, Tara was able to come running and be by your side. Tara though, Tara had no one until the police got there. Tara should have had Sam, but Sam had run away, Sam should have been there.

It felt like minutes but really hardly any time had passed since they arrived, but there were flashing red and blue lights outside. Sam was still a little surprised she and Tara had beaten them there. Sam saw the paramedics stomping in through the front door, she quickly wrapped her arms around Tara’s waist and lifted her up out of the way. Tara sobbed and flailed her arms, but it was no use, Sam held her tight. Sam backed them up, so they were out of the way, watching as the medics got to work, checking your pulse, lifting you onto a backboard and carrying you away. Sam knew she was the only thing keeping Tara from slumping to the floor, luckily for her Tara was rather small.

Once they lost sight out of you exiting through the front door, Tara seemed to find her strength again and wiggled out of Sams grasp. Sam reached out trying to grab her again, but Tara was off, already halfway out the door. When Sam got outside, she saw Tara about to get in the back of the ambulance, but a medic stopped her, once Tara stepped down the medic closed the doors and took off, lights flashing and siren blaring.

“We can meet her there,” Sam said softly, slowly approaching her sister. She hesitated but reached out to gently touch her arm, she didn’t want to startle her.

Tara just nodded; her head slumped as Sam flagged down another cab. The ride was a little calmer than the first one but there was an uncomfortable silence. Sam tried not to stare but she kept glancing at her sister, worried. Tara didn’t say anything, didn’t even look in her general direction, she just stared ahead out the window with an emotionless expression.

When they got to the hospital Tara once again bailed out of the cab while Sam was trying to pay. Sam was just grateful she waited until the cab was fully stopped this time. Sam slipped out of the cab and sighed; Tara was nowhere in sight. She made her way into the hospital and saw Tara at the reception desk already harassing the nurse there. Sam approached just as the nurse was telling Tara that you were in surgery, and someone would come out when they knew your status. Sam gave a grateful smile to the nurse and apologized to her for her sister, who was currently glaring at her for not being told what she wanted to hear.

Sam managed to lead Tara to the waiting room. She silently planted herself in a chair, bringing her feet up so she could rest her chin on her knees. Sam watched for a second as Tara just stared, unblinking at the white wall in front of them. She pulled out her phone shooting a group text to Mindy, Chad, and Anika. Sam was just beginning to sit down when she got a response not a minute later. The first person to respond was Anika, saying they were on their way. Sam had never met you or even heard your name, but it was obvious Anika knew you well enough to be so worried about you.

It wasn’t even half an hour later before feet were running through the halls, squeaking on the white tile. Sam looked up at the same time as Tara to see their friends. Chad plopped down next to Tara; Anika gave Tara a comforting squeeze of the hand before taking a seat across from them with Mindy by her side. Mindy and Chad watched Tara with concern, constantly looking at Sam to see if she was okay, Sam could only shrug, she knew Tara would only be okay when she knew you were out of surgery and recovering. Anika wasn’t crying but it was clear she had been, her cheeks were tear stained and Sam could see how her mascara was smeared from wiping her eyes so much.

Sam did the only thing she could do, she sat next to Tara, one arm around her, running her hand up and down Tara’s back. Sam couldn’t offer any other comfort, she knew that. No matter what Sam said it wouldn’t mean anything until Tara could see you safe and sound for herself.

Chad had gotten up and a few minutes later returned with sandwiches and juice. Sam smiled gratefully to him. She would have gone and gotten everyone something, but she didn’t want to leave Tara, she was thankful he did it. He sat two sandwiches and two cartons of juice next to Anika and Mindy before plopping back down in his seat. He held out a sandwich and juice for Tara, but she just shook her head.

“You have to eat,” Sam tried convincing her sister. Tara just shook her head, shoving Chad’s hand away. Chad sighed and looked up at Sam. Sam let out a sigh as well and took the sandwich and juice from him, she mouthed a silent thank you and put the sandwich and juice in her pocket for later.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the nurse said, coming out to the waiting room after a few hours.

“Is she okay?” Tara asked, being the first to her feet, shortly followed by everyone else.

“Relation?”

“She’s, my girlfriend.” Sam still wasn’t used to hearing those words, but Tara said them easily, like she had been saying it for a long time.

The nurse nodded and said, “She’s out of surgery and in a room recovering, you’re welcome to go see her.”

“How is she?” Tara whispered, her voice sounding so small and more scared than Sam had ever heard.

The nurse sighed, putting her chart down, and looked at Tara with so much kindness and sympathy. “She’s alive.” Finally hearing those words made Tara let out a relieved sob. Sam couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath, she was trying so hard to be hopeful for Tara, but her mind kept going to the worst. “Her left hand was practically shattered, and she’s got seven broken or cracked ribs.” Sam’s eyes widened, she knew your injuries were bad, but she didn’t realize how extensive, though this was still one of the best-case scenarios when it came to a Ghostface attack. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll be okay,” the nurse smiled reassuringly at Tara then the others. Sam gave her a grateful nod as the nurse walked away.

You were only allowed two visitors at a time so the others said they would continue to wait in the waiting room while Tara went to see you. Sam watched as they all hugged or comforted Tara, knowing everything would actually be okay. Sam knew she didn’t know you, but she decided to go with Tara, she wanted to be there for her in case she needed her, even if it meant just sitting silently in the room while Tara sat by your bedside.

If she was allowed Sam was sure Tara would have sprinted through the halls to get to your room. Luckily for Sam she settled for a brisk walk. Tara was already in the elevator, smacking the floor your room was on multiple times by the time Sam got there. Sam had to turn sideways to make it before the doors closed, it was abundantly clear Tara wasn’t waiting for her and if Sam couldn’t make the elevator, then oh well.

Tara was out of the elevator as soon as she could fit her body through the opening. Sam trailed a few seconds behind her. She watched as her sister made her way through the halls, nothing standing in her way. Sam apologized to several nurses and doctors Tara didn’t necessarily shove out of the way, but she didn’t break her stride and walked right in front of them without even glancing in their direction.

When Sam caught up to her sister, she was standing at the threshold of your hospital room. She stared into your room, staring at your unconscious body lying in the hospital bed. Sam reached up, poking her in the shoulder. Sam wanted to laugh at how quickly Tara turned to glare at her, but she decided to just give an encouraging nod. Once Tara entered the room, she rushed to your side, pulling a chair next to your bed until it was pressed up against your bedside. Tara’s eyes didn’t leave you as she reached forward, gripping your uninjured hand in her own.

