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saddest-clown · 4 months

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Nannie’s Love..

Warnings: violent actions/thoughts,mental illness(bipolar disorder and ocd),delusions,sexual content ,kidnapping,cursing,and other things (this chapter will contain some very graphic descriptions of sexual abuse so please read with caution!! And also I only colored the conversations with multiple people in the room so you guys won’t be confused!)

Small Summary: You were a college student trying to live a normal life until you meet a popular pro Hero couple that needs help watching their children while they’re out doing hero work…nothing bad will happen right?

“I hope you’re taking your medicine as the doctor told you. I wouldn’t want to have a repeat of 10 year old you-“

“Yes yes grandma I hear you gosh.”

“Well missy I can’t hear you with that a damn “something in the way” playing in the back. Turn that shit off!”

She can’t tell me what to do. She’s an old bitter bitch to be frank. I’ll just turn it down.

“But what did you want to tell me exactly grandma?”

“Oh yeah. The doctor told me you have information on a good plastic surgeon. Make sure you contact me first before you go getting any ideas of actually getting this surgery done on you.”

“And why would I need your permission again? I remember me being 20 aka a damn adult?”

“That can’t drink legally. Don’t go getting disrespectful with me missy! I’ll come and spank your grown ass. Don’t play with me.”

She thinks she’s so scary. Her and my grandpa. They’re just annoying, if my parents were her with me it’d be different. Fuck them too

“What happened to you being a grown ass adult huh? I thought the call hung up you got so damn silent.”

“…”

“What I thoug-“

I can’t take her berating me right now. I should be in a good mood. I’m getting ready to have my interview with the Midoriyas.

I decided to go with douyin makeup for today. It’s cute and easy. I can’t focus on my bottom lashes if she’s bitching on MY mobile.

Okay that’s pretty good.. I look really nice. I finally found time to buy me some clothes. I decided to wear a off the shoulder knit shirt with a frilly black skirt. I also recently bought a black shoulder bag too!!

*Ring Ring*

Oh? Some is calling me.. it’s Izuku!

“Hello?”

“Hi Pearl how are you doing right now?”

“I’m doing amazing right now! I’m done getting ready and is finna head to the train station right now!”

“Oh no I couldn’t ask you to ride the train. I know of the men on there and I won’t be letting a beautiful woman get attacked on the train.”

Oh my god be just called me beautiful I might faint.

“I-okay!! Umm I live near Toden Arakawa Line where the Omokagebashi Station is. You’ll see Weave Place – Waseda Park!! When you’re here just give me a call.”

“Okay I’ll be on my way! See you soon.”

He hangs up first good. But to put myself and grandma at ease I will take my medicine. I hate how big they are like I’m some sort of horse.

I put my essentials in my bag. Definitely putting in the new perfume I just bought. It smells so good but it was pretty expensive ٭(•﹏•)٭

I lock my door and get on the elevator. I’m super nervous about this. I get to sit and have a chat with my celebrity crush for crying out loud!? People just don’t get this opportunity everyday. Well commoners like me don’t.

I look into to the lobby to see some some what familiar faces. I don’t really talk to my neighbors. Never been interested in it.

I sit on a bench outside and patiently wait. Normally there aren’t so many people out but it is the weekend.

A car pulls up and when I tell you it’s really nice. My apartments may be nice but no one would be casually driving in that. These apartments are nice but not that nice.

*Ring Ring*

“Hey I’m here.. wait is that you on the bench?”

“Oh yeah it’s me!!”

“Okay cool!”

He hung up the phone and got out the car. Damn.. he’s so sexy. Shit.. I can’t be getting all excited out here.

“Hi there stranger!”

“Hi Pearl!! How are you?”

“I’m doing just fine. My morning has just been divine since it’s the weekend.”

“Well that’s nice. Let me open the door for you!”

He opens the door for me and I sit down. He’s so considerate. The seats are warm and comfortable. It smells so good in here! I need to get a quick look of the scent I’ll put it in my future car.

“Well umm welcome to my car. And my I hope this doesn’t come off weird but when I opened the door I got a whiff of your scent and your perfume smells amazing.”

“Why thank you sir. I really appreciate it because it was like really expensive haha.”

We were talking until my phone went off. I don’t own a fancy phone.I actually like collecting vintage flip phones weird huh?

“I’m sorry about this. I have head phones so I won’t disturb you!”

“Oh no your fine you wouldn’t disturb me at all!!”

I smile and look at the contact name. Of course it’s my damn grandma.

“Hello grandma? I’m kinda busy right now..”

“Girl you’ll never be busy when it comes down to me hunny. Where the hell are you actually?! Me and your grandpa were riding around and he had to piss and we came to your apartment but you aren’t here? Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m out doing my own things okay? We have free restrooms for everyone to use why did you have to go to my apartment?”

“Because we want to. Are you questioning me now huh?! I don’t give a damn where you are and who is around you I’ll whoop your slut-“

Nope no was is gonna shame me on my own phone not in front of him.

“Look Mr. Midoriya Im so sorry about that.. I didn’t think she would act like that.”

“Oh yeah you’re fine… um are you okay? She was being really mean to you.. I know she’s your grandma but you still have to let her know how her words hurt your feelings.”

“That’s a really nice gesture but she doesn’t care about how I feel.. it’s fine anyways! She doesn’t call me back when I hand up on her. So it’s fine. If she does call back I’ll put my phone on silent.”

The car gets a little silent the only thing you can hear is the radio playing. It was pretty awkward. My grandma had to ruin it. She ruins everything.

“U-um I noticed you have a interesting phone! I haven’t seen someone use a flip phone in ages actually.!”

“Oh yeah! I love collecting vintage flip phones. This one is the Sharp SH-048 in Melty Bitter! My grandpa bought it for my mom when she was young and she didn’t like it very much so he saved it for me and gave it to me when I was younger and I’ve kept it ever since.”

“Oh that was nice. Do you have a good relationship with your grandpa?”

“Oh.. umm it’s better than my relationship with my grandmother. He speaks to me through gifts and such more than words. She’s more vocal than him. He only disciplines me when my grandma tells him to do it isn’t that bad I guess.”

“Yeah I’m so sorry, I think I’ve made it awkward enough.. so why don’t we just drive in silence.”

I lowkey thank him for suggesting that. Now I get to think of some lies to tell them. Like for instance my quirk.

I’m pretty sure with a quirk like mine no one would want they’re kid around them.

What my quirk you ask? It’s nothing important right now（╹◡╹）.

We arrived at his house. I know he’s like loaded but like 2 cars..? Who else is here..

“Hey Mr.Midoriya I know that you’re rich and everything but like that’s also your car?”

