#(because I refuse to watch it on my tiny phone while commuting to work)

[endersgayy]

Shoma performs his new FS at caoi 2023

📸 Yohei Asada

#shoma uno #caoi 2023 #god he’s beautiful #I swear his cheekbones become more exquisitely sculpted every year #loving the black hair too #(haven’t actually watched the program yet) #(because I refuse to watch it on my tiny phone while commuting to work) #(but the suspense is killing meeee)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 9

First

Previous

It was kind of weird how quickly they got acclimated to civilian life.

Sure, Marinette often came out of the day with way too much energy, but they could burn off most of it by sparring. A ten to twenty minute session a day (excluding warm ups and cool downs, which added another thirty minutes or so) was enough to maintain their physiques and get rid of the uncomfortable energy that came with the sudden loss of constant danger in their lives.

(Not that this Gotham wasn’t dangerous, but it was… markedly less so. The Rogues Gallery didn’t exist in this world, what with Batman not existing, so the only thing that they really had to fear was mob activities and the occasional mugging. As long as they kept their noses clean and never stopped to tell a person the time, there was no reason for them to be scared.)

Other than that… it was almost too easy to get used to the new life that they lived.

Marinette woke up first in the mornings for work and would take care of Damian while she got ready. Tim had baby duty for the nine hours a day she was at work and commuting, so it was the least she could do.

And, really, he wasn’t all that difficult now that she was starting to get the hang of the whole baby thing.

Damian was trying to mimic her -- anticipatory socialization, she was pretty sure it was called (Or was it imprinting? Observational learning? Damn it, her psych major was not coming through for her right then). She found it cute and it was completely normal so she was perfectly fine encouraging it: she had gotten him mini versions of all of her makeup brushes.

One time, though, this backfired on her: he had dipped one of the cheap makeup brushes she’d gotten him into her makeup when she wasn’t looking and applied it to his face.

Marinette glanced down -- he had been quiet for too long, never a good thing -- and gasped. “Dami, you can’t whitewash yourself!”

Damian looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion.

She tried not to pout because he might take it wrong. Why must her best jokes always come to her when no one was around to hear?

“Don’t touch the powder stuff, please. It's not for babies, it's for grown ups.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his brush. She gently took it from him and worked at getting the makeup out.

When she gave it back to him he still seemed a little sad.

She sighed and gave him a short hug. “I’m not mad. I promise. It’s just… not your color!”

(The real reason was that makeup is very expensive, but kids don’t really understand money so she needed an excuse.)

Damian was still a little pouty. She didn’t know what to do. Damn. She supposed that served her right. She shouldn't have dared to think that she was getting the hang of having the whole ‘having a baby’ thing.

She sighed and looked down at him for a few moments, thinking. He was sitting in the high chair they kept him in when both of them were too busy to hold him. Usually he would be swinging his legs back and forth like a toddler -- probably because he was a toddler -- but now he was remarkably still, green eyes wide as he looked up at her.

She glanced at the time. Damian had woken her up early that morning, so she had extra time to get ready…

Marinette pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the internet.

… hm. Makeup could be toxic to babies. Good to know.

She grabbed one of her makeup wipes and scrubbed it from his face. She’d make sure to tell Tim so he could look out for any rashes the kid might get.

Then, she pulled out a comb and started brushing the tiny curls on Damian’s head. There wasn’t much, so it was mostly just dragging against his scalp, but the kid seemed pleased so she kept doing that for a few minutes.

At one point, he tried to take the comb from her. She allowed it, figuring he wanted to try and brush his own hair, but then he reached for her.

She leaned down to take him out of the chair, she was mostly done getting ready anyways, but instead he started trying to brush her hair.

… oh.

She felt, strangely, like crying. Her kid -- sorry, this kid -- was just so cute.

… but she didn’t want to mess up her hair...

He made a vague whining sound and she was weak.

She could always fix her hair on the train or something, she supposed.

She hesitantly leaned down so he could brush her hair. “Fuck it? I guess?”

“Fuck it,” Damian said, giving a short nod.

She groaned internally. “I’m actually going to have to stop swearing, aren’t I?”

“Fuck it!” Damian said again, louder this time.

Her lips twitched. “You’re so right, Dami. Who cares about a few little swears?”

“I do,” said Tim, who was apparently standing in the doorway.

She yelped. She probably would have flinched away if Damian hadn’t managed to make a giant knot in her hair in the few seconds that she had let him touch it.

She turned and sent Tim a weak smile. “You’re up early.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please stop teaching him swears.”

“I mean… it’s kind of funny, though.”

“It’s not.”

Marinette groaned overdramatically and turned to look at Damian. “He’s such a stick in the mud, amiright?”

“Sti-in-mu,” Damian said, nodding.

Tim huffed. “I’m starting to think he likes you better.”

“As he should,” Marinette said. She picked up the baby and nuzzled her nose against his. “Who’s a smart baby? You are!”

Damian giggled and tried to nuzzle her back.

~

Tim hummed as he went around the apartment, sweeping the floors. He and Marinette had come to a kind of unspoken agreement: he would do the cleaning, and she would do the cooking. It was only fair, since Tim’s standards for cleanliness were higher than hers and she was the only one out of the three people there that was physically capable of cooking an edible meal.

(Yes, he was aware that he was comparing his cooking skills to that of a baby. It was accurate, okay?)

Damian crawled along after him. He was trying to help, Tim was pretty sure, swatting the floor behind where Tim was cleaning...

Tim smiled. Maybe he should get the kid some fake cleaning supplies like Marinette had done with all of her makeup brushes. Would he like that? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He found the grocery list and wrote it down.

When he turned back to where he had left Damian -- which, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t be doing, because the kid was surprisingly fast when it came to trying to get himself killed -- and found the kid…

Holy shit.

He was walking.

Tim watched with a bright smile as Damian struggled to his feet and took a few steps towards him.

It didn’t last long. Damian had only really managed about three steps before he fell back to his knees and crawled the rest of the way. But…

Tim made a slightly embarrassing squealing noise in the back of his throat and leaned down, scooping the baby up in his arms and hugging him close. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Look at you! Walking! Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

Damian was blinked up at him in wide-eyed confusion.

Tim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head and refused to pull back until he had calmed down a little.

He smiled down at his younger brother, who looked delighted at the attention but also very confused as to what was going on.

He looked around until he found Kaalki, who had been on his phone doing… horse things? God things? Who cares?

“Please tell me you took a video of that.”

“Nope. I did get a picture of you kissing his forehead, though.”

Tim huffed a little. “Delete that.”

“Too late. Already sent it to Marinette.”

Even this wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.

And Tim knew that the fact that Damian was walking had almost nothing to do with him, but he was proud, damn it. Or maybe the better way of saying it was that he was happy for the kid? He didn’t know, he had always been terrible with emotions. It was a good emotion, though, that much he was sure of.

He kissed Damian’s forehead again and smiled when the baby giggled at him and reached out, smushing his cheeks in his hands.

“Hello,” Tim struggled to say with the baby hands pressing in on his face.

“Nano,” Damian said.

“Close enough,” he said. “Want to watch some TV to celebrate?”

Damian nodded vigorously. Tim wondered, vaguely, if the kid understood what he was saying or if he just kind of gave answers when he knew that Marinette and Tim were asking him things.

Didn't matter. Tim would put on that one weird show with the talking cat that Damian liked and they could watch that until Marinette got home.

And, when she did, she practically ran over. She didn’t even take off her shoes, a sure sign that she was excited.

Damian looked away from the TV and smiled. “Mar-ree.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open for a second… and then curled into a bright smile.

“You’re so… cute!” She cooed. “Yes! Hi! Good to see you, Dami!”

Tim pouted, slightly jealous.

She seemed to notice because she stuck her tongue out at him. “You got to see his first steps and I didn’t. I deserve this.”

He disagreed. The pout on his face remained until Damian saw and twisted around in his lap, leaning up and wrapping his arms around his neck in a kind of hug. Because it was kind of hard to stay sad when he was doing that.

He hugged the kid back for a few moments and then drew back, planting a kiss on his nose.

Marinette hesitated.

“Can I… have him for a few minutes? I want to see him walk.”

Tim considered this.

Then he smiled. “Only if I can take a video.”

“I would have made you do it, anyways,” she said.

Tim chuckled softly and handed the baby over so they could take the video.

~

She slipped into the apartment after a long day of work.

Tim was fluffing the pillows, apparently out of apartment to clean.

Damian looked up from the pillow he was hitting at the sound of the door clicking closed, and he seemed to light up. He grabbed Tim’s hand with one hand for his attention and pointed at her excitedly with the other.

“Nano! Yanzur! Mar-ree!”

“Yeah, that’s Mari,” Tim agreed.

Marinette flexed her feet now that they were out of the god-forsaken heels that she had been wearing.

“Hi, Dami. How was your day?” She asked.

Damian didn’t understand the question and certainly didn’t know enough words to respond, but he seemed sated by the acknowledgement of his existence. He slowly slid off of the couch and started his way over to her.

Marinette smiled faintly, amused. She looked over at Tim while she waited for him to get to her.

“So… he told you to look at me, that I get… but what is a ‘Nano’?”

“That’s what he’s calling me now, I think,” Tim said, slightly flushed.

She blinked. “That… isn’t even close to your name.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

Her lips twitched. “Maybe he’s calling you short.”

Tim threw the pillow he had been fluffing at her.

She let it hit her -- it was a pillow, it wasn’t like it would hurt -- and then stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t blame me! I’m but an innocent bystander in this! He’s the one that did it!”

Damian tugged on the fabric of her shirt. She looked down, a grin still on her face. He made grabby hands and she obliged with ease, picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his.

Then, her eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Tell me, Dami, is Tim short?”

Damian looked between the two of them. Marinette was nodding and Tim was shaking his head vigorously.

“... shor!”

Marinette burst into a fit of giggles while Tim groaned.

“I hate you.”

Her amusement didn’t die down in the slightest. “Oh, if you hate me, then I guess I’m only making food for Dami and I. Hope you didn’t eat all the leftovers for lunch today...”

“Wait, Mari, let’s talk about this --.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#the nano thing is an actual thing that happened to me #i still dont know how my sibling came up with that #my real name is even further away from nano than olivia is #into the unknown #maribat #timinette #timari #timmari #shutterbug #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin

[itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto]

Amsterdam with Matthew.

A/N: Hi everyone, another Matthew fic for you all! This came about when I was talking to @hercleverboy​ and @gubetube​ a while ago, and just had to fic it! 

My requests for both Matthew and Spencer Reid are open!

Trigger warnings:  Smoking (weed), drinking (alcohol), swearing, sex references/dirty talk.

“Gube, we need a holiday.” You say to your boyfriend one evening, as you cook dinner. Last night Matthew made you lasagne, using the recipe Joe gave him and tonight you are cooking a chicken curry. “I love spending time with you, but I just need a week with my favourite human where I’m not drowning in my University work.”

Matthew smiled at you as he set the table in his apartment and went over to wrap his arms around your waist pulling you into a cuddle. “Where do you fancy peach?” He asked as you leant up to kiss him which he gladly accepted.

“Hmm. I’d like to go to Amsterdam, do some touristy stuff, but also get stoned.” You giggle.

“We’ve already got stoned before muffin, how will this be different?” Matthew asked as you stir the saucepan.

“Because it’s legal there.” You say wiggling your eyebrows

“Amsterdam it is.” Matthew smiled, “How long for dinner?”

“10 minutes.” You smile

“Perfect, gives me time to start looking at places to stay and book flights.” Matthew says grabbing his computer.

“How did I get so lucky?” You thought to yourself and put the rice on to cook.

“Thanks for dinner boo.” Matthew smiled putting his bowl down. “You’re the best chef.”

You smile, “You’re welcome Gube.” And get up putting everything in the dishwasher. “Do you fancy a drink?” You ask

“Can I have a glass of red wine please?” He asks as you nod pouring him one and getting yourself a cider out of the fridge. “You want cuddles?”

“Of course, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t want cuddles from you?” You chuckle and walk to the sofa.

“You didn’t want any last week when we were at your flat.” Matthew pouts as he makes grabby hands for the wine and for you to cuddle into.

“I had cramps and wanted to be a burrito of sadness.” You say handing him his drink.

Matthew nodded, “But cuddles help.” He says sipping his drink

“My mood swings don’t.” You say. “I hate them, one minute everything is rainbows and unicorns, one minute everything is hell on earth.”

“Aww, my poor little burrito.” Matthew pouted as you snuggled into his arms and started kissing your forehead gently.

“I’m okay now Gube. I just don’t like objectifying my hatred of the world on anyone.” You smile up at him.

“Babe, I have a mother and a sister. I’ve seen it all.” Matthew assured you.

You nod sipping your drink as Matthew put his laptop on your lap and you started to book your holiday.

Two weeks later, you and Matthew arrive into Amsterdam.

“Thanks for letting me stop to chat to my fans, or should I say our fans? They love you!” Matthew smiled, carrying your suitcase and you carried the rucksacks.

“They’re just being polite.” You say, looking down.

“Nuh-uh sunshine. They chatted to you for ages about us.” Matthew smiled, “And you chatted to them whilst I had some stuff to sign.”

You smile, Matthew’s fans totally adore you two, even though you’re not famous, his fans love that you’re just a normal person like them, and you are happy with that. “I guess they do love me, but I know someone who loves me more.”

Matthew gasps dramatically, “Who?”

You giggle going on your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, “You idiot.”

You arrive into your AirBnB for the week and slump on the sofa, tired from the flight.

“I’m going to take a shower love bug.” Matthew says getting his toiletries out.

“Okay. I’m going to try to stay awake and find us something for dinner. What do you fancy to eat?” You ask looking at your boyfriend lovingly.

“You.” Matthew winked

“Gube!” You say nudging his arm and blushing.

“You didn’t complain last night.” Matthew shrugged. “But I’ll eat whatever.” He said kissing your cheek and went to have a shower.

“Fucking horny bastard.” You mumble to yourself and get out your phone, giggling at how Matthew got horny watching you eat a banana yesterday and then you two had sex straight after.

“Hey babe…” You hear Matthew call from the shower.

“Yeah honey?” You call back

“I forgot my shampoo, be the best girlfriend ever and bring it to me?” He asks

You roll your eyes and go to get it. “Moron.” You say handing it to him.

“Can you wash my hair? It relaxes me when you do it.” Matthew says with puppy eyes.

“I can’t refuse those eyes, of course I’ll wash your hair.” You smile, knowing Matthew would do the same for you. “Close your eyes pretty boy.”

“Thanks pumpkin.” Matthew smiles once you have done the last rinse.

“You always give me such cute nicknames.” You smile kissing his hand.

“Of course angel.” Matthew smiled, “You going to stay there whilst I wash the rest of my body?”

“Mhmm.” You say checking him out.

Matthew smirks, “Okay pretty eyes, my face is up here, not my dick.”

“Whatever.” You shrug as Matthew finishes his shower and wraps himself in the towel.

You giggle and have a shower yourself. “Want me to wash your hair?” Matthew offers

“I’m okay thanks, maybe later in the week?” You suggest

Matthew nods, kissing your shoulder and goes to get ready.

Later in the evening, you and Matthew settled on Tapas.

“Can we get some space cakes to eat back at the apartment?” You ask Matthew with a grin

“Of course. I was just thinking the same.” Matthew smiled as you hold hands

“My hands are so tiny compared to yours.” You pout

“That’s okay, they fit perfectly into mine.” Matthew said kissing your hand and bringing you in for a kiss, even though you had to be on your tip toes.