Sam slowly entered the room as well. A part of her felt like she was intruding. She didn’t know you; she’d never met you; she had never even heard of you until a few hours ago. She didn’t think you’d mind her being there though since it meant her being there for Tara. Sam slowly sat in the chair that had been next to the one Tara moved, she didn’t move it from its position though.

Sam leaned forward in the chair, watching Tara watch you. She could tell Tara had visibly relaxed, finally, just being at your side and seeing you safe for herself. Sam knew it wasn’t the right time, but her mind had been spiraling from the moment Tara walked out into the living room with the phone in her hand. “H-how long?” she whispered; she couldn’t stop herself from wondering.

“Six months,” Tara answered with a small sniffle, her eyes never leaving you.

“Six,” Sam let out a shaky breath, leaning back in her chair. “Six months. You’ve been keeping this from us, from me?” Sam couldn’t help the crack in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered, her voice becoming small like it did when Sam was mad at her.

Sam’s heart broke even more for her sister thinking she was mad at her. She wasn’t happy with Tara for keeping this secret, but she certainly wasn’t mad. She was mostly just hurt that Tara felt like she had to keep such a secret.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sam assured her. “Have I really pushed you away that much?” she couldn’t help the way her voice cracked again. “Did you really feel like you couldn’t come to me, share this with me?” Sam’s eyes started to fill with tears at the thought that her paranoia pushed her sister so far away that she didn’t want to share things with Sam, that she didn’t want to share someone who made her so happy with Sam.

Sam watched as Tara finally turned to look at her, her eyes filling with tears again. “No, no, no, it’s not that,” she said quickly. “I just…” Sam watched Tara’s face as she tried to search for the right words. “I just, I was afraid of how you’d react,” she finally mumbled, dropping her eyes to the floor as if she was ashamed of the thought. “You tend to get a little… intense,” her eyes flicked up to Sam’s again before quickly finding the floor again, “when meeting new people. Not like the others are much better. I just didn’t want you guys to scare her off.”

“We wouldn’t-” Sam quickly went to defend herself but was cut off by Tara raising a brow at her. Sam quickly snapped her mouth shut. Even she knew what she was about to say was a blatant lie. “I mean if she was important to you, I would have given her a chance,” Sam tried again but was just met with a tilt of Tara’s head, giving her a knowing look. “Okay fine,” Sam sighed, slumping further into her chair. She really hated how well Tara knew her sometimes. She also had to begrudgingly admit that if Tara knew her so well, knowing how she’d react then, maybe she really was being just a tad bit overprotective. “I would have tried giving her a chance.” Tara raised both her eyebrows. Sam couldn’t help but roll her eyes, of course Tara didn’t believe that either. “Eventually,” she finally mumbled. “Maybe.”

Sam crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair, frowning. Sam had to think about it, if Tara had met you, gone on a few dates, then introduced you to Sam, well Sam wouldn’t have reacted well. Sam hated to admit it, she wouldn’t do it to intentionally hurt her sister, she would have done it in the name of protecting her, but she definitely would have tried to scare you away. Maybe Tara keeping you a secret was the best decision. Sam had to admit the only reason she was seeing reason at the moment was because you had been attacked by Ghostface, meaning you most likely weren’t a psycho killer.

“I know you mean well,” Tara said, breaking Sam out of her pouting. When Sam looked up, she saw Tara smiling, it had been the first time she had seen her sister smile all night. “You know I love you.” That got Sam to give her a small smile, despite her overprotective nature Tara still loved her. “I just liked having something for myself,” Tara whispered, her smile once again falling. “Someone who was all mine,” she looked back to you. “Someone not touched by all our darkness, until now,” she sniffled again.

Sam frowned at her sisters’ words. She hated this, hated how her sister was suffering all because of Sam, all because her father was a serial killer. “This isn’t your fault,” Sam said, leaning forward again, resting a comforting hand on Tara’s shoulder.

“If she never met me, he never would have gone after her,” Tara tried to argue, not wanting to hear she wasn’t to blame.

“That’s not true.” Sam refused to let her sister blame herself for this. It wasn’t her fault; she wouldn’t let Tara drown herself in guilt for something that wasn’t her fault.

“Yes, it is!” Tara sobbed.

“You can’t live your life controlled by fear about what might happen.” Sam knew she sounded like a hypocrite even before Tara turned to her, looking at her like she was insane. Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Tara’s face. “I know how that sounds coming from me, but I don’t want you sacrificing your chance at happiness just because I’m paranoid.” Sam never thought she’d say those words, but she knew they were true.

Tara turned back to you, gently brushing some hair out of your eyes. “I thought I lost her,” she whispered.

“Good thing your girlfriend is one hell of a fighter,” Sam smirked, giving Tara a playful shove. Tara glanced back at her with a small smile. “I know this isn’t exactly how you wanted it to go, so when you decide to officially introduce us, I can’t wait to meet her.” Sam truly couldn’t wait to meet you, to meet someone who not only held their own against Ghostface without any prior knowledge or dealings with him, but also someone who would willingly deal with her sister.

“She can’t wait to meet you either, I’ve told her all about you,” Tara admitted, a small blush appearing on her cheeks. Sam’s eyes widened; she wasn’t sure why learning that Tara told you about her was such a surprise. “When we were talking on the phone before-” Tara swallowed, Sam just waited, allowing her sister to take the time she needed. “She-she was worried you might tase her when you met,” Tara lightly chuckled when she said that.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh along with Tara. She wanted to deny it, that there was no way she ever would have tased you, but she knew the truth, she would have had her hand on the taser the second you walked through the door. She would have watched every movement you made and the moment you did something suspicious she would have tased you, even if it turned out you were just reaching for the bottle of ketchup.

“Well, no need to worry about that anymore. At least we know she’s not Ghostface,” Sam joked.

“I want to make him pay,” Tara said through gritted teeth. Sam noticed the way Tara’s jaw was clenched, she had never seen Tara this angry before, not even after everything that happened in Woodsboro, not even after learning Amber betrayed her.

“We will,” Sam said. She knew she probably shouldn’t condone Tara’s desire for revenge, but she understood what it was like. When she got the call Tara had been attacked, she just wanted to find the person and then when she learned Richie was part of the attack and he betrayed her she just wanted to make him pay.

After arguing with Tara for over an hour about going home Tara finally agreed Sam could stay at the hospital. Sam knew there was no convincing Tara to come home, but Tara really put up a fight when Sam decided she would stay as well. She wandered off back down to the waiting room to inform the others of your status and tell them that Tara would be staying with you until you woke up and that Sam wasn’t leaving her side. The others had nodded, expecting nothing less, each of them gave Sam a hug before leaving.