“Oh yeah I’m so sorry I forgot to mention my parents are here to give you a little interview as well. You know? They just want to make sure whoever is watching their grandkids are suitable for it.”

“Yeah Of course I understand I’d do the same if I was in their position right now.”

He gets out to open my door. I hate old people. My grandparents really fucked up my perception of the elderly. Really bad actually. Now I only think of them as old bitter coffin holders.

“Well welcome to my neighborhood! I hope everything goes smoothly.”

I smile and walk with him into his huge house. As we walk in I look around to see all the photos he has with Uraraka it made me want to sob.

Their photos look so nice. They look so in love. No man had ever looked at me like that genuinely.

We almost reach the dining room when we head heavy peddling feet running our way.

“PEARLLLL YOU’RE HERE OMGGGG. I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!”

I smile and catch him in a hug as he runs into me.

“Haiii sweetie. I hope you’ve been a good boy while I wasn’t here.”

“Mhm-mhm! I was the greatest boy.”

“That’s good to hear sweetheart. But where’s your little brother?”

He points at the tall but obviously fake plant.

“He’s hiding behind there.”

I nod and take a couple steps closer to the plant and squat to his height. I can see in the corner of my eye the adults making their way to us.

I point at the plant suddenly.

“Plant.”

I can feel the eyebrows turning up in confusion.

“Fake.”

Another one word. I can see that Inase is starting to understand a little bit.

“I’m sorry he doesn’t really talk much not even with his parent-“

She was cut off with a unexpected sound from the youngest child.

“Fake plant.”

I smile as I got him to talk

I push my hand towards him.

“Hand.”

Then I proceed to move it in a shaking motion.

“Shake.”

Suddenly to everyone’s surprise he repeats the same thing as me but instead he grabs my hand as well.

I stand up properly and he comes form behind the plant and hugs me just like his brother. The adults clap and smile.

“Wow Pearl was it? You are good at what you do!! We haven’t got him to take in forever. Not for anything. It’s amazing seeing him talk.”

“Thank you. Since I study child behavior and development, we’ve learned that non verbal kids speak faster and better when you ease them into speaking.

“Wow let me just say that was amazing! I’m Inko Yagi! Izuku’s mother. And this is my husband Toshinori Yagi!”

“Hello miss,can I just that I’m so thankful for your help on giving us a start to having Inase speak.”

“Ofcourse! It’s no problem!”

“How about we get started with the small interview. Saku and Ina you two can come only if you behave.”

“YES! We promise mommy. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

He shows his brother his palm and demonstrates a high five. I giggle seeing how fast his brother caught on to my teaching methods.

We all head to the dinning table and all sit. The kids run to sit with my. Ina laying his head on my chest and Saku leaning on my side.

“Okay so my first question and most simple question. Can you tell us your full name please? First and Last preferably.”

“It’s Kashvi Pearl Dahlia. I know it sounds foreign cause my mom named me after her first love. A girl she meet when visiting Indian for the first time.”

“Oh really? That’s interesting. Did she know your mom named you after her?”

“No she died before I was born.”

“Oh…I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh it’s fine I didn’t know her. But anyways next question please.”

“Yeah umm Do you have any past experience with addiction. Like drugs or alcohol?.”

“No ma’am Iived with my grandparents my whole life so I didn’t have much time for things like that. And my college does drug tests on us every week.”

“Interesting. Do you mind if I could also view the results. It’s nothing against you ofcourse I just want to know that you’re sober when you are watching the boys. There’s nothing wrong with drink or so. Just want you to make the best sober choices.”

“That’s fine I completely understand.”

“Okay well I don’t really have anymore questions.”

“Okay well next person please.”

“That will be me dear. I want to know if you are certified in CPR perhaps? Or any medical practices for like injuries around the house.”

“Oh yeah I actually do have a certification in CPR. Since my professor has us to do many active assessments with children we had to learn it and more things. Like I have a med kit with many things for day to day injuries and more!”

“That’s good to know. Okay my next question is do you mind helping the kids with their homework or engaging in educational activities with them? Like being a chaperone on field trips?”

“Yes ma’am. I talked to my professors about me switching to night school and online lectures so I can give them all my attention.”

“Well I only have one more thing and it’s more of a request. Can I have a number of someone we can call just in case we can’t get in touch with you?”

“Oh yes ma’am. My neighbor’s number is ###-####-####.”

“Thank you dear. That is all I need.”

“Mr.Midoriya I’m guessing you have some sort of questions?”

“Oh yes! Umm I really don’t have many I really only have 2. The first one is about your quirk?”

“Oh I don’t have one. I was born with a quirk but it got took from me.”

“Oh my! I’m so sorry that happened to you… one of my friends lost their quirk as well so I could just imagine how you felt.”

I smile at him. He’s so sweet,thinking of others all the time.

“But honestly I don’t have another question. I trust you Pearl.

“Thank you Mr.Midoriya I appreciate it.”

“Well I guess that’s all the questions. Dad do you have one?”

“Umm no to be honest. If her body language was amazing when questioned. That’s one thing that caught my eye. I can tell Miss Pearl will be amazing with little ones.”

Honestly it went smoother than I would have thought. After all the questions we had dinner and played games. It was amazing.

Me and Izuku were having an nice conversation the whole car ride not once did it go quiet.

“Like I would have never thought that’s how the series would end! I hate cliffhangers to this day because of that show.”

“Same!! The creators are the reason I have trust issues now haha!”

“Well sadly this is your stop.”

“Aww man well I had a lot of fun with you guys. Once again thank you for giving me this opportunity!”

“No problem Pearl thank you for taking the job for us. Well have a good night and I’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

I wave him goodbye and head in my apartment complex. I failed to see the familiar car in the lot.

I opened my apartment door with a satisfied sign.

“Hello apartment! I hope you had an excellent night because I did! I can’t even say I missed you a tiny bit.”

As I made my way past my counter island something yanked me by my hair.

“OH YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO GET AWAY WITH THAT DISRESPECTFUL ATTITUDE OF YOURS?!”

She punched me in my face as she screamed bloody murder.

“OH IM BUSY GRANDMA. LIKE I GIVE ONE FUCK ABOUT YOUR LIFE SWEETHEART?!”

She throws me to the ground while I was still trying to recover from the hit she gave me.

“So rude to your own grandmother! Someone who took care of you when your own MOTHER didn’t want you!?”

I let her talk to herself while I tried to crawl away from her while holding my face.

“OH GET YOUR SLUTTY ASS BACK HERE!?”

She grabs my skirt pulling it down in the process. Now I’m only in underwear and my sweater.

