i had so many little rat visions i wanted to share with y’all but i panicked all night last night & felt absolutely sick & fucked up all day working & now i’m at home in my blanket burrito about to pass out again so
you can blame my ex husband for once again sabotaging my creative practice, been back in the fiction sphere hard for two years this month & it’s still happening
when will i know peace
#this mf used to trap me in the car and drive me around in circles to mentally pick at me to keep me away from google docs #y'know. while i was having a full blown panic attack bc he knows this exact behavior is something my mom used to do & one of the deepest sea #ted sources of childhood trauma for me #FINE AND NORMAL [CONFETTI EMOJI] #i am going to lay here and think about the time he did that and when i blew tf up at him to make him stop he finally took me home #then hid my bike gear so i couldn't take the honda #so i took his fucking car to ikea and listened to stone sour bootlegs and sat on display couches dissociating for three hours #anyway corey taylor would never
@wolfhymns sent: Tomas: " don't panic. i saw everything... you okay? " - Dylan
“I… don’t panic.” At least, not over something so superficial as near-death. And not even full-death, either. The pain was incredible--the blinding sort, that bit down to the bone. Oh, bruising, yes. Maybe broken bones, ribs. Could be a punctured lung, but he didn’t think so.
And the car hadn’t even stopped.
If it had killed him, Dylan surely would’ve been angry. But panicked? No. Not in the least.
He held a hand to his side and tried speaking again, managing to get more words out as the pain lessened and whatever was broken healed. “Yes, m’fine. Bloody annoyed though.”
we seem kind of settled on tubbo’s limbo as being stranded in a burning bright and blasting loud sky, so here’s another—
ranboo’s limbo would be him sat in a cold and dark room. not void where there’s nothing, but an actual physical room— damp and hard with walls on all sides of him. and he can hear dripping from the ceiling and the rushing of water outside.
he’s all alone in a cold and dark room with the threatening sound of water all around him.
((not sure what to do with this blog i had plans and stuff but its kinda like fadin a bit ))
#im sorry #this blogs kinda dead but he Exists so i guess ill keep it here #im not sure if anyone wanted to like plot wit hhim #but im sorry if you wanted to #alot of other shit gets in the way nad my attention span is horrid #plus i dont do alot of paragraph stuff bc it makes me panic but whenit comes to big plots that i have to write out on the blog #like one person writes a side in a big post then someone writes the other side #like thats ok i guess? just not back n fortth PARAGRAPHS i am very bad at writing #my brain can only take script rps lately it sucks #i say lately as if thats not how i always been akjdjkfdsf #im sorry though. i just dont think im gettin much goin on here #ooc
Warnings: light swearing, crying, implied panic attacks, arguments, yelling, ummm lemme know if I missed anything
Word Count: 2181
A/N: This was meant to be a drabble- okay, in my defence, I've had such writers block and apparently the feels were necessary soooo. This is 1 of 2 fic ideas that were sent to me by @satan-ruler-of-hells for a prompt thing I did (idk if I can find the thing) and the next one is Tendou. So, maybe get ready for more feels of my almost 5 am angst. I also did not proof-read this, sooooo
How had things ended up like this?
Every little thing was like the calm before the storm - the most tense calm that had ever existed; you were walking on eggshells, and maybe so was he, but you couldn’t help it. At least, you thought you couldn’t. Each attempt to try and fix the mess around you only ended up in more heartbreak.
The storm that always seemed to be headed in your direction had tore apart the home you’d meticulously built together. Plates and picture frames shattered to the ground; glass leaving you walking on bleeding feet. The flowers of your love torn apart somewhere in the distance now. Breath stolen from your lungs, but not from those kisses he’d give you back in high school, not from the way he’d dance with you around his bedroom (only to shove you onto the bed when his brother barged in), not from your outrageous laughter at something stupid that had happened. This was a breath stolen from countless nights arguing, screaming, trying to gain the upper hand in a situation where you were both at a standstill. A breath stolen from your heaving words as you scrunch your hands into your roots, pull your legs close to your chest and shove yourself into a corner while he slammed the door and left to God knows where. Breath stolen from the realization that maybe things just weren’t working like they used to, and that it was okay to love him, but to not be in love with him.