Sam had gone back up to the room and it was barely an hour later when she got a text from Chad saying they were back. She wandered back downstairs to see their friends' holding bags with a change of clothes for her and Tara. She smiled, thanking them, and pulled each of them into another hug. She then ordered them to go back to her apartment or choose one of their dorms and hold up there, lock the doors and not leave until they heard from her or Tara directly.

When Sam got back up to the room again, it was late. Tara was curled up in her chair in the most uncomfortable looking position, but she had a peaceful smile on her face as she gripped your hand. Sam smiled at the sight. She sat the bags of clothes on a table and moved to the opposite side of the room. She moved the two chairs together to make a little bed so she could prop up her feet and placed her jacket against the wall as a little pillow.

Sam slowly opened her eyes, hearing some shuffling. She looked around confused, it was still the middle of the night. “Wh-what are you doing here?” she finally heard your voice. She quietly sat up in the chair, stretching, trying to disturb you and Tara as little as possible.

“I needed to make sure you were okay,” Tara said, already wide awake and at the edge of your bed.

Sam quickly and as quietly as possible moved to the door. She figured the least she could do was give you and Tara some privacy. Right before she closed the door, she heard you say, “You-you need to get out of town.” Sam’s eyes widened as the door quietly clicked shut. You had just woken up from a Ghostface attack, an attack that left you almost dead and the first thing you were worried about when you woke up was Tara’s safety.

Same waited right outside your hospital room, she moved to lean against the wall on the other side so she could keep visual of the door but also out of the way enough so hopefully you and Tara wouldn’t see her. She sent off a text in the group chat telling them you had woken up. Despite how late it was, Anika once again was the first to respond in less than a minute. She said they were on the way, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer, even if they couldn’t see you yet they’d sleep in the waiting room. Sam smiled to herself, she wasn’t sure Chad or Mindy were even awake yet and knew of this information, but she knew there would be no arguing with Anika, she would have them out the door and in a cab in less than five minutes.

Sam sighed, watching through the window as Tara and you talked, with Tara gently running her hands through your hair. Sam smiled at the sight. She couldn’t wait until Tara officially introduced you to her. Sam had a feeling she was going to like you. You put up a fight against Ghostface, you cared about Tara more than your own safety it seemed, and Anika really cared for you, yeah Sam was certain she’d like you. Sam wouldn’t tell Tara that though, no, Tara deserved to be a little stressed after she kept you a secret for so long and lied to Sam.

Taglist: @bigbadsofty07 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #sam carpenter #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #this isn't your fault

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lazycats-stuff · 10 months

Note

Hey! I was thinking about (a character of your liking for the beloved batfam) x male reader who doesn't take anything serious. Oh just got kidnapped? that's not that bad, getting stabbed, yeah that happens, and at least he got a cool scar! Getting absolutely traumatized and mind fucked, just a spicy backstory to tell their therapist.

And the character is just stunned at how the reader can be so happy and carefree. :3

I feel like Damian would fit this. He would like so worried and protective and (Y/N) would be all smiles after a kidnapping. And he would be losing his mind. Lol.

Summary: Damian takes everything seriously. (Y/N) doesn't take anything seriously. Opposites do attract.

Warnings: reader being kidnapped, attacked, and a whole lot of stuff, Damian is questioning everything, but he is a sweetheart towards the reader

Damian was a very serious man. That much was obvious if you just look at his face. Face always serious and behind those eyes he was calculating whether or not you were a threat to him or his beloved's safety. Or habibi as Damian called him often.

The only person who had the honor of seeing Damian smile and being happy was (Y/N), Damian's beloved or habibi in Arabic, which ever you prefer. His beloved was a complete opposite of Damian. Nothing is taken seriously by him.

Damian loves that in him, loves that he able to not take everything so seriously and help Damian just become a 180 from what he is.

But there was one issue though.

(Y/N) never took anything seriously and that included kidnappings or assaults or attempted murder.

Damian distinctly remembers the time (Y/N) has been kidnapped. He just went into detective mode just like his father and searched for whole two days. Turns out he was kidnapped by the Joker. Damian went though a lot of henchmen and once he saw (Y/N), he prepared for the worst.

(Y/N) was just the same. Even as Damian was fretting over him in the medical wing of the cave, (Y/N) was unserious as ever. He claimed it wasn't that bad and that Joker actually had good jokes.

To say that Damian was now worried for (Y/N)'s and his own mental sanity, or what was left of it, was an understatement of the year. That night, while he held (Y/N), he wondered what was happening with him. He would have to see if (Y/N) wanted to see a therapist.

The second instance where Damian question both of their sanities was the fact that he was mugged, but he fought back and in retaliation, they stabbed him. So what did (Y/N) do?

He walked to the hospital. Damian was on patrol when (Y/N) called him.

" Hey Damian, I have news. "

" I don't mean to be rude, but be quick, we are on patrol and we are expecting important information. " Damian said.

" I was mugged and stabb- "

" What!? "

" Yeah, I'm in Gotham general. " (Y/N) said before hanging up. Damian went straight to the cave to change before driving like a maniac to the Gotham general. He practically ran to the front desk.

" Good evening, I'm looking for (Y/N) (L/N). "

" Just a second. " The nurse said, looking it up on her computer. Damian was beyond impatient, but he couldn't lash out against the nurse who was doing her job.

" Room 110, it's just down to your right. "

He thanked her and went down that hall, looking for the numbers. he knocked on the room with the number 110 and entered. (Y/N) was laying down, covered with a blanket.

" Hey Damian. " (Y/N) said, waving at him.

" Beloved, I was very worried. " Damian started, moving closer to the bed. " You can't hang up on me like that after such news. " Damian said, taking his hand and giving it a soft kiss.

" The doctor had to stich me. " (Y/N) said, caressing Damian's hand with his thumb.

" Still. How are you feeling? "

" I feel great, I will have a very cool scar to show off. " (Y/N) said, beaming at Damian. Damian just kissed (Y/N), not ready to admit how he was worried for him. So carefree and so happy even after being stabbed or kidnapping. (Y/N) never showed signs of trauma.

Damian had asked (Y/N) to see a therapist after the mugging incident. (Y/N) said he was fine, but to calm Damian down he started going. Even the therapist was confused how (Y/N) could be so carefree and happy, despite being kidnapped and stabbed.

She said she will need more time with him. Damian didn't know what to think when she said that to him.

And the thing that really broke his mind was when (Y/N) was kidnapped by his mother and grandfather. Damian was was understandably freaking out about it.

If there is anything that the League of Shadows specializes in, that' torture. More so his grandfather and mother. Trying to locate them was proven to be even more difficult and Damian wasn't sure if he could find (Y/N) carefree about all of this.