“Granny I’m sor-“

She grabs my shirt so hard it rips leaving my partially naked.

“Now you’re sorry? Well I doesn’t fucking matter does it huh little Y/n!? You never seemed to understand when you disrespect your elders you get punished Y/n?!”

She drags me to my bathroom. We past my balcony to see my grandfather smoking a cigarette. Trying to focus on something other than his wife abusing his granddaughter.

“You are easily the biggest disappointment of our family. To think my daughter birthed a lunatic. A disrespectful one at that.”

She elbows me in my face darkening my vision. Until my vision is complete took. I can tell she put a blind fold on my face.

I could feel air touch my nipples. So I was completely naked now. I didn’t hear anyone talking or making any kind of movement.

I make an effort to move but is restricted. What the hell did she tie me up?!

Suddenly I hear a jingle of a belt buckle.

“Wait granny is that yo-“

A sudden slap of a belt brings a yelp out of me.

“You just had to do this to yourself. You decided to treat the only people that love you like shit. I’m really getting tired of having to do this when you’re a “grown up”. “

She just starts hitting me with the belt everywhere. My breasts,my face, legs, even my cunt for crying out loud. And that’s what I did,scream and cry. Was all I could do is voice my apologies for being rude.

When I finally pissed myself she stopped. She finally decided that was enough.

I just sat there in my own piss. Mascara smudged on my face from my constant crying. The truth is I don’t know why I’m crying. She’s always like this. One time when I was 14 she let our pervert neighbor have his way with me after I got sent to the principal’s office. She continuously denied letting him in but I just can’t find myself to believe her.

A boy kept bothering me about my skirt and how slutty my legs looked. He even grabbed the inside of my underwear after he had snuck into the girls bathroom! I bit him and threw him against the sink.

They had the audacity to call the police on me?! When I was the one attacked. They said I was “having hallucinations” because of my mental illness.

My grandma was livid. She beat me to black and blue after that. She had to write a letter to the parents of the boy to not be upset with him because I was mental.

She didn’t even let me rest after she beat me half to death…

(WARNING R4PE FLASHBACK)

I remember sitting in my bed shaking…

Then suddenly my door opens

“Hey kiddo… I hear you got into a bit of trouble at school today.”

The mysterious man comes up to me and starts rubbing circles in my back. This action immediately makes me tense up.

Tears build up in my eyes and I start to silently cry.

“Shhh honey I know… I know you’re in pain. I know you’re in trouble..but me. I believe everything you said.”

I looked up at him still crying.

“…..Really?”

“Oh of course honey, teenage boys are horrible little creatures who only think with they’re teeny tiny little cocks. But me? I’m all grown up and I can help you.”

“how?”

“Well when I’m hurting really bad I use sex to get rid of my frustrations. I think it could help you too..”

I didn’t know what sex was. I’d never had the talk. My grandma just said if I was to have it I’d be sitting on the concrete with some crackhead.

I lost my train of thought when he started to kiss my forehead. He mumbled sweet words and praises in my ear.

My tummy filled with butterflies. No one has spoken to me like that Ever

The way his hands sneakily moved down my body caressing my private and chest. I couldn’t help but make small noises.

The way he kissed me so passionately. Every moan I let out he got more excited. He taught things about my body that I never knew of until he came in that day.

“That’s it fuck! Honey I never thought you would be so good at this for a virgin.”

He was referring to my ability to make him feel good. He told me that all the women he’s been with they’ve never made him feel that good.

In that time it felt amazing. His finger inside of me feeling the hole of my privates and of my heart.

“Okay honey I’m gonna put it in now. Brace yourself.”

I’ve never felt anything like that. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had to experience. It hurt like hell but it felt good. I didn’t think about what happened earlier. After a while the pain turns into Pleasure

It lasted a while until he had to take it out. There was a little blood but he said that’s what happens.

Before he left he kissed me on my lips and rudely let his white stuff or as he told me it was called “cum” get all over my face.

(FLASHBACK OVER)

My grandparents only found out when my grandpa hit his car and he got angry. He threatened to fuck me much worse if he doesn’t pay for it.

However it was different. My grandmother was gone on a girls trip and so he was the only one watching me. If it was my grandma she would’ve beat my ass but this time it was different. He beat the NEIGHBOR’S ass instead of mine.

My grandpa brought me to my doctor and explained to him that I was taken advantage of and that I needed to talk to someone because he couldn’t help with that.

My neighbor didn’t go to jail though. He had too much dirt on them to let them go to the police. Before he left he looked at me through the window I was watching him from. He said to me

“Remember what I taught you honey. Please yourself rather than your frustration and problems.”

And that’s what I did.

After my grandparents made their leave. I finally decided to get up. I cleaned out my tub from all the nasty smelly piss from out my tub.

I turned on the hot water and stepped in. I haven’t taken a bath in so long. I’m usually using the showers but tonight I needed a stress relief.

The burning sensation of the boiling water made me feel clean I guess.

I feel my head immersed into the water. I open my eyes to see the ceiling. Today I don’t know what it is. Usually if things like that happens I touch myself. Taking away from the sensation of feeling hurt or in pain. But I wasn’t feeling it.

When I do that it makes me sluggish so I’m gonna make the choice to make a different approach. A better approach.

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mlobsters · 9 months

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supernatural s7e11 adventures in babysitting (w. adam glass)

when this started i was like. is this... going to be a twilight new moon reference...

which is my favorite scene in the series, it's my favorite adaptation of how the book did it (a blank page with just the month name for 3 pages in a row), and it's one of my most favorite and memorable usages of music in a movie.

youtube

while the circumstances are less permanent, new moon really hit for me with grief. and in fact i made a little parallel thing with this scene in spn s2e3 bloodlust (sera wrote that one) when sam and dean are in the thick of john just dying.

i wrote a little bit (under the cut) about my own parents deaths in the last episode and as ever this show pokes at my dead parents feelings and i'm not sure this episode is gonna go down with me. john dying was rough on me in that stirring up personal grief way, i'm hoping to not have a repeat of that experience.