Tonight was just another picture perfect example of why you weren’t meant to be together. You’d come home late from work (because of some stupid assignment that you just wanted to finish today). He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through Netflix for something to watch. Honestly, you just wanted to eat something, so you didn’t bother greeting him, but the moment he noticed your presence in the house, he was hot on your tail.
“Where were you?” His voice sharp as daggers, digging under your skin and tearing you apart piece by piece. His arms are crossed over his chest, eyes so judgmental you feel like you’re in court. Nothing you say is the right answer, so you choose to not say anything. Apparently, that wasn’t the right answer either - this you find out when his iron grip settles on your shoulder and forces you to turn around.
“Hey-” you winced, trying to pry his fingers off.
“Where were you?” He repeated, basically growling at you through his gritted teeth.
“I was at work.” You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back towards the fridge, trying to ease the beating of your heart. In, hold, out. You repeat to yourself, barely remembering what all those instagram therapists had told you.
He scoffed, finally releasing his grip in favor of slamming the fridge door shut, “really? Because the last time I checked, your work ended two hours ago. What could you possibly have been doing for two whole hours?” He was in your face now, making you know how pissed he was.
But you already knew. You’d always known. Why did he need to try and make it so blindingly obvious to you?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kei, I was working. What part of that is so hard to understand?” You snapped back, moving away from him with a heavy sigh. At this point, you didn’t bother holding back the venom in your words. You knew he had issues (and you knew why) but did that mean he should take it out on you? No. Fuck.
“Two hours! Y/N, I was waiting two hours. I was going to take us to dinner, we were going to have a nice time.” He followed after you, closing every cupboard door you opened, trying to get your attention. “But you didn’t even send me a text. Were you too busy fuck-”
“Oh my God!” You yelled over him, spinning around to face him with your pure unfiltered aggression.
Back and forth you went for what felt like hours. Tears were acid down your cheeks, your spit a very special concoction of venom just for him. And yet, even as you were dry heaving in the kitchen sink, yelling more obscenities at him, you could never seem to stop. Neither could he.
Tsukishima Kei was known for a lot of things, being an asshole was one of them. That you knew too well.
For a while, though, things were good. He loved you. You loved him.
As he sits there, accusing you over and over of cheating on him, even though you hadn’t and you wouldn’t. God.
When had he become so anxious and persistent that things were going wrong? Yes, they were going wrong, but not for the reasons he keeps saying. It’s driving you insane, to the point where you can’t even remember those stupid breathing techniques, or grounding techniques, or anything.
This argument had lost the plot at some point around when he started yelling at you for doing the dishes wrong (you still insisted there wasn’t a wrong way to do them). So you bit back that his clothes were stupid, or that dinosaurs were stupid, something. Something was stupid.
“If you have so many problems with the way I choose to live my life, then get the fuck out.” You screamed, slamming your fists down onto the table and pointing to the door. His expression was scrunched up into something completely unrecognizable - a fine mixture of hatred and anguish. His chest rising and falling so rapidly you’re amazing he’s still standing. His hair is a complete and utter mess, so many times he’d ran his hand through it to try and make sense of the nonsense you were both spouting.
“Fine, I will!” He yelled back, voice hoarse from the past two hours.
You watched him head towards the door without a second thought, grabbing his coat, shoving his shoes on. You didn’t have the energy to call out after him, no matter how much your heart begged you to.
And your heart did beg you to; but it had already accepted that the end had been coming for too long.
You lean back against one of the cupboards, looking up at that one crack in the ceiling that he’d insisted he’d get around to fixing but something had always come up.
If you had to say what was wrong in your relationship, it would just be something. Something was wrong, and neither of you knew what it was, but something would be your downfall. Something filled the air with poison and made you destined to hate each other; something danced around in your words and twisted the meaning; something caressed your cheek as tears fell.
Something was your downfall and you didn’t have the energy to fight it.
So, maybe you’d call in sick the next day, and your boss would believe you because your voice sounded like hell; and maybe you’d spend the entire day lying in bed despite the fact your stomach was beginning for some nutrients; and maybe it would feel good to not have that nagging voice that you shouldn’t sleep in all day.
But today would have felt nicer with him by your side.
If there was one thing Tsukishima Kei was good at (after a lot of practice), it was making you feel just a little bit better with his empty promises and sweet nothings.
