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buckysimp101 · 2 years

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Just Friends- Part 3

Summary: Almost thirty years after the fight that ended your friendship with the rudest, crudest bassist in the history of metal, you run into a ghost from your past while living in Las Vegas.

platonic!Nikki Sixx x Reader

a/n: soooo yeah, here we are. this is the last part of this fic and honestly i was so excited to write this part! with the way their friendship/relationship was set up i had a clear direction i wanted their futures to go and here we are! i hope you enjoy!

warnings: language, mentions of overdose, some bestie fluff tbh

Part 1 | Part 2

October, 2016 Las Vegas, NV

Twenty nine years have passed since that night in Nashville. The one that had, arguably, changed your life forever. After catching the first flight back to Los Angles you spoke with your landlord and were able to cut your lease. You packed up all your clothes and got on the next flight to New York. You had decided you wanted a bit of a break from life in the city of angels.

Throughout the next twenty nine years you picked up a career as a self-taught photographer, going on to achieve recognition in multiple magazines around the world. In these last years you had never married; however, you had a few flings and occasional long term relationships during that time. Your longest, and probably most serious, relationship led to the birth of your twin sons, Theo and Kai, in 1994. Thats right, the universe had blessed you with your own terror twins. You had broken up in 2001 but you still co-parented the boys successfully. Your little family had made the move back to LA when the boys were 6 and you continued your career in photography there until they went off to college, at which you point you shifted to Las Vegas.

Vegas is where you began to work with musicians once more. You worked with different venues and owners to photograph celebrities during their Vegas residencies. You got to rub elbows with the members of KISS and even Britney Spears when she did hers. All this led to you stepping foot back into the world of music. A world you thought you’d left behind long ago. You didn’t really speak to the members of Mötley Crüe. Nikki had never tried to reach out to you but you had managed to occasionally keep up with him over the years through various news outlets.

The hardest day for you was December 23, 1987. The day Nikki Sixx died, and was subsequently brought back to life. You were still living in New York at the time when you got the phone call from one of your LA friends in hysterics, babbling incoherently about turning on the news and something something Nikki Sixx. You had managed to turn on the news to be assaulted with the information that Nikki Sixx had died. Frantically you dialed Nikki’s house phone, hoping foolishly that this was an April Fools joke in December but there was no answer. So you did what any rational, former friend of Mötley Crüe would do. You called Mick Mars.

Mick answered the phone that night and reassured you that while yes, Nikki was clinically dead, he was alive. And he was being a fucking dumbass that needed to figure out what to do with his life. You offered to hop on the first flight back to LA but Mick held you off. He told you that you needed to figure out your life before you’d ever be able to help Nikki with his. And he was right. By the time you’d figured out your life, Nikki had a wife and a kid on the way. But you wouldn’t trade your experiences for anything, nor your friendships with the rudest, crudest, and frankly sleaziest, band of the last three and a half decades.

It was your off day and still pretty early so you had decided to treat yourself to a day at the New York, New York casino, before the rest of the city decided to truly start their day. You had just been sitting down at one of the slot machines for a few minutes when a gorgeous brunette woman sat to play at the machine next to you. She looked like the models you used to photograph in the earlier days of your photography career. You decided to raise the bet, just a little higher. You won some free spins and the chance to play a mini-game. You were focused. The mini-game gave way to a mini jackpot win, about five hundred dollars. While the game made it’s winning noises you couldn’t help but hear a sound that you thought you’d never hear again. A laugh that haunted you like the ghost of your past to this day.

There, next to the gorgeous brunette who had just sat down next to you not five minutes before, was a familiar head of black hair. Eyes, that you just knew were as green as seaglass under those sunglasses, looking at the screen of the slot machine in front of him. Your mouth moved faster than your brain and before you knew it you were saying, “Nikki fucking Sixx, is that you?”

His neck nearly snapped with the speed at which he looked up, momentarily startling Courtney. That voice had been one he hadn’t heard in a long time. Almost thirty years if he was doing his math correctly. Nikki finally turned his head to look in your direction, the two of you meeting each others’ eyes for the first time in twenty nine years. His mouth started to hang open and hot tears started to well in your eyes. Courtney sat between the two of you with a confused look on her face and a quick raise of her brow at the look on Nikki’s face. “Holy shit, Y/N?” Nikki finally managed to sputter, Courtney’s confusion ebbing and a look of recognition of the name coming over her face, the corner of her lips pulling up in a small smile.

“In the flesh, Sixxter! Also, I’m so sorry, I definitely didn’t mean for it to seem like I just overlooked you, I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N,” you introduced yourself.

“Courtney Sixx, I’ve heard so much about you. I never thought I’d actually have the opportunity to meet you,” Courtney responded, reaching out to shake your hand.

You laughed at her statement and shook her hand enthusiastically. “Honestly, I never thought I’d have the opportunity to meet you. I had heard about your wedding through one of those magazines, you did good, Sixx,” you added with a wink in Nikki’s direction, a small blush forming on Courtney’s cheeks.

“Alright, enough ragging on me. Where’s my introduction? You gonna shake my hand or give me a hug, princess?” Nikki threw your nickname from thirty years ago back at you like it was nothing causing you and Courtney to both roll your eyes. But you stole a quick glance at Courtney, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. She could tell the question you were asking with your eyes and her smile only grew. In response, you approached the man that had changed your life with the biggest hug you could muster.

“Holy shit dude, it’s been so long. Why the fuck are you wearing sunglasses inside?” you mumbled into his chest as Nikki squeezed the life out of you and barked out a laugh, almost as if he was making sure you were real.

You ended the hug and wiped away a few stray tears that had managed to creep their way down your cheeks, your reaction causing Nikki to laugh. “God, when’d you get so emotional, princess?” he added, wiping a few tears away from his own eyes causing all three of you to laugh at the ridiculousness.

“I’ve always been emotional, Sixx. Just couldn’t exactly show it around you idiots,” you jested, “now what the hell are you doing in Vegas? Are you two still living in LA?”

“My new band Sixx:AM is performing at the T-Mobile Arena tonight and Court wanted to spend part of the day here before I had to leave to get ready and, well, here we are!” Nikki smiled at Courtney as he moved his arm around his wife’s waist, the motion causing more tears to spring to your eyes. They weren’t sad tears. Not at all. They were some of the happiest tears you had shed since the day your boys were born. You were just so damn happy for Nikki. Nikki turned his attention back to you and asked, “Now what about you? What have you been up to? What are you doing here? I heard you introduce yourself with the same last name, you married?”

“Pump the brakes for a second, hon. Let the woman breathe. It’s not everyday you run in to your best friend for the first time in thirty years,” Courtney said softly while rubbing small circles on Nikki’s back.

Her statement caused you to laugh. Same old, Sixx. “It’s okay, Courtney. Nikki never learned to slow down, I see,” you added with a wink towards his wife before continuing, “well after Tennessee, I headed up to New York for a bit and ended up starting up a career in photography. Mostly models at first, got a couple gigs thanks to a few girls that knew me from hanging with you and the Crüe funnily enough. Stayed there for a bit, never married but I’ve got two boys, twins if you can believe that luck. And we moved out to LA when Theo and Kai were about six. When they went off to college, I moved here. I’d done so many gigs at that point that eventually I got offered a job photographing some musicians and bands in residence. I was KISS’s photographer last year...”

Nikki swore someone had to be cutting onions in his vicinity with the way his eyes were tearing up as you told him about your life. He knew it just as well as you did, the two of you were like fire and gasoline when you were together. Not helping the other, just feeding the destruction. But here you are. Both of you happy and healthy and doing what you love.

“Okay, stop getting all sappy on me, Sixx. I see those fucking tears. Knock it off before you make me cry,” you joked, making Courtney laugh even more. You liked her. A lot.

“Oh shut up, Y/N,” Nikki responded, not so subtly trying to wipe the tears from his eyes, only making you and Courtney laugh harder. He liked this. Seeing you and Courtney interact made his heart full.

“Hey are you guys using these machines? Some of us wanna play too ya know?” some kid who looked barely legal to be in the casino asked, surrounded by a group of his also-questionably-aged friends.

You rolled your eyes at the children and held your hand out to Courtney, “come on, wanna go get something to eat and catch up?” you asked the couple, to which they immediately nodded, as soon as Nikki was done glaring at the kids that interrupted the three of you.

The three of you finished your conversation at the Irish pub in the casino before Nikki had to head back to their hotel room to get ready for the show. But not before you had the opportunity to tell him how proud you were of him and his fifteen years of sobriety. You both reassured each other that you never had any lingering ill feelings towards the other, that eventually you both understood that you leaving the tour was probably the best thing for both of you at the time. It was your absence, Nikki said, that ultimately kicked his ass into gear following his overdose. Courtney just sat and watched as two best friends reconnected and you made sure to include her whenever possible. The three of you promised to catch up again and made sure to swap contact information, and follow each other on social media of course.

Over the next six years, the three of you caught up whenever possible. When you found out Courtney was pregnant, you bought the crib and nursery decorations and a scrapbook/photo album that Nikki could fill with photos of their new baby. Courtney had asked you at one point during her pregnancy if you ever wanted to be a mom again to which you just laughed. Your answer? “Hell no, the terror twins I had were enough for me. I swear it was like trying to wrangle slightly tamed versions of Nikki and Tommy.” The three of you laughed at that.

You followed all the other members of the Crüe on social media, hell you even tried to reach out to Tommy via DM one day but he never read it, or it could buried under a sea of other messages. Vince and Mick used social media the least of the four, but you made sure to follow them and keep up with them whenever possible. You didn’t necessarily want your first reunion with the boys to be virtual. And that brings you to...

September 9, 2022 Las Vegas, NV- The Stadium Tour

When Mötley announced that their new tour end date was going to be in Vegas, you knew you had to find a way to get there. You could afford tickets, sure. But that wasn’t going to be good enough. But somehow, you were offered a gig to photograph the show and you just couldn’t turn it down. You had contacted Courtney the second you found out about the offer to let her know that you wanted to try and surprise the boys at the show and she got so excited. Mostly she couldn’t wait to introduce you officially to Ruby, you’d seen her over social media and the occasional Facetime call but never in person.

You made your way through the backstage area of Allegiant Stadium, your hands nervously playing with the name-tag given to you out front. As you turned the corner that’s when you saw them. Nikki and Tommy were playing hide and seek with Ruby, Mick and Vince were talking in the corner mimicking something that had to do with the show, and Courtney was talking with Brittany, Rain and Seraina. It was Courtney who noticed you first, her eyes lighting up as she yelled, “hey hon, what’s that over there?” pointing in your direction to make sure Nikki looked the right way. That got everyone’s attention and suddenly way too many eyes were on you. Eyes that you hadn’t seen in far too long.

“HOLY FUCK! IS THAT YOU, PRINCESS?” Tommy yelled, his eyes wide and mouth open while Nikki looked like his twin, go figure. Vince and Mick looked at each other like fish out of water at Tommy’s statement. Tommy and Nikki made eye contact before they were both taking off across the stage, pushing each other out of the way to see who could get to you first. Tommy won.

“Woaaaaaah there, T-bone! Let me down, I’m a grown woman damn it!” you squealed as the human personification of a stick picked you up and swung you around.

“Let her down, Tommy. Gotta share princess with the rest of us!” Nikki yelled, dodging out of the way of your legs as Tommy swung you one more time. The three of you were cackling like a bunch of witches by the time the group hug was all over.

“Alright you two, enough. Lemme go see these pretty wives of yours and these other two hooligans I’ve missed very much,” you stated, wrapping your arm around both of the original Terror Twins’ waists and dragging them to the rest of the group.

“It’s just like old times,” Tommy fake sniffled while Nikki rolled his eyes and mussed up your hair.

“Hey, hands off, Sixx. Only Courtney gets to mess up my hair,” you joked upon your arrival in front of the group, Courtney blushing at the innuendo. That was your goal every time the three of you caught up. See who could make Courtney blush the most. She was married to Nikki Sixx so she had some tough skin, but damn if every time you complimented her she didn’t turn pink.

She removed yourself from the weight of the Terror Twins and wrapped your arms around Courtney, “hiya, Court. Miss me?”

“More and more every day, princess,” she added with a kiss to your cheek, you doing the same to her. Ruby clung to her mama’s leg and you looked down at her. Every time you saw her, you saw different features that resembled Nikki or Courtney. But damn if this child wasn’t a near perfect mix of the two.

“Ruby, this is your Auntie Y/N. You remember, Auntie Y/N?” Courtney asked softly, trying to coax Ruby away from her legs. Ruby’s eyes widened in recognition of the person she had seen so many times on Facetime as she unwound her arms from her mother’s legs and threw herself at yours. “Auntie Y/N!” she yelled as you bent down to pick her up and give her a proper hug. You passed her back to Courtney and introduced yourself to Brittany, Rain and Seraina as they were in your immediate circle.You didn’t need to explain who you were, they all seemed to have heard stories about “princess” at some point over the years. The nickname caused you to smile and roll your eyes, you’d never be getting rid of it. Your smile caught as you saw Mick and Vince looking at you, both frozen in place.

“You okay there, blondie?” you called out cheekily. It took Vince a second before he seemed to realize that you were talking to him.

“I think so, I mean...it’s not every day I see a ghost,” he added, slowly walking towards you with Mick in tow.

“No ghost here, Neil. Just a real, live human who has waited thirty-five years for a Vinnie special,” you added with a wink, holding your arms out for a hug which he happily gave you. You could swear you heard him sniffle.

“Don’t go crying on me now, Neil. Gotta be strong for the pretty ladies,” you added with a wink causing him to scoff and push off you with a roll of his eyes. Vince started talking about how Nikki had told them all about the two of you reconnecting in Vegas six years ago and about how your life had changed for the better after you left Mötley, making a joke at how of course you’d have twin boys, almost like a punishment, making everyone laugh in response. Vince hadn’t changed a bit.

Eventually that just left you and Mick. The guitarist looked at you, a fondness in his eyes.The look on his face belonging to the older brother you never had biologically but were magically gifted in 1981. You had grown. Of course you had. You looked good. Healthy. Happy. Kids. A succesful career you enjoyed. It was all he could have asked for.

“Hey kid. I see you figured this whole life thing out huh?” Mick asked softly as you approached him, the two of you breaking into tears the second he wrapped you into a hug. You were home. Here in this arena, where soon 65,000 people would be cheering and singing along to songs you heard the boys write. Here with the rudest and crudest band of the last four decades. Here with this motley crew of a family that you had somehow wiggled your way back into. And you couldn’t have been happier.

the end! i hope y’all liked this fic! Thank you @youlightmeupfinn for your help and @la-undercover-latina for your support! i love you besties!

taglist:

@youlightmeupfinn

@la-undercover-latina

@ali-r3n

@hallecarey1

@valeriiecameron

@snufflet

@leatherandheels

@chevygirl1988

@marvelsshadow* (couldn’t tag properly)

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x yn #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx x yn fic #nikki sixx x reader fic #Motley Crue #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #brittany furlan #courtney sixx #BuckySimp101

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five-miles-over · 1 year

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Hey Author chan

Happy new year!!!

I love what you did with my request its sooo dfadjfkjskfnjg I love it and I was hoping if you can do a pt.2 to see how reader chan progressed since she took the job as well as if their relationship took off. It would be the best birthdaay gift EVER

Hi there, @omgsuperstarg ! Thank you so much for your patience, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. Also, I wish you a belated happy, happy birthday. I'm thinking about turning this into a series called "You're Never Leaving" in which the reader - our journalist - becomes a part of Mr.Hiddleston's dark world and his inner circle. Without any further ado, I hope you like this Part 2.

You're Never Leaving - Chapter 2

Pairing: Jaguar!Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 4,273

Read Chapter One here

Summary: A private dinner with the enigmatic and elegant Tom Hiddleston gives you the opportunity to learn more about the CEO of Imperial Pharmaceuticals, both the good and the bad.

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and drug overdose deaths. Also, a lot of self-indulgent fluff.

"A table for two at Circolo Poplare - apparently it's a fancy Italian restaurant in London - at six o'clock. And a cocktail dress code," you told your supervisor from the magazine you worked for. It was taking every ounce of willpower inside you to maintain a calm tone. Let's just say the past few hours had something of a mental rollercoaster for you. First, you met in person the enigmatic, ruthless business tycoon named Thomas Hiddleston. Then, you nearly lost your job and landed your magazine in a dangerous lawsuit thanks to one move of yours. You would've had everything you needed if you hadn't been caught by the Mr.Hiddleston while rifling through potentially incriminating documents regarding his company. Then, the enigmatic, dark CEO fed you threats of blacklisting you in the world of journalism before surprising you with a job offer.

Yes, a job offer from Mr. Hiddleston. Instead of moving forward with his threats about suing the very magazine that sent you to London or this interview, Mr. Hiddleston offered you a position at Imperial Pharmaceuticals. As a part of his personal PR team, you would be managing his press and speaking on his behalf to journalists. He lured you in with a perfect mixture of fear and temptation, promising you that this position would give you the upper hand against any journalist working for Forbes, the New Yorker, or any other esteemed publication. And he ended your meeting this afternoon with your signature on a one-year contract, a smug smile on his face, and his lips on your cheek. The last part isn't so important…maybe except for the way his lips felt so soft, like two cotton pillows, when they brushed against your cheek. And the scents of vanilla and champagne in his cologne, which you caught a whiff off when he came close to you…And how he momentarily cupped your arm when he boldly kissed you.

"That's more like it, darling."

God dammit, how did his voice get inside your head?! You mentally cursed yourself and loudly sighed, holding the phone close.

"You sure it's not a date?" Your supervisor teased.

"What? No…no, no no…no, no, no, no, no!" You repeated as many times as possible, pinching the bridge of your nose. "God, no. It's strictly professional…he-he just has a busy schedule."

"Cocktail dress code?"

You painfully shrugged. "Every restaurant has standards, especially this one."

"Alright." Wishing you good luck, your supervisor ended the call. Now it was you and your anxiety alone in a hotel room together.

Had this interview gone as seamlessly as you'd hoped, you'd be spending this evening in a pub with a pint of Guinness, celebrating your success at finally exposing the corrupt CEO of Imperial Pharmaceuticals as a murderer and sadist wearing a corporate veneer. You would proudly finish at least two pints, and then head to your beloved keyboard to type the story you were sure would be your big break. The one piece of journalism that would show your supervisor, your readers, your editors, and every other great magazine that you were a writer to be reckoned with, someone who would do whatever it takes to expose the truth.

But instead, at five-thirty, you were frantically fixing your hair while simultaneously using the hotel shower to steam the one nice dress you packed in your suitcase. It was more on the business professional side than cocktail in your opinion, but it would have to do. You took the navy A-line crewneck dress out of the shower and hung it on a rack before taking a shower yourself.

When you returned, wrapped in a towel and surrounded by some more steam, you picked up your mobile phone. Among the News notifications, there was a story about Imperial Pharmaceuticals launching a new line of sleeping pills to fight insomnia. And apparently those pills seemed to have little to no side effects, save for hallucinations and lucid dreaming.

"That can't be true," you muttered to yourself, switching to YouTube so you could play your favorite songs while getting ready. Chances were that you were going to end up writing stories just like the one you'd just seen, or at least providing the information for them. His little mouthpiece, telling the press anything that Mr. Hiddleston wanted them to know.

You sighed again as you rubbed facial moisturizer on your cheeks and forehead. While you put on your makeup, starting with the primer, you mulled over your fate. This wasn't what you got into journalism for…you were hoping to write groundbreaking stories about people, stories that would have some sort of impact, not corporate propaganda. Yes, that's exactly what it was: propaganda. You would be putting out glorified story after story about the progress of Imperial Pharmaceuticals, and making every action of Mr.Hiddleston's look ground-breaking or generous or whatever he wanted to look like. On the bright side, at least the contract was only for a year. After that, you could take a new job that was less profit-oriented and more passion-focused.

Just then, your phone buzzed. A phone number from the United Kingdom?

"Hello?"

The person on the other hand said your name, as if he waned to check his pronunciation.

"I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Hiddleston. He's sent a car to pick you up. Are you at the Carlton 90 hotel right now?"

"Yes…how did you know?" You bit your lip.

"Mr. Hiddleston said he'll meet you at the Circolo Poplare at six. I suggest you come downstairs now; the London traffic shows no signs of slowing down. And Mr. Hiddleston does not take kindly to lateness. "

"Alright, I'll be there…" Furrowing you eyebrows, you finished getting dressed and slipped a dark coat over your dress. Wearing the same shoes you wore for the interview earlier today, you grabbed your phone, notepad, pens, a mini voice recorder, a clutch, and then rushed out of the hotel.

Surely enough, there was a black town car with a driver waiting to take you to Circolo Poplare. Your courteously greeted the driver and entered, remaining vigilant while he drove. Of course he told you that he was sent by Mr. Hiddleston, but you needed to know that he was actually taking you to the restaurant and not anywhere else.

The car pulled up in front of a brick building, with the bottom floor painted black and decorated with climbing vines. Potted plants with red and orange flowers surrounded the doors and windows, which were bordered with gauzy curtains. There was a line of people slowly forming outside of the restaurant, just in time for dinner, and it you sighed in relief, knowing the driver brought you to the right destination.

"Don't worry about them," the driver took one pitiful look at the line of people. "That's one of the perks about working for Mr.Hiddleston."

Reluctantly thanking the driver, you climbed out of the car and smoothened your dress. He escorted you to the doorway, showing the restaurant host a small placard. Seeing it, the host straightened himself. "Right this way, miss."

You followed the host through the restaurant, passing by various tables filled with people dressed in elegant clothing, drinking wine and chattering. One of the tables had a circle of tuxedo-clad men with white hair, raising their Negronis in a jovial toast to 'wives and sweethearts'. Perhaps they were college friends, reuniting after decades apart. At a table to your left, a girl - probably no more than nineteen - twirled at a plate of spaghetti while wearing a strapless magenta dress, crossing one leg over the other. Across from her, a middle-aged man - perhaps her father sat across from her, digging into his marinara sauce-covered entree. The man's forehead crinkled as he spoke to her, his eyebrows furrowed and his tone incredibly hushed. On the other hand, the girl seemed like she was trying to appear nonchalant, keeping her eyes on her food and her free hand gripping at the edge of her chair.

"Right here, miss." The host directed you to a round table covered by a white cloth, with silverware set for two, a bouquet of roses on the table, with two wooden pillars nearby to ensure privacy. Across from one of the chairs was a large window offering one of the most beautiful nighttime views of London you could ever imagine. You could see three double-decker buses pass right by, surrounded by pedestrians making their way through the rest of the traffic. Behind the buses, a brick apartment complex with black shutters shone through the night with yellow-lit windows. You could only imagine the lives some of those people led, living in such a high-profile area of the city.

The host took your coat and hung it over your chair, offering you to sit down. "Ah, there she is." A smooth yet crisp, distinct voice made you look up almost immediately.

Mr. Hiddleston sat down across from you, wearing a black and grey checkered, razor-sharp suit. Every dark hair upon his head was gelled back and combed into place, making his skin seem pale in the warm lighting of the restaurant. Handsome yet almost… predatory, dominating like a creature of the night.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me tonight, I-I really appreciate it." You straightened yourself while reaching for your clutch. Trying to maintain casual eye contact with the CEO sitting across from you, your fingers fumbled around for your recorder for this interview…only to find it missing. Did you forget it at the hotel? Did it fall out of your clutch on the way to your table?

"The pleasure is all mine." Mr. Hiddleston tilted his head. "Is something bothering you?" He calmly asked as if he knew exactly what was running through your mind .

"Um…no, no." Now was not the occasion to waste time rifling through your things. You were in the middle of an interview, a once-in-a-lifetime meeting with the great Thomas Hiddleston. Taking a deep breath, you looked up and made eye contact with him, keeping your expression as professional as possible.

For a moment, it almost felt as if you were meeting him for the first time. Like the events of this afternoon had never happened.

A middle-aged server appeared behind Mr. Hiddleston and poured two glasses of red wine, setting one of them in front of you. "Is it the Zinfandel from 1996?" He asked the server.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Mr. Hiddleston picked up his glass and gently swirled its contents.

"The chef wanted me to tell you that your appetizer will be arriving shortly."

"I look forward to it." Mr. Hiddleston turned his attention to you now, raising his glass and inviting you to do the same.

Remain professional, you told yourself as you silently joined his toast and took a drink. Let's remember. No more than one glass. You're going to have to remember everything tonight for your article, especially since your voice recorder is MIA.

"So…" You began after another sip of wine for courage. "Congratulations on your new drug for insomnia."