(minor music rant, i think why it gets to me so much is because i am such a pushover and so easily emotionally manipulated by tv/movie music. *usually* if a show wants me to fell sad, they're gonna hit that button with music if nothing else. and i dislike it when i feel like i'm being manipulated. so to have a show not be able to hit that low bar, when i am already extremely emotionally connected to the show, THAT is notable. and not good. because like i said, i'm a cheap date. like just for a second there i felt that real sadness with this generic sad piano score happening as we go from sam and dean arguing and deciding to work different jobs to sam knocking on the kid's door. it was right there! but it petered out as soon as it came. -- edited to add: not surprisingly, it's a jay gruska ep)

wolverine, is that you?

teen wolf s3e8 visionary - madison mclaughlin as paige krasikeva

i thought the kid looked familiar, paige in teen wolf?? baby derek had to mercy kill her

surely dude would have a scarred up arm by now, with the number of times he's slicing himself. on the same wavelength again, i also suggested this little test back in episode 6 :p

FRANK Do I look like I know? You think it's easy to see this deep into what's real and also be bipolar with delusional ideation? There is no pill for my situation, sweetiepop, so, yeah, best guess – the bigmouths are onto me. Next question.

cue reading the delusional disorder wiki page, i didn't realize delusions could come without other symptoms of psychosis

so i think i've seen stuff he's been in but nothing jumping out worth grabbing a picture of. but he keeps pinging a) tom sizemore b) that he's somehow related to mark sheppard/crowley c) patton oswalt.

FRANK Got the equipment arranged. Come and get your costume on. We can scoot. DEAN "Costume"? What?

okay, that was cute.

not cute for me, the bumbling around on the cherry picker -_-

SAM (on phone) Dean, hey. So I think this guy was hunting a Vetala. Um, Dad took one down back in the day. Silver knife to the heart, twist, they're done. He says they're maladjusted loner types – like to knock a guy out, drag him home, feed slow. So, if Krissy's dad got grabbed, there's a chance he might still be alive. Be nice to get this girl's dad back home to her, you know? All right, I could use your help. Call me.

hitting us over the head with the point again. GOOD TO GET A DAD BACK TO THEIR KID HUH

you just said you could use dean's help.. but you went alone anyway and got jumped (very easily i might add) and bitten? great decision making, sam

DEAN How long was I out? FRANK 'Bout 36 hours.

excuse me WHAT. what a cheap way to add a bunch of tension and conflict that's also completely not believable. i don't care how sleep deprived he was, unless there was some medical condition happening there IS NO WAY.

FRANK Did I mention you look awful? DEAN Yes. Maybe because somebody I cared about just got shot in the head. And this is like shoving a rock up a hill. And – screw you. FRANK Here's my advice you didn't ask for – quit. DEAN What? FRANK You want to keep going? DEAN I want Dick Roman on a spit. FRANK But you're gonna drive yourself into the ground first. Good plan. DEAN I'm not gonna quit. It's not even an option. I'm not gonna walk out on my brother.

not totally sure how quitting equates to walking out on sam, but okay. oh wait, was he saying quit hunting altogether? (that totally went over my head, i just am realizing now after finishing the episode and rereading before posting lol)

KRISSY My dad left, and he didn't come back. Sam left, and he didn't come back. I give you the info, you leave, you don't come back.

she makes a good case and we get awkward roadtrip with kid for dean

DEAN Because I hunted one that turned out to be two a couple years back. KRISSY And you never told Sam? Wow, thanks. How 'bout sharing that with the rest of the class so we don't all get killed? DEAN Sam was away at Stanford, smartass.

okay but what? if sam was at school then john was alive and somehow dean never got that information to john so he'd update his journal? i don't think there's a gap that this could have worked in when john was dead but sam wasn't with dean for long enough to do a hunt/not talk about it. weird.

anyway probably just a segue to bring up college with the kid.

KRISSY So... Guess I'm retiring – one and done. DEAN Really? How you feel about that? KRISSY Who knows? Maybe I'll go to Stanford like Sam. KRISSY We're so lame. DEAN Yeah, we are. Take care of yourself.

that was sweet.

SAM You know what? Good for them. DEAN Yeah. It's nice to walk away from someone and feel like they could be okay. How about you? How you doing? You all right? SAM No. I'm definitely not. But, you know, I mean, um, I think, maybe... I just want to work. SAM Should I even ask? DEAN I'm fine. SAM "Fine," meaning...? DEAN You're right. We should just... work, right? And figure out a way to kick Dick Roman's ass. Well, hey, we are the professionals.

obstinate as dean can be about some things, he sure will take other people's advice to heart and start implementing it. though faking the smiles for that long while driving was creepy and sad

is it too much to ask for sera gamble to unironically like twilight???

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 7x11 #sideburns #twilight new moon #spnhiky #hiky #madison mclaughlin #teen wolf #paige krasikeva #Youtube #adam glass #lykke li #chopsurveillance #spn musical score #jay gruska

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seeminglyseph · 5 months

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I’m like. Absolutely terrible at dealing with PMS, but, there’s something about getting used to knowing that, which is making it a little easier because now I’m like. “Okay, I’m starting to track the weeks now, and with my Fitbit that’s a little easier, and I can plan in advance for the mood shifts and the abrupt changes in my inflammation levels”

Though I admit I still forget how much it’s gonna affect me until it starts happening and I’m like “what the fuck is this shit why do i abruptly hurt more than i did a week ago? Also emotionally i want to die and my brain is not working properly at all” which i mean.

All of those things suck, so I think part of it is that thing where your brain forgets how bad pain is? Also since my memory and cognitive functioning just fucking nosedives every time I probably just like. Fully forget what it’s like. Because my brain is just lagging like I ran out of processing power and it’s a disaster.

But also I hated being on BC for menstrual control, and there are multiple sources that tie it with aggravating IIH, or triggering it. And so I don’t know, I don’t think I want to go back on BC. Though if I want to start having an active sex life I should definitely start looking into it, but also also I’m probably old enough and disabled enough I could get someone to tie my tubes without much fuss. I mean given that Canada is unacceptably cool with sterilization in too many situations I could probably just be like “I am not interested in passing my genetics down to another generation” and not have any doctors fight me since I’m already old enough that doctors would start having concerns. Yeah my mom had her kids at about this age but her illnesses were car related. Most of the autoimmune stuff showed up in my generation or my dad’s side of the family, or I didn’t hear about it because we moved to a different province and therefore I have like none of the family history that everyone else does.

I should maybe try and restart my Facebook since that’s where the family does social media but also that website is hell. I feel like I should try to do more social media in other places for like. Idk. Networking and communication and socialization, but also I feel like I hate that? And I don’t know the norms of those platforms at all and I’m starting way behind everyone else and it sucks. I don’t mind Reddit for the most part, though I’m not really active on it, but it has some communities that I like. But places where I’m expected to be myself is like. Hell. I like some degree of like… separation from my family and social expectations and stuff like. Probably no one here is gonna judge whether I’m presenting an acceptable enough representation of myself to the outside world of who I am.