You smile, even during your bad days or moments, Matthew is always there to make it better.

You go into a shop and buy some space cakes, whilst Matthew buys a few joints for you both.

“Do we need a lighter angel?” Matthew asked you

You shrug, “Can always get another.”

Matthew nods agreeing with you and buys one.

“Can we ride bikes tomorrow Gube?” You ask with puppy eyes knowing it makes Matthew melt

“Of course princess.” Matthew smiled holding his hand out for you as you walked back to the AirBnB

“Okay, so we got alcohol, an ash tray, a lighter, all the weed, and my dream girl.” Matthew said checking you had everything now you were back at the AirBnB.

“Yep.” You smile, putting two glasses of water on the table as Matthew flops on the sofa, opening his arms for you.

“Come here baby girl.” Matthew smiles as you gladly snuggle into his arms and start eating a space cake, which Matthew takes a few bites from.

“You want to light up?” You ask Matthew, smiling at him like a goof.

“Sure.” Matthew said kissing your cheek first and then lit the joint. “I love getting stoned with you.” He said after taking a drag.

“I love you.” You say smooshing his cheeks, then kiss them both and take the joint off him.

“I love you too.” Matthew smiles.

“Joints are definitely stronger here. Not complaining though.” You say as you exhale.

“Mmm.” Matthew says burring his face in your chest.

After a few joints, you and Matthew are definitely feeling the buzz and are slow dancing to ‘Dancing in the moonlight’.

“You know if we ever have kids, I’m going to be so cross if they wear matching socks.” Matthew said as he took the joint from you.

You exhale, “I can just imagine you going ‘sweetie, your Mummy and Daddy love you very much but in the Gubler household we wear mis-matched socks, now please go back upstairs and change.’” You say in a strict Mum voice.

“Remember when my Mum caught us having sex at New Year?” Matthew laughs

You blush, “I was so embarrassed because you said you locked the door!”

“You told me you were sober.” Matthew giggled.

“Never trust an Irish girl when she says she’s sober after 10 pints.” You giggle as Matthew pulls you in for a kiss. “Are my eyes red?” You ask

“Yeah. Are mine?” Matthew asks as you nod.

“As red as the devils horns.” You say trying to keep a straight face.

“Do you want to have sex?” Matthew asked, even when he’s stoned or drunk, he’d never do anything you didn’t want to do.

“Yeah.” You smile like an idiot.

Matthew scooped you in his arms and you snuggled into them as he carried you to bed.

The following day

You wake up first, and put a top and leggings on, and go to the bathroom careful not to wake your pretty boyfriend and then go to make him a coffee, and a herbal tea for yourself.

Meanwhile Matthew wakes up, sad you’re not there, he’s been trying to get you to move in for a while, but as you don’t study where he lives, you’d have to commute two hours every day so you both agreed, once you graduate, you’d move in together.

Matthew smiles seeing you poor him a coffee. “Hi pretty lady.” He says in a raspy voice.

“Morning love muffin.” You smile handing him the mug.

“Thank you. Did you sleep okay?” He asks

You nod, “Yeah. I was fully knocked out after our fun.” You say sipping your tea. “Oh, I booked for us to do some stuff this week. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Stuff?” Matthew asks

“Well, bike riding and a few museums.” You shrug

“Sounds good cupcake.” Matthew smiled, “What’s for breakfast?”

“I got a delivery of waffles coming.” You smile, “Should be here in 15 minutes.”

“You’re the best.” Matthew said kissing your hand

Later on in the afternoon, you and Matthew are cycling around Amsterdam having the best time. “Babe, can we get lunch? I’m hungry.” You ask

“Of course.” Matthew smiled, “What do you fancy?”

“Maybe a picnic, we could get some stuff and sit by the canal?” You suggest

“Aww, I love that.” Matthew said and you cycled to the nearest shop to get some food.

“Thanks for the holiday Gube.” You say sipping your lemonade by the canal.

Matthew snaps a few cute selfies of you both, before putting them on Instagram. “Amsterdam with the best girlfriend who’s also my best friend.” Was the caption

“Aww.” You smile looking through the photos

“When did you take this one?” Matthew asked going on your Instagram, seeing the one of him on his phone wearing a white t-shirt.

“When we got stoned in my flat last time.” You say, “You were so giggly and I just had to take the picture. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it down.”

“No, it’s fine.” Matthew assured you. “We must’ve been really out of it.”

You laugh. “We were.”

Matthew smiles as you put your head on his shoulder and kisses your forehead gently. “Thank you for the holiday darling.”

“You paid for the flights.” You shrug

“You paid for the AirBnB.” Matthew smiled, even though Matthew could afford the whole thing, you still wanted to pay some of it. Matthew knows you never take advantage of him or his money, and it is one of the things he loves about you.

“Gube?” You ask

“Yes my love?” Matthew smiled

“Can we just stay here for a bit? I’m quite comfy.” You say

“Of course angel.” Matthew said draping a blanket over you two and you stayed there for a while just enjoying each-others company.

Taglist: @pumpkin-goob​ , @jpegjade​ , @andiebeaword​ , @hopebaker​ , @hotchsbabygirl​ , @hercleverboy​ , @cupcake525​ , @gubetube​ , @aperrywilliams​ , @cosmic-psychickitty​ , @marleyhotchner​ , @gubler-me-up​ , @trina2323​ , @goldentournesol

#Criminal Minds #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler fiction #matthew gray gubler smoking #my fics

[allisonxmoynihan]

illicit affairs ~ a. turcotte

Requested: yes | no

Song: this series is loosely inspired on Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift (you can listen here!) 

Note: okay this is my first time writing in months and i’m kind of scared about it, but please let me know your thoughts, opinions, feedback, whatever! Special thanks to @hockeyhughes11​ for helping me with this and reading it as I wrote, you rock!

Word Count: 2663

“y/n,” his shaky voice whispers hoarsely on the other side of the phone.

“Hey superstar!” you cheer, an inevitable smile fluttering across your lips, as you turn the tv off so you could hear him better, pressing the phone firmly against your ear as if not to miss a thing he says.

You hear a faint scoff in the background, “wanna come over?” he slurs, sending the butterflies racing in your stomach like the low hum of his voice always did.

You slowly release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in, “not celebrating the big win with the boys? 3 goals and 2 assists and the superstar doesn’t want to party?” You joke with him while scrambling around your apartment searching for your sneakers and hunting for your keys.

You sense him smiling on the other line, “I got other things to attend to tonight, you know that,”

You feel your face grow hot as your breath hitches, “c’mon y/n, i’m dying to see you…” 

~*~

Work was an absolute blur, the grouchy morning rush of commuters flooded the coffee shop and it was nonstop brewing coffee and preparing breakfast sandwiches before they ran out the door to catch a train. You were thankful for the mid morning slump; middle aged women occupying tables and catching up on neighborhood gossip and reminiscing about their sorority days.

You look up from wiping down the espresso machine to see two boys, about your age, standing on the other side of the counter, wide smiles on their faces as they laughed with each other while sneaking glances at the menu.

“Hi, welcome to Aroma Mocha Cafe! What can I get started for you today?” You exclaim, a forced smile overtaking your face.

The dark haired boy steps forward, “hey, can I please get uhhh…” his voice trails off as he looks up at the menu before he looks back down, “uhh, the seasonal iced coffee?”

You smile, “sure thing, our seasonal flavors are lavender vanilla or salted caramel, which one can I get for you?” 

You watch his face as he contemplates which one, “oh, you can’t go wrong with salted caramel!”

“Alright, your total today is going to be $2.57,” The boy quickly takes out a $5 bill and instructs you to keep the change before moving over to the pick-up counter.

As you’re preparing the two drinks for the boys you can’t help but overhear the small fragments of their conversation you can make out.

“Bro, c’mon, just ask for her number,”

“Trev, I said no.”

“You’ve been…. All… you… Alex”

“No”

“I will then”

You put the drinks down in front of them, “enjoy! Napkins and straws are straight ahead by the door,”

As you’re cleaning up your station, the dark haired boy comes back up to the counter and you feel his eyes on you before you look up and smile, “can I get you anything else? Our seasonal scones pair nicely with the coffee,”

“I’m Alex,” he says awkwardly, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

You nod slowly, “that’s nice…”

“We should get dinner one day,” he suggests, and when he’s met with your silence and a blank stare he adds, “you know, cuz you’re cool.”

“Oh, um, thanks, but I really can’t,”

Alex nods, looking at the pastry display case for a few minutes, “well can I at least get your number?”

You notice a group of moms, the weekly book club group, walk in the door and head up to the counter. “Alex, I’m really sorry, but it just can’t happen,”

Alex nods, looking back up at the menu, “so, uh, how long you work here?”

One of the book club moms offers you a sympathetic smile as she turns to talk with one of her friends, “Alex, I’m sorry, but we have a lot of customers right now, so if you’re not go-”

“What, am I not a customer?” he interrupts, and you breathe out heavily in annoyance.

“What can I get for you?”

“A date,” he offers with a shy, boyish smile, his dimples becoming apparent.

You sigh, scribbling your number down on a piece of paper, “fine, but only because I want you to leave me alone.”

~*~

Cold, faint rain ricocheted off of the windows of your bedroom as you crawl onto Alex’s lap, his lips nipping at your neck bound to leave marks that you’d have to figure out how to cover the next day. 

His hands slide underneath your sweater and rest gently on your hip, “no one’s home, right?” he whispers, his lips vibrating against your skin.

You rest your hands on his bare chest, feeling his heart pound against the skin, “we’re all alone baby,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his once again.

He effortlessly lifts you up and lays you down on your bed, suddenly towering over you, “you know i scored the game winning goal today” He smiles cockily.

You look into his dark brown eyes, feeling a blush creep over you, “oh and how should we celebrate, superstar?”

He chuckles softly before leaning down and kissing down your jaw, slowly removing your shirt from your body, “i got a few ideas in mind,”

Within seconds he’s on top of you, one hand kneading your breasts, the other slipping underneath your leggings and collecting your wetness. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asks, sliding your leggings and panties down your legs as your legs fall open for him and he begins to kiss down your abdomen.

You writhe underneath him and let out a gasp as his tongue licks up your folds. You run your hand through his luscious locks as he picks up his pace and begins to work at your clit. You buck your hips up as you moan out with pleasure.

“So good for me you pretty girl,” he grumbles against your dripping pussy, slipping three fingers into you, his calloused fingers pumping in and out of you. You felt a knot forming in your stomach and knew you were close.

“Alex, please, faster,” you moan, only alex lifts his head and kisses back up your torso before placing a sloppy kiss to your lips, sucking on his fingers. 

“I want you babygirl,” he mumbles as your hands fumble with the zipper on his jeans, helping him slide out of his boxers. Without any warning alex pushes into you, his thrusts harsh and fast. The room is filled with the sound of both your moans, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. And when you both reach out your highs he slows his pace to drag out your orgasm, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Such a beautiful girl,” he hums, sliding off the bed and redressing before looking over at the clock.

You suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed, bringing your blanket up to cover yourself as Alex approaches the door, “I’ll be seeing you princess,”

You wave sheepishly at the closed bedroom door that he just escaped behind, sighing at how foolish you are, how you would consistently drop everything to be there for him. You think back to the hundreds of other nights spent like this, the two of you having your moment, and him bolting as soon as he decides it’s over leaving no trace behind. 

You sit in your dark room, convinced alex does love you deep down, that he’s different and not the kind of guy that shows up on your doorstep just for sex. But you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that sometimes, you felt as if you were a pawn in his game. 

You think back to your first “date” with him, how you were defiant and didn’t want to go, but how 10 minutes quickly turned into an hour and that hour was suddenly six. He made you feel special, like you were on top of the world, like you could be something more than just a barista in a busy city. You reminisce about the time you and alex once dreamt up a future together: a small cottage in minnesota, three kids running wild in the yard after a long day at the beach. You wipe away tears that happen to fall as you realize what you’ve been trying to fight for months: you were in love with him, and you could only hope that you actually meant something to him.

~*~

The crackling noise of the firewood and the light tunes of your favorite band filled your living room where you and your best friends sat binge watching the latest reality tv episode. You lean forward to grab an oreo off the plate on the coffee table, breaking it in half and eating the side without cream first.

“You know the guy I matched with on tinder the other night?” maddie asks, taking her phone out. You and christine hum in unison.

“So, i was curious and went to look at his instagram, and…” her voice trails off as she scrolls through her phone’s home screen, “here i’ll just show you.” 

You lean back on the sofa, running your hands through your hair, “how bad is it?”

“You really gotta get better taste, if i see one more picture of a guy holding a fish i’m going to lose it,” Christine laughs, grabbing an oreo for herself.

“Oh shit,” maddie whispers

“What?” you and christine ask impatiently

“Hey, uh, y/n, isn’t this the guy from the coffee shop? Mr. I want a date and I refuse to leave this shop until I get your number?” she laughs, and you instantly reach to take her phone from her hands desperate for any opportunity to see him, but when you see the picture your face falls and you can feel the color drain. “It was on my explore page…” maddie adds, reaching for her phone but you turn away continuing to look down at the screen.

There he was. Your superstar. Wide grin, dimples present, his hair still wet and curling loosely at the ends, his button down shirt wrinkled and exposing his upper chest. His arm wrapped tightly around a girl’s tiny waist, her pressing her lips firmly against his cheek, cupping his face in her perfect hands. 

You swallow the lump that formed in your throat, scoffing as you toss maddie her phone back, “so? He was just a normal customer, never even took me on that date he insisted on” you lie, turning your attention back to the tv.

Your mind is racing and the conversation between the other girls is drowned out by the flood of thoughts running through your mind. Alex was so much more than just the coffee shop boy, he meant everything to you, he was the only person that could make you feel whole and complete. You hated being a secret to him especially when he consumed every single one of your thoughts, you wished you could be the girl that meant something to him, the one to wear his jerseys at his games as you cheer him on, the one who goes out with his teammates after a big win, the one who gets to go home with him for the holidays to meet his family and fall in love with them for raising the man of your dreams. But you weren’t that girl. You weren’t her and you never would be her.

Later that night you go to alex’s instagram, and it’s as if you got fifty punches right to the gut all over again. Alex was happy with her. Hannah. That was her name. Alex was happy with hannah. You continue to scroll down his page and see that hannah first appeared on his page six months ago. The two of them pressed up against each other in the dim light of a bar, him leaning down and kissing her cheek. You laugh sadly at how stupid you were thinking that what you had with him was real and that you were anything more than someone to help fill a void. Your phone lights up with an incoming call, alex’s name appearing.

“Hey superstar!” you cheer, forcing a smile.

“Hey you,” he grins, “i was just thinking about you actually, can i come over?”

You say yes without hesitation, and that’s when you realize that you would continue ruining yourself for his sake as long as it meant he was going to stay in your life. You’d do anything to make him stay.

~*~

Work was a hassle, the coffee shop getting slammed with the drop of the holiday drinks, the city streets constantly bustling with tourists and holiday shoppers trying to find the best deals. You were excited to finally have a weekend off to just relax and have no worries. You approach your apartment door and smell the savory aroma of food cooking, and you're confused since you live alone.

You cautiously push open the door, peeking into the kitchen as a smile blossoms on your face. “Alex!” you cheer, running up to hug him as he peppers your face with kisses. 

You pull away from him, setting your bag on the kitchen table, “what are you doing here?”