"Thank you." Mr. Hiddleston mirrored you and placed his hands on the table. "I'm very proud of the work that's been done. Some of the executives and the scientists are going to celebrate at a nightclub on Friday."

"Sounds like fun."

Mr. Hiddleston's pink, thin lips curled upwards. Just then, the most gourmet-looking plate of bruschetta was placed in the center of the table. Six pieces of toasted bread with golden crusts sat upon the serving platter, topped with yellow and red chopped tomatoes, a few slivers of garlic, ribbons of fresh green basil, and drops of golden olive oil that glimmered in the incandescent lighting of the restaurant.

He eagerly grabbed one of the pieces and immediately took a large bite, his smile signaling his approval to the server while he chewed.

As you tried one of the bruschetta for yourself, you couldn't help but savor the contrast between the crunch of the bread and the softness of the ripe, juicy tomatoes. The subtle spiciness of the garlic was present enough to be enjoyed, but not enough to overpower the other flavors of the bruschetta, especially the earthy basil. And the smoothness of the olive oil just tied everything together like a ribbon tying a present. "This is delicious." You almost moaned. "Have you…you've probably been here before, right?"

"Of course, darling. I'd want nothing but the best for my newest employee."

Oh wait, that's right. You weren't just interviewing a businessman or a potential criminal, you were interviewing your future boss.

"I appreciate it, thanks." You managed to say before taking another bite.

Mr. Hiddleston took another sip of wine, and licked his lip. "Have you given them your two weeks' notice yet?"

"I have," you lied.

"When you've finished writing your story about me, I'd love to see a copy. Preferably before publishing it - I'd rather avoid any unpleasant surprises." Mr. Hiddleston chuckled.

"I will," you promised, the same way any employee would tell their boss without a word of protest. "So…why insomnia?"

"Well, it is something people struggle with."

You finished your first piece of bruschetta. "Of course, but I thought a company like yours would prefer to focus their attention on more novel, more topical problems that affect people's health. Isn't there already a competitive market for sleeping pills, and natural supplements like melatonin?"

Mr. Hiddleston bit into his second piece of bruschetta, his cheekbones protruding through his porcelain skin while he chewed. "Do you take melatonin?"

"I used to in college…not anymore."

He rested his right elbow on the table while eating. "Melatonin has a half-life of twenty to fifty minutes, which means its effect would diminish by half within that time. In my opinion…that's far too little time for an insomniac to fall asleep."

"But…isn't that kind of a good thing? This way the drug doesn't stay inside the body for too long."

He nods. "Perhaps, but our drug has a longer half-life and none of the side effects." As Mr. Hiddleston continued to explain the science of melatonin and the business pitch of his company's new drug, simultaneously finishing one more piece of bruschetta and the rest of his glass of wine, you couldn't help but admire the breadth of knowledge he carried about his company's work. There was definitely no way that you were going to remember the way he explained in detail how melatonin was found in the pituitary gland of the brain, not without your voice recorder, but the confidence in his voice and his intellect would receive a mention that was more than honorable. As would the fact that his drug apparently had the fewest side effects of any sleeping medication.

Mr.Hiddleston seemed to notice you zoning out, and he leaned back in his seat. As if on cue, the same server from earlier appeared at your table with two menu cards. "I think someone is ready for the main course." Mr. Hiddleston smirked while a menu was given to you. You had barely glanced at the names of the entrées, many of which were in Italian, before Mr.Hiddleston declared his order with perfect pronunciation. "I'll have the torciglioni alla genovese. And the lady will have the…" he pretends to pause for thought, "gnocchi tricolore." With a playful smile, he handed his menu to the server. You reluctantly returned the menu to the server, pleasantly surprised that Mr.Hiddleston would order for you without even asking first.

But then again…maybe it shouldn't have been such a surprise. After all, Mr.Hiddleston seemed like the man who always preferred to be in control. He was the one who made the reservation, he was the one who sent a driver to pick you up, he was the one who chose the wine, he was the one who initiated the toast, and he was the one now controlling the direction of the conversation. But why would he do all of this, unless he had some sort of ulterior motivation?

"So…" Mr.Hiddleston brought you back into reality by enunciating your name, "what do you think about before you go to sleep? Since we've been talking thus far about insomnia and the inability of some to sleep…what plagues your thoughts at night?" He takes a sip from his second glass of wine.

"I…think about the work that I have to do the next day." You stammered, tracing the rim of the glass with your finger.

Mr. Hiddleston tutted. "What a pitiful way to live."

Nervously chuckling, you looked down for a moment. "Yeah…you're right."

"Is that all you think about, your work? Surely, there must be something else…someone else that occupies you at night? Come on, darling."

You shook your head, continuing to sheepishly laugh. "No. No one."

He glanced at his silver Officine Panerai watch, and then turned his attention back to you, grinning like a playwright witnessing his own scenes being brought to life. "You know, sometimes the things we think about at night affect the quality of our sleep."

Just then, the server returned with both of your entreés. He placed a platter of rigatoni-like pasta tossed in meat sauce in front of Mr.Hiddleston and then proceeded to grate fresh pecorino cheese on top of the dish, effortlessly moving the block of cheese along the grater as if he were playing a mandolin. The server stopped as soon as Mr.Hiddleston raised his hand, and respectfully backed away. While Mr.Hiddleston tasted a forkful of the torciglioni alla genovese, closing his eyes while he chewed, the server brought you the gnocchi tricolore. The little red, green, and yellow dumplings were evenly covered in a thin tomato sauce that smelled of Italian herbs. Just as he'd done with Mr.Hiddleston's entrée, the server began to grate a little fresh cheese on top of your food, just enough to garnish the gnocchi.

"My compliments to the chef tonight," Mr.Hiddleston beamed after he'd finished his first bite. "The lamb ragu is exquisite."

"I'll be sure he gets the message, sir." The server cleared the table of the remaining bruschetta, refilled Mr.Hiddleston's wine, and left the table.

Feeling a little bold in the moment, you straightened yourself and leaned forward ever-so-slightly. "And what about you, Mr.Hiddleston?"

"What about me, darling?" Mr. Hiddleston continued to enjoy his pasta, returning to his former delight.

"What do you think about when you fall asleep?" You pricked your fork into a few of the gnocchi, preparing to take a bite.

He chuckled, showing a thin row of white teeth. "Nothing."

Holding a hand over your mouth while you chewed, the gnocchi almost seemed to melt in your mouth. The tomato-based sauce seemed to complement the starchy, potato flavor of the tri-colored dumplings very well without overpowering the dish, and it was unlike anything you'd ever had before. "Nothing?"

Mr.Hiddleston shook his head, mimicking your gesture.

You almost found yourself wishing this truly was a date and not an interview. If it was a date, you could completely focus on how utterly charming Mr.Hiddleston could be…maybe you could forget, even just for a moment, that this man was the same person who threatened to sue the magazine you worked for. That this man was the one who could've blacklisted you in the world of journalism and yet chose to offer you a job at his company.

"The truth is that…I don't sleep very often." He confessed while the two of you ate. "About three or four hours a night. My schedule keeps me quite busy."

You asked him if he ever needed medication to sleep, and he laughed quietly.

"As a matter of fact, no. Quite ironic, isn't it darling?" Mr.Hiddleston continued, "When I retire for the night, however late it may be, I'm very tired to the point that my eyes close as soon as my head meets the pillow. Truly, it's that simple."

"You really are a busy man," was all you could say.

He finished his second glass of wine. "You'll have a chance to see that firsthand when you start working for me next week."

Next week? How on earth were you going to start a new job in one week? Is that really the date he listed on his contract, or was Mr.Hiddleston trying to mess with you? You gulped, looking down at your half-eaten gnocchi. You would need to find a place to live, a way to commute to the headquarters of Imperial Pharmaceuticals, a work permit…and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Besides," Mr.Hiddleston added, "I find real life much more fascinating than the Realm of Morpheus, especially…right now."

The server soon returned, inquiring if the two of you were interested in ordering dessert. Mr.Hiddleston politely declined, glancing in your direction. "My sweet tooth has already been satiated. Just the cheque will be fine, and a takeaway box with calamari and arancini."

Wondering what the takeaway box could possibly be for, you watched the server clear the table once again and made a mental note to pick up some ice cream when this interview is over. When the cheque arrived inside a black Castilian folder, you reached for your credit card and placed it on top before Mr.Hiddleston gently put his hand on top of yours.

"This is a business expense," he explained with a smirk, handing his black MasterCard to the server. "A welcome dinner to celebrate my newest employee."

Mr.Hiddleston raised the glass of wine again and proposed a toast. "To your future at Imperial Pharmaceuticals." The server returned his card to him, and handed him a bag containing the takeaway box he requested. "Ah, thank you." He handed the server a fifty-pound note.

Mr.Hiddleston pushed your chair back, gently helped you put your coat on, and personally returned your clutch to you. Then, he offered you his arm and the two of you walked towards the exit of the restaurant. In that moment, you swore that a stray camera - probably not paparazzi - nearly blinded you for a moment. On the other hand, the CEO of Imperial Pharmaceuticals was barely paying any attention. With the arm holding the takeaway bag, Mr.Hiddleston raised a mobile phone to his ear and conversed in a serious tone.

"Miss Adler, I understand that you think you know them well, but I assure you, Shelby will take care of the trouble in Baker Street. I think my men can handle a pair of boys with big heads. Perhaps it's in your best interest to back away from the matter now. This is your last warning."

With those words, Mr.Hiddleston ended the call.

Baker Street…why did that name sound so familiar to you? And then, you remembered something you'd seen while rifling through Mr.Hiddleston's office - on top of his desk, there was a stick note that said, 'Silence the Baker Street Boys.' That could only mean that he was planning to do something to the detective that lived there, the one who knew about Mr.Hiddleston's potential involvement in a mass overdose within a London community riddled with drug addicts. But…if Mr.Hiddleston found the need to 'silence' someone with a word against him, then it probably meant that Mr.Hiddleston wasn't just involved in it, but might've had a hand in organizing the crime. Either way, the Baker Street Boys - including the detective - needed to watch their backs.

"I believe this brings us to the end of our evening together." Mr.Hiddleston turned to you with a smile.

You nodded. "Thank you very much for dinner…this was nice."

Mr.Hiddleston leaned in and kissed your cheek just like he did earlier today, sending a tingle down your spine. As he leaned in, you caught a whiff of his cologne - the same sophisticated scents of vanilla and champagne - and felt your heartbeat quicken just a little.

He walked towards the front of the black town car parked outside the restaurant and presented the takeaway to the driver, the same jovial man who brought you here, as a gift for his troubles that evening. After bidding you good night, and making sure you got into the car safely, Mr. Hiddleston took out his keys from his pocket and opened the door to his own vehicle: a sleek, dark grey Jaguar.

He climbed into the front seat and locked the door. Then, he leaned back in the front seat and fished from his pocket…your voice recorder. He'd swiped it from the host of the restaurant, the same one who escorted you inside and helped you remove your coat. From there, the host was able to steal the recorder from your pocket and hand it to Mr.Hiddleston under the table.

Mr.Hiddleston pressed the play button, a small smile forming on his face as soon as he heard your voice. "Thank you so much for meeting with me tonight, I-I really appreciate it."

He murmured with a small smirk, glancing at the rear-view mirror to see the black town car drive away. "It was my pleasure." Mr.Hiddleston set the voice recorder aside, and put his foot on the ignition pedal.

Tagging: @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @thatdummy-girl @holdmytesseract @icytrickster17 @winterfrostlovetriangle @cakesandtom @mischievoushiddleston @lady-rose-moon @turniptitaness @jennyggggrrr @the-haven-of-fiction @fantasyfan4life @hellomadamebutterfly @sallymagnoliaposts @gigglingtigger @marveloushiddleston @venomdeathly @raelorns21 @smolvenger

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t0bi0ss · 2 years

Text

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝟎𝟎

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a car accident took kageyama’s parents, his grandfather passed away years later, his sister sick in the hospital. this all took huge hits to kageyama, but he pushed forward, but it took a toll on his personality, causing him to become cold, which in turn caused him to be bullied. when in high school, he continued to be bullied, but when a bully sees it’s not enough, they create a rumor. it reaches his team and they don’t know who to believe. they become distant from him. tsukishima was the only one to take his side because he knew it wasn’t true, but even with tsukishima’s support, the blond still held onto the raven.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the three things, at different times, that causes kageyama to break.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst/comfort/fluff

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Tsukishima Kei/Kageyama Tobio

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 14+

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐜: 1558

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of death, mentions of blood, fever reducer overdose.

March 3, 2002– 6 years old

The sky was darker than ever as the rough storm raged on. The small Kageyama only watched from his window as he jumped at the sound of loud thunder. “Tobio, you shouldn’t be sitting so close to the window in this storm.” Miwa said as she picked him up.

“When’s mom and dad coming back?” he asked. “Probably not until tomorrow with this storm getting worse by the hour.” Miwa answered. “Hopefully they’re not stupid enough to try and drive through this.”. Kageyama only hummed with a sad look.

“I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow, no need to worry about them.” Miwa said, “Now, it’s time for bed.” she said, bringing him to his room. “I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow morning for you to come greet ok?” She assured him, and Kageyama believed him.

“Two dead in a head on collision. The victims, — Kageyama and — Kageyama.” The reporter said on the TV the next morning. Kageyama watched with tears in his eyes. Kazuyo, his grandfather, turned the TV off. Miwa hugged her little brother as he cried, Kazuyo hugged them both. “I’ll take care of you two.” He said.

November 16, 2010– 13 years old

Kageyama looked around the audience, he had really hoped that his grandfather or sister would come and watch his game. He frowned when he didn’t see either of the Kageyama’s. He just went back to his game.

Towards the end, he caught a glimpse of his sister, she was putting on a happy smile to fool him. But, with being with her for so long he knew it was fake and that she was upset. ‘Is something going on?’ Kageyama questioned. He would ask when the game finished, but it still lingered more and more.

Could it be about his grandfather? He knew he was sick, but he didn’t know when he could get better or worse. Once the game ended, his team won. He left them a few minutes later as he went to meet his sister quickly, she was waiting in the hallway.

“Hey!” He said as he hugged her. “I don’t wish to spoil your mood, you just won your game, but I have some bad news.” Miwa said. “Just tell me.” Kageyama said he was a bit prepared for it. Miwa sighed, “Grandpa passed away an hour ago.”. Kageyama froze, “I was with him when he took his last breath.” she said.

Kageyama frowned, his bottom lip quivering. He hid his face in his sister’s arms. “I’m sorry, Tobio. I know how much you loved him.” She said, hugging him tightly. Kageyama was quiet as he cried. Miwa rubbed the back of his head gently, she knew this was just another hit to the boy.

January 23, 2011– 14 years old

“This is Miwa Kageyama, if you’re getting this message then that means I can’t reach the phone right now.” Kageyama sighed lightly until the beed. “Hey, Miwa. I was calling to ask if you wanted to go to that new restaurant for dinner tonight. Call me back soon.” He said before hanging up.

He sighed as he leaned against the wall outside the gym. Volleyball was about to start, he didn’t look forward to it as much as he did before. He didn’t have any friends, his teammates bullied him, and he honestly became pretty cold during this time since his grandfather’s passing.

He sighed as he went inside the gym, he noticed the eyes look at him as he just went to practice on his own. He practiced by himself by setting the ball against the wall inside the gym while he heard everyone else practicing with each other.

He wasn’t bothered by it, what could he do? Let himself be bullied just to practice with the others. ‘They wonder why we’re so off pitch during games. If you don’t practice with the setter then you’re not going to be able to be in sync.’ Kageyama thought.

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head as a thud of a volleyball hit the ground behind him. Kageyama just stood there as he heard laughing, “Whoops! My bad, I didn’t know my serve was so bad!” One of the players said.

Kageyama turned his head to look at them, “Then practice, if you don’t you’ll never get better.” He growled. He could see the player tense. Kageyama looked away and went back to practicing by himself, but he knew eyes were on him, the player did it on purpose and he knew that.

But, they were whispering because they didn’t get the reaction they wanted. Kageyama set the ball against the wall for the rest of practice as everyone just ignored him. Once it was over and Kageyama had already changed, he grabbed his bag and left the gym.

He was greeted by Kindachi, Kunimi, and another kid. Kageyama tried to get around him until his uniform jacket was grabbed and he was pulled against the wall. “Oi-!” Kageyama glared. “Why in such a hurry?” The kid gave a smile.

“Am I not allowed to go home after school or something? Even if I’m in a hurry it’s none of your business about my life outside of school.” Kageyama said. “So you’re just wanting to get home to mommy huh? What run to her and tell her someone hit you with a volleyball? After all, you're a momma’s boy. Think no one saw you last year.” He said.

Kageyama felt his anger boil as he clenched his fist. “That wasn’t my mother, you piece of shit.” He said. “You don’t need to deny it, everyone knows it wa-” He was cut off by a fist hitting him to the ground.

He raised his fist again as he stood over the boy and hit him again. Kindaichi and Kunimi stepped away. A teacher who was still on duty pulled Kageyama off of him. “All 4 of you are going to the principal's with me right now.” She said.

Kageyama was now sitting across the room with the nurse bandaging his hands. “So, please explain what happened?” The principal asked. No one in the room spoke to answer. Kageyama had a scowl on his face while the other three shifted in their seats.

“Um..” Kindaichi started. “Well, — said something that caused Kageyama to hit him. After the first comment I could see he was getting angry.”. “What was the comment about?” The principal asked. “About his mother last year.” Kindaichi answered.

The principal sighed heavily. He then looked at Kageyama. “I see where the issue is.” He said. “Issue? The issue here is that he full on attacked me-” “You had it coming. I believe this is not my place to say but that woman was not his mother, that was his sister.” The principal said.

“Then he should have said something.” “I did, you called me a f*cking lair.” Kageyama said with a low growl. “You never said she was your sister!?” “Enough.” The principal intervened. “Both of you are getting a 4-day suspension. Kindaichi, Kunimi. Detention for 4 days, which means no volleyball club until detention is over.” he said.

“Yes sir.” They all grumbled. “Go home. You’re all dismissed.” he said. Kageyama grabbed his bag quickly and took off out the door. He almost ran home, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be at the school, it’s because he still hadn’t gotten a response from Miwa.

He unlocked the door quickly and rushed inside, “Miwa!” He called out her name, but no response. He looked around downstairs first, finding nothing he searched upstairs until he found her by her door.

Her phone was on and it seemed she was trying to call someone, but she only managed to get the call app opened. She was on the floor, Kageyama knelt down quickly. “Onee-San!” He yelled, shaking her a bit. He noticed a bit of blood under her nose.

Kageyama grabbed her phone and quickly called an ambulance, everything past that was a blur. His sister was now in the hospital sick and unconscious from an overdose of fever reducers, that was what he was told. He stayed in the hospital until he was informed he had to leave because visiting hours were over.

Kageyama could only nod and walk home, as he was walking he felt drops of rain hit him, the chill feeling making him look up at the dark sky that got darker as storm clouds rolled in. He sighed, “great…” he muttered as he continued walking, he would take a bus, but he didn’t have his bus ticket or any money on him.

As soon as he got home he just locked the door, threaded up to his room, changed into some dryer clothes and laid down on his bed. First his parents, then his grandfather, and now his sister. He shoved his face into his pillow, silent sobs came from him, he was alone now, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. These only changed him for the worst. He already had a hard time trying to express himself, this only made him irritable and cold. Soon enough it affected his social life harshly. Then, before graduating junior high he got his horrid title. The King of The Court.

#haikyuu kageyama #haikyuu #kageyama angst #kageyama tobio #kindaichi yuutarou #kunimi akira #kitagawa daiichi #miwa kageyama #haikyū!!#kazuyo kageyama #©T0BI0SS ━ haikyuu

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her-power · 3 months

Text

Last Chance to Dance (Part Five: Rockstar! e.m x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Last Chance to Dance Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

A/N: I'm baaaaaaack. I'm feeling so much better. My son is getting better, and he's still his same goofy one year old self. This ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but the final part will be Part Six! I think you're going to like how I end it. My next series is still brewing in my nogging right now, and I have a few one shot ideas. ALSO, the next series will be a surprise release. What's the theme? You may wonder. Well...I don't know yet! Lmao. I'm just gonna go with the flow, and let my fingers do the talking. (That sounds a little dirty, right? Meh. The dirtier the better!) The series might be based off of a sequence of dreams I have been having of our precious Eddie Munson/Joseph Quinn. I just have to figure out what the fuck they mean. Anyways, I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I also didn't proof read this, again, I let my fingers do the talking. ;)

Summary: Full Summary on Part One

Word Count: 7.4k

Seven months ago… It was a busy day at the hospital; it was so short staffed they had to call you down from oncology to fill in in the ICU. You were straddling a young man on a gurney who had come in with an overdose, doing chest compressions as they wheeled him into the room. He wasn’t responsive, he still had a pulse, but there was no reaction to his pupils or muscle movement. You knew he was likely brain dead; he had been unconscious for twenty minutes before he was found. It didn’t take much time for your brain to die out when there wasn’t any oxygen. You hopped off his gurney, another nurse took over with compressions because you were getting tired; the doctor on call had given him more Narcan, but then he started to code. They attempted to shock his heart two times before they called it. He was only twenty, another young life lost.

You had gone outside for a break; you barely smoked cigarettes anymore but today was one of those days where you were really craving the nicotine. It was a warm day, summer was around the corner, but you could never shake the chills you had when a patient dies. You only had an hour left of your shift, and then you could go home, shower off the day, and then enjoy your next two days off. You were playing a puzzle game on your phone when an unknown number shows up on your screen. You answer, the man on the other end asks if it was you, you say it was, and you’re not sure if you should hang up, or keep listening.

“My name is Ted Callahan, I’m a longtime friend of the band Corroded Coffin, and their manager.”

Your breath hitches for a moment, you scratch your head, confused on what was happening. “Uh…I don’t—”

Corroded Coffin. You have known that name longer than the world has, more than half your life.

“Listen, I know this is out of the blue, but I’m kind of at a loss right now. I’m calling because, Eddie is…he’s going through some stuff right now. He’s been mentioning you a lot lately, and I never even knew you existed until a few weeks ago, but…just hearing him talk about you, and your history, even though I don’t know much. I was wondering if you could help.” He sounds kind, you say to yourself, also exhausted. You never thought you would hear his name again, or even think he'd ever want to associate himself with you again.

“Me?” You say, almost laughing. “I don’t…I haven’t spoken to Eddie in…God, going on fifteen years now. We didn’t…we didn’t end on good terms, I’m surprised he even remembers me, I…” I think about him every day still.

“He said you were his first and only love…listen, honey. I’m gonna give it to you straight here. He almost died a few weeks ago, well, not almost, he did...for probably about five minutes. He overdosed on heroin and now he is in rehab after a legal issue in New York City with a few officers and the paramedics that revived him. I know it’s not your responsibility to save him, but I thought maybe you could reach out to him somehow…a phone call, letter. I don’t know what you kids do these days.”

“He almost died?” You almost whisper it; your breath is caught in your throat and your stomach turns sour.

“I’m not gonna make you do something you don’t want to do, honey. I don’t know exactly what happened with you two, but…there’s a spark that lights up in his eyes when he talks about you that I haven’t seen in a long time. You must have been really special to him.” He tells you softly.

“I don’t know about that.” You whisper. If I was so special, why did he leave?

“Will you at least save my number? Just let me know what you decide. Again, I’m sorry to dump this all on you. I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think it was gonna make an impact on him…because I think if this rehab and sobriety thing doesn’t work, I’m afraid he’ll be dead in a year.”

You rub your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’ll…I’ll think about it. I’ll save your number.”

“Thank you…you have a very kind voice.” He says and you mutter a thanks, you too, and awkwardly hang up the phone. You’re not entirely sure what to think, you just knew you had to get back to work and you would deal with this later.

You tried not to think about him on the drive home; it was hard not to. Most days you went without thinking about him even though he was so very present on your heart. You’ve dated other people off and on for years, but nothing ever stuck. They were good men, but they were lacking something you quite couldn’t put your finger on. They weren’t him. You rolls your eyes at yourself, you hated how pathetic you felt when you thought about him. He was this famous rockstar, making millions, selling out stadiums and releasing records and most likely fucking every single woman that met him, but you still loved him. You still loved him after everything he put you through, you still loved him even though it had been fifteen years. It broke your heart hearing that he was using heroin, that it had gotten so bad he is now in a rehab. You weren’t sure how helpful you would be to reach out to him, or if he would even respond. You were still shocked when Ted told you he kept talking about you. It took everything in your power not to call him back and tell him to never contact you again because that part of your life was over.

Or was it?