Like this isn’t the version of me that feels like has to be business casual and not scare the normies? Idk exactly how to explain it without sounding fake but like there’s an acceptable amount of mentally ill or disabled or whatever for certain people and that’s for things that have my real name on it. And then there’s places where I can be seph who has problems with hygiene and ADHD and ASD and cPTSD and probably BPD or bipolar 2 or something and Agoraphobia and I haven’t been able to function in like 2+ years because of so many Symptoms of all the Things and it just makes people uncomfortable to have to deal with the reality of how much that affects a person and how that’s not easy to deal with or whatever. Or like the fact that people with all this shit take work and time and effort and whatnot, and are sometimes disagreeable and emotional and messy. And I don’t want to deal with people lashing out with anger because they want to be a good person, but they don’t have any patience to deal with like… the reality of caring for someone who isn’t a really convenient cute image of a damaged person they’d imagined. Like I empathize, because it is hard, but also like. I’ve dealt with it too much, too many times already and I’m kinda over it. So I dunno I’m figuring it out.

#my life

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briamichellewrites · 1 year

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Brie was having another depressive episode. She dropped all communication with the band because she couldn’t find the energy to do anything except lay in bed. The only time she got up was to use the bathroom. It had been a couple of days since Mike or any of them heard from her, so Brad volunteered to go over and check on her. They remembered her telling them about her depression and how she dealt with it.

He found her looking like she had just woken up. Her beautiful brown hair was all over the place and she had bags underneath her eyes. Her clothes were the same ones she had been wearing the last time he saw her. How was she doing? Not good. How bad was her depression? It was bad. Did she feel like hurting herself? No, she just didn’t have the energy to do anything.

Has she eaten? No. He would make her something small. After going to her kitchen, he went through her refrigerator and cupboards to look for something quick and easy. He found a banana, which he cut up and tossed into a bowl of vanilla yogurt. It took him five minutes to make. He brought it over to her. Thanks. She wiped the tears from her face. How often did she have depression? It was about once a month. She was screened for bipolar disorder but she was found not to have it.

He had already texted his wife, Elisa to let her know where he was. She didn’t have a problem with him going over to take care of her. They had a two-year-old son, Jonah with a one-month-old daughter, Noa. He loved being a father, though it was difficult with a toddler and a baby. When they weren’t taking care of one, they were taking care of the other. But, he wouldn’t change it for anything.

She was a great mother and wife, who could balance their busy schedules and his career. She was a screenwriter, so the kids sometimes had a babysitter while they worked. Phoenix and Chester also had kids. Phoenix and his wife, Linsey had two girls: Regan, three; and Brooklyn, two. Leaving their kids to go out on tour was hard because they missed them. With the advances in technology, they could call and text, which made them feel closer.

Brie ate slowly. When she was finished, she put her dishes into the dishwasher. Good. She had food in her stomach. Yeah, she did. She thanked him for coming over. It wasn’t a problem. Did she want to watch a movie? They went into her living room and she went over to her movie collection.

Yeah, I’m with Brie. She had a small yogurt with a cut-up banana that I made for her. She’s picking out a movie for us to watch. I asked her about her depression and she said it was bad. She is not in danger of hurting herself, though. I think she should stay with one of us, so we can help her and make sure she eats, even if it’s just something small. I don’t think she’s eaten anything for two days. – Brad

That was a great idea. Rob volunteered because he didn’t have kids or pets to take care of. She chose the movie, Obsessed with Beyoncé and Ali Larter. It was about a woman who tries to steal another woman’s husband. Why did she pick that one? Because it was such a stupid movie, it would make her forget about her depression for a while. He laughed. She bought it to watch with her sister, but they never got around to watching it together.

She watched it herself and had to suffer through it. It became her movie to watch when she was having a hard time. She put the disc in before grabbing the remote and sitting down. After grabbing a blanket, she wrapped it around herself before throwing the other blanket to him. Thanks. He sat down beside her and put it on his lap.

The movie was not well made. The acting was off and the quality was poor. Yet, it distracted him for the hundred and eight minutes he would never get back. He would not understand why women were so petty towards each other.

After the movie was over, he asked if she would be okay for the night. Yeah, she was going back to bed. He told her that Rob would be checking on her the next day. If she needed to, she could stay with him. She would wait to see how she was feeling. Ok. He hugged her before saying goodbye. She was in a little better mood, but he didn’t want to celebrate too early.

On his way home, he talked to Mike. He told him that after the party with Bruce and Patti, Brie sought him out at the studio where he was working. Bruce had voiced concerns about their age difference and how he felt the relationship was inappropriate, especially since she was very young. They talked for a while before deciding not to pursue a relationship. That could have something to do with her depression. Brad didn’t know that. He assumed they were happy together.

They were. He had to agree with Bruce because he was too afraid of going against him. It was hard for her, he could tell. He regretted hurting her. Brad understood he had to make a difficult decision. How was she when he was there? She was quieter than usual. He made her yogurt with a cut-up banana, which she ate. They then watched a movie and she was able to joke about how terrible it was.

Was it that bad? Oh, yeah. She said she bought it to watch with her sister but for some reason, they never got around to watching it. It was so bad that it made him feel better. She was in a little better mood when he left. Rob was going to check on her and see if she wanted to stay with him for a while.

“She mentioned being screened for bipolar disorder. I don’t know a lot about it, so I was going to do some research on the disorder.”

“Does she have it?”

“She said no. I believe her because I don’t have any reason not to. I’m also not a mental health professional.”

“I’ll look into it, too.”

When he got home, Jonah was in a fresh diaper and his pajamas after taking a bath. Daddy! Elisa got up with a cranky Noa in her arms. He took her from her, so she could put Jonah to bed. Noa was overtired, overstimulated, and was having a hard time going to sleep. Her brother had been very loud. All she could do was cry while her mother struggled with her and her brother.

He rocked her and made shushing noises to calm her down. She fussed until she finally fell asleep. He took her upstairs and carefully put her in her crib. Jonah was in his bed being read a bedtime story when he walked in to check on them. At two years old, he had a lot of energy and was experiencing difficult emotions. He wanted to do everything himself, even when he did it incorrectly and needed help. When he didn’t want to get dressed, it was easier to let him run around in his diaper.

Especially if he didn’t have to go anywhere. Both he and Elisa were learning as they went. They both wanted three kids, though they were going to wait a few years before trying for another one. At least they would have one out of diapers by then, maybe two. It was easier to change Noa than it was to change Jonah because he was a wiggly toddler, who would rather play than lie still.

Elisa was tired as she came into the bedroom. How was his friend? She forgot her name. Brie. He went over what he had told Mike. Rob was going to check on her tomorrow and see if she wanted to stay with him. Did she have chronic depression? He thought she did. She mentioned struggling with it since she was very young, maybe even Jonah’s age. It was genetic from her father. She was also dating Mike but they decided not to pursue a relationship because of their age differences.