He turns his attention back to the stove, “well, i know you’ve been stressed with work and school lately, so I thought i’d do something nice for you,”

Your heart swells and you begin to feel all warm and fuzzy, “i don’t deserve you,” 

He laughs, “go change and get comfy, dinner will be ready soon. It’s your favorite and I also brought your favorite movies.”

You smile to yourself as you walk into your bedroom, putting on your pajamas and walking back out to see alex has prepared two identical plates, “ready?” he asks, a boyish smile on his face.

The night is filled with the two of you snuggled into each other’s sides on the couch, laughing at all the same parts of the movies, crying at other parts, making jokes here and there, and planning a getaway trip to a small coastal town. After three movies, and the sun long gone, the soft beat of his heart begins to lull you to sleep.

“You sleepy princess?” he asks softly, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to your bed.

You’re half asleep as he tucks you in and presses a kiss to your forehead, “sleep well baby”

You reach your arms out for him, “you’re not going to stay with me tonight?” your voice is sad, not wanting this picture perfect night to end.

You hear him laugh as he runs his finger up and down your hand, pressing a light kiss to the top of it, “not tonight princess, i’ll call you tomorrow though.”

“Promise?”

“I cross my heart and hope to die,”

“Good,” you mumble, turning over and getting comfortable.

There’s a long silence and you know he’s still in the room since the hallway light is peeking into your room. And you can’t help but fall asleep happy, thinking that life is finally going right and you have the best guy by your side.

“I love you…” 

You hear the floorboards shift under his weight and just like that he’s escaped into the abyss of the night, just like he always does. 

~*~

“So you coming over or what?” he repeats, a harsh undertone suddenly appearing.

You smile, impatiently pressing the elevator button over and over again because it never seems to come quick enough, “uh, yeah, yeah, I’m on my way. I was thinking, we could maybe watch that movie you were talking ab-”

His deep voice cuts you off, his usually kind and patient tone now stern, “we need to talk.”

You stare at your reflection in the elevator door as your face falls, trying to fight the inevitable tears that spring to your eyes, and you just know tonight isn’t going to be like the others.

#alex turcotte #la kings #wisconsin hockey #ntdp #ntdp boys #ntdp imagine #hockey #USA Hockey #alex vlasic #trevor zegras #cole caufield #ryder donovan #shay donovan #jack hughes #johnny beecher

[missjanjie]

Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) | (1/?)

Title: Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer) Summary: A sequel to Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa are back at NYU, but with new and improved positions. Brooke's ready to start her career as a professor when, as fate would have it, she realizes her TA, Jackie, might have the hots for a student named Jan. The couple just might see it as a sign to give two new girls the love story they found in the same place. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) Relationship(s): Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo), Jankie (Jan Sport/Jackie Cox) Rating: T (so far)

Read on AO3

“Okay, are you ready?” Brooke Lynn slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and looked over as her wife came out of the bedroom with her belongings.

Vanessa took a deep breath, pressing her lips into a fine line and offering a nod. “As I’ll ever be,” she replied as the two of them left their apartment. While the commute was longer than when they were shacked up in Brooke’s off-campus apartment, it was manageable enough for them to keep making that journey.

Besides, when they made their way into the performing arts building, it just felt right. That was where it all began, and in a way, it had become a home away from home, many of their coworkers had become a second family for them.

Then there was Katya, who had crossed the line between second and first families long ago. She was part of their wedding party, she pet-sat while they were on their honeymoon. Vanessa would often describe her as a ‘kooky aunt,’ and Brooke conceded that the title was rather on the nose. She beamed brightly as she ran up to the couple. “Good morning ladies, I’m here to pick up my TA,” and in a literal move, she picked up Vanessa, who let out a surprised yelp and a laugh.

“And yet there’s still no one I’d trust more with her.” Brooke chuckled as if she were truly questioning her faith in Katya’s mentorship. She leaned over and kissed her wife’s forehead. “I expect both of you to behave.”

“I’m gonna need you to lower your expectations, Professor Hytes-Mateo,” Katya replied as she set her new teacher’s assistant back down. “Your girl’s on the way?”

“She is. Offered to go on a coffee run, so she’ll be here soon enough,” she confirmed. In the interim, the three of them went to Brooke’s new classroom. This semester, she would be teaching the History of Dance course, one that was required for second-year students. Her options had been either that or Improvisation, which had made the decision easy on her.

Only a few minutes had passed before they heard footsteps coming down the hall until a woman came in, holding a drink tray that she then sat down on Brooke’s desk. “Morning, everyone,” Jackie greeted, taking her own drink from the holder and sipping from it.

“Hey, Jackie,” Brooke smiled warmly, trying to hold her focus just long enough to slide Vanessa a couple of bills to slip into Jackie’s pocket. It was a system the two of them had stuck with to avoid the back and forth courtesy refusals and ‘but I insists.’ Brooke would affectionately refer to it as ‘reverse pickpocketing’ while Vanessa simply called it ‘efficient.’

Katya looked at her phone, then cleared her throat to redirect attention. “We’ll have to reconvene later, ladies. Vanjie and I need to get set up in the studio,” she said, picking her binder back up and tucking it under her arm.

“Catch you later, boo. Good luck,” Vanessa smiled and shared a quick kiss with Brooke before following Katya out the door.

Jackie watched them leave before looking back towards the professor. “It must be nice being able to work in the same building as your wife, huh?” she mused as she set her backpack on the side of the desk and took out a small stack of manila envelopes, all filled with varying amounts of papers.

Brooke grinned, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as her eyes drifted to the framed picture she kept on her desk – one from their wedding just about a year earlier. “It really is, we lucked out.”

She nodded as she took her seat, believing the sentiment wholeheartedly. Something about the idea of finding someone and having the instant bond over a shared passion spoke to her and left her with a quiet sense of yearning. But her wandering mind had to reel back into focus when students began filing into the classroom and taking their seats. Everything was pleasantly calm as she watched seat after seat fill up.

Then suddenly, it all changed.

The energy in the room brightened, but no one seemed to notice but Jackie. The source of it, however, was as clear as day. It was a student with a warm, friendly disposition and soft features that Jackie just found beautiful. And she didn’t think she was staring until she felt someone poking her shoulder.

Brooke Lynn was looking at her, a smirk curling up her lips that made Jackie’s face heat up. She knew that look, could spot that look a mile away. Hell, she was probably the poster child for that look, she had to take a sip of her drink just to keep herself from laughing. Instead, she sat and sipped her drink until the flow of students came to a halt.

As Brooke began taking attendance, Jackie walked around, giving a copy of the syllabus to each student. But she looked up every time a feminine name was called, eager to put a name to the face that’d caught her eye.

“Jan Sport?”

“Here!”

Ah, she thought. There we go. It was enough momentary satisfaction to get her through the rest of the task, and hopefully enough to keep her focused for the rest of the class. The last thing she wanted was to drop the ball in the first ten minutes because a pretty girl clouded her sense of rational thought. She, for the most part, decided to keep her nose in the paperwork. There wasn’t too much she needed to say yet anyway.

“...And Jackie’s contact info is there, your best bet is to reach out to her first.”

Jackie looked up when she heard her name, offering a smile and a nod as Brooke Lynn continued talking. She did finally allow her gaze to drift back over to Jan, who had been alternating between listening attentively and whispering with the girl sitting next to her. But just as she looked over, they made eye contact, and Jackie’s heart skipped a beat.

Jan smiled at her, oblivious to all the thoughts running through the grad student’s mind. But she did welcome the attention – Jackie was attractive and held herself professionally – two traits she definitely appreciated. When the eye contact was broken, she shifted her attention to Brooke, until her friend tapped her desk to get her attention.

“Am I crazy, or was she checking you out?” Gigi whispered.

“I’m leaning towards both,” she retorted with a soft chuckle. She wasn’t actually sure if Jackie was checking her out – it might have been wishful thinking. But if Gigi saw it too, she could let herself think that maybe something was happening.

By the time class ended, everything seemed calm once more. Jan got up and she waved to Jackie as she walked past, one of those subtly flirtatious waves where each finger curls down one at a time. She wanted to linger a bit longer but decided to follow Gigi out.

When the class was back down to just Brooke Lynn and Jackie, there was a moment of silence while they both allowed themselves to process the first day of class. Then Brooke turned to Jackie with what could only adequately be described as a shit-eating grin.

Jackie sighed, realizing it wouldn’t end until she addressed it. “Okay, what?”

“Nothing, I just love watching history repeat itself,” Brooke hummed.

“I beg your pardon?”

Brooke looked to her wedding picture, then back at Jackie. “Do you know how Vanjie and I met? I know you didn’t have a lot of classes together, but still.”

She furrowed her brows. “I know you guys both got your undergrads here, and that you used to be Katya’s TA, but that’s about it,” she explained, having never been much for keeping up with gossip.

Getting the chance to retell her and Vanessa’s story made Brooke light up in a way that almost startled Jackie. “Let me set the scene for you.” She got up, standing in the empty space at the front of the classroom. “Picture me, an awkward, introverted grad student. It’s my first day as Katya’s teaching assistant. I’m there before her, before anyone, sitting on the floor and wondering, ‘what the hell is this semester gonna be like?’ Then in walks this spunky little brunette that ends up turning my whole world upside-down, yet somehow makes me feel truly alive for the very first time.” She sighed fondly. “And then I married her, the end.”

Jackie nodded as she listened, it was a nice story, and she did like that everything worked out in the end. But then she furrowed her brows. “So… You think I’m gonna marry Jan?”

Brooke chuckled. “I’m just saying… Well, you never know what could happen.”

“I think you might be a little bit biased,” she retorted as she gathered her things. “Look, she’s very pretty and seems sweet. I’ll give you that. But I’m certainly not setting a wedding date anytime soon.”

“If you change your mind, I have a friend that’s an ordained minister,” Brooke teased.

------

“Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I think this could mean something. She’s Brooke Lynn’s TA, and everyone knows how that story went,” Gigi was saying, sounding very certain in her theory. Many students had a story where they knew someone that knew someone that saw everything that happened with Brooke Lynn and Vanessa. It wasn’t uncommon to be in on the legend.

Jan quirked her brow. “So, you think this is kismet? That when our eyes met we were bound by the fate set by our predecessors?”

“No, Shakespeare. I just think that you should pursue this.”

She huffed. “You know, just because you have a girlfriend doesn’t mean that you need to curate a story for my love life.”

Gigi shrugged. “I don’t have to do anything, but that’s not going to stop me. Jan, I haven’t seen you go on a single date since we met. If there’s a chance for you to actually connect with someone, I–”

“We haven’t even spoken!” Jan finally exclaimed. “You’re creating a narrative based off of eye contact, Geege. I think we need to center back into reality a little bit.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” She put her hands up in surrender. “I just need to throw myself into something, it’s hard being in a long-distance relationship, you know.”

Jan looked at her friend as if she’d grown a second head. “Long dis– sweetie, Crystal’s going to school upstate, and not even like, actual upstate, it’s literally just Westchester. You know you can drive up there whenever.”

Gigi let out a dramatic huff. “It’s not the same,” she whined, stomping her foot. But she switched back into her normal demeanor almost instantly, in a way that would’ve been jarring to someone that wasn’t her close friend. “I digress. Just keep an open mind, okay?”

“Whatever you say, you little weirdo,” she teased lightly as they left the building, having a couple of hours before their next class, Katya’s, of course. And Jan only hoped they got there before anyone else picked up on whatever it was Gigi had noticed.

------

“Okay, you’ve been staring at that corner for like, five minutes. It’s giving me The Blair Witch Project vibes. You good?” Katya asked curiously.

Vanessa blinked, seemingly snapped out of a trance. “Hm? Yeah, I’m good. Just kinda having a moment.” She looked down, grinning broadly to herself. “That spot right there was where I first met her. She was all wound up and tense, ready to kick your ass… Prettiest fucking thing I ever seen.”

“If you think about it,” Katya started, “none of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t late to class,” she mused. “So, you’re welcome. I expect you to name your first born after me as retribution.”

She chuckled, leaning against the desk. “You know, we been talking about having a baby or adopting… Got pros and cons to both.”

“Wow, that’s a big step. And I get it, on one hand, it makes sense to take in a kid that doesn’t have a family, but on the other, you guys have really good genetics.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Vanessa nodded. “But we ain’t rushing it or nothing,” she assured, looking up and watching as students filed into the studio. “It’s showtime,” she said to Katya before starting to pass out copies of the syllabus.

Everything was business as usual until about a half hour into class, when Jackie tried to inconspicuously let herself into the room. She tried to silently get Vanessa’s attention, but Vanessa and subtlety were just two things that would never mesh.

“What’s up, Jackie? C’mere!” Vanessa waved her over, leaving Jackie to awkwardly shuffle to the front.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, Brooke just asked me to drop off your lunch,” Jackie explained, handing her a paper bag. “Anyway, I’ll leave you guys to it.” As she started to leave, her eyes met with Jan’s yet again, but she was determined to play it cool this time. “Oh, hey Jan,” she hummed, lightly fluttering her lashes with a confident smile.

And Jan reacted just the way she’d hoped. She giggled and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Hey, Jackie,” she cooed, eyes following her out the door before trying to refocus.

“Very subtle. I’m clearly the crazy one here,” Gigi remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Eat me,” she retorted through gritted teeth, without breaking her cheery demeanor.

Gigi rolled her eyes. “Seems like other people might be trying to get that job instead.”

The bickering continued a bit longer, but they quieted down long enough to actually hear the tail end of Katya’s speech, which she finished by dismissing the class a little bit early. “Remember, you should have a list of five potential final project songs by the end of next week. Make sure you get them to Vanjie one way or another,” Katya was saying as the class began packing up and leaving.

“So how’d you feel about your first day of classes?” Katya asked once she and Vanessa were alone in the studio again.

“Think that went well; didn’t see anyone too much like me, so you’re gonna catch a break this time around,” she chuckled.

Katya laughed softly. “Oh Vanjie, you were a delight to teach. Mostly because I could pawn you off on Brooke every time, but still.” She looked up at the sound of footsteps. “And speak of the devil.”

Brooke rolled her eyes and grinned. “You speak so highly of yourself,” she replied, going right to Vanessa’s side and wrapping her arm around her waist and kissing the side of her head. “Everything went as anticipated?”

“All good, boo.” Vanessa hummed, leaning against her wife. “Thank you for lunch, by the way,” she added.

“Of course,” she cooed. “Oh, did you have Jan Sport in this class?”

Katya looked down at the attendance sheet. “Yeah, why?”

“Jackie went all heart-eyed for her, and I’m finding myself physically incapable of resisting the urge to play matchmaker. You should’ve seen it; Jan walked in the room and Jackie just couldn’t take her eyes off of her. It was really cute, like something out of a romcom,” Brooke explained.

Vanessa perked up, grabbing Brooke’s arm with both of her hands and started shaking her. “Are you kidding? We gotta match-make them! We’re throwing the torch!”

“You make it sound kind of violent, but yes,” Brooke chuckled. “What do you think, Katya? Should we give the matchmaking thing a try?”

Katya laughed. “What are you gonna do? Wait for a field trip and stick them in a room with one bed? I mean, it worked the first time.”

“We can’t build a curriculum around getting two people to fuck,” Brooke pointed out.

“Not with that attitude,” Vanessa chimed in.

------

“Geege, look!” Jan stopped dead in her tracks and grabbed her friend’s arm, reeling her back in. “They have a sign-up for winter musical auditions, and they’re doing Heathers!”

Gigi watched in amusement as Jan eagerly signed up. “I feel like this is your version of a wet dream.”