So, maybe you’d dressed yourself in his shirt and breath in him; and maybe you’d grab that dinosaur plushie you’d bought him for his birthday so many years ago and pull it to your chest; maybe you’d sleep on his side of the bed even though his pillow wasn’t as fluffy as yours; and maybe, just maybe, you watched his favourite movie on repeat, hoping it would bring him back to you.
Those were all maybe’s. But maybe they did happen, and you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms and tease him for his glasses that he insisted were cool. Or to have him laugh at you for the fact you majored in literature, despite the fact you weren’t good with words.
When your phone rang, you didn’t hesitate in picking it up, almost too excited for his voice, “Kei-”
“Y/N…” Yamaguchi’s voice was soft, understanding. It killed your fire of excitement in an instant.
You listened to him talk, something about how Tsukishima had decided you needed a break and would be staying at his place for a little while. Something about how he still loved you, but he didn’t want to keep hurting you like this.
It wasn’t a surprise that you didn’t manage to keep it together and broke out crying all over again, basically screaming and begging for things to be okay. There was no doubt in your mind, if Tsukishima was in the room with Yamaguchi, then he’d heard your cries.
“I’ll be better…” you whimpered, after far too long, “I’ll be nice. A-and… I won’t make fun of his glasses. Or dinosaurs. Please… please, Yamaguchi, please tell him to come home!” You cried out, unsure if you even managed to breathe.
He was silent on the line. You couldn’t take it. The silence, you wanted the noise. You’d prefer the arguing over this.
“I’m sorry…” Yamaguchi said weakly, and you knew how much it was hurting him to say this.
He hung up the phone and you were left as a shell of yourself.
And yet, your life must go on. So, for two months, you pushed your problems to the side and kept dredging forward in the hope that the answer to your problems was in one of these articles. Hoping that your co-worker would tell you some shitty anecdote that would distract you for just a little while.
Yo couldn’t look at your apartment anymore, not as little pieces of him were still littered everywhere.
Only, one day, you came home and he wasn’t anywhere. You didn’t notice it, not at first, but then you saw his mug from your museum visit in his third year of high school wasn’t next to your matching one. And then neither were his books on the shelf in your living room, or under the coffee table. His clothes gone from the closet. Every inch. Every detail. Every bit of him you had left had disappeared in the span of one work day.
And you were left with nothing.
With as much energy as you could muster, you turned and ran in the general direction of Yamaguchi’s house (which was hopeless, considering you had the directional capability of a broken compass and the stamina of a dead horse). You really were hopeless as you dialed his number, ignoring the way the moon taunted you in the sky.
He answered, for whatever reason, and you let out a breath. “What is it?” His tone was even, but something told you he was barely holding it together.
“Is this it?” Was all you could say. Head dizzy as you looked for Yamaguchi’s house - which you just knew was somewhere around here.
“It’s been it for a long time.” He really sounded robotic, like he was reading from a script.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Your voice broke as you ran, ignoring the splintering pain in the balls of your feet, “you thought making Yamaguchi say you needed a break, and then disappearing for two months, and then only reappearing to take your things back was the answer?” You cried out.
“You know-” his voice cracked and he stopped speaking. God, it hurt you so much.
“I never wanted this.” Tears were pouring down your cheeks.
“You think I did?”
“I tried, Y/N, I tried so hard. But you would never listen to me!”
“I tried too, Kei!” You tried not to yell, and you hoped that it worked.
Some miracle brought you to Yamaguchi’s door, the one you only recognized because of the little frog statue on the windowsill. You pressed the doorbell, hoping for the best.
“I tried because I loved you. And I waited for you, I waited and hoped you’d come back. I-” you ran your hands through your hair once again. “I know we aren’t the best, that something is always wrong, but we can work on this. We can… fuck, I don’t know. You were the smart one…” he let out a low chuckle laced with pain. “But we can work something out, can’t we?”
There was a pause, and Yamaguchi opened the door, shocked to see you. Your breath hitched but neither of you spoke.
“I… I can’t do this anymore…” he admitted, and you felt your heart shatter. “Y/N, this is it…”
You could see Tsukishima pacing in the living room just down the hall, and you know Yamaguchi knows you’ve seen him. His phone pulled away from his face, finger shaking over that familiar red button.