Brie had woken up from a short nap to find text messages from Rob, Mike, and Jon, who was in town with his band. Did she want to meet up with him? He texted her the address where he was staying at. Yeah, she would be right there after she took a quick shower. He looked around the bedroom he had set up for them. It was perfect and very romantic.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

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arrowflier · 3 years

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Hi I don't have tumblr, so not sure how this works. Came across your blog though, and spent three days just reading everything you've written and reblogged. Such a fun three days! I have so many ideas for prompts, but the one I'm most curious about is what happens when Ian has a rough patch of mania maybe a couple years into their marriage and what kind of plans do Mickey and Ian have for either an upswing or a downswing of his bipolar? Thanks so much excited to see what you come up with!

Hi there! It's such a compliment that you went through my rambles, glad you're enjoying.💖 Standard disclaimer: everything I know about bipolar disorder comes from the internet. It's an important part of Ian that I want to be respectful of, so as always please let me know if I miss the mark.

Caring for your partner, Rule 1: Be There

When Mickey woke up, Ian wasn’t in bed.

That wasn’t terribly unusual in and of itself. What was unusual was that it was only 3AM, on a Saturday, and Mickey could already hear his husband moving outside their room. The footsteps outside the door were soft, restrained, like Ian didn’t want to wake him. But the following clatter in the kitchen was alarmingly loud as Ian opened the drawer under the oven to pull out a pan, and Mickey groaned.

He wanted to roll over, pull a pillow over his head, and block out whatever this was so he could go back to sleep. They’d been working long days, and sometimes longer nights as the dispensaries were all pulling overtime with increasing demand. They’d only made it to bed like two hours ago, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey was tired.

But Ian should have been tired too, and it was never a good sign when he wasn’t. So Mickey sat up with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and swung his legs out of bed.

He winced when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. They had been here for almost a year already, and they still hadn’t gotten ‘round to buying a fucking rug for the bedroom.

Mickey shivered as he hopped awkwardly toward the closed bedroom door, grabbing his robe from a hook there and tugging it on over his thin shirt and the boxers he was pretty sure started out on Ian’s side of the dresser. Wrapping it closed, he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway, squinting blearily as he followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen.

Ian had half their crockery out on the counter already. His red hair gleamed under the sharp light of the long fluorescent bulbs overhead as he stirred batter in a large bowl they had borrowed from Debbie last week and never given back, wooden spoon clanking against the sides erratically.

Erratically. That was a good word for it, Mickey thought. The mindless clink clink clink of wood on metal in no discernible pattern, just like the route Ian took around their table, to the counter, to the fridge, and back to the oven again. Mindless, pacing, random.

Mickey leaned against the wall, and watched.

They had talked about this, since the last time. At least, since the last time Mickey had been worried. When Ian was down, when he didn’t want to get up. When Mickey dragged him out on his first run and they talked afterward in the kitchen, when Mickey made clear that his worry was just one more face of what they had together.

He’d come down the next morning to Ian at the kitchen table, the whole place eerily quiet for a place they still shared with too many fucking people. There had been coffee in the pot, toast on the table, and Ian, picking at his cuticles and not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” he’d said, and Mickey’s heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Can I wake the fuck up first?” he’d asked, but Ian had just kicked a chair out for him and waited, not meeting his eyes, until Mickey sat down.

They’d sat silently for a long moment, Mickey unwilling to ask what it was about. Finally, Ian had sighed, and reached out for Mickey’s hand across the table.

“It’s about the bipolar,” he’d said, and Mickey had been so relieved he could feel it in his fucking toes, bare and cold against the tile floor.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ian had been startled by his easy acceptance of the topic, he could tell.

“That’s it?” He’d sounded almost confused.

Mickey had shrugged.

“I mean, yeah?” He’d rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the hand no holding Ian’s. “You had me worried, man, with the we need to talk thing. But this is just normal shit.”

Ian had just stared at him, then released his hand to lean back against his chair.

“Normal?” He’d asked disbelievingly. “There’s nothing normal about planning for my imminent mental break, Mickey.

Mickey had snorted at the irony of it. “You kidding me?” he’d said. “It’s the most normal fucking thing about us.”

As he watched Ian in the kitchen now, making pancakes at 3AM on a Saturday morning, Mickey thought that was probably still true.

“Hey, Martha Stewart,” he said softly from his position against the wall, still leaning there as Ian spun around with surprise painted over his face. His eyes were off, the light not quite there, but they still warmed when he saw Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian said back, voice high and too chipper. “I’m making pancakes, you want some? I’ve got banana, your favorite, and chocolate chips, and strawberries…”

He went on to list more ingredients, but Mickey wasn’t really listening. He could see it all anyway, spread out over the kitchen like so many half-made decisions, half-baked ideas that kept giving way to something else.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and he snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love some pancakes. Why don’t you let me stir for a awhile?”

—

They had their pancakes standing up next to the counter, nowhere left to rest their plates on the crowded surfaces of the kitchen. Ian talked about the merits of each ingredient as they ate, and Mickey listened, and nodded along as best he could.

This was okay. It was pancakes in their boxers at 3AM with no sleep in a kitchen that looked like it was hit by a tornado, but Ian was eating, and Ian was smiling, and Ian was there.

And when Ian stopped and tried to set his plate down, distress on his face as he was confronted with the mess he had made, Mickey took the dish from him with easy hands.

“You want to sit down awhile?” he tried, nudging Ian gently out of the disaster-zone. “Bet you’re tired after eating all that.”

He knew Ian wasn’t, but he kept a hand on his back anyway until they were out in the living room, next to the sofa. Mickey let go to sit down himself with a groan, tired muscles aching at being used for too long without rest. He kept his eyes off Ian, just standing there, looking at him in that too-present, too-absent way of his, and leaned back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

After a moment, the sofa dipped as Ian settled in beside him.

“Mickey?” Ian asked. The cushions bounced as he tapped his heel repeatedly on the floor.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded, squinting his eyes back open.

“Can I touch you?”

Mickey repressed the urge to sit up, to take Ian into his arms. Ian sounded too hesitant, a shift from moments before as he playfully shoved bites of overcooked batter into Mickey’s mouth.

But Ian didn’t like to be held like this.

“Of course you can, you moron,” Mickey said instead, and watched as Ian’s leg stopped moving. The other man drew closer, reaching a hand out to card through Mickey’s hair and drag down the side of his face, a touch too shaky and a touch too firm.