“I can live with that. You gonna sign up?”

She shook her head. “Not for me, I’d rather try to find out how I can get involved with costume design,” she told her, though she wasn’t entirely sure that Jan was listening, so she moved on. “Who are you going for?”

“My heart says Heather Chandler, but I feel like I could really kill it as Veronica.”

“You’d steal the show as a tree in the background, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll definitely get a good role,” Gigi assured.

Just as Jan was about to reply, a newly familiar voice came up behind her. “You’re auditioning for the show?”

Jan turned around to see Jackie. “I am. Did you do any of them during your undergrad?”

Before Jackie could answer, Gigi suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, I gotta go, Crystal’s calling me,” while waving her phone around, and was gone in a flash, leaving the other two without a chance to reply.

Jackie watched her leave for only a moment before answering Jan’s question. “Yeah, a couple. If you need any help auditioning or rehearsing or whatever, I can totally help.” Unlike any of the earlier incidents, she now seemed genuinely relaxed. There was a different energy when she was in her element, talking about the things she loved with someone that shared those interests.

And Jan was just happy that Gigi didn’t try to lock them in a closet or something like that. “That would be great. If you’re sure you’re not too busy, of course.”

“I can definitely make time for you,” Jackie chuckled softly, tucking her hair behind her ear and adjusting her glasses. She looked to the sign-up sheet, then back at Jan. “Auditions are on Friday, you wanna come over tomorrow?”

Jan nodded brightly. “Tomorrow’s perfect. I’ll text you so you have my number, and we can work out the details from there.”

“Perfect,” Jackie echoed, not referring to the time at all.

#branjie #jankie #rpdr rpf

[galfridus1]

Happy Birthday Diana!!

Happy birthday @x-strokeofmadness-x!!

As said, proper present coming tomorrow for Escalin Week but in the meantime have some Deribeth. Thanks for getting me into this ship! Hope you have an amazing day!

“There you are, sir. That’ll keep for twenty-four hours in the fridge. Are you going to be okay getting it home?”

Elizabeth smiled warmly at the man, who was carefully maneuvering the large cake box into an oversized bag. The gentleman flashed her an uncertain grin in return, before biting on his lower lip. “I… I think so,” he stuttered. “Um… I guess, I don’t know. It just looks so delicate.”

“It isn’t particularly robust,” Elizabeth agreed, her eyes wandering to the remaining princess cakes on display in the small chiller cabinet. The confections stood proud, pale green domes of marzipan delicately decorated with thin swirls of chocolate and drops of ruby red jam. “It’s mostly custard and cream inside,” she explained. “But it should be fine if you keep the box upright, and make sure it doesn’t tilt.”

Another uncertain smile, then the man took his leave, gingerly conveying the box through the narrow doorway. He took a few careful paces down the worn, stone steps and disappeared into the waiting crowds. Covent Garden was packed at this time of the evening, when the hordes of tourists were joined by commuters grabbing a few items from the shops on their way home, and students preparing for a night out in the nearby clubs. Even Rose Street was bustling with life at this time, despite being hidden away from the covered market.

Elizabeth smiled and began to clean the countertop, before turning her attention to the espresso machine, making sure the milk frother was shining and the used filters were removed. The shop was tiny, a compact room with shelves piled high with loaves and sugared buns on one wall, three worn, wooden tables set alongside the other, the mismatched furniture squashed together to take up every last inch of space. Patrons had to squeeze through the narrow gap to get to the till and the chiller cabinet where the cream cakes were displayed.

Bageriet was one of London’s best kept secrets, which was just as well given there was barely anywhere for customers to stand. Still, the shop did a bustling trade thanks to the more adventurous tourists who strayed off the main streets and the few canny locals who knew the coffee and cakes served were the best in the area. The stone steps were worn with foot traffic and the queue for confections sometimes stretched out of the door and into Rose Street, a place as quaint as its name suggested. Still, the pace of life was generally peaceful, the customers were polite and relaxed and gave good tips. Elizabeth had found it an ideal place to earn a bit of extra cash while she finished her degree.

A shadow fell across her vision and Elizabeth looked up with a smile on her face, ready to greet the new customer. The face that looked into hers was so unexpected that Elizabeth heard herself gasp, her mouth falling slack as she struggled for words. The woman before her was so exactly the same: untamed, golden hair; a lithe, muscular physique; dark eyes flashing with an emotion she did not recognise. How many years had it been since she had stood together like this?

[[READ MORE]]

“So it’s you.” Elizabeth felt her heart sink as the other spoke, the hostility in her words plain. The weeks and months of anguish she had experienced after Derieri’s abrupt departure from her life suddenly came back to her in a rush; the endless nights with her phone held close to her face, tears falling like rain as she prayed for the other to respond to her messages. After that last meeting, the one with the shouts and the anger, she had received no communication of any kind. Elizabeth had even taken to haunting their favourite spot, the roller skating park at Bath Pavillion in the hope of running into her, but to no avail. It was as if the other had just vanished.

Elizabeth had thought she was over it, that she could just set the loss of the person she had cared for so much as one of those things. But as she looked at Derieri as she glared from the other side of the counter she knew she had been lying to herself. The pain she felt was so sharp it was as if she had been stabbed.

“W-what are you doing here?” Elizabeth managed to stutter, her cheeks growing hot and flushed as the other scowled. “I thought…”

“I’m here for a coffee, and that’s all.” Derieri glowered, her arms folded across her chest. “I knew I shouldn’t have come in here,” she muttered to herself. “It looks just the place for asswipes.”

Elizabeth felt her face glow even more warmly, but she ignored the other’s uncouth remarks. Derieri always had been a trifle vulgar. Elizabeth bit her lip as she remembered the time she and Derieri had tried out the spa, and the way the other had sworn so loudly. She could practically taste her embarrassment, even now.

“Filter or espresso?” Elizabeth asked as calmly as she could, tripping slightly over the words. All she received was a stare in return so she set about compressing the powder into the machine, the distraction of making the espresso not nearly enough to make her heart stop pounding. Derieri was here! After all these years. Surely she should at least get an explanation for the silent treatment she had been dealt with.

Setting the coffee before Derieri, Elizabeth stood back from the counter, relief running through her as Gowther made his way from the kitchen into the shop. “Can you watch the till for a bit?” Elizabeth asked before Gowther could say anything. “The rush is over. This is an old school friend of mine and we need to catch up.” At this Derieri snorted loudly, causing Gowther to cock his head to one side.

Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth grabbed the coffee, which she had placed into a small porcelain cup. Before the other could protest, she carried the coffee to one of the tables, squeezing onto the bench set alongside the wall. Derieri opened her mouth as if to protest, then she cast a quick look at Gowther, who was staring at her with unashamed curiosity through his large round glasses. With an exaggerated sigh, Derieri took the seat opposite Elizabeth, and knocked her espresso back in one go. “Make it quick,” Derieri growled, as she scraped her chair back, her eyes darting to the door.

“More coffee.” Elizabeth looked up in surprise as Gowther set two large mugs in front of them along with a ringed cake wrapped in plastic and a knife. “This is cardamom cake, on the house,” he continued, making the peace sign as he did so. “It’s good,” he said in a deadpan way before returning to his position behind the counter, leaning an elbow on the wooden countertop as he watched the two women. Elizabeth sighed, and looked pointedly at the coffee machine which Gowther reluctantly began to clean.

Elizabeth looked pleadingly at Derieri. “How have you been?” she asked timidly.

“Cut the crap,” the other replied, her lip twisting with her ire. “You have something to say to me, spit it out.”

Elizabeth felt her breathing quicken, panic starting to rise in her chest as the other began to rise to her feet. “Why did you leave?” she blurted out in a rush, her hands working furiously under the table as she held back tears. “I… I really missed you,” she just about whispered. “You just disappeared and…”

“What did you expect, you ass?” Derieri practically yelled, and Elizabeth heard the clatter of cutlery as Gowther was startled. “I told you! I told you I wasn’t going to put up with your shit any longer. You chose not to commit. You left me…”

“It wasn’t like that at all!” Elizabeth protested. “I…”

“I told you. No hiding. No sneaking about as if we had something to be ashamed of!” Derieri’s chest rose and fell with her agitation and Elizabeth found she could not meet her eyes. “You were my girlfriend,” she said even more loudly, and Elizabeth could sense Gowther spin on his heels to observe the drama. “But did you act it? Did you fuck! It was all ‘my friend this’ and ‘my friend that’. I wasn’t gonna put up with that shit…”

“When did I ever say we had to keep things secret?” Elizabeth asked, as the tears ran down her face. “I didn’t want to either! I said…”

“Then why didn’t you ever introduce me to your friends and family, huh?” Elizabeth looked down at the table at this. “Thought so,” Derieri said triumphantly. “You were ashamed of me, because of my sex. You didn’t want to tell your perfect friends and perfect sisters you were in love with a woman…”

“It wasn’t because of that,” Elizabeth said reluctantly, her fingers twisting together.

“So you admit it! You kept me away from them?” Derieri demanded.

“I… I just…”

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

“No!” Elizabeth stood up from the table, her legs knocking against the wood in her haste. “Please, would you just let me try and explain? Please?” Her eyes met Derieri’s, and she saw the other soften, her features relaxing slightly as she fell back into her chair. “I… it was the way you speak,” Elizabeth managed to whisper, her insides curdling.

“The way I what?” The words were deadly quiet, and Elizabeth held her breath. “Are you saying…”

“I just wanted to warm them up to the idea first,” Elizabeth said miserably. “They’re not used to swearing you see and I thought they’d be… upset,” she added weakly.

There was a pause, and then a chuckle from the other side of the table which gradually built into a hearty guffaw. “Elizabeth,” Derieri said with exasperation once she had managed to control her breathing. “I wouldn’t have sworn! For fuck’s sake!”

Elizabeth swallowed, trying to think of a reply as Derieri flopped more firmly into her chair, still giggling. Taking advantage of the lull in her anger, Elizabeth unwrapped the cake Gowther had set in front of them, cutting two slices. “Try some,” she suggested, her voice sounding tentative in her ears. “It’s really good.”

Derieri looked as if she were about to refuse, before she shrugged her shoulders and picked up the slice, taking a small bite. “It’s alright,” she said grudgingly. “Can’t have too much though. My career relies on me looking like this.” She tapped herself in the abdomen as she said this, and Elizabeth could hear the knock of knuckles on muscle.

“I’m working as a personal trainer at the Fitness First down there,” Derieri said into Elizabeth’s silence as she gestured out of the door. “Just started this week. I was looking for Soho when I ran across this place. London is a fucking maze!” she complained.

“Oh! Well, Soho’s not far from here,” Elizabeth said as she set her own slice of cake back down on the plastic, her eyes straying to her thighs. She wondered with yet another blush how much weight she had put on since Derieri had last seen her. “I… um… could show you if you like?” she suggested.

“You mean you’re willing to be seen in public with me?” Derieri spat, her face once more hard.

“I… yes. I am,” Elizabeth gulped. “You were right to be angry, I know that. I love you, and I shouldn’t have cared what anyone else thought. I’ve wanted to apologise for years, but you never answered your phone! You never replied to my messages! I- it was very hard.” Elizabeth trailed off, a lump in her throat stinging painfully.

“You said love,” Derieri said slowly and Elizabeth looked into her eyes. They were deep brown, sparkling with warmth. “Not loved.”

Elizabeth found she could not say a word but this time it did not seem to matter. Derieri stood, and held out her hand. “So, you ass, are you coming?” she asked as she looked pointedly at her proffered palm.

“Yes,” Elizabeth managed to squeak and she wiped her hand hastily on her skirt before sliding it into Derieri’s. She did not look back as Derieri led her out of the door, and so missed Gowther’s knowing smile.

#nnt #derieri #elizabeth #deribeth #gowther #fanfiction #happy birthday diana #long post #the read more links on mobile don’t work anymore #i mean i added one but i bet it doesn’t work

[monabela]

here, have some beer lesbians for @aphrarepairweek2019​! for the first day, prompt magic. I don’t know what this is but at least it’s something? 

show me (this life)

pairings/characters: Belgium (Manon)/Czechia (Kveta)

word count: 1369 summary: The small things in Kveta’s life hold the most magic for her. Of course, the most magical ones are those things her wife does.

It’s the little things.

Among the fast, loud, overwhelmingly large life Kveta leads, it’s the glimpses of the quiet and unassuming, the mundane, that are the most magical. Sometimes, it’s just someone smiling at her as she waits for the underground, or a child waving their toy at her from behind a car window. A biker valiantly making their way through the busy streets of Prague. A couple holding hands, both not wearing gloves despite the chill.

Kveta’s always thought in images; it’s why she became a photographer. When she’s not working on assignment and shooting statuesque models in a chaotic studio, the quiet, magical moments are her favorite thing to capture.

There are pictures scattered all across her home. She imagines they don’t make much sense to most of her visitors, but they’re not for them. There’s only two people living there, and Manon is more than used to Kveta’s idiosyncrasies by now. Besides, it’s not as if she’s not always leaving fabrics everywhere.

(“Aw, look, you’ve covered the picture of your fallen ice cream with—is that denim? Are you designing jeggings now?”

“It’s upsetting, Kveta. Both the ice cream and the implication that I would ever design jeggings.”)

Over the years, Kveta has taken pride in learning more and more of these little things about Manon. When they first met, it was the way she smiled. The curl of her lips always has a mischievous edge to it, and her cheeks dimple when she means it. On their first date, Kveta remembers pulling out a flip phone and taking a picture to commit to memory the way Manon kept fidgeting with the ends of her hair where it curled against her collarbone.

Of course, she found out her phone had flash only at that moment. It worked out.

She draws the line at taking photos of text or chat conversations, otherwise there certainly would have been pictures of the many back-and-forth messages as they found out more about each other while both trying to get a foot in the door in their respective careers, bouncing all over Europe. Manon did run-on sentences well, and it was weirdly endearing to Kveta.

(“I guess those rambling sentences don’t run in the family,” she’d said after meeting Manon’s elder brother, who was stoic as anything and talked in almost utilitarian sentences. Manon had laughed.

“I’ll remind you that you said that when you meet my younger brother.”)

Manon might insist it wasn’t, but Kveta’s quite sure that her learning Czech on the sly was a pretty big thing, and a sign of commitment she’d almost been scared by. The way she can’t entirely get the ř right or sometimes answers the phone in Dutch, however, is another one of those small things Kveta loves about her, if not something she can necessarily take a picture of. It turns out it’s often like that.

Of course, Kveta can’t make head or tails of Dutch, much as she might want to—she does think in images.

(“Honey, ‘cheese cheese windmill’ doesn’t constitute—and you know what, those are the wrong country’s stereotypes anyway, try ‘beer beer fries’.”

“I don’t appreciate your country stealing my country’s stereotypes, Manon.”

“We’re not having the beer argument again.”)

(They always have the beer argument again. It bewilders all of their friends.)

In the mornings, it’s watching Manon put on her makeup and delighting in the knowledge that Kveta is one of the few people who regularly see her without her signature red lipstick. She’s never fussed anymore about Kveta taking pictures of her without it, as long as she doesn’t show them to everyone. She was never planning to, anyway.

Sometimes, Manon tells her about her own little things. That she saw someone helping an old lady across the road, or that Kveta laughed in her sleep before telling someone to fix the ‘clock garage’. Sometimes, they’re on opposite ends of the world and Manon talks about pretty much nothing until Kveta dozes off and her phone slips from her hand. She doesn’t count airport reunions as little things, because even after a significant amount of years together, with a lot of traveling scattered throughout, it still feels like a huge relief to see her again.

