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#getting dumped for grad school

raspberryconverse · 1 year

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Sometimes a thought pops into my head and I decide to open my original blog (from 2003-2011ish, though I posted in it a few times after that and when I started writing in my LiveJournal again, I used IFTTT to duplicate my posts there) and look things up. Then I get sucked in and start reading things and going down rabbit holes with my tags and I look up and it's been an hour and I'm deep into 2007 when I was pining hardcore over this girl from my LGBT History class that I was pretty good friends with, despite us having a very drunk hookup (that IIRC was still pretty fantastic sex) on our first date. NGL, she's definitely one of the ones "that got away."

(Yes, I am happily married. But sometimes you can't fight the nostalgia.)

Anyway, what sent me there was to see if I could figure out when I first started seeing my therapist and apparently my anniversary with her is Thursday. I've been seeing her for 14 years! Yes, there was a 4 year gap where I took a break (I felt like we kept having the same session over and over again), but holy shit.

I also don't think I can ever visit my blog without having nostalgia for the guy who dumped me for grad school when I was 21. I've been thinking about him a lot, especially with the last few Heartstopper updates. It's not really a spoiler if you've read Nick & Charlie, but basically Charlie had originally assumed Nick was going to go to Kent so he wouldn't be too far from Charlie. I actually met that guy while he was in Chicago for a gap year between undergrad and grad school. We hadn't been dating long, but we kind of knew we were doomed because he wasn't planning on staying in Chicago. Sure, he got into UofC, but he had also gotten into Penn and Carnegie Mellon. As our time was running out, I practically begged him to stay. Ultimately, he ended up at Carnegie Mellon, where he met his spouse (plot twist: we both ended up marrying nonbinary people) and I think they live in North Carolina.

I browsed through his profile on Facebook this afternoon and god, we were adorable together.

When I started writing in my LJ again, apparently someone who was a friend of a friend of my ex I dated right before I dated that guy had stumbled across it and said she was still Team [grad school guy]. And on this entry I wrote about trying to understand my sexuality as a monogamist (Am I still bi if I marry someone or am I really gay or straight, depending on that person's gender?), there's an anonymous comment that I'm pretty sure is the same person.

All I can say is I'm definitely still bisexual and marrying a gender fluid person really solidified that for me. I never would have thought it'd end up that way, but I'm really glad it did.

#blogger #livejournal #bisexual #gender fluid #non binary #the one that got away #university #grad school #getting dumped for grad school #is this what marriage is?#heartstopper #narlie

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saiidahyunie · 1 month

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ballroom extravaganza

minatozaki sana x f!reader || cont. of fake and true ! pt.3 here

synopsis: you scored the date with the girl from the bar, things are shaping up for the better (maybe/maybe not), and your cousin mina is starting to raise some suspicions.

warnings: fluff ; smut!! ; sana giving/recieving ; reader recieving/giving ; fucking in the car/office/bedroom (freaky deaky) :D ; sana being needy ; sana praising ; cursing ; anything else i didn't let y'all know ; might be proofread

a/n: dang y'all really like sana don't ya? (bias wrecking me ill never recover) hope you guys enjoy this second part as much as the first one!

you’re basically jumping out of your own skin when you hear the knock on your door, and twirl around to see the bedside clock.

8:29

a minute early. you’d be impressed to keep the hefty lunch in your stomach to not vomit it out.

“coming!” you cry out, before taking a second to fuss with your current appearance. you played it simple, the flashiest part of the red dress that shuhua loaned you. like the black one, it’s slim-fitting and short, the neckline cutting above the swell of your breasts. your lips are a stained deep red, just to match. tzuyu always said to you that the color was striking for you to pull off.

after straightening the dress, you step out of your room and walk towards the entryway of the door, taking a second to toe on your black pumps. and then, with a steady exhale, you open the door.

sana stands on the other side of it, one hand in her pocket of your black slacks and the other carrying a bouquet of roses that she promptly shoves at your chest. you take them, cradling to your body, and look up to find her already gazing at you, eyes raking from the top of your head and down. again and again.

“hey.”

“hi.” you smile at her. “these are really beautiful, thank you.”

sana jerks her head in acknowledgement, and you can see the faintest flush of pink spreading to the tips of her ears. you bite your lip as you set the flowers down, staving off the rare urge to giggle.

she’s still standing by the door, holding her arm out. “so are you ready to go?”

you take it, curling a hand around her bicep, letting her lead you out. “please.”

—

“alright,” sana says, laying her menu flat on the table, staring at you with grave seriousness. “speak.”

“huh?” you look away from the giant, crystal chandelier hanging above you two. the restaurant she’d take you to was only slightly less fancier than the one at the four seasons hotel.

slightly.

“i can tell you want to say something.”

you smile nervously. “yeah, about your driving, maybe. i thought we were gonna—”

“y/n.” she says firmly; it has the same affect as dumping a bucket of ice water over your head. “no bullshit. you might as well say what you wanna say.”

“fine.” and this is easy to sink into, your mode of no-nonsense: the compartmentalization of what stresses you. “why did you give me the money?”

“because i wanted to.”

“i know, but why? did you feel bad for me?”

“a little.”

you grit your teeth. “did you pity me?”

“no.”

“then what?”

“i’ve been in your position before. kind of.”

“what do you mean.”

“struggling college student, a shitty job, caming from harebrained ways to get money. everyone who’s gone on the path to grad school, doesn’t matter if it’s med, law, blah blah blah whatever, knows how fucking hard it is to survive.”

your cheeks flush from sana’s words, picking at the white table cloth. “so you empathized with me?”

“basically.” sana says, sitting back in her chair, smiling at you. your eyes follow along the lazy draw of it. “i didn’t expect you to be so difficult about it.”

“it’s not like it’s common to give strangers hundreds of dollars within an hour of meeting them. forgive me for being concerned.”

“do you still want to give the money back to me?” sana asks.

“yes.”

“okay. then let’s change the subject.” diverting to the basic cookie cutter icebreaker in existence. “what are you majoring in?”

“sana—”

she reaches across the table and grabs your hand, squeezing it slightly. dazzling brown eyes swallow up your field of vision as she leans into you. “what are you majoring in?”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to relent into sana’s charms; mina would have your head if she knew that sana was running away with it. but she’s making it so so easy, smiling when you answer, “i’m finishing up my bachelor’s in child education. aiming to get my masters in child’s psychology.”

“you like kids?”

“yeah,” you reply, visibly softening to sana. “last summer i did my internship at a local kindergarten and i love it. kids are…easy in a way that people aren’t.”

“what do you mean?”

“they don’t expect anything from you. not anything beyond food or water or playtime. you know, nothing super sophisticated or adult. and they’re easy to talk to. they don’t care what you say to them or if you don’t talk much in general. they’re not judgy and it’s nice.” you hit that right out of the ballpark, and sana stares with lips parted as the facts are laid out for you.

“i’ve never thought about them that way,” she says, her hand shifting atop your own. her thumb skims across your knuckles. “it sounds nice.”

your heart thrums like a hummingbird against the walls of your chest. every languid caress pulls a shiver from you. “you don’t like kids?”

“i don’t dislike them. i’m neutral, i guess. i know i’d like to have my own.” sana replies.

“do you have any siblings?”

“nope. i’m an only child.”

“i would’ve never guessed,” you say dryly.

“ha! has anyone told you you’re funny?” sana inquires, and you’re stifling a laugh while she’s smiling at you, gaze fond. “what about you?”

“well, i’m an only child.” you reply. normally you’d leave it at this. you don’t really like the notion of getting into the nitty-gritty of your past, but sana’s presence robs any reticence from you. “my parents passed when i was younger so i was raised by my aunt and her cousin.”

“oh.” sana slips her fingers into the spaces of your own and squeezes gently again. “i’m so sorry.”

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling awkwardly. “it happened when i was little. i’m kind of accustomed to it now.”

“can i ask you a question?”

“a personal one?”

the corner of sana’s mouth quirks. you want to trace it with your fingers.

“if you were in that desperate of a situation, why didn’t you ask her for help?”

“i can’t afford to take any money from my aunt or cousin. she can’t afford it.”

“did you try asking?”

“i’m not saying she would’ve said no. but if she tried, i wouldn’t have accepted it.”

“sounds startlingly familiar.”

you pull your hand from hers with a smile and an eye roll before picking up the menu in front of the table, raising it up high enough to cover sana’s face.

“can we order something now?”

—

when you get back in the car, you’re warm, languid with a stomach full of risotto and red wine. sana’s hand rests on the gear shift between you, the other one on her wheel. you like watching the motion of them as she drive, like the curls of sana’s knuckles and the rasp her palm makes against the wheel when she turns it. you wish to feel the warmth of it against your leg.

well, in a city like new york, it’s nothing more than unpleasant.

“you know i wasn’t kidding when i told you that you’re a horrible driver.”

“do you own a car, y/n?”

“i usually take the subway.”

“okay. pro-tip if you ever do drive in these streets, better to be offensive than dead. or stuck in traffic for two hours. which, believe it or not, is fucking worse.”

but despite sana’s words, she seems to listen to you. the drive stretches longer, and you lean into the plush leather seats as you stare out the window, dreading the sight of every familiar building, the street signs that you know lead to your apartment. for a moment, you debate asking to get ice cream, or go to the park, a movie theater–-anything and everything to extend this. you don’t want to leave the pleasant warmth of her car.

“y/n?”

you look over to see her smile. “i thought you were asleep.”

“i’m not tired.”

she takes her hand off the gear shift, thumbs a lock of your hair without breaking your gaze. unwavering.

“neither am i.”

when she pulls into your squat, little apartment complex, you’re gripping the edge of your seat, nails squeaking against the buttery leather. she smoothly pulls into an empty space, parking backwards—what a show off—-before turning to you. with as huddled into the seat as you were, her hand is behind the headers, arm bracketing you, you feel consumed. surrounded by her scent, in her car, the engine humming beneath them, with her so close. you can’t breathe without inhaling her.

sana’s noticed it too. her eyes have gone dark, swallowed by her pupils.

“i had fun,” she says.

“me too.”

her mouth twitches. “you gonna try giving me the money back now?”

you jolt at the reminder, bending to snatch you purse, but sana’s hand flies from her headrest to your hand, hot over your knee.

“i was kidding. i don’t want it back. i don’t need it.”

“sana—”

“y/n.” she interrupts firmly. “i don’t need it. and in my opinion, i think you can do a hell of a lot more.”

your defenses waiver before they crumble completely, and you feel your chin wobble. to your horror. “you’re too nice to me.”

she grabs it, pressing her thumb into the plush of your bottom lip. your stomach clenches as sana’s eyes flicker down, anticipation making your headlight.

“i don’t think i’m nice enough,” she whispers, but it barely registers. you’re already reaching for her, mouth open to beg; hand on her wrist, and she meets you half-way, swallowing your muted please.

sana’s kiss is desperate, intense like the rest of her. one hand buried in your hair while the other presses against your knee, a searing, overbearing heat that sinks into your insides, coiling tingly in the pit of your gut. despite your furious protestations to tzuyu, you haven’t felt this in a while, the wet-warmth of another mouth against your own, the life of someone else’s tongue, opening you up further.

you press closer, so frantic you almost climb over the armrest, but sana pushes you back down to your seat. she breaks away from your mouth to kiss down the line of your throat, flicking her tongue out to taste your overheated skin, smiling when you sigh. your hips jerk beneath her hold when she sucks at your pulse point.

she grins, teeth nipping at your jawline. “you like that, sweetie?”

there’s a shock-wire running from the heat of her mouth to her clit. sana’s barely touched you and you’re already keyed-up, on the cusp of euphoria. if you touched yourself now, you’d be so far gone, but you’re not sure she’d let you.

sana returns to kissing your throat, pausing to suckle at it with teeth and tongue, laving it against your skin in soft, wet strokes. she uses the hand in your hair to tilt your neck towards her, directing you like a puppet on strings. her other hand roves up and down your exposed thigh in gentle motions, more exploratory than anything, as if she can’t keep from touching you. and the thought sends a jolt of electricity to pass through you, sparking between your legs. it makes your hips can’t, makes the desperate need for friction a burying, voracious thing, primed to consume you.

when she kisses the swell of your bottom lip, it comes out of you in a breathless pant, nails biting the seat. “p-please touch me.”

“where?” sana asks, thumbing the hem of your dress, close enough to be a physical pain. “where, baby? here?”

“n-no.”

“then where, y/n?” your eyes are black, eager with predatory intent, and you hate how much you love it; the consuming weight of her attention, like she wants to eat you whole.

without much coronation, you take sana’s hand and shove it between your thighs, spreading them wide. you’re initially afraid that she’ll keep teasing you, that she’s lost in the power trip, but she surprises you when she groans and kisses you roughly, fingers tracing up your slit.