A/N: I could write a whole book detailing the emotional process this healing journey has been for me, but I just focus on some very tiny portions of that. Some of this is fictionalized for the sake of the story. While this is told in a linear manner, know that my journey wasn’t, it still isn’t, and many others’ journeys are not as well. The title is the lyrics from the finale of Pippin when he realizes that he doesn’t want the glitz, glamor, or fame that the Players offer him, opting to be with the love of his life instead. Pippin’s journey is about realizing that what’s most important in life isn’t necessarily where you are or what you’re doing, it’s about the people by your side. Please read the content warnings!
Check out the full masterlist for the Mental Health Awareness collab here!
List of shoutouts:
First and foremost, thank you to @doinmybesthere for hosting such an amazing collab to begin with!
Thank you to @shig-a-shig-ah for beta reading and letting me bounce some ideas off of you!
Thank you to @dollfacedwithadirtymind for being such a wonderful support to me while I went through the emotional process of writing this.
Last but not least, thank you to my boyfriend who has been supportive of me, always working through things with me, and for being one of my best friends.
Word count: 3.4k
CW: panic attacks, dissociation, brief descriptions of sexual assault, slut shaming, feelings of guilt around sexual intimacy, feelings of self worthlessness, self deprecation, hurt/comfort for reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, depression, mentions of smut at the end, discussions around consent
If you like my work, you can support me on Ko-Fi! I also have commissions open~
You’re suddenly awoken from your sleep. Your heart is racing and you’re frantically trying to catch your breath. You don’t know where you are; everything is dark. You feel strong arms wrapping around your waist, holding you too tightly against their body. You can’t move at all. Your breathing increases and your eyes are looking around, searching for something to see, something to focus on. The stranger’s hand rubs against your thigh, inching closer to your panty line. Instantly, alarms are going off in your head.
No… no… no… don’t touch there. Don’t come closer. Don’t touch there! Don’t touch there! Don’t touch there! Is all you can think. It’s all you can feel.
You then feel something hard pressing against your backside. It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back and you’re able to finally move. You harshly push the offender’s hand away.
Suddenly, it ends. You’re able to see the dark shadows and outlines of objects in the room. You make out the shape of his closet, his nightstand, and his desk. You turn to look at him, at your boyfriend, looking at you as well in a sleepy daze. He lazily closes his eyes again, rolling over to slip right back into his sleep.
You have no idea what just happened. You stand, catching your breath and feeling the dryness in your throat. You grab a sip of water from the minifridge in his room. You sink down to the floor, silently shaking as you try to understand what just occurred.
You make sense of where you are: your boyfriend’s apartment, you’re with your boyfriend, it’s just a normal night of sleeping with him. So what just happened?
You quietly gather your things in your backpack and slip your pants back on and a sweatshirt over your torso. You carefully make your way out of his home, escaping back to your own. Once you’re alone, you let yourself cry. You don’t know what just happened or why. Feelings of unease and confusion wash over you as you let your tears fall freely. Eventually you calm down enough to tire yourself back out, crawling into the safety of your own bed, and falling back asleep.
Natsuo: Are you ok? I woke up and you were gone?
You: Yeah, I had to go to class early and didn’t want to wake you
You: Sorry!!! 💕
You don’t want to lie to him, but you’re not sure you can explain what happened. When you woke up again, you remembered all too well the feeling of being violated. You remembered the loud music as the memory played back in your head. You remembered feeling dizzy, more drunk than you’ve ever been. You unfortunately recall the taste of alcohol on the man’s tongue, and the way he shoved it into your mouth. You remember how he grabbed the waistline of your shorts, pulling them up so your ass was hanging out of the end. You remember the guilt of it being in public, not wanting people to think you’re a slut.
You were slightly aroused from making out and from the alcohol clogging your brain until you could hardly remember. You felt bad about it. You felt awful. But you remember how delicious it felt to feel wanted, to feel desired.
It happened almost four years ago. Why did you suddenly remember now? Why did it happen in the middle of the night while you were fast asleep?
You’ve never felt more confused in that moment, and you’ve never felt more alone. You try to piece it all together, but your head is spinning and not understanding. You feel tired, your eyes feeling heavy all of the sudden. You curl back up in your bed, letting your phone buzz with new text notifications from Natsuo.
Natsuo: Let’s grab dinner together again tonight
Natsuo: My treat
You sigh as tears sting your eyes. You didn’t even go to class today, and you know your grade is going to be affected because of it. You let the tears fall as you cry yourself back asleep.