(Y/N) has been gone for a month and Damian was sure that he was going to lose his mind. And whatever sanity he had left.

After locating his mother and grandfather duo and after capturing them, Damian look for (Y/N). And he found him with his hands bound to the wall and his body that was just covered in bruises and marks.

He untied him, taking him into his arms.

" Beloved, are you okay? " Damian asked (Y/N), brushing his hair out of his eyes. (Y/N) was unconscious and clearly not responsive. Damian wrapped him in a blanket he got from Bruce and he went to the Batplane, waiting for them to get home.

Alfred will have to check how bad it is, but for now, Damian was more than content of keeping (Y/N) in his arms.

(Y/N) woke up a day later, all smiles and giggles. Damian was more than confused.

" (Y/N), you have been tortured. Possibly brainwashed. How can you keep that smile of yours? " Damian questioned.

" Well, it wasn't anything to bad. And besides, I will be able to spice up my sessions with the therapist. "

Damian just sighed, putting his face into his hands. " If you say so beloved. If you say so.

#damian wayne x male reader #dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #robin x male reader

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wizard-on-whales · 3 months

Text

Whiskey and Tea (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

No warnings just fluff

Word Count - 1500

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

Arthur Morgan was a powerhouse of a man, but even those needed to rest now and then. But the thought of that seemed to escape not only his understanding but also several other members of the gangs as well. You watched as he came in and out of camp at all times of the day. He was always out fetching things for others and hardly ever got time to himself. The second he did usually ended in Miss. Grimshaw or Dutch hassling him for being lazy or someone asking him for a favor. Even after everything Arthur had done for everyone, he could hardly get a second of peace.

You were sitting at the fire, your hands occupied with the piece of wood you were attempting to carve into a figure for Jack. Arthur had been in camp for a few hours, busying himself with chores others avoided, like carrying the haybales or fetching water for the wash station. Finally, he decided to sit across from you at the fire. Arthur watched the flames burn, the embers swirling into the sky, mixing with the colors of the oncoming dusk. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and the heavy bags under his eyes made you question when he had last slept. He let out a noticeable sigh and wiped his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes slightly. The dance of the fire and soft lullaby from Javier's guitar seemed to be rocking him to sleep. Not long after he sat down, Dutch decided to waltz up to him, a plan clearly in mind.

“Come on, Arthur, get that man of action back! Get out there and do something! I've got a lead you can check out for me.” You felt anger rise in your chest, and your hands clutched the carving in your hand tightly, your knuckles turning white. You had to physically hold back from chucking the object at Dutches head. Arthur hesitated for a moment before sighing and getting up from his spot, not wanting to disappoint his halfway father figure.

“Sure, what is it?” Arthur listened to Dutch rattle off whatever idea he had as the two of them walked away from the fire. After they were done speaking, Arthur marched towards his horse, stopping to brush her off first. Before he could mount and head off, your own idea formed.

You hadn't been with the gang long, only a few months. Dutch and Arthur had been the ones who found you tied up in a cabin in the freezing mountains of the grizzlies. Bounty hunting was a risky job. You knew that and were willing to take the risks, but you also know you made a mistake going after Colm. The Van Der Lindes luckily went after him only a few days after you and attacked the camp they had set up in an abandoned town, finding you in the process. Despite Arthur saving you, the two of you had hardly spoken. But it didn't take much observing to realize Arthur wasn’t exactly the chatty type.

“Arthur!” You called out, watching him turn your way, “Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah,” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and adjusted his hat, “Dutch asked me to help him with something.”

“Well, before you run off, could you help me with something first?” Arthur thought about it before putting the brush in his hand back down.

“I suppose, whatchu need, girl?” Instead of answering him, you smiled happily and walked off in the opposite direction, hoping he'd follow. Which, of course, like a lost puppy, he did. You marched right through the front doors of Shady Bell, up the old, rotting stairs, and into Arthur's room, “Why we goin’ to my room? We gonna need ammo or somethin’?

“Or something,” You walked up to his bed and sat on the edge, patting the spot next to you. He gave you a dazed look, tilting his head quizzically, but compiled and sat down.

“You know…I ain't a good therapist if you're wanton’ to talk about somethin’,” He rubbed his sweaty palms across the fabric covering his knees.

“I ain't here to talk, Arthur,” You brought your hands up to his shoulders, your fingers slowly massaging the tight muscles hiding under his clothes. He tensed at first but quickly relaxed under your touch, “You're always running off doin’ things for people, but you never give yourself time to relax. I ‘bout shot Dutch when he came up to you at the fire.”

“So you dont really want nothin’?” Arthur didn't look at you but instead closed his eyes and leaned in closer to you. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and felt his breath catch in his throat. Arthur had found you exceptionally attractive from the second he laid eyes on you. And he had spent the last few months avoiding you because of it. He knew trying to speak to you would mean flushed cheeks and unclear sentences, so he kept to himself. But now, here you were, sitting on his bed, giving him a massage, and he was too damn tired to feel flustered or to really realize what was happening.

“I do want somethin’... I want you to relax and get some sleep for once in your goddamn life. Take your vest off,” Arthur didn't say anything in response but did as he was told and took the vest off. He could feel your fingers working at the tight knots better now that it was just the thin fabric of his shirt left. The two of you sat in silence for a while as your hands traveled up and down his back, occasionally stopping just to scratch your nails across it. You could tell Arthur was slowly nodding off.

“Darlin’?” You say sweetly, pulling him out of his trance. He just hummed in response, “You wanna lay down?”

Arthur nodded and stretched before finally opening his eyes and looking at you. You gave him a soft smile and reached up, pulling his hat off before setting it on the small table he had next to his bed and lying down. You patted your chest, offering it as a pillow, which he gladly accepted and laid down. One of your hands rubbed his back, and the other made its way into his hair. You played with it softly, making it a little messier than it already was. Arthur's breathing got heavier soon after laying down, and you could hear quiet snores rising from him. You smiled to yourself and kissed the top of his head before closing your eyes and dozing off.

Sometime during the night, your position changed. Arthur's arm now hung heavily over your middle, pressing your back flush against his solid chest. You stirred slightly, trying to blink the sun out of your eyes as you remembered where you were. You could still hear Arthur's quiet breathing behind you, so you assumed he wasn't awake yet. The moment was peaceful. With Arthur's soft sounds, the comforting arm safely holding you, and the songs from birds flowing in through the broken window. You sighed contently and rubbed the lingering sleep out of your eyes before feeling Arthur pull you closer.

“Good mornin’,” Arthur's voice was still laced with sleep, making it deeper than normal. You felt your heart jump and your face warm. Although you had admitted to yourself that Arthur was attractive, you had pushed down any other thought of the man. He had been your friend, ally, and nothing more. But the security of his grasp and the sound of his voice made it hard to push your feelings down. It made you crave something more.