“so fucking wet you are,” sana raps when she breaks away, almost crazed. she dips her hand beneath the waistband of your panties, the sensation of her fingers against your sensitive skin sending your eyes rolling. your hips buck, demanding delicious friction, and she surges in, laughing into your mouth.

“you can cum just like this, can’t you?” she asks, voice rumbling against your cheek. her thumb slides up and down the seam of your cunt, the heel of her palm adding the barest pressure to your clit, but it’s good. the mere taste of it almost enough to send you over the edge, just for the sweet torture.

her knuckles pull against the gusset of your panties as two of her fingers center over your clit. her pace at first is light, slow, exploratory like the way it’d been on your leg. her eyes on your face are focused. she wants to know what’ll take you to the edge, and you know it isn’t this. so you grab sana’s wrist and raise your hips to force pressure.

“faster,” you pant, liquid gaze cutting to her. “h-harder. i like it–”

she steals the words from you, kissing again with a mouth full of bite. the motions of sana’s fingers quicken, slide down to the tease of your e trance while you grind frantically into her palm. you’re so wet you easily accept the glide of her first finger, and when she pushes in the second, the stretch is sweet, a welcome thing. you thrust onto them, wishing vainly that she’d toss you into the backseat and fuck you with something more.

the thought makes you clench around her, and she curses loudly, burying her face into your sweaty neck.

“are you always this depsrate when you’re getting fucked?” sana hisses, thrusting her fingers into you harder, without relent. “you always feel this good?”

you choke out a sob, feeling the familiar swoop in your belly, the swelling tide that welcomed euphoria. as you clutch her wrist, chasing it, sana rests her head atop your shoulder, her voice going soft, reverent.

“you’re so good, y/n,” she says in a frantic stream, mad with want. “so good. so, so fucking good. my perfect girl.”

you keen when it washes over you, that white-hot heat that robs you of sense. you shudder beneath sana’s grip, clutching her wrist as you ride it out. she helps you come down from it, kissing you languidly and keeping her pace inside you slow. when you can breathe again, she pulls them out of you. you flush hotly when she sticks her fingers in her mouth, but the embarrassment doesn’t linger long. you surge toward her, hands flying towards the button of her pants. meets her in another frantic kiss.

“i wanna make you feel good now,” you whisper, palming her. “i want—”

sana uses her hand in your hair to bind you up against her and kisses you again, long and full enough to make the words melt from your tongue. you’re hazy when she pulls away, pliant.

“i think,” she says. “that there’s always next time.”

“next time?”

“next time,” sana repeats, rubbing your cheek with her thumb. “it’s late anyway. you should go to bed.”

“oh,” you say blankly. “okay.”

sana kisses you again, twice on your nose, before leaning over to open your door. you stumble out of her car, binding your purse tight against your chest. you wave at her from the entrance of her building before you step inside, and see the shadow of sana’s hand as she waves back, driving off. when she turns onto the street, you rush inside, a hot, sharp balloon swelling in your chest.

your hands shake when you slot the key into your door and turn the knob, switching on the lights. you kick your shoes off and toss the purse onto the couch, moving on muscle memory. you can’t think beyond the warm, floaty haze that’s clouded your mind, and when you shut the door behind you, you laugh.

over and over. carelessly. all the while remembering the firm grip of sana’s hand and the scent of her, clogging your nose even now, a smell you want to bottle up and keep.

next time, you think, giddy, nearly dancing in the small space. she said there’d be a next time.

just then, you hear the high trill of your phone and dart to the couch, yanking open your purse to fish it out. you flush a pink when you notice the notification next to sana’s name– a text that reads, goodnight- and as you go to type your response, another notification pops up. one from venmo.

a cold spike of adrenaline shoots through you when the app opens, fingers trembling. you almost drop your phone entirely at the number attached: $1,000 dollars.

“for school,” it reads.

your breath quickens. the hot balloon in your chest expands and expands until it pops, a physical pain against your ribcage.

i thought— your eyes burn. the realization sinks into your like molasses. i thought she—

the night you met sana, she expressed concern when she learned why you were there. she’d condemned jihyo and implied that you deserved something more, something better. she’d left you money as a gift, to be kind.

a gift, sana told you. you don’t owe me anything.

so why is it, then, that you have the distinct impression that jihyo had been simply outbid.

—

you’re thinking about next time. sana said that there’d be a next time.

that next time would come, then twice.

then a third.

and after.

the day after that, and the day even after that.

the room is reverberating the echoes around you, loud with the sounds of heavy pants and wet slaps of skin. you’re clinging to the sheets beneath you, pushing yourself up, moving your hips to meet the frantic pace of sana's fingers curled up inside you. sana then buries a hand into your hair and hitches you up for a kiss that never takes. it’s broken quickly, leaves both of your swollen mouths parted and breathing of each other’s oxygen. you’re relishing the intimacy of the moment.

when the building pressure at the base of your stomach grows to become too overwhelming, you fall back on the mattress, unmoored without sana’s presence, but she follows you as she always does. she’s binding her arm around your waist and raises you up, hand cupping your cunt while she’s all over your neck again.

“c’mon,” sana says, voice wrecked, torn from her. “c’mon, honey, one more.”

you gave sana the opportunity to sit on her face earlier, brown eyes flashing dark and predatory at you while you grind all over her mouth. the hot curl of her tongue relentless against you, reducing you to a living nerve ending. sana wrung out two splintering orgasms out of you, flipping you on your back before you could even recover. you loved it, and you still do, seeing all the ways that you can challenge sana.

her slender fingers dip down to your clit again and causes you to moan loudly, rocking into her as she circles it firmly: rough, fast motions that she’s learned that you love. to bring you back to that edge quick.

sana kisses you again, her other hand slipping to your breast above and squeezing. she’s groaning into your core, it’s making you fall deeper into the madness of your situation.

“you’re so—” she barely mumbles out, her hand on your breast slides down to clamp the divot in your hips. sliding the pillow under the arch of your back in one seamless motion. she’s too good with her hands. “fucking unreal, and perfect.”

her mouth against your other mouth starts the chain reaction. you’re moaning out more strain behind it. a star-burst of affection igniting in your chest. sana continues to swipe her tongue, the unyielding pressure that makes your vision swimmy, and you let go.

you’re sobbing out while your hands are trying to find what’s left of the comforter as ecstasy steals over you. sana continues to drive her fingers and tongue into you, letting you feel it: in the air, at the base of your throat, between the rapid, uneven pacing of thrusts from her fingers. when you’re all tuckered out, the clenching fading out from your cunt, soaked with slick while it gets on different parts of your skin; from the leg, to one of your obliques, to the small peak of your boob.

“o-okay, that’s e-enough.”

“you taste so fucking good,” sana murmurs, mouth hot against the column of your neck. her hands trailing up and down your stomach. “when you clench around my fingers is just—”

fucking shit this woman. “sana, please.”

she sits up with a chuckle, and you’re at the same level too, instantly resting your head on her shoulder, kissing it. sana wraps her arm around your waist, kissing the top of your head, her fingers are tapping away at the v-line. you look up and she kisses you, grinning with delight.

“will you stay over?” you ask, too plaintive when she pulls away. sana’s smile falters and you feeling the realization, disappointment inbound.

“i can’t.” a spike lances through you. “my department has a meeting early in the morning. i can’t skip.”

“oh.” you hate yourself for being upset—she’s a doctor, of course she’s busy—but the feeling rises up anyway, along with the insidious notion that she’s gotten what she wanted and so has little use for you now. without thinking, you start to drift away from sana in slow little increments that she catches, and she pulls you up tight against her, pressing her lips to your hairline.

“i wish i could say,” sana whispers. “if it were up to me, i’d be here with you everyday.”

the words are cruel, considering what they are–what you are—but the pain is stamped down. masking it with teasing. “how would you work then?”

“i’m sure my supervisor could find someone else to fill my place. someone as equally ecstatic to dig their hands into some guy’s intestines.”

“you’re so…casual when you talk about your job.” you say out of respite.

“are you worried?” sana asks.

“no.” answering while tracing fingers across sana’s chest, over her still-racing heart, before tapping her chin. “but it makes me wonder if i should be.”

“is the child psychology major going to psychoanalzye me right now? when i’m twenty-nine years old nearing thirty?”

“you know the issues of childhood can be far-reaching. you never stop feeling the effects of it.”

“incredible.” you laugh when sana dips her head and takes your finger in her mouth, biting it gently. “but i’ve always been this way.”

“which is?”

a half-feral grin spreads across sana’s face before she abruptly flips you over. you yelp into her mouth as she kisses you, long and slow, and settles over you. she breaks away, still grinning. “crazy about you.”

you’re flushing hotly, which makes her bark out a delighted laugh, and sana kisses you again. over and over and over. her lips trail from your fluttering eyelids to the tip of your nose to your chin, every nook and cranny of your face that she can reach. when her lips meet yours again, you can taste the sugar on her tongue.

“god, i wish i could stay,” sana rasps, breaking away, and you cling onto her.

“then stay.”

“if i did, i’d have to leave at 5 to get ready at my apartment in order to be at the hospital on time. also you have an early class tomorrow. chances are i’d wake you up and you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.”

your jaw tightens, and teeth catch your tongue. you don’t want to accuse sana of making excuses, because you know she’s right; it’s happened before. and that’s what burns you, the idea that your angst could have no standing. the operating off of your injured feelings and nothing substantial. this is transnational after all.

“okay.” you say, coolly. “guess this is goodbye then.”

“bye y/n.” sana says, kissing your mouth. “goodnight.”

sana kisses you several times, smothering you in affection. she only stops after you simple, nipping at your nose once before rising off the bed. you watch as sana peels away off the bed, walking around your room, picking up her clothes from the floor and pulling them on. when she’s done, she strides over to you and slides a nick of your hair back, kissing your forehead.

“i’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“okay.”

sana ducks down, skating her nose along the edge of your hairline, keeping her mouth close to your ear. “i’ll see you later.”

you move your head and catch sana’s lips. against them, whispering. “mn, see you later.”

you notice with some satisfaction that sana’s eyes are fevered as she pulls away, dark with wanting, and you shove your face back into the pillow, clinging to it. sana mutters a soft curse and makes her way to the door, only to immediately jam the knob when she goes to close it. she mutters a curse again, much louder.

“just give it a little wiggle,” you say, sitting up. “it gets a little tight sometimes when you twist it.”

“how long has it been like this?”

“since i got the apartment.”

“what the fuck?!” sana exclaims. “did anything else come broken?”

“sometimes the water pressure in my shower is really low.”

“jesus christ, y/n.” sana says again, louder, angrier. “why haven't you told your landlord?”

“trust me, i have.” you say shrugging your shoulders. “if i said anything more than that he’d just shut off the water entirely.”

sana sounds pressed, jiggling the knob harder. “i’ll kill him then.”

“it’s really not that ba—”

“i’m coming back next week with a repairman,” sana interjects, tone brokering no argument. “i can fix the doorknob myself but i’ll get a plumber for the shower.”

you duck your head, embarrassed. “you really don’t have to do that, sana.”

“i want to,” she replies, eyes softening when she looks at you. “i don’t want you living in some shit-hole with no running water.”

“i have running water.”

“we’ll see what the plumber says.” and with that, sana gives up on fixing the jam and breezes past the doorway. a few seconds later, you can hear sana at the front door shut behind her. with a deep sigh, you fall back into the bed and reach for your pillow, thick with her scent, and curls around it to fall asleep.

in the morning, you wake up to a ten dollar venmo notification for coffee and the contact information of the plumber sana mentioned.

—

“why haven’t you got my calls or texts?” is the first question that mina asks when you answer the phone. you stifle a laugh.

“well, good to hear your voice mina.”

“you haven’t called me,” she says again. “is everything okay?”

you sigh and sink into your loveseat, socks skipping over the fractured leather. your fingers cradle the coffee mug. “nothing’s wrong.” you say. “i’ve been really busy.”

“with what?”

“school,” is what you reply with. “not sure if you’ve kept up, but i’m in my last year now. i’ve been getting most of the important work done as much as i can.” a second passes before you add, “and communication is a two-way street. you haven’t been calling me either.”

“busy with work.” is what mina says in defense.

“see?” you quirk, a sip of coffee passing through your mouth, tapping your fingers on your knee, waiting for mina to speak. neither of you are particularly verbose, so the shared calls usually play out like this: tense silence, quick updates, the voids that harbored resentment. but you’ve grown far from the desire of mina to be soft for you (she has, doesn’t want to admit it) and you’re just accustomed to the dispassion.

for the final question on the script: “do you need any money from me?”

“no, mina. i don’t need money from you or auntie.”

“i assume the tips are good at your job then?”

“even better.”

she hums, like this was real answer, saying, “if you ever need anything, call me.”