You thought it was over. Fifteen years ago, it was. When he had ripped out your heart and stomped on it. When he had left you standing in the middle of the street, on a cold night in Hawkins, as you silently cried, repeating the words he said: “I can’t do this anymore.” He never gave you a reason why, even as he sobbed while he was telling you those words. The next day he was actually gone; Gareth, him and Jeff loaded up his van, and had left before the sun had risen that morning. You had grieved him and were on the way to finish grad school for nursing when you saw their faces on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. After that, their songs were on the radio, they were on everyone’s social media. He was everywhere, and you couldn’t get rid of him. You hated how good their music was, and you couldn’t believe the first song on their first album was the one the two of you wrote together. You remember that day like the back of your hand; it was summertime, senior year of high school was around the corner. You were two nerds in love, and no matter where you went, he was always by your side. You had always loved writing poetry, and that was what started the idea of you writing a few verses for him.

The wind whips your hair as you attempt to turn the page in your book with one hand, trying to shift the weight of the warm body near you as your lean against the trunk of a tree. Eddie was laying in your lap, writing in his composition notebook. Your other hand was gently curling through his hair, massaging his scalp. He sets his notebook down on his stomach and gazes up at you. You look at him and smile, your eyes going back to your book. His hand reaches up to play with your hair, and he grins. “What are you reading?”

“The collected poems of Sylvia Plath.” You tell him, not meeting his eyes.

He moans softly. “’I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. I think I made you up inside my head.’”

“Didn’t know you could read.” You say with a smirk and he laughs.

“She’s the only woman that has allowed me inside her head, unlike someone I know.” He sits up, seating himself between your legs as you feel his eyes burn into the side of your face. You look at him, placing the bookmark to save your place. He’s smirking that smirk, and you lean back against the tree.

“You’ve known me your whole life, you still haven’t figured me out?” He smiles and shakes his head. You reach your hand out to grip his chin. “Am I really that hard to read?”

“Yes.” He says with a laugh. “You’re a mystery to me. I want to know what goes on inside that pretty little noggin of yours.” He leans forward, kissing your lips softly. You smile against his lips.

“Give me your notebook. I’ll give you a little taste.”

“Ooooh.” He says, groaning softly, brushing his lips against yours. “Don’t tempt me to taste other things.”

A shudder goes through you, and you try to hide your blush. He giggles, rubbing your cheek softly, pushing his notebook into your chest. “Write me a song.”

“I’m not sure if my thoughts are heavy metal material.” You tell him, turning to a blank page and uncapping the pen. He kisses your neck gently; his fingers lightly graze against the soft skin on your arm. Your eyes flutter close at his touch and you press the tip of the pen on the paper. He still gently caresses your skin, his soft lips leaving kissing trails along your neck and jaw. He was lucky you were in a public park, because you were about to say fuck the writing and lift up your dress just to feel him inside you. Well, that has never stopped you two before.

He rests his head against your shoulder, letting out a peaceful sigh as you write. You’re not sure where it had come from, it felt dark as you stare at the words. You feel Eddie’s palm gently rub over the fabric where your stomach was, gently kneading. Your stomach twitches as he tickles you and he laughs quietly. “Is that a new spot?” He bites his lip, kissing your neck again.

“Shhh, I’m almost done.” You tell him with a grin. His hand travels below your belly, gently cupping your mound and a small gasp escapes your lips. “Eddie…hands.”

“Sorry.” He mutters and kisses your cheek. He watches you as you write more on the page. You hand him back the pen and the notebook. “Read it to me.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “No, I’m embarrassed.”

“Sweetheart, it’s me.” He tells you with a sweet smile.

You sigh. “Fine. But don’t laugh at me.” He rests his head against your shoulder as you begin. “They say these ‘violent delights, have violent ends’ but is it so violent, that when the world ends in fire and ice, I’d rather freeze my soul, to be reborn, in a world not so cruel. Soulless eyes stare back into me, terrified of what they’ve seen. A little girl lost, but you found her in the pits of despair and agony. Kissed her tears, tasted her until she felt you in her very core and called you hers. A daughter of the night, the sun burns too bright, the sun burns too bright.”

Eddie lifts his head from your shoulder and stares at you in awe. “Wow…that was…”

“Horrible.”

“No! No, sweetheart.” He cups your face. “I didn’t know you could write like that. Why have you been holding out on me?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I didn’t think I was that great.”

“This definitely heavy metal song material.” He takes the notebook from your hands, pressing his lips deeply against yours, holding the side of your face, his tongue licking your lips begging for entrance. You curl your fingers through his hair, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter all around as he kisses you. He pulls away, leaving small pecks on your lips. You were breathless, being kissed by him was always so breathtaking to you but he caught you off guard with this one.

“What was that?” You giggle, staring into his big brown eyes.

“I just…love you.” He rubs your cheek. “I feel like I don’t tell you that enough.”

He didn’t. And he didn’t love you, he was just lying about it, because why would it be that simple with him? That’s why this decision would make it hard for you. What would you gain from it? A mended friendship? That’s better than nothing, you thought. You didn’t want him to die; your stomach turns at the thought. What an idiot. You shake your head, what the hell was he thinking using heroin? What brought him to that point in his life to make that choice? You sigh, feeling defeated. What would you even say to him in the letter? Would you tell him that you’ve been thinking about him this whole time? No, that sounds pathetic.

You groan. You pick up the pen, and you just write.

Present Day - Eddie

I don’t think I’ve left my bedroom at all today. Maybe once to get something to eat. I was in my cabin in New York, Gareth has been staying with me. I know most of it is to keep an eye on me, but I know he doesn’t want to be alone either. It had snowed last night, there was over a foot on my property; Gareth had offered to take my truck to plow, I didn’t say no, I would’ve done it, but it probably would’ve stayed like that until Ted’s services. He wanted a combined wake and funeral; he was going to be buried where his parents were. We had to be in Vermont the day after tomorrow. I was laying on my side, staring at the wall, and I hear my bedroom door open. I feel the bed shift as Gareth lays next to me. It wasn’t unusual, us to be laying in the same bed. For months we only had my van to drive and sleep in to play music gigs across different states, and the three of us would have to get comfortable being close. “You need to get up, man.” He tells me softly.

“I will.” I mutter.

“When?” I can feel his eyes digging into the back of my skull, I squeeze my eyes shut and then snap them open. Everytime I close my eyes I see Ted’s lifeless face, I hear my cries, feel the unbearable weight of the grief.

“When I go to the bathroom again.” I feel myself smirking and I hear him chuckle a little.

“You’re scaring me.” He says after a moment of silence.

“I shouldn’t be.” I say quietly. “I don’t have a needle in my arm.”

“Not yet.”

“I love your words of support; it’s always so appreciated.” I say with an eye roll and turn on my back to face him. “I’m not gonna use again.”

He looks at me, and I see the shy, awkward little kid that I met all those years ago, the kid I took punches for, who I would still take punches for. “How do you know that?” He does look scared, exhausted, sad…really fucking sad.

I feel my throat close up as tears spring to my eyes. “Because if I do…all the work that I did…all the love and support he gave me even when I was at my worst…that all dies with him. And I can’t do that to him. Not again.”

His eyes are watery, and he looks away from me, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t lose you too, Eddie. I really, really don’t think I’d make it.”

I grab his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m not going anywhere, man.”

“What are we gonna do?” He whispers, and I see a tear fall down his cheek and onto my pillow. “He was the heart of our band…what are we supposed to do? Get a new manager?”

“No.” I say, surprised at how stern I sound. “We don’t need a manager. He taught us everything we needed to know.”

“It’s not gonna be easy.” He says with a soft laugh.

“Did he ever have it easy with us?”

“With us, yes. With you?” He meets my eyes and smiles.

I laugh. “He did his best, that’s all we wanted.”

“And he was good at it.”

“That’s why we can’t get a new manager. It won’t be worth it.” I let out a loud sigh, your face flashes through my mind for a moment and I shudder, trying to not think of you. Gareth can sense my internal demise.

“You should call her.”

“No.” I say immediately.

He sits up to lean against the headboard, looking down at me. “I don’t know why you’re so upset with her. She loves you.”

“She only contacted me because Ted asked her to. That’s not love, that’s pity.” I scoff, running my hands through my hair. I smell ripe, I definitely need to shower.

“I mean…you walked out on her, Eddie. The fact that she was even willing to give you a chance again after all these years, it shows that she’s loved you this entire time. She started doing chest compressions on Ted the second I said to call 911, she didn’t even hesitate. She just did it. She is the same kind, caring, stupidly beautiful girl that she’s always been. She may have gotten older, but it didn’t hurt her insides. And she loves you, dude. I see her look at you the same way she did fifteen years ago, she’d still go to bat for you. Why does that scare you so much? To let love in like that?”

“Because why would she love me? All I’ve done is cause her pain.” My voice sounds far away; I hate feeling vulnerable.

“And have been causing yourself pain in the process. Eddie, you’ve been in love with her forever. Like since before you even started dating. You’ve been through everything together. There’s a reason why Ted reached out to her; there’s a reason why after all these years you get that chance to be with her again. Don’t let this be the thing that takes her away forever.”

I glance up at him, scowling. “I hate that you have a way with words. I just wanted to kiss you just now.”

He laughs, patting my head. “Don’t let her go. You’d be stupid to do that again.” He hops off the bed and turns to look at me from the doorway. “You fucking stink, go take a shower.”

I put up my middle finger and we both laugh; I watch as he walks away and closes my door. I sigh, groaning at the stupid regret I feel in the pits of my stomach. He was right, I’ve been in love with you for so long sometimes it was hard to breathe. I force myself out of bed; it’s like thinking of you was the push I needed. I remember the day I told you I loved you for the first time, I was having the worst anxiety; I remember Uncle Wayne telling me that the worst thing that could happen is that you wouldn’t feel the same way, and that just made me feel worse. It was just a normal night for us, we were smoking pot in the back of my van. It was cold this night, you had a fleece blanket wrapped around your knees, you were singing bohemian rhapsody in all the voices, and I couldn’t handle how funny you were being, I was almost going into a straight panic attack.

“Please, stop. I can’t…I can’t breathe!” I laugh loudly.

“For meeeeee, for meeeeeeeee!” You start head banging and ended up whacking your head off of Gareth’s high hat, which causes me to laugh even harder. “Ow! Fuck.” You laugh holding your head and I gently lift your hair to check to make sure there wasn’t a severe injury.

“That’s what you get.” I laugh, gently smoothing out your hair. You giggle, moving Gareth’s high hat out of the way to make more room. You were wearing a black zip up hoodie, and only a bra underneath. I only knew that because when you leaned over I could only see the hills of your breasts. And I know that’s why you were so cold. Oh, how I wanted to unzip that hoodie even lower, just to see you, see all of you. I hated my hormonal thoughts, it always gave me an erection whenever I thought of you that way. And I have always thought of you as something more, not just my best friend, but someone I could see spending the rest of my life with. I felt stupid thinking like that, we were only seventeen, we were babies.

“What?” You snap me out of my thought.

“Huh?” I say.

You laugh. “You’re just staring at me, are you having a moment? Are you too high?”

“Let’s not talk about whether I’m too high or not because you know it will send me into a spiral thinking my eyeballs aren’t closing.” I laugh nervously.

“They’re not closing.” You smirk at me.

I growl at you. “Don’t be an asshole.”

You laugh loudly, nudging me with your shoulder, moving yourself onto my lap. I could feel how cold you were, so I wrap my arms around the top of you, gently rubbing your shoulders. It wasn’t unusual for you to do this, we have always been each other's human security blankets, but I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I needed to tell you, just to get it out. Just to let you know that I’ve loved you since I understood what that word meant. That if you didn’t feel the same way, at least you’d know. I’m playing with your hair; my fingers gently go behind your neck and massage the skin. You softly moan a little, and I swallow hard.

“I have to tell you something.” I whisper to you. You turn your head in my lap to look at me, you have a small smile on your face. My hand gently goes to your chin, and I let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, are you okay?” You sit up to look at me.

“I…I um…” I laugh nervously, running my hands through my hair. I stare at your face, your lips. “I’m in love with you.” I give you a little shrug and a small smile.

You stare at me for a moment, and I can see the gears in your brain turning. “I know this is out of nowhere and I’m sorry…even if you don’t feel the same I just wanted you to-“

Your lips are on mine suddenly, your hands cup my face. My hands nervously go to your waist as the kiss deepens, I feel your tongue graze mine gently, and I shudder. You pull away, staring into my eyes, my lips. You hold my face and I stare at you in awe. “I love you too.” You whisper and I can feel my grin getting wider.

“Really?” I ask you and you nod.

“Since forever.” You say, leaning forward to kiss me again, I hold your face when we pull away. “You’re my person.”

I smile again, pressing my lips to yours. You push your body onto mine, straddling my waist with your legs. I wrap both my arms around your waist, moving slightly to lay you on your back. The rug to my van was an old shag carpet, but it was comfortable. You didn’t feel cold anymore. Your hands move under my shirt, I shudder at your touch, your soft hands. I move my lips to your neck, pulling the zipper down, kissing both hills of your breasts. You let out a soft sigh, your fingers curling through my hair as I cup one of your breasts, kissing in between them. I grip your jean clad thigh, hooking it tighter around my waist and grind against you. The friction plus the pressure causes a throaty moan to escape me and you sit up. You stare at me, your lips swollen from our kiss, and you unzip the hoodie, sliding it off of you and I watch as your hands to behind your back, unhooking your bra. The straps fall slightly down your shoulders and I watch as you shyly let the bra slip away from you. I lean back on my heels, my palms on your knee as my eyes scan your body. I’ve always imagined this; but this was better than what I had imagined. I lean forward between your legs, kissing you deeply. My lips go down to your neck, and I glance up at you, making sure everything was still okay before I did what I did. You lean back to get more comfortable, and I pull your nipple into my mouth. You let out a moan, which caused me to almost explode in my own jeans. The closest I’ve ever gone with a girl was feeling her up, this was brand new to me, and I could tell it was for you too. I wanted to taste all of you, I wanted to know what your sex tasted like, I wanted to know what would make you scream. I move my lips down to kiss your ribs, your naval and I snap the button of your jeans. You arch your hips, helping me pull them down and this is the first time I’m seeing you in your underwear. My fingers knead your thighs and I look into your eyes.

“Can I taste you?”

Your face turns crimson, it made you look so much more beautiful, and you nod, biting your lip. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You know I haven’t.” I laugh, and I stare at you as I move my palm to the top of your underwear. The fabric was damp, and I feel a smile toy at my lips, gently moving your underwear to the side. My hands shake a little as the tips of my fingers graze your clit, I watch as your head falls back, and a soft moan escapes you. I rub you gently, feeling your opening. I gently slide a finger into you and your back arches, I couldn’t believe how tight you felt. I scoot back to my stomach, wrapping my arms around your thighs, staring at your beautiful, beautiful pussy. You lean up on your elbows to look at me; and I flick my tongue out, gently kissing your clit. You gasp and something awakens inside me. You taste so good, so sweet, and I bury my face into your folds, devouring you. I didn’t even know if I was doing it right, but from the sounds you were making; I think I was doing okay. Your fingers pull my hair and I feel my dick twitch as you moan loudly. “Right there, baby.” You moan out, and I moan in response; you sounded so sexy, so breathless.

I pull away to look up at you. “Like this?” I lick a long wet stripe from your hole to your clit, sucking gently. You tremble beneath me, your chest heaving with gasps and moans.

“Oh…my…Eddie.” You moan. I groan in response, tasting all of you, sucking you until your moans get louder and I’m pretty positive you’re about to come. Your head falls back in pleasure, and a loud, hot, moan escapes your lungs and you’re coming in my mouth. I stick my tongue around your hole, feeling you clench, tasting your juices and gripping your thighs until you can’t take it anymore. It’s so intoxicating I don’t want to stop. Your eyes are closed as you settle your breathing, I sit back on my heels, wiping my face and smile at you. You sit up, grabbing the back of my head and kiss me. You moan against my mouth, and a groan escapes me when I feel your hand cup my erection over my jeans. You pull away from me, quickly undoing the button on my jeans and pulling them down past my legs. I see your eyes widen when I spring to life, and you smile.

You look up at me, your hands gently rub my thighs, my ass and I shudder under your touch. I move to my back, highly aware of how exposed I felt with your eyes scanning my body. I immediately feel shy, and I honestly couldn’t tell you why. You sense how nervous I am, and you crawl up my body. Your hand tickles my chest and you kiss me gently. I hold your waist, gripping your skin and you pull back to look at me. I swallow hard as you lean down to kiss my neck, making soft pecks along my chest, moving down to my abdomen. A moan escapes me when I feel your hands gently grab my cock, rubbing your soft hands over the velvety ness of it. I gasp when I feel your lips kiss the tip; I could tell you were nervous too, but I swear as soon as you took my whole length into your mouth, you knew exactly what to do. A broken moan escapes me, and you quickly pull your head back.

“I’m sorry…did I…”

“No, no.” I say breathlessly, grabbing your wrist. “That was really good, keep going.”

Your mouth is on me again, and I groan, feeling your tongue swirl around my shaft, move down towards my balls. I moan loudly, my head falls back against the bottom of the high hat, which causes a humorous sound and I end up laughing while moaning. You throat me deeper and I hold your hair. I want to know what you feel like inside, I want to feel that beautiful pussy clench around my cock. I pull your head up to look at you.

“I wanna feel you.” I whisper.

You sit back, smiling that beautiful smile. You nod, biting your lower lip. I scoot up, taking your face in my hands and kiss you deeply. I turn you around so you’re on your back, gently grazing my fingertips over your skin. I bite my bottom lip, staring at your naked body. You were so beautiful. I feel a blush rise to my cheeks as I stare at you, and you smile sweetly.

“You nervous?” You ask me and I nod.

“A little.”

“Me too.” You say, reaching up to cup my face as I hover above you. I smile into your palm and a thought crosses my mind.

“Oh.” I lean back, go into my wallet, pulling out a condom. I tear it open with my teeth, staring at the rubber like it was a bomb.

“I think it goes…” you sit up a little, taking the condom and sliding it down my shaft. I shudder but I’m equally embarrassed.

“Pretty pathetic that I don’t know how to put a condom on.” I laugh awkwardly, leaning down to hover over you again.

“You’re not pathetic. If you’re pathetic; I’m pathetic. I’ve never had an orgasm until you.”

My eyes widen at your confession. “No way. Even when you play with yourself?”

You shake your head. “I guess I didn’t do it right.” You laugh and smile at me. “Looks like we have to teach each other things.”

I smirk, gently leaning down to kiss your lips. I rub your cheek, caresses your hair. “If it hurts, you tell me, okay? And I’ll stop.”

You nod, I could feel you shaking. I was shaking too, but I wasn’t sure if it was nerves, excitement or both. You open your legs a little wider for me, and I kiss you gently, my hand palming your entrance and I pull my hand away to line myself up with you. I slowly push myself in, and a grunt escapes me, you let out a soft gasp and I feel you clench.

“Am I hurting you?” I ask, panic in my voice as I stop pushing in.

“No, it just stings a little. Keep going.” You whisper, gripping my forearms. I push myself in further and I hear you coo; I look at your face and you’re biting your lip. You were so fucking tight, so tight that it was starting to hurt me, and I didn’t know what to do next. I feel you roll your hips into mine and I gently pull myself out a little and move back in. You moan, and a throaty growl escapes me as I quicken the movements in my hips. You felt so good, and I wanted to go faster but I didn’t want to hurt you.

“Faster, baby.” You moan, like you read my mind. I stare into your eyes, and you kiss me deeply, letting me know that it was okay. I move my hips faster, the sensation of the friction, plus the sounds that were coming from you were turning me into a wild fucking animal. “Ohhh…”

I could feel my orgasm building in my belly, and once I feel your hands grab my ass to push me deeper into you, it was all over. We were both moaning so loud, and I honestly didn’t remember which way up. You gasp loudly, and I feel you clench around me. “Oh baby…I think I’m gonna come again…”

“Fuck…I’m close…” my head falls back in pleasure, and I slow my rhythm down, my hips bucking as I come into the condom, and you’re fucking screaming my name, clenching all around me. Your nails claw at my back and I’m groaning into your neck as I ride out the rest of my orgasm, and you gasp out beautiful, beautiful sounds that was music to my ears.

I swallow back the lump in my throat as I lay my head in the crook of your neck. Your hands are in my hair, holding me to you. I look at you and you smile at me, kissing me so softly, sweetly. And at that moment, all was right in the world.

Gareth had driven my car to Vermont, I couldn’t stomach the drive. I think I puked three times before getting in the car because I’m still having a hard time processing what we were doing and why we were going to Vermont. I think I chain smoked a whole pack of cigarettes the way there. I was texting with my sponsor the whole way there too, he was a good guy, making me feel better about myself on how it was normal to be feeling the way I did. I didn’t want to use, but I didn’t want to feel anything. He also suggested I reach out to you after the services, and I shut that down. I didn’t want to think about you, I just wanted to focus on the fucked-up fact I was about to bury the one man I considered a father. We pull up to the funeral home, it looked like a beautiful cottage. A large window overlooked a frozen lake. I get out of the car on shaky legs; I could feel Gareth’s eyes on me.

I turn to look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t look it.” He mumbles.

“Neither do you.” I slam the car door and we both walk up the stone steps into the funeral home. We enter the place, and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the aroma of floral arrangements I want to gag. We sign the guest book, and I have to pause in the double doorway when I see the shiney black opened casket. I don’t even see the people in the seats, or the people who have been in the music industry longer than I have. I just zero in on the box and Julie standing right next to it. She meets my eyes, and she’s already pushing her way through people to get to me. I’m falling into her, my forehead is resting against her small shoulder, I’m breathing in the smell of her shampoo and her Chanel perfume. She’s hugging me close, and I begin to weep.

“Oh, my sweet boy…” She says gently in my ear.

“It doesn’t seem real, it’s not right…” I pull away to look at her, to glance at the casket. “It’s not okay.” The tears are hot on my cheeks, and I feel Gareth stiffen next to me as he tries to control his own tears. She kisses my cheek, taking my hand, leading me up to the casket. I stop when I see Nellie, she meets my eyes, and she’s immediately sobbing. I hug her to me, cupping the back of her head as she buries her face into my chest. She was a few years younger than me, and she always felt like a sister, and I immediately feel riddled with guilt that I spent so many years chasing a high when she would send me birthday cards from her kids, or birthday party invitations. Even when I wasn’t on tour, I would make up some excuse. I couldn’t do that anymore. No more excuses.

“I’m so sorry.” I whisper to her, and there’s so many reasons behind that. Her fingers grip into my back and she nods against my chest.

“Don’t disappear on me again, okay?” She pulls away to look at me. “The kids need their Uncle Eddie.”

I swallow a sob, and nod, gently kissing the top of her head. I look over at the casket, and I slowly make my way over. He was dressed in his best blazer that he had custom made, a vintage Van Halen t shirt covers his chest underneath. His shaggy dirty blonde hair was styled neatly. I couldn’t look at his face. I just stared at his chest; my vision was blurring. I felt the similar ache in my belly when I thought of you, except you were still alive. Ted was dead. I finally look at his face, and a sound escapes my lungs. I sound like a whimpering dog; I couldn’t control it, I just started to weep. I rest my head against the kneeling bench, feeling Julie’s arms wrap around me. I felt pathetic, crying like this, in front of all these people. Ted was the reason we got to where we were…Ted was also the reason that got me back to you.

And I didn’t know how to keep going without him.

I disassociated during the burial, I don’t remember who I spoke to, who I hugged. All I remember is coming back to my cabin with Gareth, neither one of us saying a word to each other. I had peeled off my suit jacket, kicked off my shoes and plopped on the chair in my kitchen. I lit up a cigarette, letting the smoke billow in my lungs. I stare up at my liquor cabinet, knowing that I had a half empty bottle of bourbon hidden in there. The chair skids against the floor as I get up, go into the cabinet, and pull the bottle down. I pull the cap off the bottle, staring at the brown liquid. My heart was racing, I could feel my ears pulsating as my thoughts were swimming in my brain.

You know where this can lead to. Ted’s voice echoes in my head.

“Fuck off.” I whisper through my teeth.

You’ve come so far.

“FUCK OFF!” I scream, pitching the bottle against the wall next to my refrigerator and it shatters, the liquid spilling to the floor. I yell again, punching the wood of my cabinets until my knuckles bled. I slide to the floor; Gareth comes running in from the back bedroom.