You woke up again with an ache behind your eyes. You roll over to check the time on your phone. You slept for four hours, sleeping through your other class for the day. You close your eyes, you can’t even find it in you to care. You feel disgusting. You pick yourself up out of your bed, allowing your feet to carry you to your bathroom. You peel away your clothes, getting a whiff of your perspiration that accumulated throughout the day while you slept.
You turn on your shower to the hottest setting. While it heats up, you look at your face in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy from crying and your sinuses feel bloated underneath your skin. You get into the shower, letting the hot water pelt your back. You stand there, trying to make sense of everything, but it feels too much and you just feel numb. Everything feels foggy and distant. It feels like a chore to wash your hair, but you do it anyway. You scrub at your body, trying to wash away all the sweat and dead skin. You massage too much conditioner into your hair, not bothering about combing it through with your fingers or even letting it sit.
You get out and towel dry off, throwing on an oversized sweater and leggings. You casually slap on a bit of makeup to hide the fact that you’ve been on and off crying and sleeping all day. Chugging a large glass of water and popping two ibuprofen pills, you hope that your headache will ease soon.
Natsuo is sitting in a booth waiting for you to arrive. When you see him, he smiles kindly and waves to you as you approach him.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
Of course he’s concerned, but you know you can’t talk about it. You’re worried what he will think, how he’ll react. He could break up with you. You’re afraid of losing him.
“I’m fine,” you lie.
He can see right through you, but he doesn’t press on it right now. Changing the subject, he tells you about his day, hoping that with the conversation no longer centered on you, you would cheer up a little. It does work to an extent, and soon you’re caught up in conversing happily with your boyfriend.
Your meal is good, wonderful actually. Considering it’s the first real food that you’ve eaten all day, the meal weighs heavily in your stomach and you think that maybe you’ll sleep well tonight. Natsuo gladly pays, and you thank him.
“Do you want to sleepover again tonight? We can watch a movie together?” he offers.
You decline, “Can’t, I have homework I need to do.”
It’s just an excuse, but the thought of being physically close to him again actually scares you, and you don’t know why.
“Ok, can I at least walk you home?” he smiles warmly at you.
You return the smile, agreeing. You shove your hands in your pockets, thankful for the chilly fall weather to avoid holding his hand. Usually, you would take his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers before shoving both of your hands into your coat pocket. That antic always makes him laugh. You would beam up at him with a cheeky grin, eyes squinting naturally from your cheeks being pushed upwards. He thinks you’re so cute when you do this. So when you don’t, he finds it worrying.
You walk quietly, trying not to let your mind get overwrought with emotions that you don’t even understand in front of him. When you reach your apartment, you quickly say goodbye, avoiding his obvious body language that he wants to kiss you goodnight.
When you’re finally alone with your thoughts once again, you realize just how lonely you truly are.
You wake up the next day without a morning text from Natsuo. You send him one first, hopefully letting him know you’re not upset with him. Last thing you need is for him to think you’re in a fight, but Natsuo is observant and will realize something is wrong sooner or later. He doesn’t respond to your text, leaving you on read. It hurts, but you tell yourself that he just has a busy morning or maybe he just went back to sleep and he’ll respond later.
However, later comes and there’s still no response. You start to worry that it’s your fault. You should’ve sucked it up and kissed him goodnight. It’s the only way to pretend like everything is normal. You can’t help but mentally beat yourself up until you’re breaking down again. Suddenly it feels like the world around you is coming down and you can’t bear it. You know you can’t spend another day in bed. Just one class, you tell yourself, one class and then I’ll just nap.
Soon enough, that’s how your day is spent.
And the next day...
And the next day...
And you feel the all the familiar weight of depression holding you down, making your daily life miserable. How has it come to this?
You fall asleep again, the harrowing feeling of loneliness wracking your body through silent sobs.
Natsuo: We need to talk. Can you meet me tonight?
Those are the worst words to hear in a relationship. You’re sure you know what he means, and at this point, you’re convinced you deserve it. Because who wants to be with someone as broken as me?
Feelings of guilt swim through your mind causing a sinking feeling in your stomach. You can’t avoid him and you know it, so you’ll have to bite the bullet and get it over with.
You meet with Natsuo as planned, going to his house so you can readily leave when you want. He lets you in and you follow him to his couch. You don’t say anything, wanting him to have the courage to break the silence first.