“you know it when i do.”

“okay then.”

mina hangs up with a click before the goodbye is even truly articulated on the tongue.��

—

your ears perk up when a knock is heard on the door, moving from your kitchen to walk to the entrance. curious, you open it, only to be swept up into sana’s arms before you can even say hello. she kicks it shut behind her and pins you to the old wood, lips roving over your face.

“what—” she kisses your mouth twice in quick succession. “—are you doing here?”

“left the hospital for my lunch break,” sana breathes, hitching you up so that a leg is wrapped around her waist. she dips to suck your collarbone, mouth curling when she hears you mewl. “decided to come here.”

“d-did you eat?”

“no.”

sana’s hand slides up from the curve of your ass to your breast, squeezing gently. you moan softly, head thumping against the wood. “you—you should.”

she separates from your throat to shoot a sly grin. “i’d rather eat you out first.”

mindless, spurred by sana’s passion, you surge down to kiss her. tightening your legs around her, thighs squeezing as sana’s hand cups your clit. with every pass of the hand, you can feel the shift of your underwear, panties clinging.

sana buries her hand into your hair, yanking back to expose your throat. she ducks her head to you for another kiss, trailing her lips up and down the line, tongue darting out to taste. her other hand dips down to your ass to bind you up against her, rolling until your toes curl. you sigh and slide your hand into sana’s hair. it would be so easy to just cum from this, but you’d rather put sana’s mouth somewhere else.

you pull her up by her hair, stomach clenching at the naked want on sana’s face. her eyes, half-lidded and hazy, are trained on your open mouth. when you lick them, her thumb catches your bottom lip.

“please,” you gasp, moving against sana’s hips. arching. “we need to go to my—”

sana grins, almost madly, and kisses you hard enough to steal your breath. “what? you’re afraid your neighbors might hear me fuck you again?”

you blush hotly and sana laughs, but ultimately decides to appease you, heaving you off the wall. she seeks out your lips again and stumbles into the room. impatient, sana kicks open the door, heedless when it slams loudly into the wall.

you hardly notice also, giddy when sana pushes you onto the bed. it’s a race to get clothes off, pairs of hands fulmbling with the zippers and buttons until sana bats her pants away, you yanking your sweatpants off, meeting for another kiss as she lowers herself over you. you moan loudly when her fingers tease the opening between your legs, feeling the wetness in an instant.

“my god,” you sigh out, clinging to sana, blood burning beneath your skin; every movement a siren call to your own pleasure. “please, just—just touch me, sana.”

sana grins rakishly, eyes glittering with mirth. ever the eager observer to your own demise.

“you’re always so polite, sweetheart.” sana says, and moves down to kiss you. you yourself arch to meet her, pulse skittering at her proximity, at the heady invertibility of mindless pleasure, and—

the lights go out.

sana stills above you. at first, you’re surprised, waiting for them to flicker back on. this happens sometimes. i mean—the building is old as in 1920s red stone–faulty wiring and out-dated, but nothing comes to fruition.

“fuck,” you spitt, arousal plummeting to now nothing. you move from under sana. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“what’s wrong?” sana asks. you rise from the bed and she follows you to the kitchen. you snatch a pile of envelopes from your counter to dig through them, only to stop when you notice that the lighting outside is too dim to see. you sigh heavily, marching over to your couch to read by the flickering candles. sana sits down beside you, eyeing cautiously. “what’s wrong?”

“the light bill,” you croak. “the rental agency upped the price recently but i must’ve paid the old amount without ven thinking. god, how could i be so stupid?!”

“you’re not stupid. don’t talk like that,” sana snaps. she then takes a deep breath, voice much calmer when she adds, “and this is an easy fix. if you pay it now, it’ll be back on in a few hours. this shit happens, y/n.”

“but i don’t–” have the money. you clench your jaw tight, forcing the words down, but sana can see the pain on your face, can hear it lingering in the air, unsaid.

“i’ll help you—” you shake your head; you don’t like this, the reminder—” let me help you.”

“no, sana.”

“it’s not a big deal. i want to.”

“i can’t ask you to—”

sana suddenly shifts closer and grabs your face, cupping it between her palms. she looks int your eyes, gaze probing.

“let me,’ she cajoles. “you don’t have to bear the burden of this all on your own. if i’m offering to help you, let me help you.”

your heart swells. with relief. with dismay. “okay.”

she pecks your lips before standing up, thumb trailing down your cheek. “where’s your laptop? if your account is set up online, i can pay it now. i still have about forty-five minutes until i have to get back so i can wait with you until then.”

“it’s on my desk.”

sana nods once, turning on her heel to march into your room. the second she’s out of sight, you bury your face into her hands, burning with shame.

—

right after class ends, your phone vibrates.

you pick it out of your pocket, thumb grayling over your cracked screen to see sana’s contact photo flashing up at you; it was the one taken three weeks ago, with her smiling while you pressed a kiss to her cheek. you’re clicking the green button.

“hello?”

“i just realized you’ve never been to my apartment,” sana says, surprising you. “we’ve been together for almost two months and you’ve never seen my house.”

“oh.” your cheeks flush, pulse skipping at together. “you’ve never really brought it up before.”

“like a fucking idiot. do you wanna come over?”

your body warms in a near–sudden response, to your eternal horror, and with a bite of your lip. “sure.”

“cool! i’ll pick you up right now.”

“you're not working today?”

“no. i worked eighty hours last week so they gave me a day off. i’m on call, though, which is shitty anyway.”

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” sana dismisses. “so you’re still on campus?”

“yeah. i just got out of class.”

“alright, i’ll be there in twenty.”

“okay. bye.”

“bye.” sana says, but lingers on the line. for a moment, you think she’s forgotten to hang up, and moves to do it for her until she adds, softly, cutely you might think.

“i’m excited to see you.”

your heart thuds, and she hangs up before you can even say something back.

for twenty minutes, you wait near the entrance of the school, fiddling with your phone until sana texts you to come meet her. finding the car quickly, walking towards the sleek, gray two–seater of her vintage mercedes, and opens the door to see sana grinning at you. a pair of dark sunglasses sit on the bridge of her nose.

“hi,” sana smiles.

“hi.” you say back, hating at how shy you still get around her, considering. sana, though, always appears to take a bit of pride to it.

she chuckles, leaning back in her seat and shifting the car into drive, pulling into the main road. you settle in to watch the hypnotic motion of her hands as she turns the wheel—it almost makes you nostalgic for some reason.

“so,” sana says, turning onto the street. “how was class?”

“fine. just sat through a lecture.”

“about?”

“well, just the study of psychosocial development of erickson. how the different stages can be embedded by sociological challenges. you don’t want to hear the rest from me.”

“ah.” you suck a smile in; seeing the cogs in sana’s brain turning. “sounds interesting.”

“it’s a lot to cover. my professor was telling us about how some guest speaker that’s gonna be presenting next month. apparently she specializes in existential psychotherapy so i’m thinking of seeing that when it comes.”

“that’s really cool. do you know the name?”

“no.” you appreciate the effort that sana is showing. elizabeth, as wonderful and cool she was, tended to block you out sometimes: on the occasion she ever needed to. “what about you? how was work?”

sana groans. “terrible. a guy was rolled in with a bullet wound and was hemorrhaging like crazy. i was able to stop the bleeding and get the bullet out, but the anesthesiologist almost od’d him and killed him. idiot.”

“wow,” you say. “is he okay now?”

“yeah. but i’m never having that dumbass with me at the table again.”

“you might have to, though. you’re a new doctor, sana, i don’t know if you have the luxury of writing off your co-workers.”

sana smirks. “i might.”

flicking the blinkers on, she turns on the road that leads them deeper into the upper west side. sana drives into a small parking lot behind a tall building before pulling into a space. once the car shifts into park and the keys are yanked out, you step out, mouth parting as you take in the veritable skyscraper in front of you.

“you live here?!”

“yeah,” sana says, taking your hand. seeing the stupefied expression, grinning and leading you inside. a red-headed doorman greets sana as you make your way across the lobby. the elevator didn’t even feel like an elevator and once you got past sana’s front door, you’re in full flabbergasted mode—eyes open like saucers. sana smiles at your gasp but when her eyes flicker to you they narrow.

“i thought it would be a penthouse of sorts.”

“trust me, it is but at the same time it isn’t.”

sana’s apartment may not be as lux as you initially thought, but it’s still nice regardless. you can tell that it was costly, dark furniture andwide, open spaces and tall windows. the walls are painted with a light grey. a flat-screen plasma tv hangs in her living room, mounted over a fireplace. the black velvet leather couch is in front of it, clearly brand new.

her voice echoes the walls. echoes. you’re left marveling. “are you hungry?” sana asks from the dining area, “i have some food from the other day.”

“what do you got?”

“some leftovers from this dimsum place, pretty good actually.”

you giggle. “i thought you would have a much more sophisticated diet to fall back on.” meeting her at the kitchen island while she opens the box of food, tossing a bite into her mouth while you’re scanning through the dumplings.

“this is delicous.” you say in between bites, sana leaning over pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re not eating as much, not enough craving?”

“i had some food earlier.”

“how earlier are we talking?”

“before i scooped you up.”

you hum while she feeds you another bite of the warm dumpling that melts so tenderly into your mouth.

the relaxing downtime with sana felt like a completely different world in her house. you got to know sana’s rough run down backstory of how she got to some form of power when it comes to dealing with which practitioner helps with her or not. being well-connected in her line of work was something to be fortunate with, but sana doesn’t like the idea of wealth being wrapped around her. sure, her clothes may be nice, demeanor brash and language abrasive at times, but she sees the world in a more different light compared to tzuyu and elizabeth on the topic of privilege.

as for how she got into her career of being a surgeon, she signed up for dual-enrollment in the last two years of her high school to graduate early. the calling of med school already being long in terms of time, so the sooner she could get out, the better.

“i like that,” you say. “i like how your mind works. i like—”

you. you almost say it. and it aches to not project it, the sudden sting of yearning. you, you, i really like you.

but catching yourself tripping up was something more of a simple defensive mechanism. “the story,” you finish. “pretty funny.”

“i have better ones.” sana says, grin lighting up her face, more radiant than sunlight. and her obliviousness burns twice as hot. “do you wanna hear about the time my friend bang chan and his best friend felix got mutual restraining orders back in college?”

—

you’ve read the name of tobio kageyama for probably the thirtieth time in two manga volumes before your mind decided to call for a needed break.

sitting upright from the couch, stretching and popping joints across the body. a look at the clock shows that it’s a little past eight, realizing that you’ve studied for roughly about two to three hours. too bad you didn’t notice it before because your brain is already bugging and battered into mush.

so you head to the kitchen, glass cup filled before drinking it once or twice before noticing that sana hasn’t drank any water since she took up a fortress in her office two hours ago, claiming that she had a work call. you fill another glass again, dropping a few ice cubes, before making your way towards her office door–knocking once, “hey, you busy?”

sana’s voice sounds muffled, weary. “no, come in.”

entering the room, hesitant like you were intruding on some sacred space. like the rest of her house, sana’s office was nice, richly-furnished. she has a tall, wooden desk in front of her, several files and stacks of paper placed on top. there’s a bookshelf behind in the corner, thick tomes marked by names that you don’t even want to try to read or recognize. the walls are also painted in a dark gray, and there’s a leather couch off to the left side with a blanket placed over it. even sana needs to have her naps sometimes.

sana then calls for your attention, glasses perched on the bridge of her perfect nose. “did you need something?”

“no,” you say, inching closer. raising the glass, “i just wanted to get you some water.”

she smiles in thanks, taking it from you while she approaches with an outreaching hand, grabbing the glass downing it in one gulp. frowning with a mild concern once she gave you back the glass, “were you thirsty?”

“a bit. i didn’t feel it until now.”

“are you hungry?”

“not right now. i’ll eat when im finished with this.”

“you should take a break,” you say, stepping towards sana. you lean back with your butt to the edge of her desk, half sitting. up close, you can see sana’s stress more evidently, eyes low with exhaustion. “sit on the couch with me. we can watch something together.”

“i can’t do that, y/n.”

“why not?” would a short film be better?”

“i have paperwork. a lot of paperwork. not to mention forms, test results, patient files. i want to try to get through them by tonight.”

“and you will,” you reply softly, stepping between her legs, resting your hands on her shoulders. “just ten or fifteen minutes of your time, please.”

“no way we’re watching a movie in ten minutes.”

“not the movie, you idiot. i was gonna say food instead, you should eat.”

“‘m not hungry.”