“Jesus, Eddie…” He says quietly, his eyes scanning the broken glass, my bloody hand, and the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Did you know…the last time Ted was here, I was detoxing? Right on that couch.” I let out a chuckle, pointing out into the living room. “Unwillingly of course, or maybe willingly, I don’t fucking know. I was heading into the depths of madness at that point, but he had shown up. I was convinced you had sent these little demon creatures to come kill me or hurt him and somehow, he convinced me to get rid of my dope.” I laugh again, almost manically. “The last time that man was in my house, I was a complete fucking monster. I hated him, I hated him for making me go through the pain. I hated him because he cared about me so fucking much, he’d rather sit there and watch me cry and scream in pain. Why, man?” I look up at Gareth, my lips trembling. “Why did he care about me so much? After everything I had done. After who I became?”

“Eddie…” I could tell he’s lost for words. He slides down to the floor next to me, and I just stare at him. He pulls me by my shirt, pulling me into him. He cradles me like a baby, and I just sob into his chest. “You know why, dude. He loved you.”

I scoff, wiping the snot from my nose. “I was unlovable. And I fucking manipulated him so many times. I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack back then.”

“Eddie.” Gareth says sternly. “If you are blaming yourself for his death, you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought. Things like this just happen sometimes, man. Whether it’s natural, or unnatural. When I was so fucking at you when it got really bad, when I thought I was staring into the eyes of a person who murdered my brother…Ted would always tell me that he knew you were still in there. That you would come out of this, and look…you came out of it.”

“It’s not that simple, man.” I say through my teeth, my throat bobbing as I’m trying to stop from sobbing again. “Everyday I have to fight…I have to hold back the urge to go and use…and now…now I have all this love…all this love that has no place to go…he was a fucking dad to us, Gareth. And now he’s gone…he’s just…gone.”

Gareth doesn’t say anything more, he just holds me tighter as I cry.

Rabbit hole

Where did you go?

Rabbit hole

Where did…

I haven’t showered in three days; Gareth left yesterday.

I pace in my kitchen, already on my fourth cup of coffee, and it’s not even noon.

My phone rings, I send it to voicemail, sending a reassuring text that I’m okay.

I’m really not, but I don’t have a needle in my arm.

So, there’s that.

It’s been a week; I finally showered. I dreamt of you last night.

I grip the pen in my hand, flapping the composition notebook as I continue to pace in the living room.

My therapist is here.

I don’t say much.

She looks afraid for me.

Maybe, she should be.

She suggested anti-depressants.

I said no, I numbed my feelings for too long, I had to pay the price and feel things without the help of a medicine.

Dying seems better than this existence.

Maybe I already died, and I’m just living in this vessel of a body that is rotten.

Fuck, Eddie. That’s dark.

I laugh to myself, continuing to pace. Looks like I don’t need the drugs to be an actual fucking madman.

Mad hatter, too much tea

Mad hatter, look at me, look at me,

I’m a fucking disease.

Every time I close my eyes, I see you. I see your smile, I hear your laugh, I feel your touch.

What the fuck am I doing?

Why am I standing here alone?

I miss you.

I miss him.

No. No. No.

Gareth is right.

I can’t lose you.

Not again.

NOT AGAIN.

I take the keys to my truck, awkwardly pulling my boots on as I stumble out the door.

Looks like I’m going to Maine.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort #Spotify

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rozcdust · 2 years

Text

Ghost in your arms

Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x f!reader

Genre: Fluff, a little bit of angst

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Canon divergent, substance abuse, extensive talk about drugs, profanity, violence, mentions of throwing up (in the sense of taking care of someone throwing up), attempted noncon (vaguely mentioned), talk about overdose, ooc

Synopsis: You didn’t think your night would end up with you taking care of a drugged up manchild, yet you found yourself in your apartment at 4 a.m., holding him as he wept into your collar bones.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

a/n: this work is in no way meant to glamourise or promote substance abuse. don’t do drugs kids 🥴🤬

Were you enjoying being at the club? Not particularly, no, you were tired and pissy from the upcoming exams and your part time job, but your friend had a birthday, and basically begged you to come celebrate and let loose a bit.

You didn’t see a reason why you should relax, frankly, you were doing just fine with your 8 scheduled mental breakdowns a week, but whatever.

It was not a relaxing experience.

Your taste in friends being questionable at best, they all ditched you to either go home with a guy, or to fuck him in the club bathrooms.

You wanted to smack them all, but taking a deep breath and counting to ten, you opted for just sitting there at your table, scrolling through your phone and bored out of your fucking mind.

Until a girl you never saw before slipped next to you. Her purple dress fluttered against your legs as she settled way too close.

“Hey! You alone tonight?” She asked, well, yelled, her lips curled in a bright smile. You could barely hear her over the loud music.

“Wasn’t supposed to be, but my friends ditched me.” You yelled back, shrugging your shoulders.

“You’re hot, you wanna go to my place, drink a bit more? There’s this pretty hot guy I found!”

Raising an eyebrow, you checked her out. She was attractive, you couldn’t deny that, and besides, you haven’t been laid in a while. A casual hookup might be exactly what you need.

“Sure.”

She grinned. “Excellent! Come, let’s get him.”

Seeing the man, you could feel your stomach twisting.

He was beautiful. With his long lashes, and soft facial features, he looked like a painting, sitting there dressed in a suit, smoking a cigarette.

The real problem was, he looked half dead, it was clear he was more than drunk, and on more than just some weed. He was pale as a rag, obviously trying to stop himself from shivering and shaking, his pink hair stuck to his forehead.

“Heyo.” He slurred out, looking up at you with a smile.

His eyes were bloodshot and hooded, pupils fully taking over his irises.

“Come on, help me pick him up!” The girl startled you, you forgot she was there for a second.

“Are you fucking insane? Look at him, he’s high off his ass!” You responded, now pissed off. The guy looked like he could barely move or speak.

The girl huffed.

“If you don’t want him, I’m keeping him then!” She yelled back, reaching to grab him.

Without even thinking, you punched her square in the face.

“WHAT THE FUC-“ She tried to yell, holding her bleeding nose and backing away.

“He. Is. High. He can’t fucking consent to shit! You’re not taking him anywhere. Did you think I was just gonna stand there and let you fuck him while he looks like he’ll overdose? Get the fuck out of here and away from him before I break your fucking jaw.”

Still holding her bleeding nose, she scurried away, yelling you’ll regret this.

Not breaking her jaw? Yea, you’re sure you’ll regret that part.

Now. Your new problem.

What the fuck to do with Pinkie Pie?

You gently tapped his shoulder, trying to gain his attention.

“Yo, dude? You don’t look so good, did you come here with anyone?”

He tried to open his eyes to look at you.

“Yea, they went somewhere tho.” He was slurring and mumbling, you could barely hear him.

Equal parts anger and panic started rising up in your throat. What kind of shitty friends leave someone in that state alone? You weren’t joking about him verge of an overdose earlier, he looked like he needed medical attention.

“What are you on? How much did you take?”

He frowned, seemingly in deep concentration, counting on his fingers.

“Six, seven- Eleven Mollies? And a blunt.”

You stomach dropped. It all made sense now. You needed to get him out of the club, and get him somewhere safe as soon as possible.

“What do your friends look like?!” You yelled, praying he would be able to give you at least a half accurate description.

“Ugh-“, he groaned, seemingly trying to remember, “Tall? They have a tattoo on their throats… Purple black hair? One looks like a jellyfish.” He let out a small giggle, and it would have been adorable if you weren’t close to popping a blood vessel.

“Wait here, anyone tries anything or tries to take you somewhere, punch them.” You instructed, receiving something that could have been ‘Yes ma’am’ or ‘Fuck you, bitch’ as a response. Not that you cared, you needed to find the fuckers that left him alone in this state.

10 minutes of running around the club, searching in the bathroom and outside, you found no one who fit Pinkie’s description.

Fuck, you thought to yourself, coming back to him, relief washing over you as you found him exactly where you left him, lighting up another cigarette.

Your decision was impulsive, and probably somewhat influenced by the alcohol and panic in your system, but you couldn’t leave him alone there like that.

“Come on Pinkie, you’re coming with me.” You dragged him up, hooking his arm behind your shoulders, already pulling out your phone to call a cab.

“Okay.” He murmured out as he leaned his head on top of yours, closing his eyes fully.

You glanced up at him.

“You better not fucking die on me, Pinkie Pie.”

If someone told you your night would end up with you dragging a stranger into your apartment at 4 a.m., only to rub his back and hold his hair as he threw up, your Hello Kitty hair band placed on his head to hold his bangs back, you would have told them they were insane and to fuck off.

Yet here you are, trying to keep your voice as calm and soothing as you could in your highly stressed state, talking him into not drinking any more water.

“Pinkie, I know you’re thirsty, but you’ll over hydrate. Wait a few more minutes.”

He groaned, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, his arm reaching out to try and grab the water bottle from you.

“Don’t care…” He mumbled, eyes fully closed to shelter his sensitive pupils from the bright bathroom lights.

“Well, I do.”

Pouting like a child, his eyes fluttered open just enough so he could peek at you through his lashes.

Sighing, you caved.

He let you bring the bottle to his lips, slowly taking a few sips, spilling a little on his vest jacket and button up.

He managed to keep it down though, so you counted that as a victory, past few sips either ended up on his shirt or the toilet bowl.

Settling yourself down next to him, leaning against the wall, you kept rubbing his back, at least trying to sound comforting as you told him he’ll be fine.

In reality, you were fucking fuming. Who ever the fuckers that left him alone were, you wished to bash their fucking face in. If you hadn’t found him, and started throwing up, which was inevitable with the amount of MDMA he took, he could have died.

You shuttered at the thought.

“‘m cold…” Pinkie opened his eyes slightly, looking at you expectedly. Relief washed over you, a bit of his blue irises were peaking behind his wide blown pupils.

“Of course, your clothes are soaked. Please unbutton the vest and button up, take them off, I’ll get you a hoodie.” Sighing, you gently pat his head, standing up.

Picking out the biggest shirt and hoodie you could find in your closet, you made your way to the kitchen to get him some coconut water and turn the heat on.

He was right where you left him, his vest on the floor, but he was struggling unbuttoning his shirt, frustration clear on his face.

“Stop staring and help me.” He whined, looking more like a toddler throwing a tantrum than a drugged up grown adult.

That pout on his face and the Hello Kitty headband did him no services.

You let out a soft laugh, crouching next to him to unbutton the last few buttons he couldn’t get.

Firmly closing your eyes, you helped him wrestle out of it.

“Hands up, Pinkie.” With your eyes shut, you couldn’t be sure if he listened, but by the way the shirt went over his head smoothly, you’ll assume he did.

Opening your eyes to pull the hoodie on him, you were met with his intense gaze.

“Why are you closing your eyes? Am I that ugly?” Somehow, his pout deepened, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

God, he was so pretty. Whoever the fuck left him alone in this state, deserved to fall off the Empire State Building.

“Nah, you’re beautiful, honestly. But you’re also high as fuck right now, I’m trying to offer you as much respect as possible. Ya know, as a treat.”

“Oh.”

You fell back to your spot on the floor, facing him with your legs stretched out and back on the wall.

The room was silent for a few minutes besides his heavy, slow breathing and your own heartbeat.

“Hey Pinkie, you okay? You still feel nauseous?”

He shook his head, earning a sigh of relief from you.

Without a warning, he crawled up to you, plopping himself on your lap.

“Um, Pinkie-“

“Shut up, and let me. You’re warm.” He mumbled, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist.

Hesitantly, you started playing with his hair, gently running your fingers through it, hoping it will provide some sort of comfort. It was surprisingly soft, and he seemed to melt in your touch, so you continued, pulling the Hello Kitty hair band off.

“You really think so?” He muttered, so softly you could barely hear him. His voice sounded even drowsier, he was absolutely not lucid.

“Huh?”

“That I’m beautiful?”

He couldn’t see your baffled look.

“I mean, yea? Have you seen yourself?”

He removed himself from your shoulder, staring you dead in the eyes.

“Even with these?” Pointing to scars on his lips, his voice sounded hopeful. Like he was begging, begging you to confirm your words to him.

Your heart broke right then and there.

“Yes, even with those.”

Something akin to relief seemed to wash over his face, and he hugged you, settling himself on your lap fully, body leaning on yours, face buried in the crook of your neck.

For such a tall man, he sure had a way of making himself small.

Gently, you hugged him back, holding his shivering body, rubbing circles on his back. His hands gripped the back of your shirt.

The sound of his small, soft sobs broke the silence, causing a new wave of panic to rise in your chest.

“Pinkie? Pinkie, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Your voice was frantic, breathing growing shorter as you tried to back away from him, trying to look him in the face.

His grip on you tightened.

“No, please… I’m fine, just- Fuck, I’m okay. Just let me calm down. Please let me stay like this. Please.”

His voice was small, words even more slurred than before.

You didn’t have the heart to say no.

He fell asleep sobbing into your neck.

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu haruchiyo x y/n #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #sanzu fluff #bonten #akashi haruchiyo #kakucho hitto #kokonoi hajime #manjiro sano #ran haitani #rindou haitani #takeomi akashi #kanji mochizuki

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bemylord · 3 years

Text

being their girlfriend/dating them

or they're as your boyfriend

character: sukuna, itadori, nanami, satoru, megumi.

warnings: fluff to smut hdc, curse words, kinda rough and soft boys + sukuna.

note: or they're as your boyfriend/dating them

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ

i don't think he'd call it relationship or love. just the bond that binding you're together. he also doesn't talkative a lot, he prefers to show you his feelings in actions.

as long as itadori is searching fingers, you'll exist in his domain, being the slave and queen in one time. he'd praising and teach you new techniques, but also may use your body as he wants it.

praising to the degradation - generally, nothing new. if you had been bad either you did something on purpose, there will be no mercy for your body and throat - the king knows the way to punish you.

the cute thing is when you are exhausted from the little practice sukuna does in his small domain: breath had been taken away and your body is sweating. all you want is a little break to catch your breath. despite his selfish and demolished nature, he gives you some time in his lap to debilitate your sluggish body. your arms are wrapping around sukuna's neck by accident - it may seem he doesn't give a damn about it, but he pulls you by the waist, put your head on his athletic chest, and have you in arms 'till you'll wake up.

'you are too weak, brat, more energy, put more fury on me, or did you forgotten that i'm the fucking king of this world?' he laughed, knocking off your attacks. he's got a god complex and perfection. 'i'm getting stronger each second, sukuna, don't make yourself as a god'

you are the one he lets talk like that. being tremendously gentle with you is hard for him - he still being rough and could inflict damage, although, after pain, the king will take affection aftercare. but don't think he would murmur some sweat stuff in your ears, just spooning you is enough.

ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ

master of the aftercare. sensei of the smooch and teacher of how to cuddle a person. he's good at those things. you never complain of how warm and strong satoru's arms wrapping your waist and his lips are kissing the back of your neck. after rough sex gojo would make an apology with soft kisses all over your figure.

cute fights in the kitchen while cooking. satoru is very needy and sometimes, he could be clingy for your attention, trying to get it whenever he wants to feel your body. even fight doesn't stop him - gojo would fight back and hitting on you.

show everyone that you're taken by him by marks he left on your soft skin last night. satoru would give you an order to dressing a shirt which will show his label on your body - wanna get a punishment? disobey the order; sure, later, you will regret it. however, it will be somewhere in the future, so you do mind disobey him?

whisper on his ear how long you've been craving for his fat dick in your dripping pussy and satoru would stop everything he did later, just to bury his cock deep into you, feeling the outlining of his member in your stomach. it's driving him insane when his fat dick rearranging your insides. no words could describe emotions in his soul when you're scratching his back whilst satoru is doing the pulsative movements inside you. 'does it feel good, kitten, doesn't it? feeling my cock in your little tummy, my god.. put your hand on the lower abs to perceive it' 'satoru~, i-i won't take any longer, give me that~' how could he disobey the order of his little angel?

gojo would degrade you only you've got the bad attitude. at other times - you may hear as he repeats the words 'you're so fucking amazing, kitten' he's hazing at the throbbing feeling in his cock you've been giving him.

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴊɪ

he's so much loves to play games and dancing with you when he has the time to do that - you'll play all games he bought for those evenings when both of you are playing fools and being kids. he may act like a kid around you, but trust me, he isn't good while railing you.

there's no door named exit while he's eating your out. yuji will apologize for not being close when you want to cuddle him or smack your lips against his. his apologies are mostly his head between your legs and his fingers in your cunt, stretching your walls, preparing you for the night. he makes sure you're enough dripping for his throbbing cock. it gives me a vibe that he'll overstimulated your little clit only with his tongue.

having you in missionary position, leaving the half-moon on your hips, unquenchably fucking your overdose cunt filled up with your juices. but you know itadori adores when you're squirting on his dick, shuddering while giving the huge release. 'that's right, beautiful, give your daddy all juices you've got' his words make you squirt one more time when he's finishing on your chest. quick series of spanking on your cunt and you're melting definitively by him.

but most of the time, you're both doing silly stuff that bothering megumi a lot. actually, you've got a game 'who's bothered megumi first'. it's fun to watch how he's activating shikigami dogs. you're idiots, although happy idiots.

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ

daddy issues. daddy vibes and daddy chill. you've got no choice but to obey every order he told you to do. no way to escape and no way not being fucked to him if you did have time to do his tasks. his big and strong hands pulling your hair back, so you arch your back, feeling his breath in your ear. scream as loud as you can, 'till you reach the high note you could - he won't stop it.

sweat aftercare in the shower where nanami is washing your hair for you, also massaging your shoulders and kissing your stomach sort of excuses for being too extremely rough with you. but you knew he won't be soft, the language of his sex life is rough and painful. but the aftercare is worth having bruises the next morning around your neck.

nanami is an obsessive and dominant lover, he would mark you as his baby girl, his property, and the woman he's seeing his future with. even if you've got powerful and strong abilities nanami still doesn't allow you to battle the curse. think whatever you want to - he doesn't like the thought of having your dead body in his arms. he doesn't like the thought his small girl would have injuries from the demon.

nanami will show his love in action rather than words. you've got an unspoken rule to kiss your partner when they're tired of the work or giving a good morning/goodnight kiss. even if you're sleeping, nanami kisses your forehead before going to work. nothing could stop him from the morning kiss. you baked warm goods before he returns from the office or battle tired and having no strength. he fucking loves your baked bun.

after work, you make a warm bath for him, where he can loosen his body, burying his face in your hair. 'sweetie, i love you so much, so-so-so much. with you i can enervate myself and get lost in your smell, wrapping arms around your waist, feeling like it's my private heaven'

ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ

i've got a feeling he'd be an overprotective boyfriend. doesn't leave you alone with itadori for the reason he's a vessel for sukuna - don't treat him weird, he trusts itadori, but not sukuna. doesn't like when you interrupting his battle using your abilities because it's making him think about implications.

doesn't show his affection among other students because doesn't like being called a clingy or needy puppy. nevertheless, pulling you closer by your waist to show everyone to fuck away from you. megumi would not hesitate to kiss you with a tongue in front of the students to show them you're taken and your man is crazy.

megumi is more like a homeboy. every time you're alone or having time to spend together, you'll be stuck in his arms 'till you both need to go back to the sorcerer-life. cuddling and smooching are his life - in the bathroom, while you're cooking, watching tv-shows, he's arms around your body, therefore megumi is telling sweet nothings in your ear.

sex life with megumi? complicated question. would be bad and good simultaneously. i still have a thought he'd tied you up and use a flogger on your booty for spanking and preparing your pussy for his dick - it was passed on by his genes [wtf his father omg]. makes you squirt a couple of times, also makes you beg for his fat cock before pull it inside unexpectedly. using a collar with a chain to arch your back 'till it crunches and you moaned because megumi literally choking you.

only god knows how much megumi has kinks for you. how much energy he has to rail you all night and be able to continue that after the sun is illumining the room. 'you're dirty little slut, the rays of the sun in our room, and you still have the energy to squirt' degrading you during coitus and praising you in his muscular arms after.

//~~//

fuck. i was planning to post kuroo x reader x kenma but i deleted my work [by fucking accident i hate myself] that i had been writing since morning. sooo, I'll post it tomorrow. so sorry for the grammar mistake i was writing it on my phone.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Inky Memories

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Drug Use (Past), Domestic Violence (Past), Shoplifting (Past)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Tattoos can reveal a lot about a person. What will Y/N’s tattoos, which she has kept hidden for so long, reveal to Corpse? Will it change anything between them?

Requested by Anon. If you’re reading this you know who you are 😊 Thank you for the request, hope you like what I did with it. Sorry if I made it too angsty! And my most sincere apologies for publishing it so late. Enjoy XOXO ❤

“Guys, come on now! I’m not hiding anything!“ I laugh, looking up from the comments to the camera, “You know how much I hate being embarrassed! Believe me when I say these tattoos are EMBERRASSING. I got them while I was either drunk or in my emo phase and I’m not too proud of them.“

I’m currently doing an Instagram live Q&A session that I scheduled last week. I do one every month and it’s my favorite way of connecting with my audience. An hour of chill lo-fi and questions and answers. I get really excited every time I schedule the session. My fans are such amazing people and they are all so supportive, funny, intelligent...I could go on and on about their positive qualities. One thing I’m not too fond of is their persistent curiosity. Here’s why.

Yesterday, while streaming, I got an unexpected pain in my forearm. Instinctively, I lifted my shirt sleeve to see what was wrong, flashing a few tattoos at my viewers in the process. I’ve never mentioned my tattoos to my audience, not even my boyfriend, actually, so to have this much attention on them so suddenly makes me want to hide them even more. People started commenting on them during the stream and I tried to dodge the majority of the questions, but I knew they would be inevitable during the Q&A. If the session hadn’t been scheduled for like a week at that point I maybe would’ve postponed it until the dust settled.

“I have several. Not only on my arm.“ I only answer these vague questions. I avoid the ones that are asking details like what is depicted with the tattoos and what’s their meaning, bla, bla, bla.

Here’s the thing. I got my first tattoo when I was fifteen at this shady alley tattoo shop and I’ve been obsessed with tattoos since. I made a deal with myself to get at least one every year.

Needless to say, I’m twenty years old and have almost the same number of tattoos. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of them. And I lied when I said they were embarrassing. I am quite happy with them, the way they look, at least. Each of them represent something different. Unfortunately, they are representative of some dark and depressing times. Times I want only the fewest of few people to know about.

“Yes, he’s here. You can’t see him, but he’s waving. He says hi.“ Corpse is the perfect distraction. My viewers love him just as much - maybe more - as they love me.

He knows how easily I get overwhelmed by the attention and pressure of thousands of eyes on me and whenever I’m having a hard time while streaming all he has to do is walk in my recording room and just say the most random thing. Recently, his go-to phrase has been ‘Chicken wing’ and it always cracks up both me and my viewers.

Speaking of Corpse, him and I have been dating for over a year now. We moved in together a month or two before quarantine was officially a thing so we have been together 24/7. It’s scary how many things you can pick up on when you spend so much time with someone. That, of course, means he has noticed some of my tattoos. He has asked me about them, like why I cover them up and why am I so secretive about them and I’ve always been vague and indirect with my answers. He’s the sweetest and most patient person ever, so he has never pressed me with the questions, but I’m still hoping to gain the courage to reveal them to him someday.

“Thanks for tuning in, guys! See you tomorrow for my regular stream and next month for a chill hang out like this one. Love you, stay safe. Mwah!“ And with that the live video is done and I can finally breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Now we can order dinner“ I smile at Corpse who is chilling on the couch in my recording room. He looks up from his phone screen, returning my smile. “Were you recording a Behind The Scenes again?“

He does that often, not only with my Instagram lives but sometimes my streams as well. That’s actually how we revealed our relationship to our fanbases.

He nods, “Yeah.” He pauses for a second, switching to a sitting position with his feet touching the floor. We’re almost at eye-level now. His arms snake around my waist as he pulls me closer towards him. I take the hint and settle in his lap, my legs on either side of him. “I admire how well you handled the pressure back there. I know how you feel about that topic.”

The small bit of anxiety that has started spreading throughout my chest disappears. He has that calming effect on me. Like my own personal safety blanket that’s with me at all times. “I wouldn’t have handled it so well if you weren’t here with me.” I say as I run a hand through his hair, moving a few stray curls away from his gorgeous eyes.

He shakes his head, making the strands fall back over his eyes, “It has nothing to do with me, Y/N. You are simply an amazing person, that’s all.“ His cold hand cups my burning red cheek, leaning my head down so our foreheads are touching. “Nothing could change my mind about it.“

That sentence causes a small pang in my chest. I feel like a manipulator. I’ve led this man to fall in love with me without knowing the past versions. I realize it’s incredibly manipulative of me to reveal my dark aspects only after we’re head over heels for one another, but I can live with it. If it were up to me, he’d never have to know. He would never have to find out that I’m not the amazing person he thinks I am. I have been broken countless times before and all my pieces are just glued in place. Not all of them are where they’re supposed to be and some of them are on the verge of breaking off. Just like a mirror. You can put all the pieces together but not only will you see the cracks, the shards can fall at any moment.