“I’m really upset with how you’ve been treating me. If there’s something going on, then you should say it.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, “I’m just stressed is all.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
His voice is stern, but he still doesn’t yell. He’s visibly upset, but continues speaking.
“You know people have been asking where you’ve been? You’ve been missing classes, haven’t you?”
You nod solemnly, not able to verbally confirm his question.
“Why? Did I do something to hurt you?”
You pause, unsure what to say. It wasn’t him, but in a way it was. Your vision blurs with tears.
“If I did something, I’m sorry, but I need to know.”
His expression looks pained and it breaks your heart to see him like this. Being in this position with him is one you never anticipated. You take a few deep breaths to steady your breathing.
“Do you still love me?” you whisper, unable to meet his eye.
“Of course! Why is that even a question?”
You finally let the tears fall as sobs wrack your body. You hunch over, covering your face as if to hide from him. Natsuo doesn’t say anything more, resolving to let you cry. He wraps an arm around you, and for the first time in several days you allow yourself to find comfort in another’s touch. It almost hurts how badly you’ve wanted him to hold you. He’s warm and strong, and his embrace feels compassionate. He’s still confused as to why you’ve become so distraught, but he doesn’t press it until you’re ready.
“I’m sorry,” you finally say, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“It’s ok, take your time,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back with his large thumbs.
“I just don’t know why? I’m so confused…”
“Have you tried talking to a counselor?”
You shake your head.
“Maybe you should go in tomorrow and set up an appointment,” he continues.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
Lifting your head to look at him, you nod slowly. He takes your face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. You feel so small in his hands, but he looks at you with the utmost sense of adoration and love. You still can’t tell him. You’re not ready.
But maybe for now, you can feel a little bit ok.
“It sounds like dissociation and panic attacks,” the lady explains to you.
You’re sitting on a small couch in the office of a mental health counselor at your school. The room smells sweet and floral from the air freshener that gives off little puffs every few minutes. You conclude that it’s supposed to be relaxing, but it just makes you a bit dizzy when coupled with your nerves.
“I’ve seen that online, but it doesn’t seem like what it is?” you question.
“Of course, because it’s not going to be the exact same for everyone. Those terms get misused a lot, but that does seem to be what you’re experiencing.”
You rub at the tips of your fingers as if spreading the natural oils over the pads, a sensation that makes them feel less dry.
“In your case, it seems to come from some PTSD. I can’t officially diagnose you, but that’s the name I would put to it. Trauma lives in the body. More often than not, survivors of rape and sexual assault don’t realize it has happened to them. To explain it simply, the event is so traumatic that the brain blocks it out in a way. The memories can get brought up through physical touch, because the body remembers things the brain has tried to forget.
“There are a few different forms of therapy you can try. The first is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. This will help you work through any feelings you have about it. To help with the panic attacks, I would suggest EMDR therapy. It works by mimicking eye movements during sleep to reprocess the brain, desensitizing you to the former trauma.”
“Does that actually work?”
“It might. Every person is different. For those who I know have done it, it helped them. It could help you to.”
“Ok then I’ll do it. I just want this to stop.”
“I want you to know, this isn’t going to be a linear process…” she looks at you sadly, “These things take time, and you shouldn’t hold that against yourself. Just being here today is a good start.”
The woman smiles sadly at you, and there’s something about the glint in her eye that tells you it’s personal to her as well. It’s comforting, and for the first time in a while, you feel a little less alone.
“We will start with the CBT and see how that goes. Ok?” she asks.
You nod your head slightly, “Yeah. We can start there.”
The first two sessions go well. Emotionally, they are exhausting. Being told you were sexually assaulted when you hardly even remember it happening was not the way you expected it to go. Having answers, however, is a relieving feat all on its own.
You had texted Natsuo, telling him you needed to talk. You sit cross legged on his bed this time, nervously rubbing the pads of your fingers together. He sits in his desk chair across from you, allowing you some physical space which you’re mentally grateful for.
“How has your counseling been going?” he asks.
“I think it’s ok. Um…”
You’re not sure how to bring it up. It’s not the most fun topic of conversation to be having with your boyfriend. You take a deep breath to stall the stinging in your eyes.