“not even a snack?”

sana lets out a smile, placing her hands on your hips. “i appreciate you for being concerned, baby, but i’ll be done soon. i promise. then we can go get something to eat together.”

looking down at the ground, hands still on shoulder. you’re smoothening the crinkles of sana’s large shirt, fingers brushing up from her neck up to her hair. you lean down and kiss sana fully on the lips, slowly, once, twice, a few times, and rest your knee on her chair between her legs. you break away a bit to pepper languid kisses across the slope of her jaw.

“relax,” you croon. “take a break with me.”

sana sinks into you, sighing like she’s expelling a pressure from deep within her chest. her eyes flutter closed, hands twitching around your waist, and when you dip down to kiss her throat, you feel the flushing heat rising from her body.

desire races to the forefront like a freight train, bowling over you with its inteistiey, and you’re running a hand up her thigh towards the center. sana gasps sharply into your parted mouth, fingers clutching around your waist. you’re nearly smiling.

“you’ve eaten me out before,” you whisper. “but you’ve never let me do the same for you.”

sana laughs but it’s off, brimming with echoes of a dark promise. “i find it more enjoyable when i eat up your pussy then have you eat mine. better for me to see you cry the way i want you to.”

there’s a thrill pulsing through your body, throbbing dully in your cunt. you’re ducking down to kiss her again, practically panging into sana’s open mouth as you palm her through her pants. her face is screwed up with a tight coil of pleasure, eyes shut. her fingers dig into the leather armrests at her side.

“let me,” you whisper again, almost begging. “i want to.”

sana’s eyes crack open, solely, regarding you as though you were something to be consumed. i want to, you think with a sort of nameless, desperate sense of urgency. i want you to.

she nods, and you kneel at her feet.

you’re kissing through her jeans first, soft, affectionate little pecks that make sana groan, fingers sliding up her legs again. you help sana clumsily unbutton her pants, shucking it down and off her thighs. the panties are quick to follow, only first with a trail of your lips over the black-laced fabric, soaked with her wetness that fills up your nose. sana is wrecked with the effect you have on her, just some light kisses and heavy petting, making your cunt fucking clench; you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who’s wanted you even half as much.

when sana’s panties are gone left with her shirt; the scent is intoxicating. her folds are glistening. she sighs of pure bliss when you lick up her slit, mouth lingering on her clit. her hips twitch from the initial contact. you stifle a smile when you shower a few more kisses, and she groans loudly when you part her legs, squeezing her inner thighs tightly the more you shove your face into her cunt.

you’ve eaten out girls before, but sana was more of an anomaly. to play it safe, you experiment, trying to see what she likes best. licking at her, teasing her walls with a finger, leaving teased kisses to the area outside of her pussy. sana can’t contain herself when she pulls your head back in with her hand, moaning into her core, the vibrations too overwhelming coming from your mouth to her legs.

“fuck,” sana moans. “fuck, y/n–baby, fuck. i’m gonna—”

nodding at her, you don’t let up the pace of tearing up her cunt. fingers in walls and grunting into her. she doesn’t even let you breathe. the heels of her feet on your shoulders as her hands are on the back of your head, nails scratching the scalp the more you’re lapping her up. only then you pull away as she coos out locking eyes with you, the sight of licking your mouth lean with your tongue from her slick almost makes her lose it from the seat.

“i’m gonna ruin you,” sana promises, snarling, gaze devouring, mad with want. it sends a deep vibration into your cunt while she looks up to the ceiling. “you won’t be able to walk.”

you could’ve just came right then and there, vision whiting out at the edges. somehow you kept your sanity in check, ducking your head for more fully. humming and sliding your tongue over her cunt, nibbling on her clit and with a sudden jerk followed by a sharp groan, she cums.

a whole assortment of papers, files, pens, and pencils are scattered to the floor as sana digs her hand beneath your shirt and rips it off of you. your lips meet hers for another frantic kiss, laying back as she’s settling over you.

she shoves your sweats down along with your panties, letting them dangle from your feet. sana then moves back to your chest, hands moving like a firebrand, searing your skin with every touch. desperate to feel more of it, you sit up slightly and unclasp your bra. the second you’ve tossed it, sana’s hands are quick to palm, mouth hot against your own as she swallows your keening sigh.

“you have the most perfect tits in the world,” sana breathes, thumbs circling your nipples, forefingers roving down to pinch. the sweet pleasure-pain sparks a heavy throb in your core, and she arches into you, spreading your legs wide. you moan when sana’s mouth is around your breast, the other hand folding you.

“god, sana, please,” you beg, clinging to her. your hips are twitching, the emptiness inside you turning into a physical ache.

“what is it, baby?” sana switches over to your other mound, tongue laving over your nipple. your eyes fluttering, mind spinning at the sight. “what?”

moaning helplessly, and her hand slides down to your cunt, thumb sliding up the wet gusset of your panties to find your clit. when she presses down, your hips jerk forward, shrieking. she’s laughing around your boob.

“yeah, there we go,” sana sighs out, rubbing at you languidly, moving slow with the roll of her hips. “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“ye—ah—yes, yes it feels good.”

“i know.” sana kisses up to your throat, sucking the soft spot beneath your jaw, lips deceptively sweet. “but you want more, don’t you.”

more.

your stomach seizes at the thought of it, the promise. you grasp at her wrist and sana hisses, dipping her hand beneath underneath your underwear to slide a finger inside you. keening when she adds another digit, stretching you open—another sounds leaves your mouth and sana laughs when you’re clamping around her fingers.

“you feel so good like this, y/n. so good.” she watches as she fucks her fingers in and out of you, transfixed by the sight. almost resentful of her own body. “i wish i could live in you. i wish—”

“you could,” somehow croaking that out when she has four fingers inside. “i’d let you.”

sana lets her intrusive thoughts get the better of her, growling while she surges down your body. your panties are up in the air as she raises a leg up, thumb petting your clit. you’re rearing up with a shout, a splintering sound, bursting, but sana doesn’t give you any breathing room. next thing you know, she has the flat plane of her tongue swiping upward that pushes your undoing even faster.

it’s good enough to cry, you can feel the salt on your tongue when sana leans up again for another kiss before trailing down to your pussy. there’s a malformation with how the kisses are sloppier on your lips above and below, but the pleasure is good. she makes you feel like euphoria is an ever-present force that is kept within you, and it’s much deeper than the sex. the sprawling root of it is happiness, and sana.

“c’mon, y/n, my lovely girl,” sana says tightly, jaw clenching when she breathes over your clit. her eyes hazy like she might be the one to cum again. “give me another.”

you wrap your legs around her, canting up so that her mouth and tongue go deeper, and you both moan from it. sana’s finger finds your clit again, so wet the sound is purely obscene, but it only strokes the fire of your pleasure, makes it build higher and higher.

“that’s it. there we go. t-there—”

sana stops short. a bitten-off cry, and she doubles down on your clit. her fingers clench around your walls, and there’s a gentle wave—mouth parted to sigh.

she stays for a second, pulling her hand out examining the slimy fluid between the fingers, licking them seductively that makes you roll your eyes and look away. sana just laughs at you, “fuck you, for making me like this.”

your head hits the desk, “not sorry. i like it when you’re needy for me.”

she huffs out, “little minx. when i’m done with you—”

“what? i won’t be able to walk?”

sana’s face falls flat, but her eyes spark with lurid determination as she leans in and whispers, “everything i’ve gotten in life, i’ve had solely because i wanted it badly enough. you think that doesn’t apply to the things i wanna do to you?”

your heart hammers like a jack-rabbit. red-hot heat slowly consumes your face. “i—”

she moves off of you but keeps her arms bracketing your hips. “we’re moving to my room,” she interjects. “i need a bed if i want you to sit on my face.”

eyes were wide open while you managed to slip out of sana’s hold, scurrying to the bedroom down the hallway. sana’s signature laugh echoes as she chases you down behind.

—

it’s a bit chilly outside when mina calls you, the autumn weather creeping beneath your new coat to settle into your bones. hitching the collar up your neck for cover, and the phone is out from your pocket to see your cousin’s name. you’re repressing a sigh, picking up,

“hey.”

“yo.” mina has many greetings. “where are you right now?”

“i got out of class, walking to the subway.”

“are you by yourself?”

“yes,” you say. “obviously. why wouldn’t i be?”

“you usually have that slightly taller girl tagging along with you. the one with the model face.”

“tzuyu.” you correct sharply. “and you’re not wrong, but she has her own life. you know? a girlfriend?”

“and you? you got anyone?”

frozen, stumbling in your tracks. mina could be asking for curiosity, but you know your cousin too well; she’s not the kind to be asking unnecessary questions.

“no, i don’t,” you answer cautiously.

“are you sure?”

“why even bother asking me?” you retort, voice clipped. “even if i was seeing someone. i’d mention it right away, even with thanksgiving around the corner.”

“i don’t see what thanksgiving has anything to do with it.”

“most normal people introduce their partners to family, mina. not everything personal is some dirty little secret.”

“don’t you dare try to get snippy with me. i was just asking a question, not cuffing you to a table for an interrogation. chillax.”

you’re cringing with knitted brows, stepping down the stairwell into the subway station. it’s a lot warmer, “whatever. i just wanted to know why you were asking.”

��i was asking because you haven’t been calling me lately. i figured that someone else was taking up all of your time besides auntie.”

your jaw tenses. there’s this wave of guilt that makes your clinch your lip, voice much gentler when you follow up, “i’ve just been busy, mina. you know that.”

“yeah?” the customary ten seconds of loaded silence pass before mina adds, “speaking of busy, don’t come down for thanksgiving this year. i’m gonna be busy with work.”

work. the nameless occupation mina had never bothered explaining to you, not since you were in your teens. you’ve had your own suspicions and theories, but you never even had the frame of mind to confirm them yourself.

even with the disappointment; it’s actually comforting in a weird sense. “that’s fine. i have finals to get ready for anyway.”

“you’re not upset by this?”

“no.”

“and you’re not lying to me about anything, right?”

“no, mina.” you say, smiling ruefully. “why would i? when have either of us ever lied each other about anything?”

good as dammed, but there’s no care for it. i wouldn’t even matter anyway. it comes as a concern for how little tinges of that feeling is there still.

mina sighs out. “talk to you later then, if you do call me.”

you hang up after. the lasting thought of mina doesn’t even come afterwards.

—

not even more than two steps into the entrance hallway when the doorbell calls you.

you’re freezing, eating away at the fragile patience, but when you look through the peephole. you don’t think twice about opening the door. “tzuyu?”

she’s standing across from you, arms folded, foot tapping, and pouting. “you’ve been neglecting me.” she accrues.

“huh?” you ask stupidly while blinking in a fast state.

tzuyu rolls her eyes and breezes past you, chilling air carrying the rich scent of yves saint-laurent. you follow her into the living rom, watching her shuck off her louis vutton jacket and tosses it onto the seat.

“well?” she demands, whirling around to face you. “tell me what did she do to you?”

“what?”

“your little sugar mommy-doctor-girlfriend.”

“tzuyu–”

“whatever she did, she’s good enough to keep you from calling or texting your best friend for a week.”

“what?” you’re gasping out again. “a week? i haven’t…”

with a rush of the phone, you’re pulling up messages only to notice that you have, in fact, been ignoring tzuyu’s texts for the better part of a week. all of your besties messages. the only person you’ve kept consistent contact with is sana, and the last text you sent her was–

well—best to the imagination.

“i’m so sorry,” you breathe out, throwing your phone off to approach tzuyu, taking her mittened hands, gently directing her to sit on the couch. “i’m so sorry, tzuyu. i didn’t mean to ignore you or shuhua or irene or anyone, i just—”

“you’ve been preoccupied with your new girl?”

“yeah,” you admit, bit of shame hanging, but adding, “and school. dooyoung–the guy editing my thesis—says it’s coming together really nicely, so.”

tzuyu whoops, reaching out to shake your leg. “and you’ll be presenting it next semester! how do we feel about that?”

“pretty good.”

suddenly, her eyes soften, shifting closer. “i was mostly kidding, by the way, about you neglecting me. i remember how i was when i first got with shuhua. you couldn’t get me away from her.”

“it’s different, though.”

“what makes you say that?”

“because shuhua is your girlfriend and sana is my—”

you stop, horrified by the abrupt burn of tears. you turn away to conceal yourself, blinking hard, but tzuyu was always quick to notice. she wraps her arms around your elbow, leaning into your shoulder. “your sugar mommy,” she finishes gently, but you flinch like it’s a slap.

“yeah. that.”

“if it bothers you so much, then why are you staying with her?” i’m sure she’s given you enough that you have time to figure out another way to get money. it’s not like you need her.”

“yeah,” you reply dully, still not meeting eyes with tzuyu. your mind is playing the denial aspect a lot more tougher now. “you’re right. i don’t.”

—

with all things and struggles, you compartmentalize.

you’re refusing to think of the blooming feelings for sana more than you have to, and in the even that you can’t, distraction was the solution: school, work, friends. and on the rare occurrence as crazy it would seem, shopping.