My tattoos are to me as the cracks are to the mirror - evidence of my fragility and the many falls and breaks I’ve had throughout my life.

“Are you sure about that?“ I whisper, trying my hardest to engrave every detail of this moment in my mind because, after what I’m about to do, I’m afraid we might never be like this again.

The softness of his curls, his scent, his warmth, the way he makes me feel. I can hardly believe I’m risking losing all of that, but I owe him the truth.

I feel him nod against my forehead. I tense up and pull away so I can look him in the eyes. It’s hard for me to maintain eye contact especially when I’m fighting back tears. I can’t even say I’m about to lose him. I’m about to let him go. It’s up to him if he stays or decides that he deserves better.

No backing out, Y/N.

I grab the hem of my sweater and lift it up, revealing the many ink drawings on my skin. I discard the sweater on the floor, leaving me in only my bra meaning all my tattoos are on display. Not exactly all, I have some on my legs as well, but these are some of the most important ones. The ones which reveal most about who I used to be.

Corpse takes my hands, tilting my arms so he can take a better look at the tattoos that go from my wrists to the bend of my arm. His thumbs caress the tattoo on each of my wrists. “This one... “ I nod to my left wrist, “I got on my friend’s birthday. We both did. They’re matching.“ The tattoo depicts a heart with a keyhole. “She got the key.“

“I thought I had the key.“ He says, smirking up at me.

“You do now.“ I feel the pang again but this time it doesn’t go away. It’s a constant pain - a constant fear. Being scared of something inevitable is the most nerve-wracking feeling. It makes you feel small, helpless, like you’re standing aside watching your life be controlled by a force you can’t see.

Before he can break me even more, I go on, nodding to my upper arm, a little below my shoulder where there’s a rope tattoo that bends around my arm, its ends connecting in a bow, “I got this one after my shoulder healed.”

His brows furrow in concern as he tilts my head for me to look at him, “Healed from what?”

Here we go. Let the cat out of the bag. “Um....well...” I instinctively reach up to touch my shoulder, running my fingertips over the inked rope. “My dad wasn’t a very nice guy.”

I can pinpoint the second his heart breaks. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, I know it will kill me, so I just continue, moving onto the one on my other wrist where the word ‘Shadow’ is written in cursive writing, “This was my nickname in my friend group. I was the only one to never get caught shoplifting.”

The tears are gonna start rolling at any moment so I deliver the final blow, moving onto the most traumatic event, aka the tattoo on my collarbone of a heartbeat turning into a dead line and kicking up again, “This one I got after I woke up from my almost overdose.”

As if on cue, a tear falls from my eye onto his hand that’s still holding mine. My voice remains still, to my surprise, but I know it won’t be long before it too gives and breaks. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see any sympathy or that look like he doesn’t recognize me. I feel like I’ve let both myself and him down.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?“ he asks me in a whisper. He sounds almost hurt. “You know you can tell me anything.“

I see another tear fall, “I know. I just...didn’t want you to think any less of me.“

Again, he lifts my head so he can look me straight in the eyes. He knows how much I struggle with eye contact and how much I hate crying in front of people, he knows how vulnerable I feel when someone’s looking me in the eyes or when someone sees me cry. He also knows that he’s the only exception to that rule. He knows I never feel out of place when he’s around.

“Think less of you? Babe, you’re a fighter like no other. You picked you life back up. You did all that on your own. You’re a warrior, Y/N.“

I smile through the tears which are now ones of joy instead of fear and dread. “I was a dumb teenager, Corpse. I had no idea what I was doing. I just wanted to get a thrill and feel something other than pain. I know I went about it the wrong way but...” he gives my hand an encouraging squeeze, “And you’re wrong, I didn’t do it all on my own.” I release his hand so I can cup his cheek. His hand comes up to cover mine as I swipe my thumb on his cheekbone, “I met you a month after I left the hospital. The rest you know. I moved to a less druggie populated part of town and I repaired my relationship with my aunt. All that time, I was balancing between the need to relapse and the will to stay alive. After I met you, that balancing act was no longer a balancing act at all. I didn’t even think about my past anymore. I was more focused on what I could be. On what I have to be to deserve to have you by my side.”

“You will always have me on your side, Y/N. Even when you don’t want or need me there.“ With both his hands holding mine he leans forward, connecting our lips. It’s a short kiss laced with nothing but love and adoration.

As we lay on the couch, him asking about each individual tattoo I didn’t get to tell him about, everything just seems a lot easier. Like a big area that was previously dark has suddenly turned into the brightest point of our relationship.

“I need to get that key tattooed. It’s only appropriate.“ He says, his finger tracing the heart on my wrist.

“Or an ownership deal for it. That heart’s yours, you know.“ I laugh, lifting my arm to inspect the oldest painting on my body, “It’s your favorite one?”

“No.” he shakes his head, “This is my favorite one.” he leans down and kisses the heartbeat on my collar bone. “I’m so glad it started beating again.”

“I am too.“

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus

#corpse husband #corpse #husband #corpsehusband #corpse simp #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse fanfiction #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse fanfic #requests #request #requests open #x reader #reader insert #love #angst

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wildflowertips · 3 years

Note

Hi! I was curious if you had anymore Kuroko fic recommendations? Thank you! 🥺💗

hey! 🥺 i do have more kuroko fanfic recs. i didnt know what type of kuroko ship you wanted, so here are a few from some kuroko ships <3:

Kagakuro Recommendations

the flower that blooms in adversity by aotetsu

When Kagami falls for Kuroko Tetsuya, a famous prostitute from the red light district, he manages to find a whole lot of trouble and a person worth it all.

this fic deserves more love and attention. kagami love for kuroko absolutely made me sob

Brothers in Woo by buttwade

in which Himuro jokingly offers to help Kagami win Kuroko over and the joke's on him

kagami is drunk & himuro cracks jokes. this fic is funny. jealous!kuroko

Beastly call by TCon

"You mean," Kuroko started. "You'd be my Heat Partner?" He didn't expect Kagami to explode into a myriad of different shades of red more impressive than his own hair. "Y — yeah tha's what I'm sayin'!" for some reasons he lapsed into english with an odd accent. KagaKuro Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics & Sex Pistols AU - Fusion

Lots of smut in the beginning. there’s crime, suspense, and i read this fic like 5 times.

Stamina Training by tnsxbunny

As the weakest member in the team, Kuroko stays back after basketball practice to train on his stamina. Kagami watches from afar and decides to show Kuroko what real stamina training is.

SMUT. SUCH GOOD SMUT. thank u

The advantage of being Kuroko by heartfilledteddybear

mayuzumi hits on Kuroko & Kagami gets jealous 🥵

Akakuro Recommendations

Forget me not flowers in our hair by miniaturepsycho

When Kagami is captured by a beast Kuroko doesn't think twice and bargains to take the red head's position instead but it seems that there is more to this castle than meets the eye, and what has it have to do with forget me not's?? Basically a beauty and the beast AU that I decided to do after seeing the live action (which I totally did not cry at, not at all!!) COMPLETE

Contains Aokaga. Akashi as beast & kuroko as belle. So good 🥺

All I ask by TsuruKuni

"It's none of your business." "Tell me, Aomine. How can it be none of my business when you're throwing away the only person I've ever wanted?"

THIS FIC MADE ME SOB AT 3 AM. I highly recommend listening to ‘All I ask’ by Adele. I promise you will cry. Aokuro & Akakuro.

Bridezilla by DancingMarshmallows

Weddings are stressful... try helping people plan them. With two months to get everything together, a bridezilla and her bitch of a maid of honor, and finding love at the worst time, Kuroko would be lucky if he makes it out alive.

CEO!Akashi & WEDDING PLANNER!kuroko. you will not regret reading this one.

That Ridiculously Long Dance by Harmonia_Silverberg

Aomine, Kise, and Kagami never learn, do they? But apparently their "joke" works in Akashi and Kuroko's favor this time.

literally one of my all time favorite akakuro fanfic

What Would Chihiro Do by anewtinystory

Akashi is dating Kuroko, whose two brothers are very protective of him.[Based on a Tumblr anon's prompt: Nijimura and Mayuzumi are Kuroko's brothers; while Nijimura approves of Akashi, Mayuzumi feels the opposite]

slight smut. protective bros. i love it sm.

Aokuro Recommendations

Traded Mistakes by Acetate, Chrystie, exuberant_imperfection, kate882, luckypen

For the prompt: Aomine having an accident and losing his memory so all he remembers is being best friends with Tetsu and he doesn’t understand how that could stop.

Angst, oh the angst 😫😭.

Third time’s a charm (or maybe fourth) by LajtHane

Aomine really didn't mean to crash into him at Quidditch practice.

HOGWARTS AU. if that doesn’t temp you, idk what will. My fav Aokuro fic.

Maybe a touch of your hand by skinandbones

[Written for AoKuroWeek 2015]: Aomine moves into a new apartment and befriends a ghost boy.

no bc this fic made me cry too. pls read it 🎶ifwehad5moreminutes🎶

The Boyfriend Jersey by exuberant_imperfection, kate882

Kuroko, in a half-asleep mistake, ends up wearing Aomine's jersey to school.

THIS FIC IS CUTE SUCH DORKS

Hey, Come Here Often? by imabignerd

In which Momoi holds his magazines hostage, Aomine hates everything and everyone, and Kuroko is politely bewildered.

Aomine crushes on the lifeguard!Kuroko & Momoi is a little shit about it 😌🤍

Midokuro Recommendations

It’s Always your Fault! by warsandwich

Kuroko and Midorima are secretly dating, but Takao finds out their secret. De-anon from the anon meme.

Short, sweet, & funny 😌.

Partnership by Fayah

Their partnership starts in English class, but like everything else in their lives, turns into a matter of basketball.

Midorima really cares for Kuroko 🥺

Midokuro Ficlet by pandacchii

based off of imagineyourotp blog post: "Imagine your otp confessing while they were half asleep" Pairing: Midorima/Kuroko

short story but it’s really cute ☺️

An Unexpected Alignment by cinnaelle

Midorima Shintarou does not expect such a reoccurring encounter. But the wheels of fate are turning and Akashi moves his shogi piece.

well-written i love it sm. deserves more praise

The Way You Come Undone by oshare_banchou

"Midorima Shintarou is completely silent during sex. And Kuroko, who is both fascinated and frustrated by this discovery, wonders just how much it would take to make him come undone." - Kuroko/Midorima, in that order

do i need to say more? 😫

Kikuro Recommendations

Careless Whisper by DarkWoods

When Kuroko is dared to come up with some dirty talk, no one expects him to be good at it. Certainly not Kise.

my favorite kikuro fanfic. flustered!kise & tease!kuroko

如果的事 (If) by stormterror

People fall in love in many different manners. Love feels like many different things to many people, but Kise Ryouta thinks there's nothing that quite beats the feeling of being in love with Kuroko Tetsuya. [kise/kuroko]

SO GOOD I CRIED I SMILED SO HARD. pls kikuro deserves the world

Wires, Connecting by Bakagami

It's like being blind but not, like touching air, grasping at straws, voices dissipating and reverberating.

This story is locked so you need to login into ao3 to read it. PHONE SEX & DIRTY TALK 🥵

He Promised by imabignerd

Kise promised he'd smile for Kuroko the whole way through, all the way to the end.

Zombie apocalypse AU. Death. sobbing violently.

It’s a Small World by SilentSilhouette

Kise tries to find his soulmate through social media. Soulmate AU where a picture of your soulmate is tweeted to you on your sixteenth birthday.

This one made me crackle & laugh😂😂

Murakuro Recommendations

No Such Thing as Too Much Vanilla by plumtrees

Kuroko and Murasakibara have baking days. What do you mean it isn't canon?

baking!boyfriends & fluff 😌😉

Vanilla Cream by yoimrei

Murasakibara eats Kurokos ass after something Ahomine says which sparks his jealousy.

here me out first, the ass eating in this is *chef’s kiss* 🤌🏽🤌🏽

Philia by DarkWoods

That time Murasakibara and Kuroko started kinda-sorta fake dating, and kinda-sorta never bothered to break up.

Still going & i love this writer sm. i read all their stories 😙✌🏽

Lavender Secrets by SailorHikarinoMu

Kuroko was the one to bring out his true love for basketball, which had been hidden from prying eyes since the beginning. It was one of those things he was unsure whether he should feel grateful for, but all the same, it did mean something. What this 'something' was, exactly? Murasakibara did not know. Not yet.

FLUFF AAA FLUFF

Rainy by overdose

Kuroko listened to the rain pouring, and more importantly, Murasakibara's steady breathing.

smut. couch sex. size difference. 🥴

BONUS

Hanamiya Makoto/Kuroko Tetsuya

Scotomas by Darkenedcrystal

After the game against Jabberwock, Kagami goes overseas and Kuroko finds himself without a light. A slightly angsty, rather light-hearted story about what happens to Kuroko after Kagami leaves. Features teens finding their way around life, Seirin without a light, the Generation of Miracles being a family, the teens finding love and appreciating the heartbreaks. Kuroko tries to find his own style without a light, and stumbles into the darkness that is Hanamiya Makoto instead. Extra chapter added!

love this fic so much. downside: akashi is kinda a dick

Of Unlikely Friendships, Sneaky Bets, Shogi and Sake by itsthechocopuff

Imayoshi had introduced his two favourite kouhai to each other as an experiment. He did not predict they'd get along so well, both being shadows, but they did, and they worked, oddly enough. Hanamiya brought out the worst in Kuroko, while Kuroko brought out the the best in the other; and they both caused heartattacks to unsuspecting teammates who could not believe their darling shadow was not as innocent as he seemed.

you wont regret reading this one omg

Haizaki Shougo/Kuroko Tetsuya

A Taste That Lingers by therealmoyashi

I couldn't say anything, and that was alright because he didn't want an answer. I'll never forget the way that tasted. Yeah, I thought, he ruined me.

i cried reading this for the first time. out of character kuroko

By the Tomatoes by Wayfarer_Rye

It starts with a blue-grey t-shirt that says "Nothing but Net".

Haizaki wants to try again.

395 notes · View notes

ppersonna · 4 years

Text

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float? - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic. this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot. i think it flows better that way! i hope you enjoy this. this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on. this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions. while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong. Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware. The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day? He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved. Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs. He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other. Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed. Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released? Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better? Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built. He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled.

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here. I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all. “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.” She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely. Words wouldn’t fix the wounds. She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed. The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.” Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured. Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money? He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved. He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived. It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet. Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes. It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat. “Happy for you. I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words. Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously. “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much. I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed. Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar. You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him. I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack. Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone. He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly. You stole a look back at him, at his words.

“Yoongi, you need to see someone. You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay. I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed. He was thin, so sickly thin. While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks. His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.” All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed. Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets. Yoongi’s body was trembling. He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan. He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.” There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized. The kiss was slow, gentle. You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own. Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans. This wasn’t passionate or steamy. It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.

He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him. He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging. Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent. You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You never felt more complete. The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow. The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off. His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point. Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again. He felt alive.

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain. He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close. Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him. Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man. Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features. Fuck.

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him. He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness. Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals. There was crying. There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning. He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time. Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie. He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend. He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him. Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T. He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction. He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in. He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother. He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers. She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy. You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension. He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones. Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud. “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped. “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him. You were proud. Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay. It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation. He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had. He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his. He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances. This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative. Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself. Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you. Yoongi loved himself, as he was. Broken and healing. Addicted and sober. Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety. Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you. He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain. Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried. Jesus, he cried so much. He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks. The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy. He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts. You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it. Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had.

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no? He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees. Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good. You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering. You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face. No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago. No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most. The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most. Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have. I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess. So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue. He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly. Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over. It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself. You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.

You were his, again. He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love. All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby. You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself. Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.” He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love. Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together. Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun. Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed. You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed. You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly. Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7. He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything. Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation. Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful. Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself. Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief. Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside. Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #hyungsmutsociety #btswriterscollective #minthlynet #heartsforbts #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #agust d #bts agust d #bts suga #suga

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silkentragedies · 3 years

Text

A boyfriend sounds good, but…

Non idol! Jung Wooyoung x fem! Reader

3.1k words, Highly suggestive at best, making out, FLUFF, E2L vibes, College AU

Warnings: Mentions of STDs, making out. ( This is so self-indulgent it’s horrible lmao- also, not explicit at all.)

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Jung Wooyoung. Not meant for minors.

College was supposed to be late night parties and hurried submissions, overdosing on caffeine and woefully unedited essay compilations. College was supposed to be hellish hangovers and greasy weekend brunches in bed, helter-skelter running to part-time jobs and missing classes with snoozed alarms.

You got all of that, of course, but you also got one thing you didn’t ask for, in fact, wished beyond wishes that it wouldn’t happen but of course, your guardian angel was up to some mischief: You got yourself an archenemy.

Jung fucking Wooyoung.

It all started off small, of course; bumping into each other rather violently in the hallways on orientation day ended with your coffee on the floor. Minor detail- his phone had also dropped on the floor.

You apologized profusely- he seemed like an upperclassman with his leather jacket, slim but solid build, a head of double-toned hair and oh were those tattoos peeking out of his collar- no point in causing a ruckus on the first day. You even offered to pay for the damage.

And then he opened his mouth.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

The sheer annoyance in his tone rubbed you the wrong way- obviously you had to respond, you weren’t the only one at fault-

“Sorry, but you weren’t watching where you were going either. So don’t tout the blame to me-”

“Oh, whatever, just keep your money. I can get it fixed myself.”

The audacity of this bi-

“Good for you then, because my offer is off the table now, pretty boy.”

A smirk curled up his lip- “You think I’m pretty?”

“About as pretty as a skunk, especially with that hair.”

You had to tamp down the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at his bemused, mildly annoyed expression before walking past him.

Lamenting the loss of your morning coffee, you hurried your way to the orientation venue. At Least he was an upperclassman. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to deal with him-

“Did you see that hot guy in the leather jacket and that black-blonde hair ?”

Fuck’s sake.

“His name’s Jung Wooyoung and apparently all the upperclassmen already have an eye on him. He’s in our major so we really lucked out, hot guys-wise.”

Fuck’s sake.

Surely you could just avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist?

But no.

Jung fucking Wooyoung turned out to be the apple of the campus’ eye in a matter of 2 weeks. He was as new to the university as the rest of you and yet, managed to look more put together, cooler than the rest of you still struggling to figure out class numbers and professor names.

He was the upperclassmen darling- people drooled over him, wanted to befriend him, and invite him to all the big parties…

and fuck- even the teachers were already wrapped around his infuriating pinky finger. They allowed him to waltz into class 25 minutes late, smile his infuriating innocent smile and chill in the back row, scot fucking free.

A month in, he’d gotten into the Dance Club too- cementing his legendary status in the university. It was unheard of, after all, for a freshman to get into the unattainable Dance Club in his first attempt.

You happened to visit one of the club’s performances one weekend and even you couldn’t ignore the sheer talent he radiated. It only infuriated you more to watch Wooyoung hog the stage’s spotlight with almost no effort- all perfect lines, sharp and clean movements…

It’s fine, you could still ignore his existence

But no.

Another thing about Jung Wooyoung- he found sick pleasure in annoying the living daylights out of you.

It was so juvenile, so high-school, so immature of him- sticking gum in your hair, snapping your bra strap, kicking the back of your chair, striking up nonsense debates with you in class…

And then he had the nerve to laugh in your face when you glared at him with hellfire in your eyes because you were too polite to lash out in front of a professor.

Of course, you exhibited no such restraint outside the classroom.

“You vs Woo” was a commonplace explanation for the commotions that blazed up in the campus courtyard every other day. You were like wolves, the way you snarled at each other, not hesitating to slash at each other with as many cutting words as you could find.

This went on for months, an entire semester marred by an enmity that seemed to stem from nothing- until one day, mister Jung Wooyoung really fucked up.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WORM!” Your angry yelling and thudding on the door had Wooyoung’s roommates Yeosang and… Choi San? running to open the door to their shared dorm room.

You barged into Wooyoung’s room, unplugging the game he was playing. “What the fuck-”

“You dirty fucking bastard. You shameless shitstain of a fucking human being-”

Slap. Wooyoung reeled back. In all this time, you’d never actually hit out at him physically. It had always been words. Maybe this time he crossed a line?

“You told Changbin I had a fucking STD. THE GALL OF YOU-” You lashed out at him with every few words, pushing Wooyoung further back against the back wall of his room.

“How fucking dare you make assumptions about me like that. you lowlife scumbag.” You snarled in his face, now having him trapped between you and the wall.

You were smaller than him by quite a bit- it was almost amusing to see Wooyoung cowering in front of you, lowkey terrified of what you’d throw at him next.

“Okay okay, fuck, I’m sorry!” He burst out finally, cutting you right across your angry rant. “I didn’t mean it like that!! I swear, I didn’t even know you were the one he was talking about. And I only told him to be safe from STDs, not that anybody had one.”

“What makes you think I’ll believe you, Jung,” You screeched. “You’ve always been a dick in general to me. I wouldn’t put it past you to say something like that and lie to my face about it.”

You back away, almost disgusted at being so close to him, “Seriously, dude. Get fucked.” Flipping him off before leaving, you turn around to look at him still standing where you’d backed him up to, an evil glint in your eye.

“It will be so fucking unfortunate if somebody told the campus gossip blog you had erectile dysfunction and your hookups were all fake.”

Safe to say, Wooyoung never made digs at your sexual activity again.

Neither did he have much sexual activity of his own for a while. Not that there was much sexual activity in your case either.

Maybe it was that exact…starvation that led Wooyoung to behave the way he did.

What was juvenile teasing became more… flirtatious?

Oh gods, what the fucking fuck is going on-

Suddenly, it wasn’t gum in your hair, it was soft whispers against your ear, breath warm against your cheek

It wasn’t kicking the back of your chair, it was leaning in front of you to fistbump Lee Felix on the other side of you until you could smell his intoxicating chocolate-honey-sweat scent.

He’d taken to taking his leather jacket off and sitting through classes (he still turned up late for) in a muscle t shirt that showed off his toned arms-

All of his movements now seemed to be designed to tease the crawling under your skin you hadn’t been able to quench recently-

Not that you were a serial hookup kinda person, but you’d been fairly sexually active until semester exams and Wooyoung’s rumors had brought around quite a dry spell for you.

It was like every action of his sparked something wildfire hot in your head, tension stringing your senses into overdrive- were you imagining it?

Wooyoung was having some troubles with said crawling under-skin himself.

Since when did you wear skinny jeans like that to class? Did you always have such a pretty neck, just waiting to get marked up? Did you always have that sway to your hips when you walked out of class?

The forced abstinence was doing bad things to him.

It did rather amuse him, however, when he could see your breath catch a little from his murmurings in your ear, or squirm in your seat when he spoke to Felix before the professor arrived. It was the little things, truly.

You still fought like a cat and dog though- there was no way the two of you would ever let on that your scope of noticing each other had gone beyond annoyance and rivalry a while ago.

“Fuck no. I’m not doing this fucking project with you. It’s worth half the fucking grade and you’re a numbskull when it comes to this subject.”

“Like I want to deal with you anymore than I have to, sweetheart. You’re pretentious enough in class as it is.”

Fate really loved playing the cliche card with you- of course you got paired up with Wooyoung for one of your semester projects.

No, it definitely wasn’t the teacher that saw you two glaring more at each other more than the whiteboard and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Of fucking course the teacher refused to allow switching of partners or individual grading- it had to be a team effort or you’d both fail the subject. As a team. Yippee-ki fucking yay.

So you two ended up in the library at 11 p.m, two nights before your first check point review, having procrastinated the fuck out of working together until the last possible minute.

Amidst cursing at each other and cups of ramen and iced americano, the two of you found yourself stuck with each other and attempting to build the basis of an acceptable report to present.

Surprisingly enough, Wooyoung wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to the subject. He actually made sizable contributions to the report. He even got you some coffee on his break, despite the jibes and taunts you threw at him about going soft- you were the type to hold a grudge.

You were both wandering down the shelves in the library, looking for more references when Wooyoung decided to open his big mouth again.

“You do realize that shitty rumor you put out didn’t really mess with my prospects, right?” Wooyoung was so full of shit. “If anything, I’d be worried about you, sweetheart.”