“Morning,” You turned in his arms so that you were no longer facing the room but facing him. His caramel hair was tousled, and his eyes were heavy, not from lack of sleep but from what was still lingering. He gave you the softest smile, revealing more of his true colors to you. Not some big rough outlaw, not the camp workhorse, but a man who just needs a little love. You smiled back, admiring the beauty of his eyes. The sunbeams shining through the window hit them just right, making them look like the sea. You reached up to push a few stray hairs out of his face, “Did you finally get some sleep, cowboy?”

“I did, thanks to you,” He returned the favor and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “I guess I should help you out more often.” You laughed slightly, resting your hand on his face, scratching his beard. He closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation.

“And I guess I should ask for your help more often,” It was Arthur's turn to let out a small chuckle, and without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He quickly realized what he had done and pulled back as fast as he had leaned forward. His eyes widdened as he released his grip and sat up, scratching the back of his head.

“I-Im sorry I wasn't thinkin’...I guess I-,” Arthur stumbled over his words, you cut him off by kissing him again. He stiffened for a second but melted into your touch. He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, you tasted like honey and tea.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x reader

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mommyownsmee · 4 months

Note

how can i be a better domme to my partner? i have no experience and am nervous about trying to domme. they're into praise and degradation too and im not good at that

Being a good Domme starts in your own mind. You can‘t be a good Domme unless you understand the psychology of submission and why your Sub wants to be submissive and why you have the need to be dominant.

First you have to find out what you like and what you don‘t like. What do you want and what are your no-go‘s?

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You always have to remind yourself that BDSM and every session is for both of you. A part of your role as a Domme is to nurture your Sub into someone who is comfortable with her sexuality, and being able to enjoy everything that she wants to do and feel without feeling guilty about it.

Some Subs are completely at ease with sex, their bodies and their fantasies. Others have issues with all or some of those topics. As a good Domme you must understand and accept this and not push their boundaries.

There is a Domme code I once did read and I still think it’s perfect to remember in every situation: „Leave your Sub better than you found her.“

Of course you’re not her therapist, but you can do your part to make her feel great about sex and BDSM.

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Whenever a Sub comes to you as a Domme, you have to be able to quickly gauge where she lies on the submissive spectrum. This means you need to find out: What does she need in the first place, what does she want, etc.

I know this sounds complicated for someone without any experience, but you‘ll learn it after some time.

Just listen to your girl. She will tell you what she needs and wants. Your job is to fulfill those needs. Don't assume your own way is right. Often it is not. Always talk to your Submissive, never only do what you want.

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As I began to be a Domme myself, l've been learning how to present myself strong and dominant. This taught me that showing them that you can be strong and brutal is way more powerful as a turn on than being actively brutal with them.

Don’t believe you have to shout to make your Sub do something for you. I almost never raise my voice. A raised voice indicates annoyance, aggression and loss of control – everything that is the opposite of being a calm and in control Domme. Often a quieter voice is far more effective. As an example, suppose your Sub answers back. An eyebrow raise and an “Excuse me?” said quietly whilst maintaining eye contact with her works wonders.

You don't have to be brutal and treat your girl aggressively to be a Domme. Being a Dominant is not about aggression, manipulation or abuse.

You won’t always get your own way. In fact, being the Domme in the relationship often equals more work, because you now have to look after two people (yourself and your Sub). As much as she is there to serve and attend to your needs, you must attend to hers and not take advantage of her eagerness to please without giving her back anything in return.

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Some more tips:

Whether you are a beginner or professional Dom, you are never going to get it right all the time. Make light of your mistakes and your Sub will too.

There’s no need to be heavy and intense all the time. You don’t have to approach this with the solemnity of a politician delivering bad news. If your personality is naturally jovial and light-hearted then incorporate that into your play. Laugh and have fun with your sub.

Being a good Domme does not mean you have to enjoy all aspects of BDSM. I don’t like inflicting pain, for example, and I’m not that into leather. Does that make me a bad Domme? No. Don’t try and do everything. Learn what you and your partner enjoy and stick to that.

Everything you do should be consensual. Never force someone to do something they do not want to do or is going to cause long term physical or emotional harm. Remember the principle of Safe, Sane and Consensual (SSC) at all times.

Not owning up to mistakes. If you make a mistake, admit it and apologise if necessary. There’s a real strength in being able to admit your flaws.

It’s wrong to demand submission too soon. Some Dominants expect their partner or date to be submissive right from the off. This isn’t how it works. You must earn her submission. A Sub must respect and trust you before she is willing to submit to you. Don’t be the dumbass who starts ordering someone around on a first date.

Expecting submission outside the bedroom. Not all submissives (or dominants) enjoys submitting in everyday life, and you shouldn’t expect them to. Some subs want to be treated roughly during sex, but return to an equal power status afterwards. Some want an unequal power dynamic 24 hours a day.

If you aren’t clear in communicating your desires, or make your rules too complicated, or haven’t written them down, you can’t expect your Sub to follow them. Consider writing a BDSM contract for clarity.

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Execute your dominance slowly but progressively, learning where her and your boundaries are. Don‘t overstep them ever.

When you both have set your boundaries, respect them, but (of course depending on the situation/person/kind if boundary) play with balancing just on the edge. You could end up pushing their boundaries and either make her and you feel bad or make you both enjoy it in the end. You definitely have to talk to your Sub before doing anything.

Definitely talk after every session in great extent. No matter if it was a session over 5 minutes or 5 hours. Have your Sub tell you every detail they liked and didn't like, what they thought you could do better, etc.

In the same way, tell them how you felt.

Trust your Sub. She is a grown woman and more than capable of telling you if she believes you are taking advantage of her or if you‘re doing everything right.

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Find a mentor, someone who knows a lot about BDSM and is in the scene for a long time already and ask them all your questions. Ask them for help if you need.

Try to talk to many Dommes before you settle for one. Get a wide spectrum of answers, verify those answers against one another and as you find a trustworthy mentor, listen to how the answers from other places differs from theirs.

Experienced kink folk are the ones that have already screwed up and carry the scars from it. Learn from their scars instead of making that same mistake yourself.

Become a member of the community. Find out who is good and what makes them good. Who is bad at it and what makes them bad.

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Your Sub should know it's your first time domming. If you mess up, it's entirely okay to laugh about it. No shame, you're learning. You will feel more confident if you can laugh about it.

If you are not having fun, don't be afraid to say „Ok, this isn't working“ or „I'd prefer if we do this and this and this instead right now, want to change the plan?“.