“an IKEA drawer?” sana asks, baffled. you keep your phone between shoulder to ear. “why the fuck did you go to IKEA?”

“i needed to,” you answer, pushing the giant box inside of your apartment, leaning against the wall as it’s on the wall. “my other drawer was broken. i’ve had it for like, seventeen years, so i figured that it was time for a change.”

“and you could afford it?”

a rhetorical question. what sana’s really asking if the two bundred she sent you last week was a decent enough amount that you could splurge on. clenching your teeth, flushing.

“yes.”

“y/n, baby. i sent you the money so that you could go shopping.”

“i did. and i shopped at IKEA.”

“are you gonna build the drawer now?”

“yeah.”

“let me come over. i can build it for you/”

“sana, it’s fine. i’ve built furniture before.”

“so have i. in fact, i bet i could have it done in half the time it takes you to read the instructions.”

“oh really now?” cocking a brow in disbelief. “how soon can you come over?”

—

time didn’t really pass, staring at sana from the bed, chin resting on your palm as you watch her hiss and curse to herself, pink screwdriver in hand. the sweat rolls enticing down the hard ridges of her abs, her hair is up and out of her face in a knot. the most exhilarating part in all of this was watching him use her shirt as a sweat rag.

“are you sure you don’t—”

“i’m almost done,” sana snaps, eyes flashing with indignation. “just give me ten more minutes.”

true to her word, she was nearly done. the drawer stands tall in front of her, most of the pieces already constructed and put into place. all that’s missing is the top set of the drawers, which she has in her hands right now.

still, it’s only mildly entertaining just to watch sana. you debated studying to pass the time, but the focus wasn’t enough on your book to make it stick. reading was also out of the question, and texting irene went nowhere after she revealed that she was on a date and couldn’t speak. the news that things with her and seulgi were going well and exciting to hear, but not long after. sana’s shirt was off.

“it’s really fucking hot in here,” had been the excuse mainly.

“is this supposed to keep me distracted? you ask.

“i’m not trying to do anything. if you’re distracted, that’s your prerogative.”

liar. she’s been annoyed the second you stopped foching on her long enough to try facetime tzuyu.

you sigh, spitefully debating on what you can do to fluster sana. the limited options, though, tend to lean more in one direction and the idea of willfully doing any of them was embarrassing.

suddenly, she whoops. “i finished!”

you roll over on your stomach to see sana sliding the drawer into the top slot, circling it, pulling on different knobs to test the tightness and checking for smoothness of the pulling out and pushing in of the drawers. she grins at you, triumphantly. “i told you i could do it.”

“i never said that you couldn’t.”

“it was in your tone.”

you smile, and sana straightens up to bend something in her body. a loud crack sounds, followed by a pained sigh, and her eyes open more glazed. “fuck.”

soon after sana is laid flat on the mattress when you motioned her, face turned towards you with a look that says are you okay?

“my back. it’s been annoying me since work—fuck.”

you nick your head as you cautiously glide your hands over her skin, kneading the muscle softly, and sana just hums with relief. “keep doing that.”

straddling on sana’s ass, languidly moving your fingers up. she just melts. sana perks up when you giggle. “what?”

“nothing.”

“tell me.”

“i think it’s kinda bad for you to have back pain at your age, and it’s kinda mindblowing how active you are.”

“don’t be that dramatic, i’m not that old.”

“for someone that’s near thirty.”

“that’s a bit harsh.”

you giggle again before leaning down, lips skimming sana’s ear lobe. “i’m just teasing you.”

“you’re so fucked up for saying that, i’m only twenty-nine still.”

“don’t be so sensitive.” you say pressing a kiss to her nape. “not bad if you're in your early late twenties early thirties while i’m in my early twenties.”

sana sinks into you, like clay in your hands. when you move to the ridge of her cheekbone, she leans into you, turning her head to catch your lips. a languid kiss is shared, tongues melding, unhurried, but that fire is sparked between your hips and it becomes urgent. it’s a slow grind that’s rolled out, eyes fluttering at the friction.

you pull away while sana breathes out, “fuck,” and flips you over now that you’re straddling over her front. your hands are on her waist, and sana moves her leg up between your legs, doubling down on the notice that you’re not wearing anything underneath the shorts, lips parting.

she leans up to kiss you. sana always kisses you, mouth consuming like she wants to suck you inside. “i didn’t know you watching me build furniture would get you so hot.”

“everything you do gets me hot.”

sana moans and binds you up against her, hips bucking, delicious friction sending stars behind your eyes. you wrap your arms around her neck, panting into her mouth, so euphoric that you want to weep. so happy.

when she breaks way to squeeze your breasts, a loud knock sounds at the door, startling you. sana, however, is unmoved.

“ignore it,” she says, breath hot on your neck. “ride me.”

your eyes flutter and you’re grasping at her hair, already picturing it, the slick coming out of you on her leg, the fruition and contact deep enough to send you reeling. and then you hear it:

“y/n!” another loud knock, more insistent. “open the door!”

shit, you think, cursing, the word flying form your mouth now. “shit, shit.”

sana pulls away from you, concerned, but you’re already beating her in the scramble. she watches you rush to the mirror to fix your hair.

“what’s up? who is that?”

“mina,” you breathes, cold panic pulsing through your veins. “my cousin.”

“oh, well—”

“it’s a bigger deal than you think,” you snap. “and stay here. she can’t see you.”

sana’s eyes widen. “what–?”

“stay here, sana.”

you rush out of the room and hurry towards the front door. through the peephole, you see mina on the other side, arms crossed and expression stoic. you exhale deeply before opening the door, forcing a smile.

“hi, mina.”

she hums in greeting, shoulders knocking as she walks past you. when she spots the IKEA box, she stops short.

“you bought furniture?”

“yes,” you answer hesitantly, clammy fingers clasped behind you. “i needed a new drawer.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“i need to call you every time i buy furniture?”

“no. but these things sell for three hundred bucks. it’s expensive.”

“this one was on sale. one–fifty.”

mina makes a deep sound in her throat, unsatisfied, but her journey is continued throughout your apartment.

“so, uh. what are you doing here?”

“it’s thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“oh. i thought…you told me not to come. you said you were busy.”

“some time opened up in my schedule,” she says, and finally stops long enough to look at you. her eyes were shrewd, filled with knowing. it only raises the sirens going off in your head louder. “i decided to come see you.”

“ah,” you breathe. “well, um. i didn’t buy any food. maybe we can order–?”

“why are you so flustered? mina interrupts. “is there something going on?”

“what? no, no, of course–”

“mina?” icy pinpricks poke your skin, and you slowly turn around to see sana standing in the hallway. her clothes and hair have been fixed, and she smiles at mina with a polite curiosity.

your cousin’s expression sours instantly. “who the fuck is this?”

“mina!”

“who is this. why is she in you apartment?!”

sana walks towards mina, unphased by the insult. she sticks her hand out, “my name is minatozaki sana. nice to meet you.”

mina peers at sana, neck tilted at an angle that would be comical if not for the fact that you feel like throwing up. finally, she looks at you again.

“we need to talk.”

#hyunie #sana x reader #twice x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice sana #sana #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #twice x you #twice imagines #sana imagines #sana minatozaki #twice fluff #twice smut #sana smut #sana twice

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sempersirens · 9 months

Text

yes, chef | part three

summary: domestic bliss doesn't last long with a man who doesn't know how to regulate his emotions at the idea of losing someone he loves

pairing: no-outbreak!au, chef!joel x f!reader

content/warnings: lots of angst, swearing

a/n: omg as a brit writing stories set in the US i always forget how far states are from each other.... wym you can't just hop on the train from houston to new york?

In theory, you'd always wanted to be a morning person.

You envied the ease of Joel's body slipping out from the sheets each morning, never fighting with his eyelids for just five more minutes of rest.

The break of dawn was probably your favourite time of the day; you just preferred to soak it all in warm and semi-lucid from Joel's bed. The ambience of car engines on the street below slowly waking up mixed with Joel's coffee pot singing on the stove felt like a hymn sung only for you. You'd shut your eyes - only momentarily, before hearing the door creak open and the large white mug you'd claimed as your own being set down beside you on the nightstand.

Strategically, it was lucky that Joel always had to get to the restaurant hours before you. But each morning you wished you could pull him back under the duvet and sink yourself into his chest until it was impossible to decipher where you ended and he began.

Showering after spending a night with Joel felt like sacrilege. If it wasn't for the sweat and other fluids clinging to your skin, you would wear the remnants of his touch and scent on your body like an expensive French perfume.

The restaurant was always hectic, but now nearing the festive season everything seemed to intensify rapidly. However, screwing the boss did have its perks; you'd managed to sneak a couple of days off last week to visit a friend from culinary school in New York.

While you were there, she'd taken you to one of her favourite spots in the city, introducing you to the head chef who was a friend of hers. He'd asked about your current role and you told him everything about working for the Joel Miller - strategically omitting the parts where he has you pinned against the stove after hours.

You'd thought nothing of it after that, knowing it would mostly be inconvenient to hire someone halfway across the country when culinary grads were lurking on every corner in the city. You didn't want to leave Joel, either. You didn't plan on staying at his restaurant for the rest of your life - even he didn't, but things were good. You felt secure for the first time in your life.

Finally arriving at the restaurant, you sang a chirpy "Mooorning!" into the kitchen before dumping your things into your locker. As you tied your apron around your figure, Joel emerged from the office, eyes dark and trained on the floor.

"Good morning, chef." You cooed in a low tone, letting your voice rasp every so slightly.

He kept his eyes on the ground, grunting something inaudible vaguely in your direction before stalking into the kitchen.

Weird.

Whenever you and Joel got a moment alone he would always take advantage of your solitude, even if only for a couple of seconds. He'd seemed fine at the house this morning, you'd heard him singing along to The Supremes while making breakfast. Maybe the wrong amount of stock had been delivered; the tiniest of setbacks were often enough to dictate his mood for the entire day.

You pushed the encounter to the back of your mind, redirecting your attention to your prep for the day.

"Has anyone seen my boning knife?" You shouted over your shoulder after all but turning your station inside out.

Before you could turn your head, a heavy hand slammed the knife in front of you.

"Was on the floor when I got here this mornin'. Watch your shit and clean your station." Joel growled, loud enough for the rest of the kitchen to hear.

"Yes, chef." You bowed your head, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

You were more than familiar with his sharp tongue and short temper, but there was something about the way he spat his words at you that sent an unease through your body. He'd made you feel small. Why couldn't he have left the knife on your station for you when he found it? It seemed like such a petty thing for him to do.

Not wanting to let his mood rub off on you, you brushed it off and carried on with your tasks before service started.

The morning rushed past in a haze, and soon enough orders were coming through. Joel had remained eerily quiet for the majority of the morning, you almost wished he would shout at you to simply acknowledge your presence.

He hadn't found a single excuse to touch you, an act of affection he often employed while he made his rounds through the stations. You felt like you were a child being given the silent treatment by your mother, all of a sudden you were six again, tugging at the hem of her dress begging for her to look at you.

You were in the midst of prepping a monkfish and kohlrabi main with cauliflower and dates, almost ready for it to go to the pass, when you felt his presence behind you.

"Sauce ain't reduced enough."

"With respect, chef, it has two more minutes on heat."

He left before returning with a spoon, dipping it into your saucepan of monkfish stock.

"Needs lime."

"I'm going to add lime before it goes on the pass. As I said, it's not finished yet."

"Fuckin' useless." He muttered quietly under his breath, but you caught it.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"I said you're fuckin' useless. Slow, no attention to detail, don't know why you're still in my kitchen."

Your heart sank deep into the pit of your stomach, sweat coating your palms. All eyes were on you both, and the sizzle of your burning sauce on the stove was the least of your worries.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" You fought for your voice to not waiver.

Was this part of your act? Had he taken the game you both played too far? There was no softness in his eyes, no remorse or realisation that his words had stung you.

Before he could dismiss you from the kitchen, you untied your apron and threw it to the ground, letting your hard work char and spit on the stove.

You didn't say a word as you snatched your things, bustling through the back door without another glance.

"Where the fuck d'you think you're going? You don't get to walk out of here mid-service just because y'needed more damn lime." Joel called from behind you.

"This isn't about the fucking lime, Joel. How could you speak to me like that? I thought, I thought-"

"You need to get some thicker skin. They ain't gonna coddle you like I do in New York."

The words must've slipped out of his mouth judging by the way his eyes widened at the mention of New York.

"What are you talking about?"

"They called me this mornin' - for a reference. Told me how impressed they were meetin' you."

You wanted to reach out and touch him, to console him and tell him how this was all just a horrible misunderstanding. Then his words replayed in your head. Every time you looked into his big, angry eyes all you could hear was useless, fuckin' useless.