There it was again. Sweetheart. Another of those taunting things that just riled you up in all the wrong(right) ways. It was like he knew everything you would go weak for and then shamelessly exploited them all.

“Unlike you, Wooyoung, I don’t need people to stroke my ego…or anything else. I can get myself going just fine.”

“If you did know how to stroke anybody’s anything, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have trouble getting some.”

Ohhh, so he wants to play some games!!! Okay then-

You reached out to flick at his ponytail, ever-so slightly enamoured by how well he pulled off the double-toned look.

“Like you know anything about how to please in bed, babe.”

It was unfair how much that nickname falling from your lips affected Wooyoung. Some…not very appropriate thoughts had already taken root in his brain and you running your mouth was not helping at all.

“Good enough for them to beg, sweetheart.”

A soft crow of laughter escaped you as you turned to fully face him, the both of you standing between the Greek Architecture and Geography sections.

“You sure you weren’t the one doing the begging?”

“Oh, really now?”

You really should’ve thought through what was leaving your mouth

Because now you were wedged between the shelves and Wooyoung’s (unfairly) toned body, his arms caging you in with that signature shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned closer to you-

The tension was almost atrocious now, suffocating you when it had only previously nudged at you. You could feel it settle under your skin, in your veins, fingers itching to reach out and pull him closer

But you kept your hands braced against the shelves- you would not give him the satisfaction of making the first move yourself…right?

Fuck, you really wanted to though-

It had be the late hour leaving you with lesser inhibitions than normal or possibly the pent up horny in your system or maybe the questionable direction your conversation was headed in

There was no other plausible reason for your arch nemesis’ lips to look that inviting

It must’ve been the way your attention flitted from his eyes to his lips that gave you away, a momentary lapse of self-control before you looked away, off to some point behind his shoulders-

And he smirk only widens

“You know, nobody really visits this corner of the library.”

“Your point?”

Both your voices were whispers now, your bodies close enough to touch but not quite, Wooyoung’s face a few inches away from yours and holding your gaze

(He had honey flecks in those dark eyes, 7 on one side and 4 on the other, like gold leaf in coffee)

“We could easily find out who begs for who…”

He still hadn’t touched you yet, his hands placed on the shelf on either side of you- you could move out from the space if you so wished-

Despite the tension between the both of you, it seemed like… like he was waiting for you to make the first move, voice your consent, act on it

How considerate, you thought to yourself as you let your sight wander to either side, checking for people

Surprising you found Jung Wooyoung’s one possible redeeming quality like this, mind hazy and barely restraining yourself from kissing the living daylights out of him-

Oh well, fuck it

A soft sound left Wooyoung as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to yours, lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss

How dare he be a good kisser too?

One hand reached up to cup your cheek and you instinctively tilted your head into the warmth of his palm as the kiss deepened

Unfair that he could take your breath away so effortlessly

There was nothing hesitant about the way Jung wooyoung kissed you back

Lips pressing more persistently against yours, teeth grazing your lower lip and pulling slightly before diving in again, hand now curled around the back of your neck

His other hand caressed your side and gripped your hips as he pressed you gently against the shelves, your arm slipping down to clutch at the front of his shirt as his body molded all too perfectly against yours

You could feel him everywhere

Everywhere

From the way his lips had begun to land messy kisses against your jaw and neck, the hand on your hip tightening and slipping under your shirt to clutch at soft skin, hips flush against yours

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from Wooyoung, your head spinning at the intoxicating feeling he brought with him

The sensation of his mouth against your neck was almost euphoric, your head lolling back against the books and leaving you to pull your lower lip between your teeth, an almost futile feeling bid to keep silent, you’re still in public

Somehow your hands wound up in his hair, pulling the double-toned strands as his head dipped lower, a quiet groan from Wooyoung your only pointer that he liked it

So this is why he was so sure of himself, your mind temporarily blanking when Wooyoung’s teeth pulled against the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently

A choked, uneven sound escaped your mouth when he pushed you harder against the shelves, hand reaching lower to squeeze your butt-

A smirk lit up his eyes as he straightened up to look at the line of red- blue blooming across your neck, then at you, cheeks warm and still biting your lip, looking resolutely away from his gaze

“Weren’t we supposed to be working on the project?”

This little buzzkill.

You didn’t work on the project that night

You spent it in Wooyoung’s bedroom, getting railed within an inch of your life.

Not without the lack of the both of you being absolutely unable to keep your hands off each other on the way there

Between the library and his dorm, you pulled or got pulled into shady alleys and corners for ‘another taste’

“Never again.” You warned him when he dropped you off at your dorm, you looking windswept from the wind of course and his hoodie up because of the cold not because his neck was more purple than tan-

Lies.

Your daytime dynamic remained the same

But now with added benefits-

He got to corner you after class, feel you up until you were gasping his name and then leave you hanging

You got to make brazen moves under the table in the library whenever he got too snarky for his own good

He could ask nicely, you learnt. Broken groans and choked-up sounds would escape him when you ran your nails over his skin, soft and sharp and wanting and unyielding as you kissed your way down his body

Down his neck, over his chest, the hard planes of his stomach

He would plead for more when you sucked him off, bucking his hips closer to you everytime you slowed down or stopped

Find him at the right time, though and he could just as easily return the favour

He would tease you relentlessly, hands ghosting everywhere dangerous and then pulling away just to watch you squirm and make grabby hands at him, a frown marring your kiss- swollen lips

Leave conspicuous marks too high up on your neck for you to cover, dark enough for a day or two that even makeup left shadows

Spending a long, long time between your legs only to get up and start dressing, claiming to be late for class

Quickies were your religion at this point

Janitors closets locked and hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans before a dance competition, empty bedrooms in frat parties with one of you getting pushed onto the bed

It was an infernal coupon from hell : Find one archrival, get a fuck buddy free of cost!

Of course, there were side effects

“Did you just walk out of that empty classroom with Jung Wooyoung? After class hours?” “We were studying for the midterms!!”

“Uh.. Wooyoung, who was that leaving the dorm building? at 1 in the morning?” “uh yEAH WE WERE DOING THE PROJECT YEAH.”

Yeah, a boyfriend sounds nice but an archenemy you can make out with in secret sounds ravishingly pleasing-

When the boy in question is a certain young man with double toned hair with a penchant for leather jackets and out-of-line snark, you couldn’t agree more.

Yes, this is a revamp and repost from my main account xD. Like I said, this was self indulgence to the peak 😩 I'm a tad whipped for snarky boy Jung Wooyoung 😀

Do lemme know what you think ^_^. xoxo, A💕

Possibly interested parties: @aliceu @whiteprincessofnohr

(drop me an ask to be added or removed! )

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #ana.writes ateez #atz #atz x reader #atz imagines #atz smut

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simpingfortheages · 3 years

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//COME STAY HERE WITH ME//

Sally Mckenna x fem reader

(SUSPENSE, FLUFF if you squint, ANGST, has a twist )

Promises aren't words without meaning. They leave a mark on your soul you need to fulfill.

The reader just isn't ready to make such a big commitment. Sally doesn't approve or believe her and she is determined to change that.

~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~

"Sally I love you of course I do. I will come back soon, i promise but you seriously cannot expect me to stay here forever" I argued with her as I hurriedly pack my carryon with unfolded clothes. Sally sat silently on the bed dwelling in her own thoughts. I could feel her sharp eyes bore into the back of my head as i maneuvered my way around the small room collecting my things. She didn't speak after i made that statement, no she just looked upon my sloppy movements .

The atmosphere in the room was stifling, the air was stale of sex and cigarette smoke. I was choking on the suspense of what Sally was going to do. I know she would never kill me, she promised me that. I was almost done packing when I turned around,only to meet her towering figure standing right behind me. She was a hair's width away. " I really wished you'd stay" she said in raspy low octave . There was not a door or window open to let a draft in, that was because it was her voice that sent shivers running and prickling along my spine. " I will come back to you very soon. I promise Sally" I replied to her, with a lack of commitment in my voice. Sally has managed to keep me stuck in the Cotez for 4 months. My family misses me, my job , my house was all waiting for me at home. I love Sally I really do, but I just wasn't ready. Sally slowed squinted her eyes at my response as though she was analyising each piece of word that left my mouth. I gave her a nervous side smile before I bent down to zip up my carryon. As I gathered my bag I made my way hesitantly toward the door. I felt as though Sally could read my mind. She may be a ghost but she doesn't have the special ability to read minds.

The humidity and tension in the room,caused beads to sweat to form and roll down the side of my face, the sticky and disgusting feeling of my shirt sticking to my armpits and my back didn't make my situation any easier. I squeezed my eyes tightly to try and get rid of the on coming headache, my stomach was churning. It was getting hard to breathe at this point. I gripped the copper handle of the hotel door and slowed turned it to make my way out of the room. *SLAM* the door was shut. I blinked a few times to understand what just happened. I looked at the door only to see a black chipped nail polished hand pressing firmly against it. My suspicions were confirmed. It was Sally who shut the door. The coldness from her close proximity radiated off her ghost form, but the breathe I felt on the nape of my neck was warm and inviting. Sally was really close. I didn't even realised my breathe was held, I was making myself feel faint just by her being close to me. I didn't have to turn around and face Sally since she was already leaning over my fraile form . She moved herself closer to place her red messy lipstick lips near my right ear. " You really didn't think I'd let you leave..." Sally began whispering in my ear. I didn't let her finish her sentence, she was cut off from the loud release of shakey breathe I was previously holding. Fuck! Sally was going to kill me right here and now I thought. Her soft frizzy hair was brushing my sweaty hot face, but the way my body was reacting didn't affect her. Sally wouldn't care if i were covered in blood so why would sweat deter her. She was nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck, without thinking I closed my eyes and leaned into her. The gentle kisses that she left upon my neck each sent small electrical pulses down to my stomach. She knew what she was doing. " like I was saying y/n,you really didn't think I'd let you leave....without your phone?" She said in a teasing manner as she pushed the device into my hands. Sally angled her head even closer to the side of my face , my facial expression was one of relief. However my heart still said otherwise, the rapid palpitation of each beat could have been heard if not for the muffled sound of traffic on the streets outside. It took me a while to find my words of gratitude, but Sally was patient. She continued to stare and admire the every twitch and subtle movement my face made. I couldn't bring myself to meet her hopeful eyes. Her eyes held a wanting future with me at the Cortez, she spoke many time how the least painful way to kill me was like Overdose with the use of her white China...but I didn't want any of that. I love Sally. Just not to death. Her body was now pressed against me, it was not one of a sexual manner just one to give the feeling that I was her prey and she was the predator.

Sally does scare me. No one knows the extent that she will go to keep something or someone she wants, there's no real way to stop a ghost such as herself. I forced myself to mumble a thank you, which would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for her face being so close to mine. Sally only replied with a soft pur, she really knew what she was doing because my toes curled at the erotic sound the woman made . We stayed in this position for a couple more seconds but not before Sally moved closer to my neck and licked a wet strip along the side of it. A pathetic whimper ripped it's way from my throath into the still air of the room. She swiftly removed her palm from the door allowing me to leave. My body was flustered and longed for more contact with Sally. She has me wrapped around her finger and boy did she know that. I wasn't going to throw myself into her arms, this time I am committed to leaving the Cotez. As I opened the door to exit, the warm air from the hallway came rushing in to mix with the cold air that was created inside the room. I turned around to wish Sally goodbye....but she was gone. I couldn't feel her presence anymore in the room. Maybe she was else where. The walk to the elevator was a long one, I tried to look down each corridor to see if she was lingering near by. No luck.

Did she not miss me? Will she move onto someone else?. As the elevator doors opened my thoughts were interuppted. The lobby was empty, no Liz and Iris arguing. The help desk just sat there in silence. I fumbled with my bags waking towards the exit. A feeling of unwanted and doubt returned in my stomach. Was this the right choice? I have already made it this far. I have been trying to leave the Hotel for the past 2 weeks. I furrowed my eyebrows at the thought of me succumbing to my weakness . No. I am going to leave. I will return to visit Sally, of course I will, but I just couldn't stay here forever. I took a deep breath, the cold icey air filled my lungs giving me a new sense of confidence. I marched my way towards the exit, taking one last look at the place I called me home for the past months.

I was almost to the door when i felt a sudden drop in temperature. The hairs at the back of my neck was now alert. The silence was in room was filed with Crying??? I turned my heels and saw her standing in the middle of the lobby with black tears running down her porcelain face. My heart broke at the sight. "YOU'RE REALLY LEAVING ME??" Sally screamed into the quietness of.the lobby. I visibly flinched at the level her voice raised, I opened my mouth and basically explained to Sally that it was only going to be for a while and that I would return to the Cortez and that I do love her. Her face that was once filled with hurt and anger was slowly replaced with confusion but slight understanding. The pout her bottom lip did and the way her brown doe eyes looked at me, made me drop my carryon. I

impulsively ran towards Sally and enveloped my arms around her. She immediately returned the hug, while I nudged my face into her chest as she rested her head upon my head. Sally felt like home but there was still so much for me to do outside the Hotel.

Her embrace was like poison to me yet it was the antidote at the same time. Time seemed to not exist at this exact moment. I felt Sally turn her head and rest her cheek on the top of my head trying to get as close to me as possible. Even though almost every night for 4 months we cuddled like this, I will never get enough of it. However, I really needed to get going, I loosened my grip around her waist in hopes of her understanding to let go, but she remained hugged me in her arms. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, " Sally baby let go" I requested, my voice was still kind of muffled since my face was basically pressed against the material of her dress. Sally silence my request with an elongated shush, as she increased the hold she had around my body. It was getting hard to even breathe, Sally was basically smothering me . I wedged my hands between our bodies and pressed the heels of my palm into her chest . Trying to push myself away with everything I have to break free of her deadly hold. At this point the only think that filled my nose and lungs were the cheap perfume Sally wore that her victim's brought with them to the Hotel. "SALLY WHAT THE FUCK LET GO" I screamed. I wiggled and started to hyperventilate still fighting her. Sally didn't budge. "GOD SALLY WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WIT-" ....no....she wouldn't . She said she wouldn't. My mind was going haywire at the thought. I stopped fighting against her and let my arms drop to the side. What the fuck??? There it was again. A sharp burning sensation in my back. It was hurting to breathe at this point. The pain was unbareable, sounds of agony and pain escaped my throath as hot tears cascaded down my face. The combination of the pain in my back and the difficulty to breathe was too much for me. Sally's grip around me was now loose enough for me to shove her off and step back. I felt weak, my knees buckled and gave out, I fell to the floor landing on my knees. The new angle allowed me to get a good view of Sally. She was smiling with joy, tear of happiness running down her face. The bitch welded a fucking kitchen kife covered in crimson blood,not just any blood. It was my blood .Sally Mckenna stabbed me in my back . My lover was planning on killing me. The wounds she created started poured a bloody waterfall down my back and onto the floor.

Sally smiled even bigger at the sight, she had this glint of something in her eyes. I couldn't tell what it was but my blood or whatever was still left in me began to boil. I hated Sally so much right now. There's no way in hell am I going to die in this fucking Hotel and be stuck here with her for all eternity. I gritted my teeth in pain and forced myself to push Sally onto the ground. It may not have been much but she fell back on the carpeted floor. This gave me time to turn on my knees and crawl towards to exit of the Cotez,to make quicker haste of my actions, I dropped down flat onto my stomach and tired to army crawl my way out of here. I craned my head backwards to see where Sally was but she was already back on her feet, the look of anger and annoyance was casted upon her face. I never stopped crawling away from her, the carpet that decorated the floor was now covered in a trail of my blood, my elbows were getting carpet burn but i didn't care. I heard the movements of Sally shifting behind me,she could have stopped me a long time now,but she just wanted to stand there and look down at me. It was sick. Her heel clicks were muffled into the floor, as they got closer. I screamed for help non stop, she didn't like that I was getting closer to the door. Sally grabbed me by my ankles pulling me away from my freedom. I tried to kick her away but my body was too weak. My nails were breaking and bleeding as I scratch along the carpet trying to grab hold of anything. I cried out in pain but Sally didn't care, " oh baby no come stay here with me" she cooed trying to calm me down. She managed to drag me away from the door. I knew if I even escaped her hold I wouldn't make the distance. So I cried, the adrenaline that was coarsing through my blood was now decreasing. My heart beat was soft and my eye lids were heavy. Sally parted her legs and pulled me flush against her chest. My back wounds made rough contact with her but I was too weak to even hiss. She was cruel, Sally sat me in such a way that I had clear view of the door.