Never change plans without bringing up a solution and ask that if your Sub has a complaint, that she comes with a solution following her complaint. This is so you aren't left feeling like all the responsibilities are on you.

This helps not break the Sub from their state of mind, it makes you dominant and handle the scene. It also leaves a space for the Sub to negotiate these new terms without breaking characters.

If no one is having fun, you both aren't doing it right and are probably just not compatible. Be honest, speak your mind, trust your partner as much as they trust you.

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Not everything you read online will suit you. Don’t think you have to do something just because another Domme is doing it.

For example, if you don’t like spanking, don’t do it. It doesn’t make you less of a Domme.

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Since it's your first time, make sure your Sub knows that you might need aftercare as a Domme too, but that you might not know what you need yet. Some people like to cuddle in silence, some like to talk about it all and others like me needs a shower right after sex. Don't be ashamed of not knowing what you want, but make sure you can voice it out as you go.

I recommand for you both to take the bdsmtest.org before you start domming. It will help you find out more about yourself and your Sub.

Afterwards, you should read a lot about the kinks that were shown you as the most compatible.

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A Mommy Domme exhibit caregiving tendencies and enjoy the softer, more tender qualities of caring for someone else. They are often paired with Littles and provide a motherly type figure or role model to guide their Sub. Mommy Dommes and little girl dynamics are often referred to as MDLG (Mommy Domme Little Girl) or CLG (Caregiver Little Girl).

A sadist Domme enjoys inflicting pain on her submissive, who is referred to as a masochist (or a „pain slut“, if she is not offended by that language). The sadist Domme will be interested in bondage, spanking, flogging and perhaps even inflicting pain during sexual activity. A sadist Domme may also enjoy humiliating or degrading her submissive through words, during sex, or when punishing her.

A Lady Domme is paired with a slave or service-orientated submissive. In this style of Domme and Sub dynamic the Lady treats her Submissive as property, and they engage in sexual and non-sexual play. For example, the Submissive might be responsible for maintaining the household, cooking dinner, or being a sexual plaything for the Lady Domme to enjoy. They might engage in slave training where the Submissive learns what the Lady Domme enjoys and how to perform her duties.

An owner Domme may refer to ownership for a submissive slave, but may also refer to owning a Submissive who enjoys acting like a pet. During pet play the Domme would serve the Sub food from a bowl on the floor, wear a collar and sleep in a cage.

A Caregiver/romantic Domme enjoys nurturing her Sub. She helps her achieve her goals and may be involved in making choices in her life such as what clothes she wears and what she eats.

A financial Domme controls the money of her submissive.

A rigger Domme enjoys rope either for the appeal of seeing her Sub tied up and restrained or simply for the beautiful ropework.

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The thing that changes degrading from an act of bullying to a source of pleasure is context and consent. Sex and real life are not the same. The difference between what you are comfortable with in the bedroom versus in a real life or public scenario entirely depends on consent and the element of choice.

The understanding that consent is key to incorporating degrading should not be taken lightly. In order for everyone involved to feel safe and find pleasure from degradation, there needs to be regular talks about limits, boundaries, and what you want to gain from the scene. In the heat of the moment, it can be easy for a degradation scene to be taken too far, even with one simple comment or act.

Due to this, it is essential to have advanced planning before attempting any act of degradation. Safewords should also be established, allowing anyone in the scene to give the warning to slow down or stop the scene completely if needed. All parties need to express what they are and are not comfortable with doing or saying. Someone may express that they want to have certain parts of their bodies insulted, but the other person involved may not be comfortable saying these insulting terms. That is absolutely okay but should be discussed prior to the scene. Everyone involved is allowed to have boundaries, and they need to be respected.

The intention behind degrading is to bring intense feelings of humiliation or embarrassment, and because of the emotions that can stem from this, aftercare is a must. Aftercare provides reassurance and affirmation, creating a feeling of safety and respect that was not present during the degrading scene.

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On the complete opposite spectrum to degradation, some Subs find arousal from praise. There is nothing some Submissives love more than positive reinforcement. Whilst praise can be verbal, there can be physical elements incorporated. A pat on her head or a kiss on her forehead can be just as good as a verbal affirmation. When giving out compliments, make sure to be sincere in your praises. Half-hearted compliments will be noticed, and your goal of making your Sub feel appreciated will not be reached.

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Some Submissives are into both degrading and praise, which is totally alright. The thing is: You need to talk with your Sub beforehand about her boundaries and what exactly she wants to hear and what not. Are there words that trigger bad feelings in your Sub? Are there things that do the opposite?

To use praise and degradation in one sentence, combine a praise with an „insult“. For excample it could be: „You‘re my pretty slut.“ or „Your cunt is already molded into the shape of my strap, and you look so perfect- fucked out like this, baby.“

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 1 year

Text

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 1: Pre-Contemplation

Chapter 2 here | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | main masterlist |

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap) Summary: Life after moving to Jackson looks drastically different for Joel, survival mode is over and now he and Ellie can finally put down new roots. Ellie adapts easily but Joel finds himself struggling to settle into this new life, in more ways than some. At Ellie and Tommy’s insistence, Joel begrudgingly finds himself in therapy to try and work through his struggles but what he encounters is more than just painful memories and deeply rooted trauma. A/N: I cannot say enough thank you's to the number of lovely humans who encouraged this idea and supported me as I embark on my very first fic! And what better Pedro character to be the guinea pig for this idea? Lots of this story draws on my personal knowledge as a social worker, as I am working towards becoming a certified equine assisted therapist. Consequently, there are lots of horsey terms, therapy terms, and vivid descriptions of trauma at certain points. Feel free like, comment, or reblog if you enjoy it :)

Taglist (for now): @beskarandblasters, @pr0ximamidnight, @theewokingdead, @atinylittlepain, @prolix-yuy, @swiftispunk, @harriedandharassed, @amywritesthings