"Grow up, Joel. Maybe if you'd have talked to me about it like a fucking adult I could've told you it wasn't like that."

"Oh yeah, what was it like? You plan on fuckin' your way to the top there too, or that just with me?"

He was being unjustly cruel and he knew it. This wasn't a power play for you, and he knew that. Although you'd never said it, you loved him, and you were almost certain that he loved you too.

But this was too much - he had pushed you too far this time. There was no coming back from this.

"Fuck you, Joel."

taglist: @cool-iguana @skysmiller @lhymer1995 @brittmb115 @moonlightdivine @reallyidontcare @nana90azevedo @spookyanamurdock @lovely-ateez @spookyanamurdock @bbyanarchist @joeldjarin @nostalxgic @axshadows @jenispunk @noisynightmarepoetry @thoughtfulmoonchild911

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #my fic #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dee writes #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader

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is-the-snake-video-cute · 11 months

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Gila monsters look ADORABLE, I remember being terrified of them as a bitty child, but seeing them now they look adorable!!! That's not the whole reason of my ask though- My main reason for my ask is to ask abt lizards and geckos!! Do you like 'em? Any favourites?

Aren't Gila monsters great? When I lived in Arizona during grad school I was always surprised to hear the local tales about how dangerous and mean they are because they're so cute and slow.

But yeah, big lizard fan over here. My absolute favorites are monitors! They're just so stinkin' cool.

I love Tokay geckos! One time I was helping a rescue get one someone had dumped in a parking lot and it bit me so hard as I was pulling it out of a gutter. Cool experience

And I adore Chinese cave geckos. They're like goth leopard geckos

#not a rating #lizards #geckos #tokay geckos #monitor lizards

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khadijha · 5 months

Text

counseling 101: the background.

hi everybody! my name is riley, and i'm a substance use counselor. i've worked in both inpatient and outpatient, i've been in this field since i was 19 and have been professionally working for 2 years. i'm currently in grad school for clinical social work, pursuing my lsw and my clinical licensure (lcsw). i wanted to write a guide on what it "means" to be a counselor! i will be discussing the specifics of a substance use counselor in another post. (it will be linked below.)

disclaimer:

do not take this as professional advice for all counselors, therapists, psychologists, or social workers. this is my background, my information, my experiences, and my specific expertise. this will include the basics of schooling, training, certifications, frequently asked questions, and things you might not realize, as it all pertains to me! what works for my patients and i may not work for you, so be mindful this is not a "my way is correct and your therapist is wrong," as i believe in the pct model of meeting everybody where they're at.

even counselors at my exact experience level and education level may do things differently than me, and that's perfectly fine! i just wanted to write this to give some insight if you're interested in writing a character who is a therapist, or who goes to therapy. or if you're just interested in general! i could give reminders upon reminders but i just need to say that this is all my thoughts and path in life! this is not the end all, be all. and with that, let's get started. (if you have further questions or need something clarified, please feel free to reach out but just for clarification: i'm not your therapist, i'm not being paid for this, please don't trauma dump, and always remember i'm a human just like you!)

education:

your education is based a lot on your "experience" (which i'll talk about next) and i know that doesn't make sense but just stick with me! the very basics of what you need is a bachelor's in a "social work" setting. which includes, but is not limited to (because i forget): psychology, social work, sociology, criminology. these are the foundations for your specific field of work! i'll just be talking about counseling in general, or about substance use, as i am unaware of the other jobs / fields you can get with different degrees.

if you're trying to get a "good" job (livable wage) i would suggest getting a master's degree in your field of work. though, i will say, you can get lucky and survive off of your bachelor's (like i currently am!) but i would strongly, strongly encourage further education which will lead into certifications and licensure, and that will cement your place in the field and open up the job field entirely. with a bachelor's, they often want anywhere from 1-5 years of experience. with a master's, many places will take you with 0 years of experience, up to 5 years, depending on your field and what the company wants.

i currently have my bachelor's in psychology. psychology is such a broad degree that unless you're specifically going to be a clinical psychologist or gain your doctorate, i would choose another field. i didn't know i wanted substance use specifically until i was 19, which i'll speak about in experience, but if i did not choose the substance use field, i would most definitely would have had to immediately get a master's and be licensed in order to receive well paying jobs with just a psychology degree.

experience:

you don't need a master's to get a job in this field, but you do need experience (there will be places that take bachelor's with little to no experience, but will pay you next to nothing). the best thing to do is find an internship! i think the easiest way will be through your school, and when you're picking one of the aforementioned degrees, it should be an option when picking out classes - many times, universities have people that specifically work with internships.

when i was getting my bachelor's degree, it was my first semester and i was 19 when i was offered to interview for an internship through my school. i got accepted on the spot and was apart of it even after i got my "credit" for the semester and continued for two years! i worked in houseless shelters in my county and was running daily men and women's groups, 2:1 sessions (2 counselors to 1 resident), debrief sessions with the other interns, and supplying a resource booth for the residents.

without this internship, i truly and wholeheartedly believe i would not have gotten any job in this field. it's a dog-eat-dog out there in the realm of psychology (which includes all those fields above) and i truly got lucky to get my start this way. if you don't have the time, motivation, or money to gain a master's, i would highly suggest getting involved in internships as soon as possible in order to get those years of experience!

certifications:

this has a wide range of things! i can only speak to what i've received, and what i know about. this also includes specific training to the sud field, but i won't go in depth about it until the next post i do! the certification i will always need is my cpr. i know that sounds silly, but working with people, in general, i feel like everybody that is able to should receive their cpr certificate!

now, with a bachelor's, they're not really expecting you to have anything else. but! you can. i currently have my milieu certification. which sounds fancy but it just means i'm certified in "psychotherapy in which the patient's social environment is controlled or manipulated with a view to preventing self-destructive behavior." i could've explained it myself, but google does wonders and makes me sound smart! i got this through my internship. it was required and within the first two weeks, i went through trainings and seminars to receive the certificate.

another thing i can receive with only a bachelor's (that's specific to sud) is my cadc certification. it stands for certified alcohol drug counselor. in order to do this, you'll need supervision hours from a clinical / licensed or otherwise appropriate supervisor or director. once i receive upwards of 300 hours of documented supervision, i can take my cadc exam and become certified. this can also enhance what jobs are available to me because many jobs ask for this certification in place of a clinical license (some don't, but you know... some do!)

currently, i'm working on my master's and may potentially work towards my cadc along the way, but once i receive my master's i can get my caadc, which is certified advanced alcohol drug counselor. it's just more hours and an exam! not sure which path i'll take yet because grad school is killing me, but those are what's offered in my field and what i'm interested in! of course there's other certifications involved, but that's for you to decide.

licenses:

now comes the fun part. again, what license you want or go for is specific to your field. there's a ton of counseling licenses, but the main ones that are down my path are lpc (licensed professional counselor), lsw (licensed social worker), and lcsw (licensed clinical social worker). so let me explain a little bit about each of them, and what i'm personally doing!

lpc: licensed professional counselors "are trained to offer assessment, therapeutic interventions, consultation, program evaluation and follow-up services in a variety of settings including schools, hospitals, community agencies, private practices, religious centers, group homes and more. lpc's can also independently practice counseling, meaning they can establish or join a private practice and directly bill insurance companies or receive cash for counseling services." can: work independently, diagnose mental health conditions, and supervise for clinical hours. this license is primarily for direct mental health care.

lsw: licensed social workers can "render services that rely on a special knowledge of therapeutic techniques, human personalities, and social resources. this includes: helping people become socially adjusted as individuals and members of a family or community, you cannot work independently; you must work in the affiliation of an agency or social work service provider." cannot: work independently or diagnose mental health conditions.

lcsw: licensed clinical social workers "support people through various challenges by providing general counseling services, crisis intervention, mental health therapies, substance use support, and other key services. lcsw's may also supervise the work of lsw's. they may work in schools, hospitals, elderly care facilities, private practices, and even the courtroom—social workers are often called upon as witnesses in court cases. the main thing to remember is that this license gives them freedom and responsibility to make independent decisions about diagnosis and treatment plans." can: work independently, diagnose mental health conditions and supervise for clinical hours.

difference between lpc and lcsw: though both are similar in their ability to work independently, diagnose mental health conditions, and supervise for clinical hours, there is one main distinction between the two. lpc's are more patient focused and lcsw's utilize a patient's entire life. to put it, well... better, i've turned to google! lpc's "focus on helping clients with specific issues, such as mental health diagnoses, substance use, or behavioral issues. they also can specialize in different types of counseling, including substance use or marriage and family counseling." whereas lcsw's "assist their clients with finding and accessing resources that promote a client’s quality of life and may be involved in the legislative process dictating these services. social worker training usually includes counseling techniques and training, best practices, and finding resources for clients."

general overview:

so, with a bachelor's and no cadc or license, what can i do? well! i counsel<3 i speak to my patients about their substance use, i speak to them about their family, i conduct family sessions, i delve into their trauma, i utilize cbt, pct, mi, and grounding techniques. i run daily groups with my caseload, i run bi weekly groups for the entire community, and i initially assess them for proper level of care. i submit asam's, prepare treatment plans and update them weekly, and work with them on their goals while in and outside of treatment. all of this will be spoken about further in my sud counseling guide.

a day-in-the-life timeline looks like: clock in, check any updates / notes on my patients, go to treatment team with the clinical staff / case management / nursing and doctors (which pertains to the level of care my rehab is - you will not always have this, dependent on inpatient or outpatient and other factors), i run my daily group for an hour with my patients, i do group notes for them, i have my lunch, if i have that afternoon group for the whole community i run it, then i fit in any individual sessions or initial assessments that i need, i complete all progress notes for the day, and i clock out. in between, i handle patient crisis', ama's, behavioral issues, and general questions.

modalities:

what are modalities? "modalities are approaches or methods that a therapist will use to help you reach your goals. modalities fall into broad categories, such as cognitive and behavioral, somatic (body awareness), experiential (play or art therapy), and more." these vary by counselor-to-counselor. this is what works for the counselor and the patient and instead of including the quadrillions of therapy modalities, i'll just talk about the ones i use the most! (also side note that i believe most therapists, within reason, should be utilizing pct and mi but... that's a soapbox for another day). i'll be talking more about why i use - these in relation to sud - in my other post.

cognitive behavioral therapy (cbt):

i want to start this off by saying that cbt is very useful in the beginning stages of therapy! oftentimes, people utilize dbt or somatic therapy after they've "accomplished" cbt. i employ cbt due to, more often than not, patients not having a solid foundation for recovery or changing their ways. so what is cbt?

"cbt is a psycho-social intervention that aims to reduce symptoms of various mental health conditions, primarily depression and anxiety disorders. cognitive behavioral therapy is one of the most effective means of treatment for substance abuse and co-occurring mental health disorders." in a shorter sense: i use cbt in order to "change" the way somebody thinks.

things that are apart of cbt therapy (and can be incorporated in other forms of therapy) include cognitive distortions, grounding techniques, actively engaging in combatting their automatic negative thoughts (ant's), and encompassing pct and mi in order for the patient to understand why they need to change their thoughts / actions, how they can change them, and the results of changing them. this will go more in depth in my sud post!

patient centered therapy (pct):

pct isn't necessarily for everybody, as many patients may have difficulty even coming up with what their issues are or potential solutions. but by utilizing pct, counselors may be able to support a patient to an "answer" or realization without giving them the answer - i find it beneficial to voice my issues and concerns so i'm able to form my own solution even without my friends saying anything! it's very limited involvement from the counselor as far as "telling them" what's wrong and giving them "choices" to fix it.

"during person-centered therapy, a therapist acts as a compassionate facilitator, listening without judgment and acknowledging the client’s experience without shifting the conversation in another direction. the therapist is there to encourage and support the client without interrupting or interfering with their process of self-discovery, as they uncover what hurts and what is needed to repair it."

pct is really important, in my opinion, because it allows patient the autonomy to make decisions for themselves, while also giving them support. a counselor is supposed to help, not be a brick wall, so as much as the patient is allowed to freely roam through their thoughts and feelings, i've found a nice balance between pct and cbt when the patient may not have a specific answer or understanding for themselves.

motivational interviewing (mi):

"mi is a guiding style of communication, that sits between following (good listening) and directing (giving information and advice). it's designed to empower people to change by drawing out their own meaning, importance and capacity for change. mi is based on a respectful and curious way of being with people that facilitates the natural process of change and honors client autonomy."

when i speak about "guiding" a patient to a different way of thought, or to a "solution", mi is what i'm talking about. my entire approach to counseling is not to give them the answer, because many times they may know the "right" thing to do (stay away from drugs - duh, not explode in anger, not cut people off, etc.) but allowing them this space to speak freely so i can ask them questions for clarification, let them know somebody is listening to them, and building up that therapeutic relationship is the entire point for me.

mi is where the trifecta of these modalities lays. i can utilize cbt in an effort to change their mindset or offer new ideas or "reasons" why they may think / act like that, as well as incorporating pct so that they can come to the realization themselves! it's all about balance and which modality is right for that exact moment, for that patient. it also allows me to be entirely present in the conversation. i often find myself dissociating in my day-to-day life, as many people do, but by using mi, i have to listen in order to ask questions or repeat what they said back to them. it's beneficial to all!

the end:

thank you so much for reading this! i know this was just the basics, but if you want to write a character who's a therapist or who's going to one, i hope this helps beef up that background for you! again, this is specific to me and my sud field, and there's a million other certifications and licenses for general counselors.

substance use disorder counseling post. (will update when post is done).