I could see it, the sun shining down on all the people who walked the streets, the cars the hurriedly drove pass the Hotel . I detested the sight. I could have been one of those people who went about living their life. I was no longer crying, the tear tracks on my face were fresh but no more followed. Sally repated kissed the side of my temple whispering silent I love you's. I zoned her out at this point. If i was going to die in the Cortez that doesn't mean I have to interact with her. I hate you Sally. I hate you. "Y/N?" Sally spoke, breaking my silent brooding. I didn't acknowledge her but she knew she had my attention. " I'm going to speed up the process, so we can be together even faster" I ignored her, there was nothing more i could do. Sally gripped the knife that was covered in my blood and quickly slashed it across my neck. My eyes went wide. All i saw was red. My lungs quickly filled with my own blood, the only taste that painted my tongue was metallic. I cried for help but blood gushed its way out instead. My body began to feel prickly and cold. So this is how it felt to die. My vision became blurred, the doorway of the hotel was now unrecognizable. " close your eyes baby I am here...I will be here went you are awake" Sally whispered into my ears as she held me tighter. I complied, I closed my eyes and felt all the warmth slowly leave my body. This is how I died. I died by the hands and embrace of my so called ghost lover.

~~~~~~~time skip ~~~~~~~

I groaned as I stirred awake, I couldn't see properly but I could feel a weight on my chest,but it wasn't uncomfortable. I needed to blink a couple of times to clear my vision. I knew I was back in the Hotel but where was I exactly ? Apparently my shifting cause the weight on my chest to be lifted. I looked down and saw that it was Sally who was resting on me. My vision was still a little blurry, but i could have seen that she was smiling at me with her red bottom lip tuck away under her teeth. I tried to move but Sally moved her hand that was resting on my thigh and pressed it against my bare chest,shoving me back down onto the mattress. It dawned on me that I was completely naked,expect for the fact that I was wearing her leopard print coat. She saw the perplexed look on my face and answered the question in my head. "Your clothes were bloody, so I showered and wrapped you up in my coat.". I looked around and now realised that we back in her apartment. Room 64. I had so many questions, I wanted to yell at her but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a soft "why?..." She looked at me with admiration and love. Her hands were wondering all over my naked body, ghosting over all my moles and scars. " You were going to break your promise, I just made sure you fulfilled it." She said in a matter of fact tone.

Sally punctuated the sentence with a kiss upon my chest. "You stabbed me and slit my throath why that way?" I further questioned the ghost. " You needed to hurt Y/N like how you hurt me , but it's all okay now because we are the same and we have each other" Sally justified . She moved to straddle me and cup my face as she recited the statement. Her forehead was now pressed against mine, and I could have felt the warmth of her breathe brushing across my face. Sally kissed me, but the kiss was not one of love ,it was one of fulfillment. She got what she wanted. Sally slipped her tongue pass my lips to deepened the kiss, I could hear the change in her breathing. It was loud and heavy. She was created a heated kiss, but I couldn't allow that to happen right now.

So i took my hands to shove her off of me.*CLINK* what the fuck??? I cut off Sally's kiss to turn my head and see what was the reason for the sound . My right hand was handcuffed to the bed. Sally looked down at my chest smirking as she rubbed her hands up and down from my chest up to my neck. She was ignoring the look of concern that was painted on my face. "Sally what the fuck??? Uncuff me" I demanded. All she did was laugh at my words. Sally crawled further up my body and played with the curls of my hair with her index finger. " no" was all she said. "What do you mean no??" I raged. Her patience was running thin now, her smile transformed into a scowl. Her hands gripped and dug into my jaw, " You are dead so that means you don't need food,you don't need sleep, you no longer need the requirements of the living."she spat her words out like it was venom. "You think I don't know you baby?"She continued, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes shifted from between my lips and my eyes every few seconds. " You cannot escape me and I am not going to let you avoid me" she finished. I was scrambling for words," wha-i but- sally you cannot keep me chained here" my voice was lowered this time, I spoke softly trying to get on her good side." I know baby but when you come back to me and understand that what i did was for us, I will uncuff you." Sally kissed my forehead and returned to her previous position of lying down on top of me. Her head was resting on my heart ,but I doubt she would be able to hear a beat. Silence surrounded the both of us, I tilted my head backwards hitting the bedrest with a soft thud. I accepted that this was now my faith and my future. My eyes were glued to the ceiling, taking in the smallest details, eventually focusing on the small cobweb being built in the corner. Sally whispered softly into the peaceful silence " y/n my love next time you should remember that promises are not just words spoken."

#sally mckenna x reader #sally mckenna #Angst #w/w #lesbian #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #ahs hotel #hypodermic sally #ahs fanfiction #Hypodermic Sally x reader

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

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⛽️ 🔥 FIRE AND GASOLINE 🔥⛽️ (PART 2)

Prompt: Y/N’s life has changed drastically, precisely 10 years ago and all because of an adorable lunatic and two little maniacs. But what will happen when a divergency of thoughts leads Y/N and her lunatic to say some pretty harsh words, that they know they will regret it later?

Word count: Definitely too long!

Pairing: Jon Moxley (or even Dean Ambrose if that’s your liking) x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy, a lovable mutt named Moxley

Tag: @jibbles26 and some lovely folks who wanted to see the part 2: @drew-is-boo , @amandalynngraves , @bellalutionn , @moxleybabe

Notes: FINALLY!!! I KNOW PEOPLE, I KNOW...LET’S ALL SING HALLELUJAH! Sorry this took me so long, but I hope is worth it ☺️ Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories on my Masterlist and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

I was saved from given them an answer by my phone ringing, I looked down and saw Nancy’s name. Without thinking twice I answered

“Yeah?”

“Y/N, is everything ok? You said you’d be here in 10 minutes and it’s passed 30 now”

“Yeah I’m good, I just got caught up in something with Jon and the kids”

“So you figured things out with him?”

“No, I just” I look at the kids and Jon who were all still kneeling on the floor “I don’t know” I whispered

“Y/N, dear” Nancy starts “You don’t sound like you wanna come over and no offense, pumpkin...but you’re not 15 anymore, you can’t run away from your husband whenever you guys have a disagreement and by the looks of it, it was a mixture between Jonathan and his temper and you and your mouth! Fire and gasoline if I remember correctly” She angrily said, making me laugh lightly

“See, I knew it!” I heard her clapping to herself “Do you want my advice?”

“Sure” I answered

“Stay there tonight, talk to Jon like a GROWN UP COUPLE WOULD and if you still feel like you need a break you can come by tomorrow and stay as long as you’d like, how does that sounds to you?”

“Sounds good, Nance” I smiled

“Nice, now go on, stay with your family and call me tomorrow to say how long did the make up sex session lasted”

“You’re so unbelievably disgusting! Love ya Nancy”

“Love ya pumpkin. Bye bye”

Once I ended the call I looked at the kids and said

“Well, I think it’s better for us to go downstairs and grab some popcorn so we can watch Moana” I smile fondly

“YAY, MOMMY IS STAYING” They scream and jump as they run towards me, hugging my legs

I laugh “Ok, let’s go stinky bumbs! Choose your sits on the couch”

With that they ran downstairs. I look at Jon, who was still knelt down on the floor.

“Jon, get up please”

“Are you really gonna stay?” His voice is low

“Yes”

“Are you gonna file for divorce?”

“Jon, please” I plead

The hope in his eyes died a little “Can we at least talk about it?”

“We will, later. Once we put the kids down for bed”

“Ok, thank you kitten” He caresses my belly and we hear two impatient kids screaming for us to come downstairs

......................................................

“They’re asleep” Jon says once he comes to sit by me on the couch

“Good, so we can talk now”

He stares at me and I started

“We can’t do this anymore, Jon”

He looks at me with pure fear upon his eyes

“The arguing, the yelling, the saying bad things just to spite each other...never being able to understand each other’s perspective whenever the subject of having more kids appears” I sighed “I just wish you would understand that sometimes it’s difficult for me, difficult for the kids to not have you around. When they have a bad dream they want you to protect them. Last week, Rosie had a nightmare about a man taking her away and she screamed for you. Do you know how much it hurt me seeing her sob because she wanted daddy to scare the mean man away, but daddy couldn’t because he wasn’t here? Sometimes they cry on our way back home from school because they wished daddy was there to pick them up. Things like ‘why is everybody’s else daddy comes to pick them up and ours doesn’t?’, ‘he doesn’t like us?’, ‘did we do something wrong?’, ‘does daddy not love us?’, ‘why daddy has to travel so much?’, ‘can’t he have another job?’...Things like that end me every single time, Jon. Even more because I know the father that you are, I know you love Atticus and Rosie more than your own life! It’s not fair to them but is also not fair to you” I whispered as tears roll down my cheeks. I look up to find Jon’s eyes filled with tears as well.

“Why did you never told me, doll? You should’ve told me that they were thinking that, that you had to explain to them over and over that I don’t leave them because I want to. That is not that I don’t love them but because I love them so much I want to give them everything I’ve never had as a child” Jon’s voice cracks and he begins to sob.

The vision is too much for me to handle it, so I pull him towards me and he hides his face on the crook of my neck.

“I don’t want them to go through what I did Y/N” His muffled voice comes out in hiccups

“I know baby, I know” I caress his hair and all I can do is cry with him

“I’m sorry” He whispered now calmer

I cup his cheeks on my hands “I don’t want you to apologize Jon, I just want you to try to understand that is not that I don’t love you or don’t love our family is just that sometimes it saddens me to hear those things from two kids and I wouldn’t like to hear it from a third one as well” I caress his beard

“I know but, it’s just that, I’ve always wanted this! The wife, the home sweet home, the kids..” His voice fainting on that last word “And when we met I knew that I wanted all of that with you, so I got kinda upset when you said that you didn’t wanted more kids because in my head that was some sort of sign that you regretted” He whispered

“Regretted what Jon?” I ask soothingly

“Us...leaving your family for me, moved in to that shitty one bedroom apartment, running with me to the emergency room because I overdosed on speed, eating tuna sandwiches for a year because you couldn’t find a job and the money I made at CZW was pathetic...getting married, helping me go through abstinence when we found out you were pregnant with Atticus, having the kids, still being married to me after all the shit I’ve put you through” He looks into my eyes “I regret everything I’ve said to you earlier, I was always the selfish one not you! It’s time for me to man up and take responsibilities for my words and actions. It’s time for me to be an actual husband to you and for once let you lean on me and not the other way around” He pressed his forehead to mine “Please Y/N...please kitten, let me make it up to you for all these years. Let me show you how much you really mean to me. How important you are to me, the difference you make in my life! I love you, cherry, please let me fix it..just give me one last chance, I beg you! I promise you I’ll never talk about having another baby ever again, but please” He whispered against my lips

“Jon” I pleaded

“Please, don’t do this to me. I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me...I-I wouldn’t...I couldn’t live without you. I can’t take it, kitten. I just can’t” He’s sobbing again while begging me to forgive him

I pull him towards my chest as I lay us down on the couch. His head is resting on my breasts as he silently cries, murmuring apologies and pleads. I’m caressing his hair and upper back, whispering to him that ‘we will work it out’. Once he’s calmer I ask him to look at me and he obliged

“Promise me Jon, promise me that we will never go down that disrespectful and spiteful path again”

“I promise you! I-I promise you kitten, on my mother’s life” Hope slowly returning to those beautiful blue orbs

“Promise me that whenever one of us feels like is loosing control we will ask for a time out and there’ll be no pressure from the other person to work it out at that moment”

“I promise” He pecks my lips repeatedly “I promise, I promise, I promise”

I can’t help a light chuckle that escaped my lips “Ok Jon, I see you agreed”

“Whatever you say kitten, whatever you want, I’ll do it!” He continues to peck my lips “Tell me you love me, please Y/N, I just need to hear it”

“I love you Jonathan, always have and always will!” I smile fondly

He sighed in relief “I’ll never talk about babies ever again! I promise you that!” He’s eyes had the same sparkle of determination as Atticus’ and Rosie’s

“We can talk about it if you want, but in the future, once the kids are a little bit older, how does that sounds to you?” I offered

I’ve never seen Jon’s eyes acquire such a pure happiness glimpse so fast

“Really?” He asks

“Really. BUT it’s a future thing, not right now!”

“Ok, in the future” He eagerly kissed me

“But can we at least do some training for when the time comes?” He smirks

“I swear you‘re just like those punk ass teenagers! The pain in the ass ones” I laugh

“What? It’s just for practice you know, I don’t wanna mess it up when the time comes” He kisses my neck

“How could you mess it up? You’ve made two already” I softly moaned

“Still...I don’t wanna miss my shot” He says as he pushes my jeans down my legs

......................................................

*FOUR MONTHS LATER*

“Cherry? Where are you babe? And where are my little manics? This house is too quiet for my liking” Jon yells as he searched us through the house.

*Finding me in 3, 2, 1* I thought

“Hey kitten, where’s my welcome home crew?” He opened the door to our bedroom “Why are you on the bed? Are you feeling alright? Did something happened?” He runs towards the bed, sitting down by my side

“The kids are at Nancy’s because I need to talk to you”

“Uh Oh, those are the six words nobody wants to hear it. Did I do something wrong?” He asks, slightly scared

“Yes you did, Jonathan” I try to hide my amusement

“What did I do?” He faintly asked

“You impregnated me, you fucker!” I laugh as I throw the pregnancy test at his chest

“Impregnated? What do you-“ He looks down to his lap, to the pregnancy test “Holy shit!” He laughs “You’re pregnant?” Jon looks at me for confirmation and I just nod

“YES!!!! MY KITTEN IS PREGNANT!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT” Jon screams in excitement

“How far long are you?”

“15 weeks, according to the doctor”

“That’s the best news I’ve ever had since Rosie!” He smiles widely as his hand caresses my belly “Hello there baby, daddy loves you so much!” He whispered to my bellybutton “I can’t wait to meet you! Come out now, so you can meet mommy and your siblings Rosie and Atticus” He nuzzles his nose on my belly

“You know there’s still like, 7 more months until you meet her right?” I chuckled

“Her?” His head shot up

“Yep, apparently she wanted to make her debut already letting us know that she is a girl!”

“Another little princess. I’m cursed to be surrounded by beautiful and strong women” He jokes

“Yeah you are” I laugh as I let my fingers comb through his hair

“Do you think I should give her one of my Mox t-shirts so she can wear it?” He sincerely asks

“Now?” I laugh

“Yeah! I need more beautiful girls in team Moxley” He teases

“You’re the worst!” I giggled

As he engaged a very serious conversation with his future princess about the ‘no other prince but daddy’ rule.

If you feel comfortable with it, please let me know your thoughts? Feedbacks are always so appreciated 🥰😘

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softjaehyvn · 3 years

Text

[dusk till dawn ; w.yh]

[genre ; angst, fluff]

[warnings ; accusation of cheating]

- requests open ! check out this post !

You truly couldn’t believe that this was happening.

His eyes shining with tears; some of them rolling down his cheeks and softly landing on his neck and getting soaked by his shirt. This single moment was breaking your heart and you knew exactly that he was feeling the same.

“Xuxi, please, can you listen to me for a minute? Let me explain”, you told him. You trying to keep your voice soft and steady so he wouldn’t see how you felt at this moment. You weren’t fine and you felt like you had done the worst thing ever by making Yukhei cry.

Yukhei always had been a very vulnerable person. Easy to break if you knew his weakness – his insecurity about not being good enough. The only people he truly trusted were his group mates, you and one girl from middle school back from Hong Kong.

Now he – well more like Lihua, who was his best friend long before you knew Yukhei – accused you of cheating on him with some guy – more specifically, Dejun. That wasn’t true; all you were doing was secretly planning out his birthday party.

Of course, Lihua had to ruin everything by taking pictures of you laughing with the young man at a coffee shop and checking some more ideas as inspirations for your boyfriend’s birthday party where all his members were going to be at. Now, when Yukhei showed you those pictures on his phone, you couldn’t believe that there was someone who wanted to ruin your relationship. Lihua was well aware of what was going on between Dejun and you – but she pretended like she didn’t.

“What do you want to explain? Everything is obvious – you seem like having a lot of fun with Dejun, don’t you?” Yukhei’s voice was loud and angry… or was it disappointment?

“Baby, please listen to me”, you tried once again, taking the phone out of his hand to place it on the table. You finally put your hands on his cheeks, brushing his tears away. “If you listen to me, you’ll understand.”

Your heart broke into so many pieces when he backed off to grab his phone and jacket and left your shared apartment with no other word.

If he just would have listened to you.

two days ago

“Alright, ready for more headaches and caffeine overdose because of exhaustion?”, Dejun asked you with a grin when you two entered the coffee shop you two loved to stay in and plan your boyfriend’s birthday.

“Yeah, sure. Caffeine overdose – we love it”, you giggled and sat down at your usual spot. Dejun took out his MacBook and opened the website you two had last visited. “So, we just need to start ordering everything, right? Did you get the money from the boys?”, you asked him to which he nodded.

“Everything on your bank account. I thought it’d be better if you’d have it to order everything. We’re going to get everything today, right?”, you smiled lightly when you nodded.

“I guess? His birthday is in two weeks and I think that’s enough time to prepare everything, right? I mean, we already planned everything out”, Dejun nodded as an answer, so you both decided to get everything already so that would be finally done as well.

Then it was all simply about waiting for the packages to arrive. Dejun and you didn’t want to skip your little coffee meet-up’s so you continued going to the small shop whenever the young man had time to. However, little did you know that Lihua ended up going to the same café as you.

now

“Alright, good, I’m glad that he’s safe at the dorm”, you sighed and nervously walked around the small apartment, trying to process what had just happened. It had been around an hour since Yukhei hurriedly had left the apartment, leaving you all by yourself there.

“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry about him”, Kun reassured you and the knowledge that your boyfriend was somewhere safe made you feel a little less worried. Of course, all you could think of was making him understand that you weren’t cheating on him with Dejun, however, you decided to let Yukhei just in peace for a few days and try reaching out for him then.

You didn’t expect him to block you on every social media account possible so you just couldn’t reach out to him. It was a surprise for you – Yukhei never blocked you, no matter how extreme your fight was. However, you assumed that it was related to Lihua as the girl had recently moved to Seoul for her university and spent a lot of time with your boyfriend.

You never had a reason to believe Yukhei might be cheating on you. You let him have his freedom and fun with his childhood best friend and members whenever he wanted and needed it – and it was making you mad that it only needed a picture where you were spending time with one of your closest friends to make him feel insecure about himself.

You always trusted him, never doubted when he said that Lihua was just an old friend who needed to find a connection in a new city and country.

A relationship was built over trust and love.

You just weren’t quite sure what you could have done wrong that he didn’t trust you.

Two days before it was finally Yukhei’s birthday, a lot of packages arrived at your place. Knowing that those were everything you needed for the small party, you called Dejun to let him know that everything arrived and that he should inform the rest to help you carry the stuff to the company.

However, it wasn’t Dejun who picked up. It was your boyfriend.

“So, you still have the guts to call him? You’re so messed up, Y/N, I can’t believe I trusted you”, Yukhei said, his voice was so cold that it slightly terrified you.

“Xuxi, love, it isn’t what you think it is… just give him the phone”, you asked him, but never got a reply. You then noticed that he had hung up and sighed. You had no idea who you could call when you remembered that you also had Kun’s phone number saved.

You couldn’t call him, though. If Yukhei picked up on Dejun’s call, he most likely was at the company or in the dorm. You assumed that Kun was with him which is why you just texted Kun to let one of the boys know that you needed help with everything you and Dejun had ordered.

He replied quickly that he would ask the younger members to come over and help you out, it would just take around two hours as they were recording at that moment. You felt a little sorry for stressing the younger ones out but it was necessary.

“Thank you guys again. I’m so sorry for pushing your limits. As soon as we get to the company, I’ll treat you to some food”, you promised the young members of the group.

“Sure!”, Jeno accepted for all of the six boys and continued walking carefully towards the car. “I hope this will make hyung happy.”

“Was he doing alright today?”, you asked nervously, you were constantly worried about him, especially after you had called Dejun which Yukhei had picked up. Jaemin shook his head, though.

“Not really. He seemed so off today, always messed up the choreography and we just couldn’t get forward today. Seems like this whole thing burdens him. Taeyong hyung is all around him, though, don’t worry”, Jaemin answered. Knowing Taeyong, you breathed out in relief.

“Thank you, Jaemin”, you thanked him with a soft smile, this one – unlike the ones before – actually reached your eyes. “I hope I can make him understand that Dejun and I have nothing going on… I don’t even know what made him lose his trust. I never did anything that could be the reason for him to doubt me.”

“I’m sure you will get through this… but I think you should try to keep Lihua noona away from him because I think she has something to do with this. She kept on coming into our practice room and interrupting him because she wasn’t sure about something? It was so weird, she kept on asking him but it was just weird that she didn’t ask anyone else like Kun was in his studio or Dejun was also there who could help her”, Jaemin explained.

That got you into thinking. Lihua was the one who sent those pictures to Yukhei. She was all clingy to your boyfriend. You never said anything to Yukhei as you didn’t want to seem like a jealous girlfriend.

“I guess, I never noticed that she was like this… I’ll see what I will do”, you told him and smiled before you got into the car. Then you started driving to the company building where everything would be stored until Yukhei’s birthday. When you arrived back at home, you just sat there, thinking about Yukhei and that was the only thing you did that day.

Finally, it was the day where you could go to the company building and would decorate everything like you and Dejun had planned everything out. Dejun had practice, so you purposely asked Lihua to help you out. Along with her, you had asked Kun to come over, so you could keep yourself from directly confronting her.

“Thanks for helping me out”, you smiled; it was a fake smile, though. “I couldn’t have finished this all by myself.”

“No problem. Xuxi is my childhood best friend, I’d do anything for him”, Lihua just brushed it off.

“So… anything?”, you chuckled but remained silent when you received a warning glance from Kun. However, you couldn’t hold yourself back and asked another question because you wanted to know. “Why did you send Yukhei those pictures of me and Dejun?”

Lihua widened her eyes, not expecting that question. She had thought that it was all over with you and Yukhei; she thought her plan worked out.

“I just thought he should know that you two spent time together. He told me that he wasn’t sure where you went so when I saw you there, I decided to let him know so he wouldn’t be worried.”

That was a lie. You had told Yukhei that you would go to your favorite coffee shop to work on something for university. The university part was a lie, yes, but he did know that you were at the coffee shop.

“That was none of your business, Lihua. You knew exactly that I was going to meet up with Dejun just for Yukhei’s birthday. However, you decided to be a little bitch about it and now my boyfriend thinks I was cheating on him, while I was just trying to make this day special for him”, you got mad with every single second you have been talking to Yukhei’s best friend and at some point, Kun just stepped in. The male suggested that you should check up on Yukhei and see if he still ignores you while he and Lihua would continue decorating the practice room.

So, you did as you were told, still not calmed down while you walked through the whole building and searching for Yukhei. Your boyfriend was recording right now, so you decided to ask the producer if you could just sit there on the couch, to which he agreed. Most of the workers around knew you and you were comfortable with just sitting there with them, listening to your boyfriend practicing his lines before recording.

When he noticed you, he didn’t react quite the way you expected him to. Yukhei was furious when he got out of the small room and you jumped up when you saw him walk towards you. “What the hell are you doing here?”, he asked; even the producer startled at his harsh, loud tone.

“I just wanted to see you… you haven’t come home for the past two weeks so I was worried about you”, you murmured, but it was loud enough for him to hear. “So, now you were worried about me? You didn’t think of me when you secretly met up with Dejun!“

“It wasn’t… It wasn’t what you were thinking, Yukhei. Please just… listen to me and just come with me, yeah? I have to show you something, then you’ll understand”, you begged, taking his hand into yours. You had received a message from Kun that everyone had arrived at the practice room and decorating was also done, so you could finally take your boyfriend there.

“Please.”

Yukhei sighed and nodded then. You would never speak like this if you didn’t know what you were talking about.

You smiled lightly and took his hand to bring him towards the practice room. “What are we doing here, Y/N?”, he asked you and you just shushed him.

“We’re comin’ in!”, you yelled and quickly pulled your boyfriend inside when everyone started yelling “happy birthday!” Yukhei was startled when the chaos broke off.

“This… what?”, Yukhei just blurted out. “This was what you’ve been hiding from me?”

“And this was why Dejun and I always met up secretly”, you explained. “I couldn’t tell you because I still wanted it to be a surprise so… yeah.” You chuckled lightly. “Look, I never meant to do any harm. I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise and Dejun was so helpful with organizing and choosing everything for this because I wanted you to have a special day. I didn’t think that someone would just take our pictures and send them to you so you could find out. I’m sorry for lying to you and I’m so sorry-“

Yukhei interrupted you by placing his lips on yours, just stopping you from talking and you finally leaned into the kiss. Before he stepped away he softly murmured an “I love you” and finally turned towards his birthday cake and blew off the candles.

Wong Yukhei finally realized that you would always love him unconditionally forever; be with him from dusk till dawn.

hi there! i finally managed to finish this one off! i really liked the idea of the plot i wrote for the song suggestion “dusk till dawn” by sia and zayn by anon! this also kind of is a late lucas day post which i didn’t manage to finish on time. so, i truly hope u enjoyed and please like, reblog and share! it would mean a lot to me!

tags ; @wownajaemin @n8dlesoupguk @hunjins (let me know if u want to be tagged to future posts!)

#nct #nct fluff #nct angst #nct smut #nct lucas #lucas fluff #lucas angst #lucas smut #huang xuxi #wong yukhei #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #lucas x reader #tw cheating

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widowsofchaos · 3 years

Text

Here With You

summary: The weight of drugs can break any relationships, but your love for him is greater.

pairing: Mike Weiss x black!reader

10. “Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?”

12. “Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you choosing to stay with me out of pity or guilt.”

Beta by @avintagekiss24 A big thanks to my good sis! Thank for being such a great friend on taking the time to help edit!🤍

warnings: fluff and angst.

a/n: this is 1/2 of my submissions for @angrybirdcr ‘s 200 follower challenge! I choose to write for Chris Evan’s character Mike Weiss. Great underrated film! Thanks for hosting, babe! <3 thank you for being so understanding on my lateness on my submissions! <3 sorry again for being late!

do not repost my works!

This wasn’t new -- this feeling of dread --- awaiting for the shit-storm of pain, and the rainfall of tears. A slow, and yet tender feeling like a blossoming bruise. The inside of your cavity feels shattered by every inhale of a strained wheeze.

Cloudiness floats around your skull like a haze, but you move on auto-pilot --- your feet move by the surge of determination, and commitment; a bitter-sweet twinge weighs on your tongue to witness someone you love fall apart at the seams.

It’s 3 in the morning now, the moon beams high in the inky sky. The apartment is blanketed by darkness, cautiously all lights are off. Chaos ensues, your heart lurches at the muffled vomiting, and whimpers from the bedroom down the hall. Your fingers tighten around the bucket, clutching as the plastic digs into your palm.

Two chilled soaked rags hang limply over your forearm. Breathless as your footfalls dash against the carpeting, bolting through the room to see Mike slumped-over the edge of the bed, his legs tangled in wrinkled sheets.

Drenched sweat soaks through two thick pillows --- now a bit flat, and wet --- blankets strewn around by fits of rage or Mike crying that his skin is too boiling hot. A lone lit lamp illuminates the room into a dim dewy yellow flourish --- an excess of light hurts Mike’s eyes, and gives him a migraine.

The bulb emitting makes his entire body shine by the sheen of sweat, shivering, and groans of your name slips from his quivering pink lips.

Half of his body leaning over the mattress, his trembling fingers shakingly gripping the carpeted flooring, as if he was trying to crawl his way out of bed. “I’m here, Mikey. I’m here.” A broken sob escapes your lips, as you gently fall on your knees beside him. Tears break its watery shield, and collide down your cheeks to see Mike crumble.

Drool pooling from his mouth, and puke residue sits at the corner of his lips. His eyes pinching shut-tight, crying at the pain, you shushing him as you caress his cheek.

With all your strength, with gentle hands, you push Mike over on his back, guilt coiling in the pit of your belly at him moaning. Your hands sliding underneath his armpits, you maneuver him -- twisting his torso, and legs so his body can lay horizontally on the bed.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Mike croaks, his voice was hoarse, and raw. You bundle a bit of your nightie in your hand, to wipe his mouth --- it didn’t matter, you’ll wash it later. “It’s okay. No need to apologize.” You stroke your knuckles sweetly against his cheek, reassuring him by touch and voice that you want to be here; to remind him you’re here for the long haul.