If anyone wants to be on the taglist please let me know! If you don't want to be on it then also let me know lol.

~~~~~~~

You sat up taller in your chair, arching your back and rolling your shoulders in an effort to stretch out your spine, exhaling softly as you heard the cacophony of crunches and protests from your muscles. You had been hunched over your notepad for over an hour, eyebrows scrunched together and your mind running on autopilot, as you caught up on client notes that you had fallen behind on for the last couple days. The downside of having a small therapy practice, hell any therapy practice, was that there was a never ending litany of documentation to fill out. Seeing as you were the only therapist in the tiny commune of Jackson, there was never a shortage of clients and consequently, never a shortage of session notes that you had to write.

“Hun.”

You hear your name spoken in a warm tone from behind you. You barely look up from the page as you try to rewrite the word ‘diagnosis’ after what feels like the fifth time. The word has basically lost all its meaning at this point.

“Honey, c’mon, the sun is about ready to set and you can wrap that up tomorrow.” The cover page to the notepad closes on top of your hand and you look up to see your assistant, Tracey, giving you a knowing look and then glancing towards the front of the office. You follow her gaze to the front windows and take in the deep ember orange hue washing over the business faces and windows on the opposite side of the street, signaling the end of another day. Sighing softly, you lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest with a frown. You know she’s right and yet you still have the same dispute every day.

“Trace, you and I both know that if I don’t get them done today, they will just be added to tomorrow’s to do list, besides this is the last one I swear,” you say to her with a smirk, as if she has not heard that excuse before.

You were never the kind of person to half-ass your responsibilities at your job, including client documentation, even if there was no longer any governing body or association to uphold professional social work standards. You did your job with integrity, even the mundane administrative tasks that involved more writing than actual talking with clients. Tracey knew this of course, it was something she admired about you, how suited you were for this line of work. It was clear that you cared deeply for the clients that you supported. But it doesn’t mean it was not a fight when the end of the workday rolled around and she had to tear you away from your desk and practically shove you out of the office door.

She rolled her eyes at you and her lips curled into a small smile as she headed towards the door with her coat and bag in tow. “Promise me you will at least be out of here before the night patrol starts?” She points her finger at you as she stops just ahead of the door. You nod and wave her off as you turn your focus back to the notepad, smoothing your palm over the words etched into the cover ‘Restorative Reins.’

You had only been in Jackson for roughly over a month, though it felt like much longer. Much like everyone else who had survived the outbreak and came to find refuge in the small settlement after the world went to shit, you were grateful to accept any basic decencies of normal life that were afforded to you. Warm meals, warm showers, hell running water in general was a miracle in and of itself at that point. So when you actually arrived in Jackson, you were dumbfounded to see how much normalcy surrounded you. Children running and playing in the streets, storefronts of various thriving businesses, sheep being rounded up in a nearby corral - hold on, a fucking MOVIE THEATER?

While it took some time to grow out of the perpetual fight or flight mode that you were entrenched in from life on the road, you did eventually fall into a good pace in Jackson. Especially after getting involved in the community and taking up the job as the local therapist, you had never been busier, and you loved it.

The world felt unflinchingly obsolete post outbreak, but being able to support others with their mental health never failed to bring you joy and an unshakeable sense of purpose. You wanted to help others as they navigated their pain and broke down the mental blocks that entrapped them in their trauma. You wanted to help them realize the innate strength that they possessed. Sadly, you never got the chance to practice long term, as you finished up grad school just before the outbreak happened. But that didn’t seem to matter now as you had an endless stream of community members that you saw on a weekly basis at your practice, all with their own pain and struggles, seeking support.

It was crazy to think about the short period of time that had passed since you started at the job, how much you had done for the residents, how much more that you wanted to do. You were pulled from your memories when the office phone rang, internally groaning as you looked at your watch.

4:58 p.m. Of course.

Steeling yourself you picked up the phone, praying that it was a quick call.

“Restorative Reins Practice, how can I help you?” you answered.

“Oh! hi ma'am,” a warm, mellow Southern drawl greets you on the other end. “Are you the local therapist that has been helpin’ folks out around here with their mental health?”

"That's me,” you reply warmly, “what can I do for you?”

The man hesitates briefly, “Well, I was uh wanting to know a bit more about the business I guess, how the therapy process works, fees and stuff for someone who was interested in getting help. Not me though, it’s not for me, it’s for my brother, Joel. My name is Tommy by the way,” he mentions quickly.

“No problem Tommy, I can explain the basics to you including the different types of therapy I offer and how the process works,” you reassure him. You explain to him the different services, how the equine therapy worked, walk in hours, session lengths and so on.

“I should probably mention that my brother ain’t keen on getting help and reaching out to others when he needs it, he’s too damn proud to acknowledge it, so he really doesn’t think he has any issues and thinks everything is fine… but he’s having a real tough time settlin’ down here. He’s so haunted by his past and he’s been acting differently lately, more temperamental, well, more than usual,” Tommy adds. You smile to yourself and nod, as you’ve had many clients before who were stuck in similar struggles and closed off to therapy initially.

“I can definitely understand that,” you sympathize with him. “It sounds like your brother has been through a lot and you just want him to get some support, which is great. Therapy isn’t for everybody but I have worked with many individuals like him who were going through similar situations, and they found great success.”

“That’s great to hear. That’s all I want for him is to get some help,” Tommy states.

“Now with that being said,” you continue, “therapy is voluntary, I cannot force someone to attend, but if your brother would agree to a consultation with me, I could chat with him more about where he is at, the kind of support he could benefit from and go from there. No pressure to commit to anything,” you propose to him.

“Hmm, I think he could be persuaded to try that, now that you mention it like that,” Tommy chuckles, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Awesome! You can tell him to stop by the office any time and we can discuss it more. We’re open from 9-5,” you tell him, silently relieved that it was an indeed quick call. He thanks you and hangs up.

Something else akin to curiosity creeps into your mind as you recount what Tommy briefly told you about his brother. Maybe more so intrigue. You wonder how resistant he is to therapy, what happened in his past to hurt him so deeply, but you catch yourself before your thoughts run away from you further, either way you look forward to helping another person in need.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tommy, I swear to god if you bring up this damn therapy shit again, I won’t hesitate to shoot you next time we’re out on patrol,” Joel growled through clenched teeth, as he walked away from his brother into the kitchen of the house.

“Boy, it ain’t like I never heard that before,” Tommy quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he followed Joel into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as he leaned against the frame, hands shoved into his pockets. He observed his brother's rigid stance, the tightness in his shoulders, as Joel stood over the sink, looking out the window.