Ian had once said that touching Mickey grounded him, and Mickey hadn’t known if Ian thought that was a good thing or not. In the midst of hypomania, Ian didn’t always take kindly to being grounded.

But tonight—well, this morning—it seemed to be a good thing. Mickey was grateful for that.

Grateful, because it meant that Ian looked like himself as he moved to lay against him, and not like some over-saturated facsimile painted with too much water on the canvas, always shifting, always running. Grateful, because it meant that Ian pulled Mickey’s arms around him and settled into his side like they always did, even if his body never quite stilled at the contact.

Grateful, because it meant they wouldn’t fight tonight. That Mickey wouldn’t have to worry as much about what Ian might say, might do, if he stepped out of line. If he went off the script they had planned on a good day for dealing with bad ones to come.

He wouldn’t have to call Lip for backup. He wouldn’t have to tail Ian as he left the apartment to make sure he stayed safe. He wouldn’t have hide the knives, or their wallets, or anything else.

Not that he would have complained if he did. It was what it was. Ian was who he was. And Mickey would always see him through it. Love him through it.

They lay there, mostly quiet, except for the mindless tune Ian hummed against his neck, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on Mickey’s collarbone.

Eventually, the song cut off.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Ian asked quietly into the echoing room, and Mickey nodded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

He'd get everything together in the morning. Ian's journals, their schedule, their meal plan. The little notebook where he kept track of Ian's prescriptions, how they worked, how long they lasted.

Something had obviously slipped, either in their methods or in Ian himself. But Mickey was well past dwelling on what they could have done differently, and focused on what to do next.

Things happened. Things changed. They would adapt.

At Mickey's confirmation, Ian just nodded against him, fidgeting until their legs were too entwined to separate.

“Sleep first, if you can,” Mickey told him, settling in for a long rest of the night. “We’ll do it together when you wake up.”

Together. They’d do it together. Again and again and again, as much as they needed to. Because Ian was his husband, and this was their normal.

And their normal was still pretty damn good.

#daily speedwrite #fanfic #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #bipolar disorder #tw: mental health

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mickey-millagher · 3 years

Text

Mickey stepped out onto the Gallagher front porch, his current search for his husband had been so far been fruitless but the ladder leaned up against the porch roof was starting to shed some light on his whereabouts.

Making his way down the front steps and looking up, Mickey was greeted by the shock of red hair belonging to the one and only Ian Gallagher.

“Ian the fuck are you doing up there?”

Ian looked down, seemingly unsurprised by Mickey’s presence, which really in itself wasn’t shocking, the two of them had hardly spent any time apart since they got married.

“Liam and Franny’s frisbee got stuck up here, said I’d get it back for them.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at his do-gooder husband. “Ain’t you meant to have someone holding those things?”

“Worried about my safety Mick?” Ian grinned down at him.

Mickey was about to reply that no, he absolutely was not, and fuck you for thinking so, when a gunshot rang out from around the corner. Ian with his soft centre that no years of hardship seemed to ever quite have stamped out of him, jumped at the noise, the motion causing him to lose his footing and go falling to the ground, ladder right after him.

“Fuck, Ian.” Mickey yelled, rushing to the younger mans side, pushing the ladder off of him where it had landed on his face, a cut to start swelling up in its wake.

“Hey, hey you okay?”

No response.

“Fuck.”

Mickey, quickly checked for breathing, letting out a sign of relief when he felt his husbands steady breath still coming through. Pulling Ian’s head onto his lap he then got out his phone to call for an ambulance.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance, my husband hit his head and he’s not waking up.”

“Okay sir, can you tell me your location?”

“Err shit um.” He quickly looked up at the house number. “2119 South Wallace.”

“Okay an ambulance is coming. I need you to answer a few questions for me. Is your husband still breathing?”

“Yeah, he’s breathing fine.”

“Good, that’s a really good sign. And his pulse?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, he’s the one who knows all the medical shit.”

“Take his wrist and place your thumb on the outside corner.” The voice guided him through.

Mickey placed the phone on the grass to follow the woman’s instructions. Clumsily attempting to pinpoint Ian’s pulse, a nurse of sheer panic flew through him when he couldn’t immediately find it, his breath coming out in quick, jagged pants when he did locate Ian’s, thankfully, steady pulse.

“Yeah, his pulse is good.” Mickey breathed down the phone.

“Okay, these are all good signs. The ambulance should be with you soon but your husband should be okay in the mean time.”

“Should be?” But the phone line was already dead.

“Shit, c’mon Gallagher, get up you stubborn son of a bitch.”

Maybe he heard him or maybe it was coincidence but at that moment Ian let out a groan.

“Ian?”

“Mickey?” Ian blinked, confused, back up at him. Unsteadily pulling himself up from the shorter mans lap.

“Woah, easy, you took a fucking nose dive off the roof.”

Ian stared back at him, drawing in on himself slightly.

“What?” The younger man asked.

“You don’t remember?”

Ian shook his head, immediately wincing and bringing a hand up to his head.

“What are you still doing here?” Ian asked after a second.

The question took Mickey aback.

“Where the fuck else would I be?”

Ian shrugged, crawling back to lean against the chainlink fence.

“Most people don’t stick around after a breakup.”

It was Mickeys turn to stare, not understanding a word that was coming out of his husbands mouth.

“What the fuck are you talking about? That fall knock a few screws loose? We just got married, that was the end of our breakups.” Mickey said, wiggling his ring finger in front of Ian to prove his point.

Ian stared at the ring wrapped around Mickeys finger before lifting up his own left hand to examine his finger ring. He touched the ring with such a mixture of emotions, Mickey couldn’t even pinpoint them all. Confusion, disbelief, shock, fear, and awe, being among them.

Ian’s eyes flickered back up to Mickey’s, mouth open no doubt to ask another strange and confusing question when the sirens sound came blearing down the street.

“We got a call that a man had suffered a head wound at this address?” The first paramedic out of the ambulance asked.

Mickey pointed them over towards Ian.

“My husband. He just woke up and he’s been acting fucking weird since.”

The paramedics came over to where Ian was hunched by the fence.

“Hello, sir. We heard you had an accident.”

Ian shrugged, not paying much attention to the people in front of him, his focus still on the ring on his finger.

“Sir, could you tell us your name?”

“Ian Gallagher.” He replied softly, having yet to look up at the paramedics.

“Hi, Ian. Would you mind if I looked at your head?” The male paramedic asked.

Again Ian shrugged, moving slightly away from the fence to allow better access.

While the male paramedic examined Ian, the female one crouched within his eyesight.

“Hey Ian, could you answer just a couple of questions for me?”

“Okay.”