#rpt #rpc #rph #idk what else to tag<3 KSJAHS #rp guide #character guide #career guide #*#*guide.#counseling 101.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

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AITA? I (28f) recently finished grad school and got an entry level job in my field. I applied to multiple positions, but was only accepted to the entry level position, so I took it. I'm eligible for promotions after six months, so I've been keeping an eye on open positions and have done extra training to make me more eligible as a candidate. The problem is I unknowingly accepted a position at the "slacker" branch, where careers go to die. My coworkers are mostly half-retired and only show up as a way to pass the time before their pension kicks in. They're disengaged with their work and do the bare minimum. I get it, I'm not asking them to do more because they're checked out and nothing I do or say will change that. BUT.

I've thrown their metrics for a loop. My delivery time is half of what this branch has been putting out, they send me to cover other branches because I know the system despite working here less than a month, and generally I pick up the slack. One of my coworkers pulled me aside and told me that I need to slow down because the way I'm going will only result in two things: either my managers won't give me good recommendations because they rely on me to do advanced work at entry-level pay and keep their numbers up, or I burn myself out with frustration before I get the chance to advance. I told her I want to advance and the only way I know how to do that is by performing well. She said if I keep this up, other coworkers will resent me because they'll be expected to work just as hard as me if I leave, even though they've done their time and just want to spend the next few years waiting out their retirement. She said it was an unprofessional move for me to take a low-paying position and then ramp up the numbers, just to jump ship as soon as a new opportunity presented itself. I want to keep working hard and climb the ladder, but AITA for basically doing a pump and dump at a branch that just wants to coast by?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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catofadifferentcolor · 9 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #58: Percy Jackson x Criminal Minds

While perusing the PJO tag for the first time in ages, I stumbled across yet another crossover I never would have thought of trying - and which, naturally, hasn't escaped my head. It managed to mash together the worlds of PJO and Criminal Minds... and so, naturally, I thought: if I were going to write this crossover, what would I do?

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until MoA. There Percy plays off the judo throw in New Rome to avoid starting a war with the Greeks, but after they're alone on the Argo Percy tells Annabeth that he doesn't appreciate 1) being blamed for his disappearance, as if Hera had asked him if he wanted to lose his memories and half a year of his life, and 2) being physically attacked by his girlfriend outside of weapons practice.

Naturally, Annabeth doesn't take this well and doubles down on her position, and the two fight like cats and dogs throughout MoA and HoO. By the time they reach Akhlys, Percy is hardly inclined to listen to Annabeth at all, and so doesn't stop poison-bending.

It's not obvious at the time, but not stopping fully unlocks Percy's divine powers. He's now immortal, like Chiron, but not a god. It's also rather the final straw for Annabeth and Percy's relationship.

Because he doesn't immediately realize he's immortal, Percy goes on with normal human things like high school and college - attending both at Camp Jupiter, which is better equipped to handle demigods than the average mortal school. It's only after he starts grad school at nearby Stanford University and gets a lot of comments on how young he looks does anyone start realizing what's happened.

Fast forward to about 15 years after HOO, when Percy has joined the BAU - because even immortals have to pay the bills somehow.

In my head I picture this to be S8/S9 of CM, largely because I enjoyed Alex Blake's character and think she'd be a good outsider POV for the story I want to tell, but dealer's choice.

Percy proves to be the BAU cryptid. His primary and secondary school records say unsub in the making... then he double majors in marine biology and classics in college (because everyone who survives four years in the legion or slays a particular number of monsters gets a classics degree when they graduate by default). Then he goes on to get a doctorate in psychology from Stanford... and swim twice for Team USA in the Olympics. He once went on vacation in the Keys and found the wreck of a lost Spanish galleon free diving. He's polite and mild mannered and goes nowhere without at least three knives on his person and a week's worth of survival gear. When he's tired, his reports sometimes slip into Ancient Greek or Latin. He may be a Hellenist and speaks of Hell as a place that he's been.

Percy is, in short, unfathomable to his profiler colleagues. They like him, but every new thing they learn about him only complicates the profile they're definitely not putting together.

He's been in the BAU for about 18 months before they receive reports of a serial killer's dumping ground in the Oakland Hills, not more than a mile from Camp Jupiter. The victims are all in their late teens and signs indicate all were killed in a ritualistic way. Most of those the investigators can identify are runaways.

Once the BAU is on site, Reid determines that someone is trying to recreate an obscure Ancient Roman sacrifice.

More importantly, Percy realizes that, yes, these are definitely the bodies of Roman demigods - and not one of them was killed by a monster before they could get to camp. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a secret entrance to camp not 100' away from the oldest body.

It's this last point that causes Percy to lead his team to Camp Jupiter. This is a revelation in itself and should answer many of the team's questions about Percy but give them twice as many new ones.

It should also be perfect timing, as they arrive just as praetors Frank and Hazel were thinking of reaching out to Percy, as he's the only real investigator either camp has. They're not aware of most of the murders, as it's not unusual for one or two demigods every year to be killed after leaving the safety of camp, but the last three victims went missing in the last three months under odd circumstances.

(One was a granddaughter of Apollo who'd talked about wanting to join the Hunters of Artemis, and when she disappeared everyone assumed that's what she did, only for the Hunters to visit later claiming she never showed. The most recent was a daughter of Bacchus who hated the regimented life of the legion and wanted to transfer to Camp Half-Blood where things were a little more their speed. Most the others were legacies or the children of minor gods.)

They set up shop in Percy's house - in part because CJ has no police force beyond the legion, which houses their main suspects - in part because Percy's house is built like a Roman temple on the edge of the temple district and no one would dare sneak into it.

(The demigods have been actively treating immortal Percy as a god, because if deification worked for Nero, they can make it work for Percy. And a deified!Percy could only be good for them.)

In the end it comes out a grandchild of Hecate/Trivia was sacrificing other demigods to their ancestor in hopes of obtaining more power - they should be just powerful enough to disguise their actions with the Mist but not much more, and intensely jealous their ancestor handed already-powerful Hazel more power during the Giant War.

Bonuses include: 1) Thalia and the Hunters showing up to help, as do Nico and Will. This should be an intensely confusing family reunion to watch from the outside given that two are immortal. Extra bonus points if the BAU recognize Nico from some wildly successful paranormal investigative channel on YouTube and are shocked to find out all the ghosts are real; 2) Will calling Percy "mom", on account of the fact he's been dating Apollo for the last five years now - Apollo's longest relationship ever - though Percy refuses to consider marriage or children until fifty years have passed; and 3) One of the BAU being tangentially involved with the mythological world already - Hotch had a relationship with a disguised Justice before meeting Hailey and their child is at Camp Jupiter? Reid has just recently met a disguised Athena at a conference and is now worried he'll arrive home to a baby on the doorstep?

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back to me if you chose to do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #criminal minds #crossover #percy x apollo #trials of apollo #toa

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alliebirb · 3 months

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Daaaamn your revo art never ceases to make me gush all over it!! I love your ideas so much?? And your tags in your latest post intrigued me a lot, so I must absolutely ask, what are your headcanons for Atem and the past incarnation of Anzu? You mention that she fell first, but he fell harder and all. More details pretty please? :>

CHOCOLAAAAAAAAAA 🥺🥺😭😭💕💕💝💝💗💗💗💗🌷🌷🌷 i know i’ve talked your ear off already ab your revo art being my absolutely favorite since my early ygo days, this made my day!!!!!! !!! Im so happy my works leave an impression (づ ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈ )づ

As for my long-haired anzu posts, that isn’t a past reincarnation at all! That’s our actual anzu! They’re all art for a looooooong fic ive been meaning to write for years now: INFO DUMP N ARTS BELOW THE CUT

Basically, i wanted a friends-to-lovers slowburn revo with historical elements, so I came up with a little story where I could be self-indulgent >:3

for atem - since anzu joining him in the afterlife would be a mood-killer - after the canon ending, he gets an encounter with Hathor who gives him a gift.

basically: “you killed the primordial being of all evil??? Have a resurrection on me, kid, it’s on the house”

So plop! Atem dropped right back in his life when it stopped, except Mahad and the rest of the court is still alive… and no one has any memory of zorc at all. He gets to live without any of the world-ending responsibility!!

Some years go by til Atem’s in his early twenties and then PLOP AGAIN but this time it’s anzu getting yanked around by some time nonsense (thinking it comes from the re-gifted cartouche from Atem storing pent up time energy from being in two periods at once) but yay!!!!! Modern time pal!!! Ancient times friend who is fully alive??? Somehow??? Both are confused but happy!

Then they have time together, getting to know each other better, and so on and so forth, but! Anzu had long ago compartmentalized her old crush and is content to just be friends while atem starts falling DEEP in it. Anzu’s just so kind and brave and intelligent and she understands him SO WELL and GOD was she always so pretty???!! Who knows whether he’ll confess before they find a way to bring her back to the present…. In the meantime we get pining and domestic stuff >:3

maybe i could drop a drabble or two of my many snippets if yall want cuz lord knows this project will be a post-grad school thing

#asks #convergence fic #IDK IF I EVEN ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION PROPERLY BUT PLEASE TAKE MY RAMBLINGS AND A FRESH ARTS #alliebirb art #anzu mazaki #atem #yami yugi #revolutionshipping

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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King [Steve x Reader]

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: mob boss!Steve x female!Reader Word Count: 1k

Summary: As an archeologist neck deep in a library for research or out in the wilds of desserts and jungles searching for ancient civilizations, you’re not the type you ever thought would catch the attention of one of the city’s mob bosses. They meant nothing to you, and so you never expected it, and you certainly didn’t know how it happened, and yet you find yourself entering the early domestic stages of a serious relationship with Steve Rogers, king of one of the most powerful mob networks in the country, and he’s made dinner for you, seemingly with no agenda…

Content Warnings: a bit of angst, feminist frustration

Additional Notes: Another day, another short piece for my 2022 Holiday Extravaganza! This one was inspired by King by Florence + the Machine. It really hit me hard when I first heard the single earlier this year, and it’s been clawing its way into this little story for many months in my brain.

You threw you plate down into the sink, shattering it, taking Steve completely off guard.

“Hey!”

You slam one hand down onto the counter, and cover your mouth with the other, hanging your head as tears burn behind your closed eyes.

“Hey,” he says again, more quietly now, coming up behind you. “What’s-?“

“No!” You shout, flinching away when his hands went to rest on your shoulders. “I’m not ready!”

“Not ready for what?”

“Kids!” You turn abruptly to face him. “I’m smart enough to know that my mob boss boyfriend isn’t dropping idle comments about children without intent behind them, and they’ve been stacking up all week!”

“Fine. You’re right. I want kids and I want to have them with you.”

You turn to face him finally, the tears having spilled over. Sad and angry. “I’m just not ready now, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

“How can you say that?”

“It’s all so easy for you! You only have to dump your seed and then wait nine months for a baby to pop out, and then, what? Pat it in the head once or twice a day? Go off and continue doing what you do every day, while I, on the other hand, a pregnancy will change every single moment of my life! Carrying it to popping it out and then watching over the child for the following eighteen years! I won’t even be able to fly on a damn plane in the third trimester of the pregnancy, and if I can’t fly, how am I supposed to remain one of the forefront archeologists in the field when I can’t even get to the field?”

“Sweatheart–“

“No! Don’t sweetheart me, Steve! Growing up, I was definitely one of those girls who just wanted to go to college, meet the man of my dreams, be swept into the perfect wedding and marriage and pop out five babies before I was thirty. House with the white picket fence, dinner at six, kiss my husband goodbye every morning, but then I finished college, no marriage. Went to grad school, dove into this field, found something exciting that I’m passionate about and damn good at. Still no man in sight. I turned thirty. I actually went to a conference with a bunch of strangers over my thirtieth birthday weekend - it was kind of an unexpected thing that came up, and I accepted because I was so relieved I wouldn’t have to be around my family and friends turning thirty and still single and alone.”

Steve moved forward, wanting to take you in his arms, but you moved back, and held your hand up.