This felt like the umpteenth time that Tommy had broached the subject of Joel getting help and talking to a ‘shrink,’ as he dismissively described it, for the issues that he was struggling with. Joel was fine. He didn’t have any fucking issues. He was doing just fine and didn’t need some professional to scrutinize him, reduce him to his vices, and open old wounds from his past life. He was encouraged to go to grief counseling after Sarah died but by some grace of God, or whatever godforsaken omnipotent entity existed at that point, the outbreak occurred. Forget mental health, physical health and survival became the only focus.

Tommy exhaled softly. “Listen, I'm only suggestin’ it because I care about you. Ellie cares about you. You both have been through hell and back in the last year, I mean shit, we all have. But it seems like everything y’all went through is still affecting you, holding you back from letting your guard down and settling in here,” he states plainly, sadness lacing his tone.

“That’s bullshit Tommy and you know it,” Joel snaps, turning to face his younger brother and leaning back against the counter, arms crossed in defense. His gaze narrows. “I go out on patrol don’t I? Pick up extra shifts wherever it’s needed, help out with the contracting jobs, go out with Ellie in town.” Joel stood up taller, puffing out his chest, challenging his younger brother. Tommy shook his head, running his hand over his face with an exasperated expression. Heaven forbid Joel did anything for himself that did not involve contributing or providing for someone, period. He just couldn’t shake that from his identity, and it broke Tommy’s heart as he watched his brother’s stubborn pride, ridden with guilt and trauma, swallow him whole.

“Man when are you gonna fuckin’ do something for yourself Joel?!” Tommy asserted, his frustration reaching a boiling point. “Forget the damn commune, forget the community, forget Ellie for a sec and think about the last time YOU did something for yourself, the last time YOU reached out for help goddamnit.” He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the threshold of the kitchen as he strode towards Joel.

“You’re not on the run anymore brother. You don’t have to just survive. You can have a life here. You can sleep without keepin’ one eye open and relax without lookin’ over your shoulder. Don’t you want that? Don’t you think you deserve that?! Don’t you think you deserve this?!” Tommy said as he gestured around the cozy kitchen and fixed his older brother with a pleading stare.

Joel’s eyes widened as he tried to step back, the edge of the counter biting into his lower back as he took in Tommy’s weary face, the pain in his soft brown eyes, mirroring his own. His younger brother rarely raised his voice anymore. The outbreak took its toll on his hot headed temperament that never seemed to simmer down, even after he was discharged from the army. Joel knew that Tommy cared about him, hell he knew how deeply his brother loved him, after all they had respectively been through in the last twenty years, it had to be serious for him to raise his voice.

Joel opened his mouth, ready to bite back but his brother raised his hands in the air in surrender, “Look, this is the last time I will bring this up, I swear. But yesterday I called up the therapist in town who’s been helpin’ folks out, and asked her about the therapy process and she seems real nice, and supportive. She said you could come in for a consultation and talk to her and see if you’re interested,” Tommy said quietly.

Joel’s gaze narrows as he scrunches his eyebrows together in incredulity, “You-”

“I had nothing to lose Joel. Absolutely nothing. And neither do you,” Tommy cuts him off, raising his chin in defiance. “At least go talk to the therapist, if you don’t like her or you’re not feelin’ it, then I’ll drop it and let it go. Okay? The office is on the main street, just beside the clothing store, adjacent to the stables and they’re open everyday from 9-5.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Tommy,” Joel leaned back as he looked up at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse in on him. Gotta love that brotherly love.

“Look I should be getting back now, Maria will be waiting for me. Here’s the number and address for the business. I’ll see you around okay?” Tommy patted through his pockets and retrieved a small piece of paper with writing scribbled on it, placing it on the counter beside Joel. He gave him a last placating look before he walked out of the kitchen, the front door closing behind him with a soft click.

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply before turning back around to look out the kitchen window. He hung his head in defeat, rounding his back as he rested his elbows on the counter and glared into his matte reflection in the sink. He didn’t need any help. He was doing fine. He’s still upright and breathing, with blood coursing through his veins isn’t he? Albeit, he's not jumping out of bed like a sprightly thirty year old anymore. His knees pop and crackle when he gets up from crouching over machinery for too long, his joints protest the next day when he pushes himself too far, moving slower than usual on job sites.

Hell, even his memory is starting to get cloudy around the edges. If it weren’t for Ellie some days, he’s sure he would leave the house without pants on, what with her always reminding him where things are in the house, special events that are coming up in the community that he forgets about. He had been a bit more snappy than usual, as Ellie so lovingly pointed out one day, but that’s nothing compared to his normal demeanour.

“You’re becoming a grumpy motherfucker y'know that? Jeez, who shit in your cornflakes this morning?” She grumbled at him with a mouth full of cereal, after he snapped at her reminder that it was parent day at the local school. Parent day, P.A. day, Joel hadn’t dealt with any of this shit in over twenty years since Sarah was in school. Even then he managed to swiftly neglect many of the parental events, seeing as Sarah was the perfect student, with nothing but glowing reviews from her teachers. The fact that Ellie was going to school amidst a fucking apocalypse was enough for Joel to be content.

But still, he’s doing fine, right? Just fine.

“Maybe talking to someone that’s not related to you would help you, y’know? Being able to talk about shit that you can’t talk to me, or Tommy, or anyone else about you know?” Ellie proposed to him later that night.

As luck would have it, she was already home when Joel and Tommy spoke in the kitchen and she had heard pretty much the entire conversation. And like Tommy, she only wanted Joel to get support because she cared about him.

“Think of all the shit that we went through in the past year, forget the infected, and the raiders, and FEDRA, and almost dying,” she casually listed off on one hand as if she was reciting a grocery list.

“There's so much shit that we’re both carrying with us, demons from our past, and it’s gotta come out one way or another. Look, therapists aren’t there to judge you, or analyze you,” she continued, “they’re kind of like a sounding board for you to bounce your thoughts off of, and they help you process shit you’re going through. You never know unless you try it,” she said matter of factly.

“Like Tommy said, you got nothing to lose man. Plus the whiskey and pills will only help you numb reality for so long, you’re gonna go insane eventually,” she said, fixing him with a knowing look as she leaned back into the couch beside him.

Joel just grunted in response and frowned. Damn this kid for being too insightful for her own good.

Ellie might be young but she most certainly wasn’t naive. And as much as Joel would have liked to assume that her easy transition into life in Jackson was on account of her youthfulness, it really wasn’t. It was just the fact that she had never known a normal life, as heartbreaking as that was. She never had the chance to experience such normalcy before everything turned on its head. But she developed friendships with a few of the other teens in the community, namely one girl Dina, who she hung out with after school, went to the movies and other community events with.

She didn’t have to actively try to fit into Jackson, she just did. Joel would never acknowledge the pangs of jealousy he felt gnawing at his insides when he saw her getting on so well, but it didn’t mean they chipped away at his morale any less.

Ellie smirked at his lack of response, knowing he was mulling it over in his mind. With the relationship they had developed over the past year, she was grateful to be able to talk to Joel and actually get through to him.

“Damn maybe I should be a fuckin’ therapist, that was good advice wasn’t it?” she grinned at him, elbowing him in his side.

Joel snorted and shook his head. “Christ, I must be losing my mind for real this time if you’ve got me considering it.”

“Now c’mon,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him, “you owe me at least a few games of Boggle for that pep talk,” she said triumphantly, holding up the weathered board game that was on the coffee table.

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