And, of course, there was that time at the airport in Brussels when Manon thought it would be a good idea to ask Kveta to marry her. People usually think she’s a little weird shows them her favorite picture of that moment, which is when Manon tripped over the hem of her dress and fell into Kveta, sending them both sprawling to the floor. Manon herself usually responds to this by shrugging exaggeratedly as if to say, ‘This is who I chose to make my wife.’

No one has told the press that the glitzy party they had on the Belgian coast wasn’t actually their wedding, because they’re just famous enough that that was well-reported and they decided they’d rather have something with just their family and close friends instead. Kveta is classifying the whole thing as a small moment by virtue of the intimacy of it, the magic of Manon’s hands trembling ever so slightly when she put the ring on her finger, the way Kveta’s stepbrother had beamed like a proud father through his terrible speech.

(“Is your brother okay? That grin looks painful.”

“It probably is, but he means well.”)

There’s only one picture up in the house of their actual wedding, and it’s a photo of Manon fishing rice out of her cleavage. Manon is very fond of that picture for some reason.

It’s the little things, like introducing her as, ‘Manon, my wife’ and the way Manon never gets the stress on ‘wife’ right in Czech. She might be doing it on purpose. She’s probably doing it on purpose. Kveta likes that about her. She’s not particularly fond of the way she purposefully mispronounces ‘beer’ every time. It’s an easy word!

There’s the way Manon switched out her swing dresses and pencil skirts for jean shorts and a tie-dye top when they went to Prague Pride for the first time, which was in itself pretty magical, but then was even better when she got drunk and started yelling about Belgian beer and Kveta had to drag her away from some angry men in bondage gear. She has some great pictures Manon refuses to look at.

From time to time, Kveta knows, her wife gets homesick. It’s in the way her gaze slides out of the window and lingers on nothing and everything while she idly picks her nails, the way her smile loses a tiny bit of the mischief. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever find the perfect way to make it go away faster, but hopes it helps being there if she can.

There are sparks of magic in the unusual green of Manon’s eyes when she’s just peeking through her lashes after waking up, the creases on her face and the smudge of eyeliner she somehow missed the night before.

She laughs when Kveta kneels over her to try and get the best angle for a picture, attempting to push her off but ultimately giving in, and Kveta always ends up just having to kiss her until she’s fully awake—and she’s never taken pictures of it, but some of her favorite little things are the ways Manon reacts to her when she touches her, how she comes quietly undone at the edges, beautiful and vibrant. That’s hers alone, not even her camera can have that.

Still, she’ll go out into the world, make her way through the tourists at the airport or the haggard commuters on the tram, and live large, and loud, and sometimes quite overwhelming, but Kveta always finds something to ground her. A balloon being carefully protected by the child carrying it, a young man buying flowers for his mother, or just the knowledge that her wife is never far away.

(“I was just thinking about you,” Manon tells her, calling her after a long day in some godforsaken desert when all she needed was to hear her voice. Kveta thinks that might be magic.

“Yeah, me too.”)

#czechbelg #Hetalia #aph czechia #aph belgium #aphrarepairweek2019 #idk man this is some weird... stream of consciousness thing #I wanted to write more about Prague because I lobe Prague but ehh #also where did the horizontal line shortcut go I'm upset #w: 2500 #fin #u: human

[kumkaniudaku]

Love Sick.

A/N: Throwback CoCo and Chadwick to distract all of us from the mess. Pure fluff. It’s almost too sweet. It’s a mix of @skysynclair19 ‘s singing request.

Word Count: 3,901

New Jersey (2003)

When you made the decision to relocate to the Northern region of the United States after receiving your Bachelor’s degree from Howard University, you were immediately warned about the brutal winters. Initially, you brushed off the cautionary tales. You’d survived four Washington, D.C. winters and it could drop to as low as 20 degrees in Lithonia. You considered yourself prepared when you packed a few cute leather jackets, hats and scarves for your extended visit. New Jersey and New York was not ready for the invasion of CoCo and Chadwick.

Your first winter up North was hell. 

You couldn’t recall a day when your nose wasn’t plugged with mucus and you weren’t hacking up a lung in your tiny apartment. Somehow, Chadwick remained in perfect health and would often tease you on the phone when he heard how stuffy you were.

“Maybe I can finally get some peace when I come over there since you can’t talk.”

When you emerged from the damp dungeon of perpetual sickness, you vowed to properly prepare yourself. Saving your money and soliciting help from your parents, you purchased the appropriate attire and household items to survive Northern living. So, when Winter 2003 rolled around, you traded in your light jackets for full blown coats and gloves. Your bathroom cabinet was stocked with medicine just in case you got the sniffles, your flu shot was up to date and Granny’s chicken soup recipe was tucked safely into the spiral bound family cookbook you put together during your last trip home.

Chadwick, on the other hand, refused to prepare. He was determined to prove that the flu shot only made you sick and was a way for the government to target poor people of color in inner cities.

“Why would I let them inject me with the flu? CoCo, be smart. This is genocide.”

So it didn’t surprise you to hear his stuffed and raspy voice begging you to allow him to stay with you over the weekend to hold on to tradition. Every other weekend, he would commute to your neck of the woods and sleep on your couch Friday-Sunday, to spend time with you. When he wasn’t sprawled across the black microfiber sofa, you were taking his bed in New York while he made space on the floor.

“Aaron, you can’t come over here! You’re gonna get me sick too.”

“Then we can be sick together. Please, let me come. Who’s gonna take care of me like you?”

That’s all it took for you to wash the spare comforter you had in the closet and prepare the living room for your guest. Three lazy knocks on the door and a chesty cough gave away your visitor’s location, stopping your cleaning and sending you to invite him in.

“Got damn. Boy, are you okay?” The words you had planned were replaced when you opened the door and got a good look at him. His usually excited eyes were tired and red from a lack of sleep. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his coat and he shook lightly while leaning against the door frame.

“It’s nice to see you, pain in the ass. Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, pulling the duffle bag from his hand and placing it behind the door once you kicked it closed. He immediately began to peel off his layers, leaving him a t-shirt, sweatpants and a pair of tube socks.

After pouring a cup of orange juice and handing it to him, you sat on the coffee table to get a better look at his face.

“How do you feel?”

“Like you need to turn the air off. I’m freezing!”

“Chadwick...the heat is on.” You corrected, motioning to the thermostat that was on a warm 78 degrees. “Lean forward.”

Following your instructions, he leaned forward into your hands as you felt around his face to gauge his temperature. As you suspected, he face and neck were burning up, cluing you in to his medical condition. His dramatic ass had the flu.

“What is it? Am I going to have to go the hospital, CoCo?” He questioned, following your every move as you stood up and walked down the short hallway to your room. He was hot on your heels, bombarding you with questions. “Please, don’t make me take anything. Just let me sweat it out on the couch. I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“Get your ass off my bed, boy. Take those clothes off.” You instructed with your back turned to him while looking through your toiletry stash.

His ears perked up at your request, feeling a rush going below the waistband of his pants. Had the day he’d been dreaming of finally showed up? He would’ve gotten sick years ago if that’s all it took to get you to straddle his lap and make the face he imagined you’d make.

When you turned to look at him, he was down to his underwear, preparing to pull the sheets on what he assumed was the side you didn’t sleep on back.

“Nigga, why are you doing that?”

“I thought-” Your curious look instantly made his face heat up at the misunderstanding.

“Take this soap and go take a shower. I’ll have some clothes in here for you when you’re done. Your towel and washcloths are in their normal spots. There’s some lotion in there too because…” Your voice trailed as you motioned toward his bare legs.

“Why do I keep letting you talk to me like this?” He mumbled, pulling the unopened package of Dove soap from your hands and heading to the bathroom down the hall.

“Because I’m the only person crazy enough to still be friends with you after all this time.”

“No, it’s because I like to eat and you keep feeding me. You put something in your spaghetti. I can’t believe you trapped me like that.”

“You’re stuck with me forever, Boseman!” You laughed as he rolled his eyes and shut the door to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes and several R&B songs later, he was emerging from your bedroom in a new set of clothes, fresh from a quick cycle in the dryer to warm them up a little. Once he lazily made his way to the couch, he was greeted with a hefty dosage of Theraflu, Vick’s Vapor rub for his chest and a cup of hot tea.

“CoCooooo!”

“No, you won’t ‘CoCo’ me! Come over here and sit down.” Reluctantly, he drug his lean body to the couch, flopping down dramatically and slightly turning his head away from you. “Aww, the baby doesn’t want to take his medicine.”

Your mocking did little to deter him as he rolled his eyes and continued to sulk.

“I am a man.”

“You acting like a boy. Let me at least take your temperature. We might not need all of this.”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye to determine your level of sincerity. Batting your eyelashes, you returned his glare with your most charming smile and a rub of his knee. Finally, he caved in, taking the time to stretch across the couch and wait for you to work your magic.

Your squeal of approval was met by an annoyed look before he parted his lips slightly to allow you to insert the thermometer. You both eyed the digital display, anxiously awaiting the results. A quick series of beeps preceded the eventual reading: a temperature of 103 degrees. He groaned loudly, knowing that he would have to listen to whatever you said.

“Oh hell no! Sit up and take this medicine.”

“But, CoCo!”

“Don’t make me say it again! C’mon now.” The southern black woman hopped out of you, thickening your accent and forcing your hand to your hip. It only took a stern look for Chadwick to sit up and hold the medicine cup to his lips, gagging at the taste of the liquid coating his mouth. A cough followed, prompting you to hold the tea mug to his mouth for him to take a sip and calm down. “Are you feeling sleepy?”

“Yes, mother.”

Rolling your eyes, you directed him to lay down so that you could prepare him for bed. He watched you with a faint smile while you spread the blanket over him and placed the remote to the television nearby.

“Okay, last thing and I’ll leave you alone for the night. Lift up your shirt.”

You carefully scooped a liberal about of vapor rub out of its container to smooth it against your palms. Your soft hands took their time, rubbing the product against the center of his chest, feeling the way he heart seemed to speed up to unsafe levels.

“Calm down, Aaron. Relax. You can’t get better until you rest a little.”

Your eyes flickered to his that were transfixed on your fingers and the way they danced across his chest. He knew the act was innocent but he couldn’t help but think about having this moment for the rest of his life. He’d been with plenty of women, but none like you.

He’d said I love you, sometimes without meaning it, but he never felt this type of love. The kind of love that showed him a wife and a couple of kids clinging to his legs when he came home. The kind of love that made him want to tuck you away in his apartment while he worked his ass off to provide for you. The kind of love that made him want to pull you onto his body and show you just how deeply he felt for you. He was in love and he didn’t know how much longer he could be around you and pretend he only wanted to be your friend.

“All done, jackass. Drink the tea before it cools down to clear up some of that congestion. Come knock on my door if you start to cough again. You should be asleep soon.”

“You’re not gonna stay with me?” He questioned, latching onto your hand. “How will know when I need more medicine?”

“Because you’ll come find me like you do when you need anything else. Good night, boy.” You swiftly pulled your hand from his before shutting off the light and retreating to your bedroom.

Stevie Wonder could see the sexual tension between you two but, you’d long convinced yourself that he wasn’t interested and any indication otherwise was a genuine slip up on his part. Peeling your body from your door, you trudged to your bed to try and sleep through the constant coughing and sneezing of the man you loved.

Sleep didn’t come easy for either one of you but, when it did, you weren’t happy to be startled awake. Looking at the digital clock on your nightstand, 3:53 AM transitioned in 3:54 as another round of knocking commenced.

“What the hell?” You asked, snatching the door open and finding Chadwick drowsily standing in the doorway. “What do you want? Do you know what time it is?”

“I can’t breathe, CoCo. Can I come in here with you so you can make sure I stay alive?”

‘What? No! Let me give you some more Theraflu and then you can go back.”

“Pleaseeeee?” He begged. “I already took some before I came in here and did the Vicks thing. Please, just let me sleep next to you. You don’t want me to die on your couch, do you?”

A sleepy stare off commenced between his dropping eyes and your tired orbs. Sighing, you stepped out of his way to allow him to enter the room, closing and locking the door after him. Like a child, he excitedly moved to the other side of the bed, throwing back the sheets like he’d done earlier and making himself comfortable.

You took your original spot, laying on your back to watch the ceiling fan spin in circles. Not only was going back to sleep in timely manner impossible, you were afraid that closing your eyes would restart the sexy dream that you were enthralled in, conveniently starring the beautiful man beside you. He wasted no time taking your position as an opportunity to throw his upper body on top of yours, positioning himself on his stomach so that he could lay on your clothed chest.

“The big baby likes to cuddle I see.” You teased.

“Yeah, whatever. Nobody is cuddling yo ass. Your pillows are too soft and I need to prop my head up. All this room you got on your chest, you should be thankful there’s finally some weight on it.”

You kissed your teeth and pushed his head in an attempt to get him off of you. He held on tight until you gave up, preferring to play with his ears to keep your mind occupied. He hummed at the sensation, closing his eyes and listening to your steady heartbeat.

“Don’t fall asleep, negro! I’m already hot with you on me like this. Go to your side!”

“Get over it.” He answered in a deep and slurred grumble, using his arms to anchor your waist to his body and prevent you from moving.

Just as he was content with having your fingertips trace patterns behind his ear, you liked knowing that he was comfortable and sleeping peacefully. Oddly, his body rhythmically breathing against yours and light snores coming from his stuffed nose lulled you to sleep soon after.

                                   _____________

“I’m checking for you, boy, you’re right on time. Angel of mine.” Your voice meshed with Monica’s as the radio sitting on the kitchen counter played her album. Your soprano was the perfect match to her chorus while you danced around the kitchen, dropping ingredients into the pot of chicken broth bubbling on the stove. “Last night, the way you moved is still on my mind. Angel of mind.”

Somehow, you were able to escape the hostage situation Chadwick had you in to tip toe into the kitchen and get breakfast started. You knew he’d be upset that he had to eat soup while you enjoyed pancakes but he’d get over it once he tasted it. Your singing drowned out the bedroom door creaking open and Chadwick stepping out to find you.

He stopped at the end of the hallway to silently observe you twirling around the cramped space, pulling spices from the cabinet like a Southern Disney princess. He’d seen you do it plenty of times before, but never while singing. He’d actually never heard you sing, the way you echoed Monica’s rifts and run making him smile. He wanted to keep listening, but his coughing betrayed him and pulled you from your trance.

“Don’t stop.” He coaxed, taking a seat on one of the wooden stools at the counter. “You sound good.”

“Yeah, right. Your ears are clogged. You hearing funny.”

“I’d be the first one to come in here and tell you to stop if you couldn’t sing. Keep going. The song’s almost over.”

Nervously, you looked between the radio and Chadwick before shaking your head and returning your focus to the stove. “I’ll pass on that one. How do you feel?”

Though he wanted to, he decided not press the issue. “Fucking terrible. My throat is sore, my body hurts, I’m hot and then cold and I keep coughing.”

“Then let’s try and get you feeling better. Taste this.” Instructing him to open his mouth, he allowed you to feed him a bit of soup. “How’s that?”

“Amazing. I wish I had an appetite.” He frowned.

“Chadwick Aaron Boseman with no appetite! You really are sick.” Turning off the stove, you made a beeline for the living room to grab the medicines that were still in their spots from last night. “It’s time to go full force with this. Here’s more Theraful, I’m gonna grab my peppermint oil and rub that on you and you need to get some socks on your feet.”