You kiss the crease between his furrowing brows, then your lips featherly trail upward, and kiss his forehead, with no hesitation to sweat sticking to your mouth. “You’re still a bit warm, but the fever is going down.” You spoke breathlessly against his skin, your lips tickling his skin.

Gingerly laying the rag on his forehead, Mike sighs in relief, his lashes fluttering closed at the cooling sensation surging through his buzzing head.

It’s been four days of Mike going raw cold-turkey. Four days of pure hell for Mike, and four days of pure grief for yourself.

In the beginning of this trial, when the drugs began flushing out of his system Mike wasn’t himself --- it was as if he’s a frothing beast scouting for substance. Screaming matches spewing from his irritation, itching between these four walls; Mike resembling a caged animal.

Pure rage masking self-hatred; anger at the aches deep in his muscles, pity at that maybe he can’t do this.

To accomplish sobriety.

Vomiting with his head limp, and deep in the toilet, hours of crying, and pleas for that one last hit --- Mike screaming for God to end him, and that he doesn’t deserve you. Cradling him in your arms, rocking him like an infant, as he sputters incoherent cries; speaking in hushed tones in his ear that you love him --- all his flaws, and scars.

What provoked his final decision to get clean, and start a new slate for one’s health, life longevity, and to keep your love --- was a discovery he dreamt to have long ago but felt he wasn’t deserving to earn.

“I’m sorry --- a-about the ca--r-rpet.” Mike whispers in choppy puffs, whining low. Jesus, this man is in pain, and he’s worried about you being mad at the carpet? You shook your head slightly, gesturing to him that you weren’t mad.

“Don’t apologize for that, it’s nothing. I’ll clean it later.” You spoke in a calm hush, as you placed the bucket on the floor, next to his bedside.

Your hand delicately pad against the clammy biceps with one rag, testing his bodily temperature, taking the remaining rag off of your slightly cold-numbing skin.

You kiss the corner of his brow, as you rub down his chest with the crisp rag, his lips part as an airy breath laced with deep relief escapes; as the refreshing fabric graces his flesh. His chest hair swirled a bit under the comforting circular motions.

Admiring his body, your eyes trace over every ink stroke of his tattoos adorning him. Sheen of water linger as you soothe Mike, silently reciting the Buddhist quote on his chest. Through the rag, you trace the designs of his tattoos by the tips of your fingers --- soft as petals.

Your hand travels the rag downward his torso to dull the slight overheating. Mike hums lowly with his eyes laxly closed shut, his breathing now ceasing into an easy rhythm. Memories begin flooding Mike’s head, as his breathing relaxes steadily. Recollections of how Mike and yourself met years prior --- four years to be exact --- at the hospital you work at.

It was a dark cloudy day, the outside world drenched with heavy pouring rain; the atmosphere was thick with dread, and scented with antiseptic. Sniveling, and irritated with a forthcoming migraine, the flickering lightening tube hovering above him was like a menacing tick, making him twitch internally; as he laid in the hospital bed.

Balling the white blue-polka dotted hospital gown into his fists, the fabric bundling between his fingers. Mike was silent, as he scanned his environment motionlessly.

Accidental overdose is the verdict. Sunken eyes with lavender hues, as the mulling cadence of ringing phones, bustling chatter of nurses, and squeaking footfalls of passing doctors flood the hallways.

A click of the door opening, and in all your glory, your hair tied in a bun with a few curls straying, wearing a purple nurse uniform, a clipboard clutched in your palm, Nike sneakers for comfort --- being on your feet all day --- and a name tag boldly showcasing your printed name.

In your palm, are clear bags of his folded clothing, and shoes. Nicely you place the bags at the edge of the bed near Mike’s feet.

“Hello Mr. Weiss. How are you feeling right now?” A melodic timbre that soothed Mike, lulling his weary mind to a blissful state. The concern didn’t go unnoticed, how you worded your question in the namesake of professionalism, and humane authenticity.

‘Right now?’ Usually people would ask how he’s feeling as if he wasn’t struggling prior with the question, ‘How are you today?’ and his usual response would be, ‘Shitty.’ sealed with a somber shit-eating grin, but you asked how he’s feeling right now, so you can help him, not analyze him.

You didn’t sound fake, nor condescending. Usually a lot of medical staff didn’t have much regard for addicts, nor at least a speck of pity or sympathy. Mike’s tongue was heavy, struggling a little to speak up.

Gaping his mouth open and closed, like a mindless goldfish. You peeked over your clipboard, with a sweet arched brow, giggling lowly to yourself --- your brown hues sparkling in amusement. It was a tiring day, so to see this man stammering over his words was beyond cute, and the highlight of your day.

“Are you okay?” You asked with a small curling smile, hiding your snickering behind the clipboard, with only musing eyes squinting in giggles appearing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m actually better now.” Mike perked up, coughing a bit as his voice was hoarse, bashful, and his pale cheeks dusting pink. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Why in the fuck am I floundering? Get a grip, Mike! Mike never stuttered around women, always flirtatious. This was new for him.

“That’s good. How is your body feeling after the sedatives? Any discomfort right now?” Your soft voice interrupted his rampant thoughts.

“Just a bit groggy, but what else is new?” Mike humorlessly chuckles, as he shamelessly eyes your body. You notice him checking you out, but you elect to ignore him with a warm smile — but you couldn’t deny, you’re silently enjoying his wordless flirtation; despite your fatigued stature, this man still saw attraction to you.

“I promise it’ll pass. Just get some rest, and stay hydrated.” With a flick of your carmine painted nails, you smoothly perked the clipboard on your waist as you unlatched the metal clip, retrieving a few handbills.

“Here I have chosen a few pamphlets for rehab centers, and a few numbers for therapy agencies.”

“I don’t need those.” Mike pushed your out-stretched hand gently away.

You arched your brow at him, clicking your tongue at his ignorance, “And why don’t you need them?” You inquire kindly, a cautious tone; not wanting to release this man from the hospital’s care, just to snort and shoot up into an early grave.

“Listen, I can tell you’re sweet. Too sweet for someone like me to be concerned with. I’ve tried to get clean, and it never works. It’s just not for me.” Mike hastily sits up, slinging his legs over the bed, flinging the thin blanket off of him, “It’s not worth it.” He mutters under his breath.

You were entirely taken back, wincing at how low he talks of himself. Intently watching this man hastily open the bags to get his clothes, the edge of his jaw pinched pink --- like ripe warm peaches. Was it due to embarrassment?

You place the papers on the bed, as you walk more closely to him.

“You are worth it.” You place his cold hands into yours, cupping as if you’re cradling. Trying to get to his eye-level, make him see that you were serious.

He doesn’t dare to glance your way, “Doesn’t matter.” Mike insists, slowly seizing his hands from your grasp, “Why bother trying only to fail? And then disappoint everyone all over again?” His nose was flaring, not wanting to lash his tongue at you, just at the idea of his addictions being the topic of discussion irks him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want help … it’s that hopeless sinking feeling, that he’s just incurable. A burden. A problem, masking pain with sarcasm and substance to numb it all. A demon clawing at his shoulder, spitting self-hate in his ear.

You’re just not worth the trouble, Mike.

As he stood up from the bed, stretching out his shirt, he noticed from the corner of his eye that you were staring at him worriedly. On instinct, pulling the mask down to cover his anguish once more.

“Wanna help me get dressed, sweetheart?” A curling faux self-confident smirk that was forced, you sniff out like a bloodhound. You immediately caught on the familiar behavior, a usual route for patients to cope out with defense mechanisms. You saw this tactic day in and day out.

But more importantly, it’s one you use too well.

“It may not feel like it now, but it’s not impossible. You’re not the first patient I had who felt this way.” You spoke with conviction, ignoring the insistent words ushered by doctors from the past that were ringing at the back of your head, you can't help someone if they don’t want to get help.

It’s not a martyr shtick, nor a God complex --- but how Mike looked so distressed and sickly as he was pulled in the hospital on the stretcher pained you straight in the heart, parallel to many others before.

“You never know if you don’t try.” You perk your hands on your hips, with an insisting stance. It wasn’t pushy, but Mike could tell you weren’t going to back down.

How you stood firmly with the hands perched on your curvous hips that strained subtly against the cotton uniform --- it was hot, how you stood your ground to him, yet no insulting persistence. Your bubble cheeks scrunching up so cutely. Mike just couldn’t help but be turned on, maybe it's your caring nature mixing into it.

Mike breathed through his nose, his head hung low, his hands sinking into the mattress. A sign of defeat, not entirely submitting, but how your words were honeyed with sterling sweetness got him to halt, and process how his life led up to here.

He glimpses through his long pretty lashes, “Alright --” He cheekily scans your name-tag, pretending he didn’t already memorized it from the moment you walked in.“Y/n. I’ll go. You’re pretty convincing. Maybe you should have been a lawyer too.”

“Oh --- you’re a lawyer, huh?”

“An unlikable one to be exact.”

You suck your teeth teasingly, “I highly doubt that. You seem likeable to me.” You pucker your bee-stung lips with jovial tease, as you tug on the curtain surrounding his bed to offer privacy, his eyes zero on your soft lips that glisten with chapstick sheen, his arms mid-frozen holding onto his articles of clothing.

“Now get dressed, and we’ll get you out of here.” You chuckle, only the shadow of your stihollute appears. Mike chuckles to himself, a little shake of his head, he liked you from the very start.

You knew the circumstances of dating an addict, from day one you knew the weight of his demons Mike carried on his back. He laid all his cards on the table, and you leaped into this life with him head-first.

But how could you not fall for him? His charm, his blunt wit, his intelligence, his kindness and that beautiful face? Only a fool would be blind not to be swooned off their feet for the one and only Mike Weiss. After the first -- rather intense --- first meeting, it was definitely not the last encounter for Mike and yourself.

After agreeing to go to a rehab program, Mike flirted with you immensely; along with requesting for you to accompany him on his first day. “For moral support.” he shrugged, a flirtatious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His first day was stoic, but with hushed side-commentary, and sly remarks. Muffling your laughter, you would poke his ribs, silently telling him to knock it off. It didn’t take long for an unusual friendship to develop. You really didn’t see it coming, and if Mike was to be honest, he didn’t either.

The realization of deep love was agnated to a love-drunk punch to the heart.

Days blurring into weeks into months with good morning and goodnight calls, late night conversations - those were the heart-shattering times. It was difficult for Mike to open up his layers, bottling his hurt inside to the point of shaking sobs at 3 am, clutching the phone.

Choppy incoherent words, spurts of feeling worthless. It began with you two having brunch which then led into dinner dates. Soon trust was earned, and you began hanging out at his house or your apartment.

A nurturing nurse and a sardonic lawyer becoming friends--his dry humor doesn’t rub you the wrong way, or how you don’t see it as obnoxious.

“Later when you take a shower, I’ll get you fresh sheets.” You murmur sweetly, as you finished massaging him. Mike slowly peels his eyes open, hooded and squinting. Your voice is silvery to his ears, it always appeases his darkest times --- like that hopeful light at the end of the tunnel.

Silently his eyes raked over your body, your hushed voice brought him back to reality. As he soaked in your appearance, Mike couldn’t stomach how tired you were, your eyes were droopy, your curls sloppily disrayed. As his eyes traveled from your exhausted face to your breasts that swelled over the past weeks to the ample bump protruding against your nightie.

Now entering into your second trimester.

Mike began silently crying, pinching his eyes shut as lone tears spilled down his cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. We’re getting through this, I’m so proud of you.” You kiss his wet cheeks, not minding the salty tears that kiss his eyes. Nimble sweet kisses, and cooing. You knew how hard he was working to get sober.

“You don’t need this shit.” Mike croaked, not daring to open his eyes, and see the pity in yours.

“Stop that. I love you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” You caress his cheeks by the gentle graze of your knuckles, shushing him. Lulling him to calm down from a pending panic attack.

You soft humming quills him, with only a sniffle here and there. You kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you.” Mike mutters under his breath. You giggle under your breath, feeling a bit bashful --- how can he make you so shy even after three years together?

You snivel a bit, biting back a sheen of tears, “And I love you too.” You’ll never get tired of saying that.

It’s been a long road, filled with bumps and turbulence. Many women would have left a long time ago, abandoning Mike at his lowest, but you just couldn’t. You’re too addicted to Mike, from the taste of him, to his scent, to the feel of his skin. His sharp tongue, and his humanity.

There was a moment in this journey that almost halted this life together, where you both had to address every bleeding crevice. It was a toxic mixture of your denial, and Mike’s instinct to push anyone close to him away.

It’s not that you didn’t want to help Mike, or face reality --- you were afraid. Scared that Mike was hurting himself, and all the progress you both built together was deteriorating at the seams, but then his honeyed words of promises of getting better would wrap your head in a rose-tinted daze.

Mike wasn’t trying to convince you, but himself. Just to chip off on the drugs, to keep himself afloat --- that this time it’ll be okay. He can balance his sanity, and his urges of substance that makes him feel ‘whole’. But that was just a temporary moment of brief delusion.

It was about three months ago, your shift at work was a tiresome blur, bustling on auto-pilot. The soles of your feet were aching, the nape of your back was droning in a dull pinch, and your eyes were slightly burning. Your worn body was screaming, and yearning for the comfort of your soft bed, and just to cuddle in Mike’s arms.

But there was a sense of … queasiness yet gleeful.

For days on end, you were puking in the early hours of the morning, your head hanging in the toilet. Waves of nausea, and finally, the nail in the coffin, you realized that your period was five weeks late. A hunch was hovering over your head, like a burning bright bulb. Finally, biting the bullet, and putting on your big girl pants, during a lunch break, you took a blood-test, and sent a cup of your urine to the labs for testing.

Once the results came back to you a few days later, you were speechless for the remainder of the day.

You were deary with worry, unable to conjure the words to form the discovery of yours. As you parked the car in-front of the house, cutting the engine off with the flick of your wrist, snatching the keys. Living with Mike has become a better part of your life, coming home to a person who loves you, and who would hold you, holding them. Grounding yourself back to earth in warmth, blending into one, melting your worldly problems away.

Reminding that you’re not alone.

With a groan, you weaved out of the car, locking it, and trekked up the walkway to the porch. Arching your arm, as your open-palm was rubbing your tail-bone as you waltzed to the front-door, thanking God and his angels that you were able to leave work early.

Dunking your hand in your bag, fumbling for your house-keys, mumbling under your breath as you blearily tried to conduct the proper way to tell Mike the truth, ansty and yet giddy at the toes --- to tell him you’re pregnant.

You always wanted a family, but over the years, the desired fantasy was slowly being strangled with dwindling hope, never really connecting to any soul --- until now, with Mike. Yawning mindlessly, you inserted a key into the lock, twisting, and opening the door.

“Mike, I’m home. I have something to tell you—” A cheery tone falters into silence.

Your foggy haze of exhaustion was smacked off your face, as you almost nearly stumbled off your own feet. Prejuticle vomit bubbling at the back of your throat, as startled eyes all look into you, you felt like a trespasser in your own home.

Witnessing a mass of people seated in your living room, snorting lines off the now stained and scratched coffee glass table, startled as they drink heavily and sloppily gulps liquor, as fogs of nicotine floods the air — staring at you with wide eyes.

Rooted in the middle sector of the couch, eyes bulging with fear, hot under the collar, was Mike himself, sniffling back remnants of coke deep into his nostrils, bare-chested in his red suspenders, and dress pants.

“That’s just great.” You mutter under your breath, a cracked sigh of breath; your jaw clicking to the side, Mike knows that tic very well. Your arms fall limply to your waist, as a gesture of defeat.

You walk away, exhaustion setting and resting in your bones, as your feet guide you upstairs. Begrudgingly so, an unbearable itch at the back of your throat, dying to just scream on the top of your lungs.

Scream and cry.

You can faintly hear Mike alert his friends to pack up and go, scuffling of footfalls and inebriated murmuring begin to flow out of the house. A few chuckles and finally …. it was silent, with the slam of the front door the only indicator that it’s just you and Mike — finally alone.

Fidgety fingers nearly tear the fabric off of you, tugging it off your body button by button with an edge of boiling rage, and a sheen of tears burning at the brim of your eyes. All the joy slowly zaps slowly out of your pores, now a dreary sadness now weighs on your shoulders.

Have I not done enough? To help Mike? Maybe my help wasn’t enough? Maybe his pain is too deep-rooted in him, maybe he has to push himself first to make the first move for recovery? Has he been lying all this time? Maybe he’s never been sober during the entire duration of the relationship?

You suspected it, felt the energy was off for quite some time, and yet you decided to play the love-sick fool dance the dance of denial.

A watery huff of a sigh. A dulling pain begins to throb and engulf your skull, an impending migraine just beyond the horizon. Clenching your jaw, nearly on the brink of grinding your teeth. A somber treading up the stairs looms near the bedroom, as you strip.

Dreading on what’s to come next, Mike was slowly walking to the bedroom, fearing a fight breaking out, worried that you’re going to leave him once and for all. But isn’t that what you wanted? For her to realize that you’re not good enough? Mike belittles and berates himself, as he is ever so delaying his steps.

Counting his steps like the sheeps to lull him at night, as he tries to collect his thoughts, already his tongue heavy with ale, ready to slur an apology. Trepidation beams at his brow, fearing the worse to come, that you’ll finally leave him.

His open-palm collides silently against the bedroom door, right on cue when he’s ready to push, he hears sniffles. Internally wincing at your pain, but like a bandage, he’s gotta rip it off.

Grovel on his knees, if he has to, kiss your feet like a goddess worshipped at an alter — anything for you not to hate him. Bringing strangers - swirly acquaintances - into your shared home, breaking your trust.

A creak of the hinges alerts you. Quickly wiping away your teary cheeks, you stand at your night-stand in nothing but your panties, straightening your hunched over form as you were sobbing into your folded clothes.

With a firm shove of the drawer, you close it, gripping your nightie in one hand, and the other clenching into a fist that hovers over your heart. Trying to level your breathing, not wanting to scare off Mike, you know that he’s hurting too.

You can feel his stare burning holes in the back of your skull.

“Mike, I’m just going to take a shower and head off to bed.” You turn your body around, now facing his mopey face, wanting desperately to just kiss him, and hug him. “I suggest putting a bottle of water at the night-stand to keep hydrated throughout the night, and a bucket to be precautious.” You force a forlorn smile, as you place the nightie on the bed.

Uncertain feet tap against the flooring, you walk hesitatingly at first, towards Mike, placing your palm on his shoulder, your thumb rubbing against his skin. A kiss on his lips, ever so featherly soft. “I’m not mad. We’ll get through this.” You rub the tip of your nose against his sweetly.

Mike knows you’re not mad, it’s beyond that. Mad is just scratching the surface, his heart aches to see your eyes watery, and nearly splotchy pink at the rims. “I hate it when you do that.” Mike’s hoarse voice makes you flinch, as if it grated against your ears.

“Excuse me?” Your nose scrunches up, as your cheeks puff out. “Hate what exactly, Mike? Me supporting you bothers you?” You move away from him, sniffing back your tears, shaking a little at the hands, the back of your knees collide against the bed, softly thudding yourself against the mattress.

“No. You pretending you’re not mad. Pretending that everything is okay.” His nose flares, his chest heaving. Wanting to scream, for you to scream. Just let it all go. Too much is bottling like a ticking time bomb.

“But I’m not mad.” You hiss through your teeth.

“Yes the fuck you are! Admit it! Stop acting like a martyr for one moment, and just say it! Say how you really feel! Say I’m a junkie!”

“Stop it, Mike! You’re just a little …” You trail off, biting your tongue, before anything stupid or insensitive spills out. Forbidding any word to spew out, and hurt him. No matter how infuriated you are, you just couldn’t lash out at him.

“Like what? Fucked up? News flash, Y/n, I’m fucked up. Stop acting as if you can fix me! You act like I can just pick up my mistakes and move along.” Mike shouts, now pacing, practically burning a hole in the carpeting.

“Shut up! I was going to say high!” You hastily stand up to your feet, “And I’m so fucking sorry, that me loving you is a fucking problem. That I see you as you are, a fucking human being, not some addict. Because that’s not what defines you, but you want it to be. You can’t stand to see yourself as anything but.” You cry, your hands not knowing where to put them at, just shaking in mid-air.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Mike barks in your face, tears ready to fall down his stubbled cheeks.

“No it’s not!” You stomp your foot, your toes curling into the carpet. “You refuse to let me in! Instead you seek comfort in strangers, come together to get high, and fuck it all!” Your hand weaves in the air, angrily gesturing; harshly slamming against your thigh.

“You don’t even fucking know me!” By now, his nose is connected to yours. He doesn’t know why he’s screaming at you, lashing you with his insecurities, but how you just won’t admit that this isn’t helping you either. You’re hurting too.

Jesus, his brain is muddled. Fried. He wants to cry, and beg your forgiveness for what he has said, fall to his knees and just hold you, but instead, here he is, shouting at you. He doesn’t feel like a man, he feels lower than dirt.

“Then let me get to know you! You only feed me scraps, thinking that can subdue me, I want you to open up to me!”

“Why? So you can get some self-satisfaction by helping a charity case?” Mike growled, it was a watery one. “I told you from day one, I’m not worth it!” Mike thrashes trinkets off the drawer with his hand, products and little figurines collide on the floor with a thud, “You don’t need this shit! You don’t need me!” Mike screams on the top of his lungs, now hunching over, falling on his knees, as you sink into yourself; covering your mouth from sobbing too loud.

Have you been coming off as pretentious? Pushing him to keep positive, kind affirmations every-day, reminding him to eat healthy, telling him he’s great no matter what, hovering over him to keep sober? Hovering too much? Pushing too hard?

But you couldn’t help it … you love him too much.

“But I need you.” It was a pitiful sob, his arched spine quivering, his shoulders tense, his fingers digging into the cotton fibers. Slowly, you kneel down, your fingers tentatively rub between his shoulder blades; Mike savoring the touch of your finger tips against his clammy skin.

Seconds felt like minutes, biting your lip as you kept rubbing and soothing him, it always helped him calm down. Finally he spoke up, and what he will say will break your heart, “Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?” Mike choked on a sob, his head bobs a bit to sniffle.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Baby …” You cry, finally a heavy waterfall crashes down. Holding him, your chest against his sculpted back, “Please talk to me. I don’t want to lose you.” Wet little kisses on him, mumbling, “Please tell me.” Fresh tears water his back.

“I love you too much to pull you down. To my own hell. It’s not right. You’re too pure.” Mike picks his head up, your hands cup his cheeks. Your brows furrowing, shaking your head at him.

“I need you.” You whispered. “I will go to bat in Hell, for you. Sock Satan in the mouth if I have too.” You chuckle, and luckily, he chuckles too with that cute signature Weiss smirk.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I just …” Mike hung his head, sighing. Hating that he lied for months, he was doing good, he was clean for a period of time. But he got hit with a big case, and the stress got too much.

Drugs were easier than asking for help.

“Then why did you keep pushing me away?” You tilted your head, to manage eye contact. You never wanted to push him too hard just to open up to you. Knowing that it only could make him crawl deep inside himself.

“Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you choosing to stay with me out of pity or guilt.” Mike rubs his cheek against yours, “I never had anyone love me, never held anything good.” Mike blubbered.

“I love you for you. Flaws and all. I’m here for the long haul.” Blinking back wet lashes, you lean in more against his face, with a gentle squeeze of his cheeks in the cusp of your hands.

“I love you too.” It was simply sweet. Shy, even. Mike nudges his face against yours, his lips trailing down your pulse point. Your ultimate weakness.

Mike hedges himself at the knees, as he engulfs your nude body in his arms; as you wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss the joint of his jaw, and with ease, Mike lifts you by his palms on your ass, standing upward with you in his grasp.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper in his ear, “Come take a shower with me.” Caressing your face against his, Mike nodded silently. With quiet steps, and two hearts beating against one, Mike waltzes into the bathroom.

With his fore-arm holding you by the bum, his free hand unzipped himself, the click of his zipper made you quiver underneath your skin. His enchanting warmth shoved your secret in the back burner of your mind, but the journey of it twisting and morphing made you worried — slowly your concern of the possibility of losing the father of your unborn baby was temporarily replaced with touch starvation.

Like a balm to a gashing wound.

It was there but subtle, and quiet. Awaiting it’s time to arise at an unexpecting time, to snatch your heart and squeeze.

The shower was warm and inviting, it helped a little clear Mike’s stuffy sinuses. Your fingers twirling and massaging in Mike’s chest hair, as you both cling onto each other as a life-line. Mike kissed the middle of your brows, as his hands were unwavering from your body.

Silence --- the type that doesn’t need to be filled with unnecessary chatter --- comfortable --- speaking louder than words. His tears blending into the spraying water, and his small tremors were the signs that he was genuinely sorry; and with open arms, you forgive him.

Bathing each other has always been a favorite of yours, so intimate, the soapy sensation of wet skin, the intense eye contact — how perfectly his forehead connects with yours. How soft your touch is against his sex, coddling and cleaning him with care and precision.

Mike rubs the soapy sponge against the terrain of your shoulder blades, trailing down the arch of your spine leaving electric kisses down your spine. A breathy gasp at this welcoming intrusion of Mike seeping the sponge between your asscheeks.

Small lathery cadence intermixing with your wanton moans, as your fingernails scratch slightly against Mike’s back. Mike groaned, it felt so good — the smooth and slippery scratches made him hiss, it was a good pinch of pain.

Cheeky as ever, you slipped your hands to cup his his toned ass; Mike chuckled, mumurming under his breath, his pink lips against your soaked dome, “Greedy brat.” This wasn’t an escape from your issues, clearly both of you need to open the air to discuss your emotions --- a needed shower for two was a nice reprieve from the emotional turmoil.

To clear your heads.

After the shower, and moisturizing, helping Mike into bed, you were braiding your hair, but you were unusually silent. It was time to tell him … now or never. His finger curls against your bare back, fiddling with the thin silk straps against his tips.

You turn your face, your palm holding his fingers. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” Mike spoke quietly, as he laid his back against the headboard. His twirling fingers put you a little ease, but it’s not enough, you have to speak up.

“I have to tell you something …” You trail off, your tone puts him at unease. Your gaze is lowered, Mike shifts his hand away, and perks it underneath your chin.

Making you look at him, with a calm poker-face, Mike insists you, with the soft whisper of your name. Biting your lower lip, his thumb quickly tugging it down. “I’m — I’m pregnant.” Wide eyes gawk into Mike’s own widen orbs, wide as dinner plates.

His breathing got heavy, and soon choppy. You quickly put your hand over his heart, shushing him. “It’s going to be okay. Baby, it’s going to be okay.” A lone tear trails down your cheek, thinking of the worst, you believe Mike is going to bolt out of your life out of fear.

“Is that … ” Mike swallows, “Is that what you wanted to tell me earlier?” His chin wobbles, as you nod, unable to speak. His eyes lower to your flat tummy, hesitantly he cups your belly. His fingers caressing the silk clad skin, he began to cry. Just unraveling in your hold.

That night, you held him tight, and he clung to you tightly; his head laid on your stomach, his tears shedding against your nightie. Mike felt …. scared. Throughout the night, he would mumble that he wasn’t good dad material, but you always tell him, “You’re going to be great.”

That was four months ago, and throughout those four months, Mike was up and down, on and off of drugs, but finally … he stopped. He cried when he first heard your baby’s heartbeat, that’s when he began his rocky path back to sobriety.

Four months of self-hate, sometimes he would leave his journals open for you to read, he couldn’t properly express himself verbally, but in writing, he said it all. He was afraid of the rehab campus’, he preferred your expertise and comfort to nurse him back.

But he couldn’t do this to you, your pregnancy shouldn’t be a stressful one. He knows what he must do.

Mike opened his eyes once more, coming back to reality. Four months and he’s still here. “I’m ready.” His voice was small, yet confident. As if a surge of power consumed his body. His eyes shine with determination.

You were taken back, “Ready for what?” You ask nervously. You bite down on your bottom lip, a little habit you have yet to kick, you would bite your lip till it cracked and bleed.

“To go back to rehab. I gotta do this right.” You hold back a sob, kissing his forehead. “I want to do right for our baby.” Mike weakly smiles, you smile back. You can already envision your shared future, how Mike will protect and love your child. Happy and healthy, no longer fearing the shadow of death lingering near him.

“This baby is so lucky to have you as their daddy.” With the tips of your fingers, grazing his jaw, you lean down for a kiss. It’s a wispy yet passionate kiss. Sending electric waves down Mike’s spine.

“God, I love you.” Mike mumbles against your lips.

Mike Weiss, lawyer, ex-addict, a lover and a father. Oh, how lucky you are to have him, and how blessed he feels to have you.

#angrybirdcr200challenge #buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss #mike Weiss x black!reader #black reader insert

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