“This isn’t the easiest thing to say. I’m still not sure of many things myself…”
You take another deep breath to calm yourself. He looks at you with pain in his eyes. You wish you could reach out for him, but he feels so distant. You long for his touch to be comforting, there’s an ache in your chest for it, but you know that won’t fix it. You fear it could make you feel worse.
“I was sexually assaulted,” you finally tell him, “I think it was four years ago. I don’t remember much of it.”
It’s Natsuo’s turn to take a deep breath. He purses his lips together before bowing his head to avoid looking at you.
“I don’t understand. You were always fine until a few weeks ago.”
You explain to him what you had learned from your counselor. Natsuo nods his head at your words, allowing himself to piece together the parts of the puzzle you were still grasping at yourself. His face is turning a shade of red you haven’t seen on him before.
“I’m sorry I’m broken,” you mumble.
Natsuo’s expression changes again and he quickly responds, “You’re not broken, don’t say that. I’m just…”
You let him have a few moments to gather his thoughts.
“I’m angry someone did that to you. I’m angry someone hurt you like that. I know this isn’t about me, but I wish I could just fix it for you.”
“I have to do this myself,” you say, resolute.
“And I’ll still be here,” he finalizes, “I’ll be by your side while you work through this.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, finally letting your tears fall, “I think I needed to hear that.”
Weeks pass. Then months.
School finishes for the year, and while your grades aren’t the best they’ve ever been, you’re still proud you manage to get through the semester.
Over time, you open up about what happened to close and trusted friends who share their condolences with you. Some even share their own experiences. Gradually, you feel less and less alone. The hate for yourself begins to dissipate. You begin to loosen your grasp on the guilt you had been holding. Some days are better than others, and some days feel like hell. Some days, you can’t stand being touched, and some days all you need is to hug a good friend.
Now, you like to say you’re doing pretty fine.
You’re laying underneath Natsuo as you make out, something the two of you have done countless of times. He runs his hands along your sides, down to your hips. He snakes his hand around to squeeze your ass, causing you to giggle against his mouth.
As he’s kissing you, he trails his finger along your panty line, daring to slip under the hem right to your core. The sensation of it is enticing, until the thought of it isn’t.
You feel your heart start to thump heavily in your chest and your breathing suddenly feels tighter. Natsuo senses your discomfort and pulls away.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you confess.
“We don’t have to do this.”
“But you’re so hard. I want to,” you tell him.
“No, I think you’re just horny. If you’re not comfortable then you need to say so.”
You pause, ruminating on the conflicting feelings you have. You’re always unsure how to feel. You think maybe you can just give him a handjob, it’s easier for you to touch him than to be touched yourself. You suggest that and he shoots you down again.
“That’s not consent,” he tells you.
“I want you to feel good,” you say.
“I know but…” he struggles to find the words, “You’re allowed to revoke consent.”
You nod your head in understanding. It feels so foreign to you, but having Natsuo there to affirm your feelings and enforce healthy boundaries wasn’t something you expected to be part of your healing process.
He gets off the bed, turning on his TV and putting on some random movie. He wraps his arms around you again, holding you close to him.
Once again, you feel the relief of not feeling so alone wash over you.
tag list: @lunastellanova @hp-hogwartsexpress @lunar-nebula @doinmybesthere
life hack if you want to improve your confidence and/or just your like,,, smoothness just make the personality of yourself in your maladaptive daydreams more confident than you are irl
#this is more of a joke than actual advice btw i just think its weird #i think this is just ''fake it till you make it'' except the faking it part isnt irl its in my brain universes i spend all my time in #anyways remember when like a lil bit ago i was freaking out bc i like complimented the guy i like right to his face w/ no gay panic? #i think the reason i could do that is bc daydream character me is always like more upfront and smooth than i am #and i just... started accidentally acting like that irl i guess? #idek dude #just me rambling again
#this is just a rant so feel free to ignore #I’m gonna fail my ap world test #like I’m not even being pessimistic #it’s just facts #I don’t know shit #I get awful grades on the practice exam #FOR MULTIPLE CHOICE #and I can’t even begin to answer the writing questions #and that’s half the test #I have to keep starting over when reading passages #and I have to write an essay using 7 different sources for one of the sections #and I can’t seem to focus for that long #I’m just freaking out #but I’m in full on denial mode #for like the past month #so I can’t feel anything #but internally it’s like someone hit the panic button within a confined room #you know it’s there #but you don’t deal with it #ahhhhh