He stared at you while you pulled him to a standing position and led him to the couch. “Can’t we just go back and lay down. I just wanna go to sleep.”

“No, no, no. I’m responsible for getting you better and that’s what we’re gonna do. Mrs. Carolyn would kill me if she found out I was just letting you sleep it off.” The heaviness and heat of the comforter being thrown over him was a welcomed feeling that he didn’t want to admit to.

Just as quick as you’d left, you were back with a small bottle of peppermint oil and rubbing it on his neck, chest and soles of his feet before sliding socks onto them. When you returned with a glass of orange juice and a bowl of soup, he was drifting into sleep.

“C’mon, Aaron, you need to eat.” You announced, squatting in front of him and handing him the bowl. He was back to putting on a show, feebly reaching out to grab the spoon and shaking his hand to send droplets of the hot liquid sputtering around the rim of the bowl.

“You gotta feed it to me, CoCo. I-I...I’m too weak.”

“You full of shit, that’s what you are.”

He smiled at your joke, knowing that you would give up and feed him. Staying true to form, you continuously lifted the spoon to his mouth, feeding him he steaming contents of the bowl until there was no more.

Soon, he was back to sleep again, head pressed against the flannel pajama pants covering your thighs and mouth ajar to regulate his breathing. In short intervals you were able to go shower and clean the kitchen until he noticed your absence or requested your presence. A final check of his temperature indicated that his fever was finally gone and his appetite was beginning to pick up.

Still, he insisted on acting like a child.

“CoCo,” he croaked, wrapping the blanket around his entire body like ET in the bicycle basket. “Can you come warm me up?”

“No.” Your answer was flat as you continued to ignore him, using a ladle to put soup into tupperware for him to take home later.

“But, I’m so cold. I need you!”

You looked across to the room to find him exaggeratedly shaking his body in a comical shiver. “Aaron, stop.”

“Brrrrrr! Don’t let me freeze.” The DVD version of ‘Blue Streak’ played in the background as he continued his antics. “C’mon! Watch the movie with me. Your favorite part is coming. I can see your goosebumps from here.”

“If I do it, will you shut up?”

He made a zipping motion across his mouth before opening one side of the comforter to invite you in. You indulged him, sliding into the spot beside him and allowing him to close the blanket and trap you by his side.

Blue Streak turned into Training Day and a new sitting position, his back pressed against your stomach while he watch Denzel intently and let you play in his hair. Not paying attention to the 500th viewing of the movie, you quietly hummed Floetry’s ‘Say Yes’ to pass the time.

“You know, you should just sing to me if you’re gonna hum.” You looked down to find him already looking at you expectantly. He wasn’t going to let up this time.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and continued to nervously play with his hair.

“There is only one for me. You have made that a possibility. We can take that step to see if this is really gonna be. All you gotta do is say yes, don’t deny what you feel, let me undress you babe. Open up your mind and just rest, I’m about to let you know, you make me so, so, so, so, so,so, so, so....”

Your singing stopped as you slowly opened your eyes to see his toothy grin looking back at you. “Eh, I’ve heard better.”

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed, pushing his head. “I told you I’m not that good.”

“You sound amazing, CoCo. I’m just being an asshole.”

“What else is new?”

A short shared laugh preceded silence as the movie filled in the gaps for a long stretch.

“How do you know if you’re in love?” He asked, not bothering to look at you.

“I don’t know. My mama says that you just know. Nobody has to tell you. You feel it more than you feel anything else.” A hesitant pause didn’t stop your next question. “Are you in love?”

He thought for a moment before answering. “I think so. I’m feeling something.”

“Don’t rush it. God don’t make no mistakes. If you and whoever it is are supposed to be together, let it happen naturally.”

Accepting your words, he allowed the conversation to end. A forced round of TheraFlu sent him back into a medicine induced coma but not before he was pinning you to the couch under the weight of his body while he slept. You smiled at the image of the overgrown child needing to be held in order to fall asleep. You didn’t know if was the illness or delusions from the medicine but, you enjoyed being there for him and silently prayed that you’d be able to do this for the rest of your life. Unfortunately, whoever he was in love with would get to enjoy these moments after he was nursed to health and back in New York.

                                 ______________

The morning sun peeked through the blinds of the living room sooner than you hoped for, ending the semi-girlfriend charade. Breakfast was eerily silent as was most of the early afternoon. Both of you seemed to be lost in thought until Chadwick announced that he needed to start his journey back home to finish up the work he had to put aside.

Standing at the door, he adjusted his coat and scarf with your help.

“Keep taking the medicine and don’t be afraid to stay home an extra day if you still feel a little weak. Your health is more important than that job.”

“Yes ma’am. Anything else, wife?” He joked, grabbing his bag from your hands. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach and rolled your eyes.

“Eat the soup and drink some green tea NOT sweet tea. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do. I’ll call you when I get settled.”

You nodded in agreement, reaching around him to open the door. He made it into the hallway before turning to look at you. “See you next week?”

“Of course.” Shy smiles were exchanged, prolonging the good-bye. “I hope she loves you back. Send me an invite to the wedding?”

Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself, confusing you. “You won’t be needing one, CoCo! You’ll already be there.”

“As part of the wedding party? Can I wear suit too?”

Your excitement made him smile as he turned on his heels to start his trek down the hallway. He made sure that his voice traveled behind him to answer your question. 

“Whatever you want, girl! Whatever you want.”

__________

TAGS:   @njadont @k-michaelis @wakandanmoonchild  @idilly @texasbama @afraiddreamingandloving @inxan-ity @daytimeheroicsonly @thiccdaddy-mbaku @onyour-right @brianabreeze @sisterwifeudaku @ironsquad @killmongerdispussy @90sinspiredgirl @killmongersaidheyauntie @willowtree77785901 @maynardqueen101 @heyauntieeee @halfrican-heat @purple-apricots @lalapalooza718 @blue-ishx @profilia @ljstraightnochaser @girl-wtf-lmao @dramaqueenamby @royallyprincesslilly @melaninmarvel @lavitabella87 @purplehairgawdess @unholyxcumbucket @airis-paris14 @uhlxis @oshasimone @maliadestiny @drsunshine97 @cozyshack2 @zxddy-panther @queentearra @skysynclair19 @wakandankings

#chadwick boseman #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman fan fiction #chadwick x reader #chadwick boseman x you #black panther fics #black panther fan fiction #black panther fiction #black panther #black panther fanfiction

[lubdubsworld]

Give me some Sugar ( Daddy)

Warnings ; Adult Content. 

Jimin xOC / 19+

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

The club that jimin asked me to come to was somewhere in the deeper streets of Hongdae, tucked in between a tattoo parlor and a fine dining restaurant , with the entrance small and unassuming, leading down a flight of stairs to a bigger , glamorous doorway. The inside of the hallway, leading deeper into the club was lit with strobe lights and a bunch of people stood around , girls in tiny skirts and fitting blouses, men in black leather and with piercings glinting . 

I wasn’t particularly intimidated , but the scent of sweaty bodies and cheap smoke made me retch a little bit , as i followed the tall bouncer who had offered to take me to Jimin. We walked a few more minutes, past a couple of dance floors and then into another hallway, this one more deserted and lit more demurely, tones of red and gold lighting up bits of the  passageway and throwing other parts into sharp darkness. 

The stairs opened into a lounge, which was worlds away from the messy confusion downstairs , done up in gold and yellow with mild , soothing jazz music and dozens of well-dressed beautiful patrons. I felt suddenly relieved that I’d picked a relatively nice dress, turquoise blue with an uneven hem and a wrap around bodice . I’d borrowed it from Seulgi ages ago and she had refused to take it back, saying something along the lines of ‘ ugh...i hate that color just keep it will you?’ . 

It was probably her way of being generous without acting like a good person. 

I caught sight of Jimin even before the man next to me pointed him out. Jimin sat in an enclosed booth, tucked away in a corner of the loungue and he stood up the moment he saw me, hand reaching up to run through his hair as he offered me a bright smile. 

He was so attractive it made my lips wobble. 

“How did you get here?” He said with a bright smile, after pulling the chair out for me and i stared at him for a second, suddenly aware that he was a lot taller than i remembered. 

“Uh.. I.. uh.. walked? i mean from the bus stop. I took the bus and then i got down at the bus stop and ..yeah.. i walked here.” i laughed nervously , mentally kicking myself for forgetting how to formulate words. 

Jimin didn’t comment on my word -vomit and instead he just. very casually brushed the hair away from the nape of my neck and kissed the edge of my cheek. 

“ I’m sorry if it was a long commute. i wanted to send someone to pick you up but i wasn’t sure if it would make you uncomfortable” . He smiled again, drawing back, seemingly un-bothered by the fact that his kiss had wiped my brain clean of all thoughts.  

“Oh..uh. Thanks.” I said , sitting down with my heart thudding around in my ribcage. 

“And before i forget.. here you go... “ He slid my phone across the table and i grabbed it quickly, slipping it into my purse. 

“Thank you so much..i’m so sorry for being a bother...honestly.. and Jimin ssi... about what you said.. i don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Let’s have dinner first, Y/N and then we can talk about...other things. this place serves really good continental stuff and I’m actually friends with the chef... Would you like me to order for you?” He smiled, reaching out and touching the back of my palm.

“Yes, please.”

“Excellent.” 

I stared around the dining area some more while Jimin called the waiter over and ordered food and wine. Once he was done, he laughed a little and gave me an abashed look, ducking his head down.

“You probably think i’m being a bit too pretentious...bringing you out here ...” He said softly. “ i actually prefer less fancy places in general but i thought this would give us some privacy...”

i didn’t say anything feeling jittery and nervous. 

“So, uh.. tell me about yourself, Y/N...”

“Me? uh... I’m actually a creative English major and I have a minor in interior designing as well.... I have a sister and mother and i work quite a lot of odd jobs. “i laughed awkwardly.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m assuming you’re running low on cash then...” He said sounding vaguely sympathetic.

“Uh..yeah..that’s kind of a problem because , there’s this academy that my sister is trying to get into. a Ballet school. And well, i need to pay them a lot of money upfront...”

I stopped, not sure why it was so easy to just blurt this information out to him. It was stup;id but for some reason, Jimin didn’t feel like a stranger, at all. 

“I understand. Have you done this thing before? With other men?”

I briefly considered lying.

“No.” I admitted after a few seconds. “ No, i haven’t.”

He hummed a bit thoughtfully.

“I figured as much. Have you changed your mind about doing it ? Or are you still looking to find a... benefactor?”

I flinched.

“jimin ssi...”

“I’m only asking because i don’t want to force you into anything you’re not interested in. If you tell me that you’ve given up on getting yourself a rich guy, I’ll back off. For real.” He held both his palms up, multiple rings glinting in the dusky glow of the restaurant. 

I stared at him.

“And what if I want a guy but not you.” i said bluntly.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m sure I can find myself another girl.”

Chastised, i looked down at my knees.

“it’s just...” i stopped, before taking a deep breath. “ You’re really famous. i don’t want to get into any trouble.” 

Jimin gave me an even look.

“i’ll protect you. I can promise you that.”

I felt my heart turn over at the phrase.

“Jimin ssi...”

“i mean it. Honestly, what i’m looking for isn’t just something...physical. i wouldn’t be pursuing you if it were. I need someone i can be friends with. Someone i can have dinners with, someone i can talk to and generally have a relationship with.... And i felt that connection with you.... You and i... we could be good together... i can feel it in my bones, Y/N. that’s why i want you to give this a chance.” 

“A realtionship?” i said confused.

He hesitated before staring down at his glass.

“Well, certain aspects of a relationship. Without the emotional baggage. Sex, companionship, laughter and good times. Without any drama or unnecessary feelings involved.” 

I stared at him, feeling like i was getting in way over my head. i couldn’t quite understand what he meant. 

“I’ll be your boyfriend. We’ll be lovers. I’ll introduce you to my friends. We’ll all hang out together. i want all of it.” He said softly.

 i want all of it.

there was something off about that phrase. But before i could ponder on his words, he was reaching out and lightly gripping my palm. his fingers felt smooth and warm around my own, the blunt tips tracing heated circles on my skin , the gesture arousing in a way that was unfair. 

“I like you. A lot. I know a lot of really good Dance companies. I’ll get your sister into the best one, i promise. in fact, I’m going to do that, even if you refuse me. I looked her up , you know. She really is good. She deserves a spot in any of those Academies.” He said warmly.

 i looked her up...

 He had looked her up?! Why.... 

“I... I’m still not sure  how...” 

“I have a proper contract for us to sign. I have it with me right now and if you like, we can go over it at my apartment. Well, technically our apartment , if you agree to the terms .”

I squeaked in disbelief.

“our apartment?” 

he shrugged.

“It wouldn’t be practical for us to live miles away from each other. I’d rather we co habit. It would be easier for me especially, seeing as i have a jam packed schedule. i’d like to be able to see you anytime i’m home.” He smiled widely and I blushed harder. Why one earth was he so charming? and why was it working so well on me?

why did this whole thing sound appealing , rather than outrageous. What on earth was wrong with me?!

“So, you want me to move in with you?” I said, throat dry. 

“Yes. I have a personal chauffeur who can drop you off at college and then pick you back up. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

College had been the last of my worries.

“Okay... i mean... I’d like to hear more about this contract.” i said softly.

He hummed.

“Of course. Hang on, i’ll pay the bill and then we can drive down home.”

 Home.

oh, God, what was i getting myself into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“it’s not much but i think it should be fine for just the two of us...” Jimin said casually holding the door open and i stepped into a wide , open-plan apartment with beautiful blue and white inetriors. The place was rather impersonal but it looked cozy as well. 

“it’s beautiful.” I said honestly and jimin smiled in obvious relief.

“i wanted to come pick a nice place out with you, you know after you agreed but then i saw this place and i really didn’t want to risk losing it...” He said apologetically and I smiled weakly. 

“That’s alright... it’s really nice.” I said awkwardly.

“We can still go pick out some paintings and other stuff, together. if you like. I don’t know a lot about interior decoration and stuff but you mentioned you were majoring in it...so you can try and decorate this place. If you like...” He offered and I nodded absently, trailing my fingers over the back of the couch. everything looked so beautiful.

“This here’s the bedroom.” he held a door open. I didn’t think too much, walking over to peer into the room, taking note of the plain pale blue walls and the satin sheets on the huge bed. 

He moved to pull the curtains open and i felt my eyes go wide as i noticed that it overlooked the river.

“We can watch the sunrise every morning from our bed.” Jimin laughed.

I froze .

 our bed.

 “What about the kitchen?” i blurted out quickly and jimin hesitated before smiling a little.

“You don’t have to be so terrified around me. I wont throw you on the bed and ravish you. We can wait and get to know each other a bit before we become intimate.” He smiled.

I cringed.

“i’m sorry..it’s just... all so new to me..”

“i understand. You can back out anytime you like.” He held the door open again.” The kitchen is over there.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later after my midterms and after I had pretty much spent all my nights losing sleep, I signed the contract. 

Most of the terms were simple . 

 i had to always be reachable over phone. i had to respond to texts and calls. i had to keep him informed of my whereabouts. i had to go on a minimum of three dinner dates every week. i also had to make an active effort to be ‘ cordial’ with his friends. He would provide me with outfits, pay for my expenses and also generally ‘ support’ me in an ‘ appropriate ‘ way. 