“I need to finish saying this. It took me so long to untangle myself from the fluffy housewife propaganda I was told was the only thing I should aspire to be, to shove away the silent disappointment from other people’s expectations of what I was supposed to do, and to find things that made my heart sing, made my soul burn with purpose just because I wanted them any no one else. And I was happy before you.”

“Are you unhap–”

“No, I was happy before you, and I’m happy now,” you cut him off quickly. “But it’s unfair how easy it is for men, and it’s not your fault, but it is a reality. For me… you know I can’t half-ass something even if I tried. I won’t do it if I won’t do it well, and I don’t know how to… I don’t even know how to be your girlfriend yet. I know you’re not asking me to just give up my life, but I do know you’d prefer it.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said simply.

You shake your head. “Don’t lie. I overheard you on the phone with Bucky last week say how much easier it would be if I could be the simple housewife type of girlfriend.” The words had been horrifically branded into your brain.

Steve exhaled and put his hands on his hips.

You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to respond.

“Yes. That’s true. I did say it would be easier. I didn’t say it’s what I want though.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t. As you so aptly noted, I’m always very careful with my words. It would be easier, but I don’t want easy, I want you, and I want you to be happy. The closer we become, the more of a target you are.”

“Oh,” you responded quietly. Steve saw you start to let your guard down, so he stepped forward and brushed his fingers up and down your arm, then grasped your fingers.

“I have been dropping comments about kids and our future because I am ready to talk about it with you. A future with you is what I want, but I was testing the waters trying to get a read on if it’s what you want.” A smirk flitted across his face, and he added, “You have been playing things very close to the chest.”

“Yes,” you huffed, “well, that’s because I’m terrified of falling for you.”

He gently pulled you closer, and you melt against him. “Fall with me then. I’m already at the edge of this terrifying cliff, I’m ready to jump.”

“How can this be terrifying? You’re a mob boss!”

Steve laughed. “That’s nothing compared to handing my heart over to someone else and trusting them not to smash it or throw it away, to literally give them everything – to give you my everything.”

Your chest constricted, breath catching at his words.

His hands moved to the small of your back, securely holding you closer to him. “I mean it. Everything.”

His eyes locked on yours, and you couldn’t look away if you wanted to. The moment stretched out between you – he would wait for you to answer – and your heart seemed to stop, freezing the moment in time.

Then finally you reached up and pulled his lips down to yours, crashing fiercely together. You still had so many questions, but you did at least know you were certain about each other now. You would rule your worlds together.

And that's day three of the Holiday Extravaganza! Do we want to see more of mob boss!Steve and his reader? (Archeologist because... why the hell not?)

I think I might have something totally out of left field for you lovelies tomorrow, just depends how the muses go...

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open. See you on the flipside for day four of AHE...

#aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #steve rogers fic #mob boss!steve #steve x reader #steve x female reader #steve x yn #steve x you #female reader

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mystic-blue · 1 year

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a quick little brainrot dump for @ashwii 's celestial au because i'm obsessed <3 also might have made it a hint angsty bc i'm incapable of anything else...fair warning i haven't written in a HOT minute because grad school has consumed my life so sorry if this makes no sense : D

Leo watched from a distance as Mikey chased Raph, both of them grinning brightly and bounding with endless energy. Mikey's laughter echoed through the space between nearby planets, bright and ringing. Donnie sat perched on Earth's moon, calling out the occasional encouragement, but it was unclear who he was rooting for.

Sometimes Leo wondered why they all chose to stay here. There were galaxies upon galaxies to explore, endless maps of stars and open space, planets and asteroid belts all begging to be traversed. Their sense of self and domain had expanded greatly since their inception over a trillion years ago, after all. Leo twirled a constellation between his fingertips and thought about the stars he could sense at the edge of the universe, creations he had never seen himself.

He was about to move closer, to join Donnie, when a sharp pain flared to life in his abdomen. Leo winced as a distant star caved in on itself, Leo attempting to block out the pain and the distant agony. He tried to describe it to his brothers once when they were younger, but they had only ended up distressed and terrified. A dying star was an excruciating experience, a piece of Leo burning away with a ferocious intensity, consuming anything within reach. When he was younger, the pain was an unbearable constant. Now, it was an old wound, a familiar sprain that never healed. Stars perished all the time, a chronic ache in Leo's celestial bones that he had learned to bear with time.

(Sometimes he looked at Raph and wondered how long they had.)

Leo's instinct was to flee toward the dying star, some fruitless attempt at getting there in time to make sure they weren't alone at the end. Realistically, Leo knew it would make no difference. The few times he had tried to do that when he was younger had not ended well. Either he never made it far because of the overwhelming pain, or he got burned by the proximity.

He longed to visit every star in the sky, to let them know that he was there, that he cared about them, knew them. But he and his brothers lingered here, instead.

Sometimes Leo wondered why they all chose to stay here. Leo thought again about the stars he could sense at the edge of the universe. They were newer, brighter, and endlessly chaotic in their naivety.

He yearned to witness them.

If he were being honest, Leo and Mikey were free to roam, unrestrained in the breadth of their domain. Mikey was like Leo in a way, wincing every time a meteor burned away from existence, going quiet and distant for a while. Leo understood the pain of it more than Raph and Donnie ever could.

Donnie's domain was not nearly as extensive as Leo's and Mikey's, contained to the moons within this galaxy. Even still, he had room to move, to explore. Sometimes he said he could sense moons outside of this galaxy, a gleam of insatiable curiosity lighting up his eyes. It looked a lot like the way Leo felt when he expanded his awareness to all the places his constellations reached.

Leo tipped his fingers forward, palm up, and watched a shower of stars tumble off the ends of his fingertips. Mikey crowed with victory and Leo looked up to find him perched on Raph's shoulders. He was already melting a bit against the flames on Raph's back, but Mikey wasn't in danger yet. Leo caught sight of Raph's indulgent yet fond grin and it all made sense.

They had the entire universe to explore, sure. But Raph was here. The endless expanse of the unexplored universe and all her secrets and adventures meant nothing if Raph wasn't there with them. It was cold out there between suns anyway.

The burning ache of the dying star went dull in Leo's gut almost simultaneously with the heady thrill of a new one being born at his collarbone. Leo grinned, his smile full of starlight and eyes composed of the cosmos.

He joined his brothers, dragging Donnie into the chaos, in time for Raph to remove Mikey from his shoulders and begin their game of chase anew. He wouldn't trade this for the universe.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #leo hamato #writing #my writing #raph hamato #donnie hamato #mikey hamato #idk what else to tag here bros #anyway you can pry the star!leo has chronic pain headcanon from my cold dead hands #rottmnt celestial au

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alexistudies · 10 months

Text

jul 12

worked on an application essay in the courtyard yesterday and listened to the torrential downpour, very peaceful

[brain dump/vent about 1st year below]

my first year of grad school will be challenging in more ways than one and a true test of my time management. i expressed this concern to my soon-to-be PI and they told me to remember "the time where your grades matter has passed. just do the bare minimum to get credit for the class" and thats honestly helpful. like i know how to direct my attention for my coursework, and they also gave me tips on time blocking for lab, etc etc.

it'll be an adjustment and there will definitely be a rough transition period the first couple months, but i know i've got this. do you all have any tips??

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wolfiemcwolferson · 7 months

Note

hello, unusual request of mine, but for the prompt thing .. could you maybe do 9???????

thank u love u

hi baby, Piarles son of my CEO with a twist. I was going to make everyone suffer DEEPLY about this pre-race drabble but I decided against it after making myself very sad.

Pierre has no business being here.

It's too late, it's too hot, and he's got to be in a meeting to meet the new nepo hire tomorrow morning at 10 AM.

But, that's why he's here.

His guy - the one he hired and trained and turned into the perfect employee - was passed over for the son of the CFO.

He's barely out of grad school - probably can't write a report without consulting his textbooks.

And he's meant to be Pierre's equal. He's meant to be the person that Pierre is going to work with on major acquisitions - trust to read his mind and stay late. Do all the work that Pierre does.

So, he swore off doing this - off dragging pretty boys in bars home when he should be home sleeping and resting his brain for his job, but he's here and there's a boy sucking on the side of his neck while they ride the elevator to his floor.

"You live in a nice place." The Pretty Boy says when the elevator stops and Pierre hums, squeezing his waist, pulling him down the hallway.

They haven't spoken much. There had been some dancing and some light kissing and then he had been the one to ask Pierre if he wanted to leave with him.

He's electric though. He's electric underneath his touch and he's beautiful even in the harsh light of the hall and Pierre knows he's the kind of guy he would ask on a proper date if they met in a coffee shop or maybe at the gym.

"I do," Pierre smiles at him as he pushes the door open and then there's no more talking for awhile.

There's no more talking for exactly three hours and then there's too much talking for Pierre's liking, but he can't seem to stop.

Charles is funny as hell and he's kind of stupid and he's the best fuck Pierre has had in ages, and he's eating Pierre's lunch currently, standing up at the counter while Pierre sits across from him, accepting cold chunks of sweet potatoes off the fork.

"I just think," Charles laughs through a mouthful of potato and a smile, "that no one actually hates action movies. They say that because they want to seem cultured and interesting and above it!"

Pierre has to swallow a piece of potato that's a bit too big so he doesn't choke on it.

"There is not another genre of anything that lets you look at a dirty, hunk of man, doing things that no human being should be able to do, and -"

"Okay, yes!" Pierre agrees with him, but he waves his hand to try and get him to stop talking. "But that doesn't really do it for me so maybe that's -"

Charles spears another sweet potato and hangs his head. "There's not a single part of you that enjoys the thought of some big strong man throwing you over their shoulder and -"

He squeals because the stool Pierre was in falls to the floor and Pierre is chasing him around the counter and it's way too much for a hook-up but Pierre can't care.

Charles is gone when he wakes up, but his name and his number are on the fridge whiteboard calendar in the Saturday slot and Pierre understands that he's meant to call him on Saturday, but he's running a bit late, so he just dumps his ruined lunch into the trash and grabs one of those canned coffees that he keeps in the fridge and hopes that his shirt goes high enough to cover the bruise on his neck that Charles left with his teeth.

He's going to call him. He's already decided.

Pierre is halfway through his morning routine. He's checked his email on the train and now he's responding to everything urgent and he's about to go and debrief with Alex about their upcoming meeting, but Otmar knocks on his door, sticking his head through it immediately.

"He's here," he says simply and Pierre abandons his emails and he knows that he won't be talking with Alex. He walks into the hallway after Otmar, expecting to be met with the face of a literal child except -

Charles stands there, new badge around his neck, hands in the pockets of his black suit pants, smiling at Esteban with his eyes crinkled up and Pierre thinks he might just die.

That's the fresh faced grad that he's going to have to suffer through.

"It's nice to meet you," and then Charles makes a show of looking at his badge, "Pierre. I hear we are going to be working together on acquisitions."

Pierre has regrets, but he nods at Charles, making a show of looking at his badge too. "Charles, we will be spending most of our evenings together."

And then when Charles reaches out to shake his hand, Pierre squeezes on it too hard, watching Charles' nostrils flare.

He's swearing off pretty boys in clubs. He decides. For good this time.

#piarles #a little nonsense #pre race drabble

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faytelumos · 1 year

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BESTIE. I must inform dump on you regarding one TJ wayne because. Because it's just so fucking funny to me???

Thomas and TJ literally looked at eachother, said " your vibes are rancid actually " and disowned one another. TJs been on his own since he was 10 and an absolute terror for boarding schools.

He was the kid sneaking vodka in water bottles and pretended to shrug off a bad grad only to key his teachers car after. Was probably there when Bruce raced with Oswald and laughed his ass off when batman ate shit.

Captured everything ofc,

" smile :)"

" ...I hate you"

" I know <3"

Very much azula if azula was a loser and also somehow. Meaner

My dumb ass was about to ask if Tommy Sr saw how Bruce was acting as a teen and thought he had another TJ on his hands.

Because it sounds like TJ just hit that "I hate everyone" stage earlier than Bruce.

But does Bruce even know about TJ? Like, where did he come from?!

And who looks at a 10 year old who's disowned his father and goes, "Yeah, he's fine to go to school. No, full time elementary classes won't pose any kind of problem at all whatsoever."

And who looks at their 10 year old and goes, "Yeah, there's nothing redeemable about this situation, please get out of my life small child with only 90% of your logical brain development and who has yet to even experience the personality change that come with puberty."

As far as I can tell both Tommys are 100% wrong in this situation and I can't believe Martha didn't put them in a Get Along Sweater, shakin' my head.

And yes, 1,000%, Jason would be up in arms at how TJ is treating Bruce, then turn around and continue to bully Tim and Damian.

I feel bad for Alfred in this whole mess.