Jimin gave me a phone , a new one that i would be able to use to talk to him. it was one of those new fancy phones, the kind that required your fingerprint to open and stuff and he also gave me two credit cards.

“There’s no limit. You can spend as much as you like.” He had said brightly.

I hadn’t plucked up the courage to use them yet, of course.

The day after i signed the contract, I was walking to the bus stop, ready to drive home when my phone buzzed.

It was jimin.

“Hey sweetheart. Are you packed?” He said cheerfully.

I blinked in confusion.

“packed?” 

“Well, you’re supposed to be moving in with me, remember?” 

I hadn’t remembered , at all.

“oh, God...i’m so sorry... Jimin ssi...”

He was silent for a second .

“Are you having second thoughts, baby?” He said softly. 

I blushed a bright red, immensely grateful that he wasn’t in front of me.

“Uh..no. Of course not.”

“okay. Good girl. Can you do something for me?” He asked gently, tone low and mellow.

“Uh huh...”

“Take a taxi to our apartment. The password is your birthday . Let yourself in. i’ve left an outfit out on the bed. Wear it and make yourself look pretty for me. Can you do that?” 

I stopped walking because my heart was starting to pound.

“Oh..uh...sure.”

“Especially the stuff in the small red box, okay. I’ll check later if you’re really wearing them... “ He said teasingly. 

“okay.” i breathed out.

After he hung up, i had to count to twenty, just to get my head on straight.

It took me a few minutes to hail a cab and another twenty minutes before i reached the apartment and let myself in. 

i kicked my shoes off and rushed to the bedroom, not even bothering to drop my bag off.

i stopped short as i stared at the bed. 

There was a tiny black dress , with beautiful midnight black pumps and a small velvet box with jewelry. I stared at the outfit in awe, heart lurching when I saw the familiar name.

 Chanel.

Then i saw the box he had mentioned and opened it with trembling fingers.

My entire body felt like it had been set on fire.

I stared in mortification at the tiny thong style panties and the transparent lacy bra. 

 i’ll check later if you’re really wearing them. 

Apparently, Park Jimin wasn’t as vanilla as he looked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You look beautiful.” Jimin said casually, pouring me some wine as we sat in an expensive restaurant , overlooking the Seoul skyline.

“Thank you. How was your day?” i said with a smile and he sighed. He had picked me up at eight and for all his heavy, suggestive words about my outfit he hadn’t acted on them. He’d been the perfect gentleman, leading me to the table with minimal physical contact and if it weren’t for the foreign sensation of silky lace against my inner thighs, I’d almost forget that he had bought me something like that. 

“a bit tiring, honestly. there’s a particular dance move that i’m trying to work on and it’s giving me a bit of trouble. it’s for our next tour. What about you... ? How’s college.” 

i told him a bit about my day and then as we ate dinner with playful banter and a lot of laughs, i found myself relaxing and genuinely enjoying myself.

it wasn’t till we started dessert that it started to take a turn.

“So..” Jimin said causally and i looked up curious, expecting another remark about his work or my study, “ Are you wearing it?” 

I fought to keep my expression neutral. 

“Uh...yes.” i said glancing down at my food as a wave of hot blood rushed up into my face. 

“Good girl. Did you like it?” He was smiling now, eyes heavy with fondness and lips quirking a little.

I bit my lips in embarrassment. 

“Yes. i mean... yeah. they’re nice. Thank you.” 

Jimin hummed. 

“Bet the lace feels real good against you, right?”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond. 

“Won’t beat the feel of my tongue but... guess you’ll have to make do. at least till we get back home.” 

i choked on nothing, coughing. 

“Cute. “ He laughed and then he reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his palm. “ Will you do something for me?”

I leaned helplessly into his touch.

“uh huh...”

“Take your panties off.”

i lurched in shock, nearly knocking over the glass of wine.

“I...what.” 

He was still smiling, looking like a perfect angel, hair ruffled , gaze warm and bright. 

“You heard me baby. Come on... “ He smiled.

i shook my head instinctively.

“Jimin...please... “

“No one’s going to know baby.... i promise. it’s why i bought you that tiny dress. it’s easy. just slip your hand up your skirt, hook your finger on the string and yank your panties down.... it’s not hard.... come on.... do it...”

I shut my eyes tightly, making a mental note to spend a shit-ton of money tomorrow with his credit card. 

I bent a little, hunching over the table as I slipped my fingers underneath following his instructions and nearly having a heart attack by the time I crumpled the tiny fabric and shoved it into my purse. 

“I’m done.” i whispered.

“You’re amazing. Let’s go home then. ” He smiled. “ Waiter, check please.” 

#Jimin smut #park jimin #bts smut #bts fics #jimin fics #angst #smut

[thrashff]

P.A.

Title: P.A. (Personal Assistant)

(Part 1/?)

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (AU)

Word count: 2,700~

Synopsis: Y/N is stuck in a dead-end job, conflicted between pursuing her music career as a producer and her social anxiety. In a tight spot for money, she takes on a new, well-paying job that she desperately needs as Personal Assistant to the cold and emotionally distant Namjoon, an up and coming rap artist. (Cameos from the rest of the Bangtan boys)

A/N: Hello! I’m very, very new to this, so comments and suggestions would be appreciated! I got the idea in to my head and my brain refused to let it go, so this will be a multi-parter, seeing where it will take me. (Very) slow burn, attempted fluff, alternate character histories, and eventual smut, maybe! I hope you guys enjoy!

It had been a long day, and it wasn’t showing any signs of getting better anytime soon. You stare gloomily at the cheap wall clock hanging on the greige wall of your cubicle, wishing fervently for 5PM to arrive faster. What feels like an eternity later, the second hand finally moves, and you shove your fist into your mouth to stifle the loud groan that escapes you.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. You had done everything right—gotten top marks in high school, finished your college degree, hit the pavement the second you graduated looking for a job. Unfortunately, it was a more cut-throat world than you anticipated, and the only job you could find was as a clerk’s assistant. The pay was bad and the hours were worse, but it was enough to keep you fed and in your tiny studio apartment. You figure things could be a lot worse.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders, pulling the next stack of files closer to you. If you’re going to be stuck here for another four hours, you might as well get some work done.

Like clockwork, your cellphone rings at exactly 7PM, more or less halfway through your commute home. You startle awake on the bus, automatically clicking the control button on your headphones to answer the call, and a familiar voice greets you.

“Oy, Y/N, are you there?”

“Yes, Yoongi, I’m here,” you mumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“You useless lump, you fell asleep on the train again didn’t you?”

You roll your eyes as you fish your phone out of your pocket, even though you know your best friend can’t see you. “I was watching The Art of Rhyme last night, fuckface. I wasn’t doing what you do.”

He chuckles, the sound low and threatening to anyone else but you. “Which would be what, exactly?”

A dangerous smile dances on your lips and you lower your voice to a whisper so that no one else on the train can hear you say, “Jack off every night to demented clown porn.”

The jibe is enough to startle a laugh from him, forcing him to drop his default pretense of being scary. “YAH, you’re so depraved!” Yoongi exclaims, so loudly that it hurts your ears.

You chuckle, taking an earbud out and massaging your ear. “Probably, but do you have to be so loud? It hurts my ears,” you complain.

“Serves you right, pervert.”

“What do you want, Yoongi?” you sigh, thumbing quickly through the (lack of) notifications on your phone.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Not for the first time, you wonder what life would be like without a sadist for a best friend.

“No, I will not have sex with you, no matter how desperate for money I get,” you deadpan, rising from your seat as you near your stop. The old lady next to you sends you a judgmental glare, and you flash her your canines in response.

Yoongi groans. “Do you have to be so gross all the time?”

“Do you?”

“You are such a child,” he scolds. “Come out to Roots tonight, I have a prospective job for you.”

Noting the change in his tone, you know that there isn’t room for you to argue, no matter how badly you want to collapse into bed and sleep for the next twelve hours. You merely grunt in response.

“Good. And dress nicely, will you? Don’t embarrass me.”

You make a sound of protest, but he’s already clicked off the call. You feel your face flush as you rush off the bus and onto the sidewalk. Nice? And what the hell does he mean, embarrass him!?

After making yourself some kimchi fried rice (and stowing some in a container to give to Yoongi), you hop into the shower and try to wash off your stress. You do the math in your head and realize that unless you find some other way to supplement your income, you’re going to burn through the last of the loan you took from your parents and you won’t be able to meet your rent.

You sigh as you dry your hair. You suppose that whatever Yoongi has in mind, you’ll just have to take it. You slip into a pair of torn black denims and an old, oversized Thrasher shirt, tie your hair into a high ponytail and slip into a pair of Vans, hoping that whatever it is won’t force you to sell anything you aren’t willing to part with, like your dignity.

You arrive at Roots, an underground dancehall club in the middle of the city, a little past 9PM. Sung Min, the bouncer, recognizes you and lets you into the club without a word, and you wink at him as the people waiting in line groan and complain loudly. It pays to have friends in the right places, you think as you elbow past the crowd to your usual table in the back, cordoned off by heavy black drapes.

Yoongi is already sitting in the center of the booth, sprawled out like the prince that he is, flocked, as usual, by Jin, the owner of the club, and Jimin. The nods at you as you join them, and almost automatically, a drink is placed in front of you.

Jimin grins and greets you enthusiastically, while Jin gives you a more subdued nod of his head in greeting. You can tell he’s already thinking of a corny dad joke to tell you. You smile at them and take a long sip of your drink.

“Long time no see, Y/N! What have you been up to?” Jimin starts.

You shrug. As kind as Yoongi’s music friends have always been to you, you find social interactions exhausting and you’re already wishing you were back at home. In the back of your mind, you make plans to do more digging for new samples when you get home, even as you reply to him.

“The usual,” you respond noncommittally.

Undeterred, Jimin flashes you a grin, and you wonder how so much sunshine can fit in a single person. “You look really nice!” he compliments, and you grimace, hiding your flush behind another sip of your drink.

“Let her be, Jimin,” Yoongi says, smirking at your discomfort. Jin excuses himself and disappears into the crowd, and you automatically take his seat on the couch next to your best friend, tiredly resting your head on his shoulder. Automatically, his arm wraps around you and you bask in the comfort that gives you for a few moments.

“So,” he begins.

You sigh. “What?”

“Shots?”

There’s a glint in his eye that lets you know he’s had a rough day, so as much as you want to decline, you give in to your best friend since childhood and merely groan. “Fine,” you relent. “It’s Friday anyway.”

As if on cue, Jin returns with a waiter in tow, who’s holding a bottle of expensive tequila and a tray of shot glasses, salt, and slices of lemon. “I bet I’ll have you all under the table by midnight,” he jokes.

The three of you let out a chorus of boos at him, yelling out your own bets. Surrounded by their efforts at cheering up both you and Yoongi, you start to relax for the first time in weeks. Twelve shot glasses filled to the brim despite there only being four of you, but you all rise automatically and raise one each in a toast.

“To good health!” Jin announces.

“To great love!” Jimin cheers, and you shake the feeling that he was looking directly at you when he says it.

“To better sex!” Yoongi says, making Jimin flush and Jin punch him in the arm playfully from across the table.

“To excellent friends!” you laugh, and each of you takes three shots consecutively. It’s going to be a fun night, you think, as the alcohol burns through you like a fever.

You take turns dancing with all the boys, even Jin as he awkwardly whips out the most ridiculous moves with you. Yoongi rants about his long day at the label as he spins you around the dance floor, the alcohol having loosened his tongue considerably.

He had been recruited by a big company the year after high school, thanks to his quickly spreading reputation as an underground rapper in your hometown. Being so young in the industry, a lot of executives had tried to take advantage of him, forcing him to mature a lot faster. His brutally honest and straight-forward personality had helped, and you like to think that him staying friends with you had kept him grounded. You were the only one left from his “old life” who still treated him like a normal person and knew him best out of anyone else, even the fellow artists that he now worked daily with. You both had a lot in common—reserved on the surface, but goofy and caring only to those who had earned your trust.

But because he was getting more and more popular by the day, he confessed that he was afraid he was growing harder and colder, and that he had been feeling more and more commodified, like aspects of his personality were being packaged and sold off. People copping his style, copying his flow. You shake your head and give him the advice he already knows but needs to hear. You remind him that he’s human, and that it’s normal to feel the way he does; to use his music as an outlet, to make the most of his platform to reach out to people who are feeling the same way. To share what makes him special and help other people find what works for them. “That’s your gift, after all,” you remind him, and he tugs affectionately on your ponytail in response.

Selfishly, you use his struggles to validate your own decisions. This is why you don’t want any part of the music industry, you tell yourself. You don’t belong in that world. A smaller voice in the back of your head tells you, because you aren’t strong enough to survive.

Feeling better, Yoongi slings his arm around you and you both make your way to the bar for more shots. Jin is behind it, talking to one of the bartenders, while Jimin is off to one side already being chatted up by a small group of girls. He gives you a small wave when he catches your eye, and you give him a smile in return.

Yoongi notices the exchange, and flashes you a knowing look. “He’s in love with you, you know,”

You snort, unladylike. “He doesn’t know me,”

He chortles. “True. If he knew you, he’d be running in the other direction,”

You give him a swift kick to the shin, and he grimaces and clutches it. “Yow! If you injure me, woman, you’ll have hell to pay!”

“Try me, shuga bakemono,”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Seriously though,” he says as he stumbles onto a barstool and massages his calf. “You should fix that before it goes too far,”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask miserably. “I don’t even know what he sees in me; I’m not that pretty.”

“You have gained weight since taking that office job,” he points out. “And you’re really bad at make-up and clothes.”

You snap your fingers sharply in front of his face. “Focus!”

He tilts his head at you, studying your frowning face. “You’re not that disgusting, I guess,” he finally allows. “But Jimin is soft. He’s one of the biggest marshmallows I know. I don’t want to see him hurt or disappointed.”

You sigh and take another shot. “Neither do I. He’s a cinnamon roll.” You glance at Jimin from the corner of your eye and admire the way the light catches in his eyes, the line of his jaw and the way his biceps tug at the fabric of his sleeves. You lick your lips and swallow the lump in your throat, shaking the image from your head. “But I have bigger problems.”

You take a seat on the barstool next to Yoongi and tell him about your current financial situation. “Which brings me to this: What job prospect were you talking about?”

Yoongi takes a deep swig of his beer (he’s the only person you know who can drink liquor and beer without getting sick), and unexpectedly takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours. He only does so when he’s about to give you bad news, so you hold your breath and steel yourself for whatever he has to say.

“How badly do you want a well-paying job?” he asks. You simply blink at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, wrong question. Would you take a well-paying job even if it’s in the music industry?”

You try to pull your hand out of his, but his grip is too strong. You glare at him, seething. “Yoongi, you know that I can’t-”

He presses a finger to your lips to stop your rant before you get too carried away. “Hush, Y/N. I don’t mean as an artist.” Even though you’re more than talented enough, he says with his eyes. “They’re bringing a new rapper in and apparently, part of his contract is a personal assistant. He’ll be in the city for the next six months recording his debut, and he wants someone local to help him acclimate or something.”

He moves his hand to your cheek once he’s sure that you aren’t going to have a meltdown at the prospect. “It will pay more than enough for you to be able to stay in your shitty apartment, pay your parents back, and maybe even buy that controller you’ve always wanted.”

You bite your lip, considering the possibilities of a decent paycheck, even if it’s just for a couple of months. Your eyes meet his, and you know that you can trust him not to put you in a difficult situation. He’s always wanted what’s best for you, and you would trust him with your life.

“And Jimin?” you prompt. He flashes you a quizzical look, and you lean a little bit more into the hand on your face for comfort. “Does he think this is a good idea? Can he vouch for this new guy and tell me that he isn’t an asshole?”

“He’s all for whatever brings you to the studios more often,” Yoongi responds dryly. “But as far as I can tell, the new guy is around our age-” Young, you translate in your head. “-and he’s all business. Director Bang was saying that he comes across pretty cold and aloof, comes from a well-off background, so I don’t think he’ll be difficult to deal with.”

You keep chewing on your lip, considering all the pros and cons to the situation, but a slow smile spreads across Yoongi’s face as he watches you. You sigh, defeated. You both knew you would say yes, if only for the money. “Fine,” you agree uselessly. “I’ll do it.”

He pinches your cheek. “Atta girl.”

“See, this is why people always mistake you two for a couple,” Jin points out, an eyebrow raised at your intertwined hands and Yoongi’s hand on your face.

The other boy flushes and pushes you away brusquely. “Gross,” he mumbles as you cackle.

“Oh, c’mon Yoongi! This is the perfect time to confess!” you goad him.

Jin hides his smirk behind his glass as he takes a sip. “Yeah, Yoongi, anything to want to tell us about your feelings for Y/N?”

“Disgust. Apathy. Nausea.” the older boy deadpans, leaning forward and swiping the drink from Jin’s hand and downing it in one gulp. “Can we go now? I’m hungry.”

“We can go to that barbeque place you like,” Jin suggests.

“What about Jimin?” Yoongi asks.

Jin glances at their friend, who has already been pulled onto the dancefloor by the group of girls he’d met at the bar. “I think he’ll be fine tonight.” He signals one of the waiters to tell Jimin where they went just in case, and leaves a bottle for him and his new friends before the three of you set out.

“By the way,” you say thirty minutes later as you dig into your midnight meal. “What’s the guy’s name?”

Yoongi stops shoving food into his mouth long enough to answer you. “Kim Namjoon.”

To Be Continued

#BTS #BTS fanfiction #bts fanfic #namjoon #rapmon #rapmonster #namjoon fanfic #rapmon fanfic #rapmonster fanfic #BTS imagine #namjoon fanfiction #rapmonster fanfiction #rapmon fanfiction

[ofallthethingsiveloved]

Can I finish my bagel first?

I wanted him the most when I was fifteen.

My parents were both semi-professional bowlers for most of my early teen years. Every weekend was spent at bowling alleys across the state, watching one, if not both, of them compete. This also meant that my weeknights were spent at the local 8-lane bowling alley, because it was, surprisingly, more fun than staying home alone. Growing up in a small town had its perks, as the bowling alley was right in the center of town, surrounded by any fast food I could possibly want and the freedom of walking there.

On Tuesdays, my parents would drop me off at my guitar lesson and I would walk to the bowling alley afterward, my Washburn acoustic strapped to my back. They had the co-ed league that night, which was one of my favorites to attend. My mom’s Thursday night women’s league was all older matriarch types and Sunday nights was mostly grumpy middle-aged men. But Tuesday, for some reason, held the younger crowd. Teams made up of young men in their twenties seemed to be the majority and fifteen year old me was all about it. At that age, I was right in the thick of my most awkward phase. I wasn’t sure if I hated my body or if I had one at all. Despite my best efforts, my skin was always greasy and my hair would not lay flat. Tuesday nights were all about observation. These men all knew me well and treated me like their homely little cousin. I was so uncomfortable that I didn’t even bother to do the feeble teenage girl flirting that my friends did with the servers at Chili’s. Mine was a fact-finding mission. I wanted to know what kind of music they liked, which movies they were quoting, how did they feel about women that didn’t wear make up. I wanted to fit in with them, because if I understood grown men, I could surely figure out teenage boys.

I developed tiny crushes on all of them for different reasons. One looked like Rivers Cuomo, one gave me my first MxPx CD, one let me have the kills of his cigarettes. One guy had the most precious smirk and perfect green-blue eyes. They were all perfect in their individual ways. As I got older, so did they. They got 9 to 5 jobs, which meant that they couldn’t spend their weeknights knocking down pins. By the time I was in college, they had lost interest in the bowling alley and I had mostly forgotten them.

Skip ahead a few years. I’m twenty-seven and I’ve walked out on a seven year relationship. I had survived my ten year high school reunion and was starting my first summer as a single woman. I had gotten my groove back, so to speak, and was slowly shaking off years of being held down by a man that made me doubt that I could be loved by any person other than him. My best friend and I decided that this would be the greatest summer we had ever lived. For the first time, we were of legal drinking age and neither of us were in relationships. Her family owned an income property down the shore and one of the units was being left empty for us to use for three months. We were pigs in shit that summer, entirely unstoppable. If we weren’t at the beach, we were working our way through every bar in the county and daring each other to speak to men we didn’t yet know.

One Friday, we were watching a cover band in a bar three towns over. I had already switched from Jack Daniels to Shirley Temples and went outside to smoke while a middle-aged man spoke to my best friend about local politics. On my way out of the bar, I thought I saw a smirk I recognized. It wasn’t impossible to see someone I knew, but I couldn’t figure out exactly why I knew him. I blew smoke rings on the patio as I worked my way through the Guess Who? game in my head. Did we go to school together? Am I just recognizing him from his profile on a dating app? Why do I know that face? As I walked back in, I heard his voice and I knew exactly who he was. I told my friend that I wanted us to walk past him, so I could re-introduce myself. As we approached, I made eye contact and tilted my head, as though I was recognizing him for the first time. 

“Oh hi, I know you. You probably don’t remember me, but ohmigosh how are you!?”

He stared at me for a few seconds before I let him off the hook.

“I’m S--------. L------ and W--------’s kid. You used to bowl with them. P-------, right? You look great.”

“Oh holy shit! S--------, I didn’t recognize you at all.” He looked me up and down, but not in the creepy way. “You grew up. I mean, we both grew up. But you, you look like an adult now. Wow, yeah, hi. Where have you been?”

He was probably in his mid-thirties, but the only thing giving it away were the small wrinkles forming around his eyes and the handful of gray hairs mixed into his already fair hair. We spent the better part of the next two hours swapping horror stories. We talked about how rocky the road to the present had been and resolved ourselves to hang out again. As I was walking out the door, my best friend reminded me that he was really quite cute and shouldn’t I invite him down the shore? I immediately ran back in and told him he was going with us to the beach in two weeks, rain or shine. I saved his phone number and made him pinky promise not to cancel.

I texted him two days before we were supposed to all go out on the boardwalk. He solidified the plans and I sent him our address. He would meet us down there after work on Friday and we would all head back home Saturday afternoon. My best friend and I took bets on what his car would look like. She thought it would be a small silver SUV, I put my money on a dark metallic red or green sedan, probably a Toyota. When a green Camry pulled into the driveway, she did a shot. The three of us walked to the bar, where we met up with some more people we knew. He and I took turns buying the drinks until I couldn’t light my own cigarettes.

He refused to ignite a Newport for me and handed me an American Spirit. I protested, I wanted my chemical steeped tobacco.

“I’m trying to save your life. Just say thank you and smoke it.” 

We laughed and talked more until I made him hold my arm as I walked down the steep stairs from the rooftop bar. 

“Look at you, saving my life again.” 

The walk home was about four blocks and with every block, we fell more behind the rest of the group, more focused on trying to quietly continue whatever drunk conversation we were having than keeping up. 

At some point shortly after entering the house, I lost track of him and started preparing myself for my hangover. I made a bagel and dug one of my hidden Gatorades out of the back of the fridge. We had no furniture, so I sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter, eating my snack. He came in and made a faux-outraged remark about not being offered a bagel. I held out my own bagel for him to take, which he refused, opting instead to kiss me. I pulled back abruptly.

“I’m going to hate myself for saying this, but can I finish my bagel first? Also, I like the color of your eyes. They’re blue but not blue, green.”

“Uh... Sure. Yeah. Finish your bagel.” He proceeded to stand there and watch me eat my bagel. Yes, this was really as uncomfortable as it sounds. When my precautionary carbohydrates had been consumed, I hopped off the counter and pulled him by the wrist to the room that held my twin-sized air mattress. 

What happened after that is, admittedly, blurry. I know that at one point, I dislocated his shoulder and had to help him pop it back into place. I was horrified but he explained that it happened often as a result of an old soccer injury. The next morning, I slid out of the room to take a shower and throw up all of the alcohol that was left from the night before. I was beyond sick and afraid of waking him up. My best friend had left very early that morning for a prior engagement that she had completely forgotten about, which meant that I would have to ride home with him. I laid in bed for what felt like an eternity until he started to stir. Within 15 minutes, we were in the car, quietly driving toward home. It was one of the most solemn commutes of my life. 

A week or so later, I reached out to invite him to a trivia game at a bar. He responded that he never meant for that type of thing to happen between the two of us. I admitted that it was my every intention that things transpire as they did. He said he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. I didn’t reply and we have not spoken since, but I’m still appreciative of that night. It was fun in those moments. But, it also taught me some situations should be left alone, though I would make the same decision multiple times in the coming years.

[memyselfandmydepression-blog]

Death, grief and depression

Yesterday, Chester Bennington, frontman of Linkin Park, was found dead in his home; suspected suicide.

No, he’s not the first celebrity to pass away in the last few years. Not the first musician. Artist. Performer. Singer.

But he’s one of those people, whose art I love and adore.

Yes, it’s always tragic. It’s horrible.

But like many people my age, I grew up with Linkin Park’s music. Hybrid Theory was the first CD my brother ever bought. I loved it! Then Meteora came out. Loved it as well. The lyrics, the music videos... So much I could relate to. And that’s probably true for a huge chunk of my generation.

Nonetheless, their newer albums I wasn’t so in love with. I wasn’t as obsessed with their more recent music. So, I didn’t expect the news to impact me all that much. Just another tragic death of a celebrity.

But it did. It hit me. Hard.

It made me think about all the times I’ve thought about taking my own life. Not by hanging, though. Never hanging. Too long and painful.

It made me happy that I haven’t done it. That I decided - against all odds - to keep fighting.

I was already in a depressive episode, heavily sprinkled with anxiety. Not a terrible one... Just one where I’m unmotivated and demoralised and struggle to do work. And I have to force myself out of bed and into daytime clothes and go to work and do my job.

But this news... Surprisingly, hit me so damn hard. It was all over my facebook newsfeed (I guess you really do surround yourself with people like you). I kept ignoring it, but it just kept popping up. Another one of my facebook friends has either shared the news, commented on it, or posted an LP song. And every single one commented on how much LP’s music has helped them through their life.

I was just starting to slowly crawl out of this depressive, anxiety-filled state when this happened... And it didn’t help me.

It made me think about other people who struggle with their mental health. And in particular musicians. Which made me think about Lindsey Stirling... And how I’ve been meaning to watch her film, Brave Enough. But I kept postponing it for a later time, cause I knew it was going to be heavy - I went to her concert earlier this year, where she talked about her struggles and how she had lost her best friend in the last couple of years, and how she lost her dad recently. But despite that, she kept fighting and being “brave enough” to feel again and to love, and to open herself up again. Because if you close yourself up for the bad things, then you close yourself up for the good things as well.

I literally just finished watching it.

And it made me realise... In the last few years, I’ve lost a few family members. And I haven’t gone to one funeral. My brain refuses to accept and believe that these people are no longer in my life. Since I was about 15 or 16, I’ve lost a schoolmate and an amazing teacher as well. Didn’t go to those funerals either. I just don’t cope well with death. Yes, I feel sad and... And that’s about it. I haven’t experienced grief. Real grief.

Or so I thought.

Grief, just like depression and anxiety, and any other mental monster, can hit you at the most unexpected of times.

Recently, I lost my nan. She was the only grandparent I had left. The two ones on my dad’s side passed away when I was less than 2, so I don’t remember them at all. My grandad on my mum’s side passed away when I was about 6 or 7, so I vaguely remember him. But my nan... She passed away when I was 20-something.

I remember reading a text from my dad, telling me the news. I kept staring at my phone, paralysed. Then it sank in. I was out with a fair amount of people at the time... I tried to be strong and not let anything show. But I needed to take some space first. I was good while we were all out.

Then we got back to my partner’s place. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I couldn’t be strong. I needed to let it out. I just started crying. Sobbing. I felt... This extreme sadness and grief that I’ll never see my nan again. I couldn’t even speak. Not because of the sobbing, I just felt like I was physically incapable of speaking. Not even simple words like “yes” and “no”. I had to type on my phone if I wanted to say something.

I was devastated. Crushed.

At the same time, I was quite happy that a few weeks prior I had decided to go back home for Easter and had asked my mum, dad and brother to go visit my nan.

Being in that small town always made me feel so... Peaceful. And happy. Content.

I haven’t been there since and I think I will always regret not going back home for the funeral, too.

I will occasionally get a dream with my nan. Or one where I’m back in that small town. In that apartment. I would always wake up from those dreams feeling sad.

...

But all of this made me realise that there’s been a lot of deaths in my life I haven’t dealt with at all. I haven’t even attempted to.

The year before that happened, the summer of 2014, I was doing a full-time internship before starting my permanent full-time job a few months later. One day I got a call from my brother. Reception was very poor where I worked (a tiny office in a tiny town near the seacoast). My brother never calls me during work. On my phone (instead of an app). So I panicked. My first thought was that something had happened with our parents.

I went to the small meeting room we had, where reception was slightly better, although still terrible. He asked me if I were sitting down. I found the closest chair. And completely froze up in panic.

He started telling me that our cousin (the son of my mum’s twin sister) had been working in the States this summer (something very common for people from Bulgaria). And he’d got hit by a car one night and he was in hospital. “Oh dear... He must be in a critical state...” - I thought. Then my brother went on, telling me that he’d passed away. My brain couldn’t process what I was being told.

I went back to work as if nothing happened. It was still on my mind, but it just wouldn’t get through to me.

The next day on my commute to work, it hit me. I started crying on the train, hidden behind my huge sunglasses. I then went to a shop near the station and bought some sweets to the office - a tradition we have back home (long story). I went in, telling my boss and my colleague what had happened (and explaining the tradition we had). My boss told me I could take the day off if I needed to. I didn’t. I stayed in and had a few sobs here and there, but I went on working.

Slowly and without me realising, it had seeped into my life. I was depressed. That was when I gave it a name - because I went to a therapist for the first time. I thought I was just grieving, but... No, it was more than that.

I kinda started dealing with it, but 4 sessions are nowhere near enough to deal with this. Still, it was a start. It helped me give a name to whatever was going on in my head. Somehow, that was a huge relief. It didn’t help with the depression and grief, but defining your problem(s) strangely helps to fight it/them. I guess because you know what you’re fighting against.

...

Fast forward to 2015, a few weeks after the anniversary of my cousin’s death and a few months after my nan’s. My uncle, who had been fighting cancer, had passed away. I was working on a code red situation at a warehouse in the middle of nowhere when I found out (via trusted ol’ Facebook ofc).

Same thing - couldn’t accept that I’d never see this amazing person ever again.

...

I’ve never fully dealt with any of these. Which is why the news about Chester hit me so hard. It wasn’t the news per se, but everything that had happened prior. The whole avalanche effect.

Yet more things I need to talk to a therapist about. If only I could afford it...

#chester bennington #rip chester #grief #me myself and my depression #memyselfandmydepression #depression #mental health #mental illness #anxiety #i am 1 in 4