“Great.” The woman replied, way too brightly for someone who was meant to be making sure Ian was okay, at least in Mickey’s opinion. “What do you remember prior to the impact?”

Ian’s eyes flickered up to meet Mickey’s before looking back at the paramedic.

“Umm, I’d just gotten back from a trip with my mom.”

Mickey stilled, Ian’s answers earlier had been strange but not thinking he’d been hanging out with his dead mother strange.

“Do you remember what lead to you hitting your head?” The paramedic asked, this time using a light to shine into Ian’s eyes while she waited for his answer.

“No.” Ian replied, wincing slightly as the other paramedic continued his check of Ian’s skull.

“Okay that’s perfectly normal. Can you tell me what year it is?”

“2014.” Ian’s answer came with no hesitation but the simple date brought Mickey’s world grounding to a halt.

2014, that was the year Ian had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The year Mickey had been sentenced to fifteen years behind bars. And the year Ian had torn his heart to shreds in this very front yard.

No wonder Ian had been confused by his presence, why he thought they were broken up, why he didn’t know they were married.

The paramedic however seemed to just take this answer in her stride. “Do you know where we are?”

“This is my house.”

“Do you know who the president is?”

“Obama?” Ian asked, getting confused by the random questions.

“okay, and finally, can you tell me the days of the week backwards?”

“Umm, Sunday, Saturday, Friday— fuck it’s um.” Ian’s eyes flickered back to Mickey in a panic.

“Hey, it’s okay, there’s no wrong answers here, we just need to access how best to help you.” This came from the male paramedic, who had apparently finished his head assessment.

“It’s um— Thursdays, Wednesday, Tuesday, Monday.”

“That’s great Ian.”

“So I’m okay?”

“Ian, have you heard of the condition amnesia?”

“Yeah?” Ian replied, a slight questioning lilt to his voice, not yet understanding what Mickey was just starting to piece together.

“During my questions you said you believe it’s 2014 and that Obama is President. Do you still believe that?”

“Yes?” Ian replied, nerves now clouding his voice.

“Ian, the year is 2020.” The paramedic informed him gently.

Ian looked between the two health workers before looking up to Mickey, as if to ask for confirmation.

Mickey nodded and Ian let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes while leaning back against the fence while he took it all in.

“We’d like for you to come down to the hospital so we can run some routine tests to make sure you’re okay. Amnesia is common after head wounds and usually goes away on its own but it’s important we check nothing else is going on.”

Ian nodded, getting up slowly from his position to follow them to the ambulance.

Mickey made to go after him.

“You don’t have to come, you don’t owe me anything.” Ian said when he heard the footsteps following him.

Mickey was glad Ian was facing away from him so he couldn’t see how much those words broke his heart.

“Fuck off Gallagher, I know I don’t owe you shit, still gonna make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t need a nurse.” Ian complained, now turning to face the older man.

“Think the doc said the opposite.”

Ian huffed at his answer but made no more moves to stop Mickey from following him into the ambulance.

~page break-

The L ride back to the house had been spent in silence, the walk from the L didn’t seem to be faring any better. The doctors at the hospital had cleared Ian of any major damage, just a slight concussion and told them to come back in a week if his memory still hadn’t improved. Stupid doctors go to all their fancy medical schools but still couldn’t help Ian when he was hurt.

“You don’t have to come back to the house you know.” It was the first thing Ian had said since they left the hospital.

“Considering I live there I kinda fucking do.”

“Right.” Ian started fiddling with his wedding ring, going back to looking between Mickey and the ring like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

They fell back into silence for a couple more minutes.

“Why did you want to marry me?” The voice came out small, the words so vividly reminiscent of Ian’s fears before their wedding. Words and worries that they’d moved past, but only Mickey remembered that now.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Mickey laughed, there was no joy in it but once he started he found it incredibly hard to stop.

Ian stood there in alarm, watching Mickey have his, breakdown? Was this a breakdown? It felt like a breakdown. All there years of life constantly pulling them apart was meant to be over and now Ian couldn’t even remember it. He should’ve known not to get too settled.

“Have you gone fucking crazy too?”

That just made him laugh more. Mickey shook his head at his husband, taking a couple of minutes to calm himself down.

“You’re not fucking crazy.”

“Yes I am. There’s too much wrong with me, why would you choose to tie yourself down to me? I have nothing to offer you.”

“We got married cause we fucking love each other.” Mickey replied, Ian’s words from the diner proposal ringing in his ears.

“What so we really did go down to the courthouse in some tuxes like a couple of old queens?” Ian asked with a small joyless laugh.

“Polish Doll actually.”

“Aren’t they homophobes?”

“Worked around it.” Mickey replied, lips twitching upwards just at the memory of that day. “C’mon man, let’s not do this here.”

Ian sighed but seemed slightly more accepting of Mickey coming home with him now, or at least he wasn’t outwardly fighting it as they continued the short trudge back to the South Wallace house.

“I’m tired, think I’m gonna go to bed early.”

“You sure that’s okay? They said you had a concussion.”

“A mild concussion. And it’s fine, as long as I can walk straight and keep a conversation I can sleep.”

Mickey’s heart leapt up in his chest at those words, was he starting to remember?

“You remember all that medical shit?”

“What medical shit? Carl’s always getting concussions so I remember that stuff.”

Mickey tried to hide his disappointment but probably not well enough as Ian gave him a weird look before shaking his head and climbing up the stairs.

Mickey sighed as he watched the retreating form of his husband, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes that he refused to let fall as he headed to get a beer from the fridge. The first of likely many this evening.

Mickey was halfway through his second one when the front door opened, Carl, Debbie and Franny coming into the house, with the two siblings arguing about some dumb shit or other. The noise soon bringing Liam down from his room.

Not for the first time Mickey was grateful for how self obsessed the majority of the Gallaghers were. Liam had acknowledged him before being dragged into whatever drama his siblings had going on, while Franny was too invested in her cartoons to notice much. Meaning Mickey got away with mostly staying out of it while he finished his beer before deciding it was time to check on his husband.

Slowly pulling the accordion door open, Mickey swore his beat stopped when he saw that the room was empty, remembering teenaged Ian’s tendency to run when things got hard. Pulling back quickly, Mickey scanned the first floor of the house before landing on the slightly ajar door to the old boys room.

Rushing down the hall, Mickey only felt like he could breathe again once the rickety old door was open and he could see Ian curled up on his old bed, having forgotten he ever moved rooms.

Mickey went back to their bedroom, digging around under the bed to find the wedding album he’d created with Franny not that long ago. His young niece insisting she’d be a big help. The overall look ended up being slightly childish but it would still hopefully have the desired effect today, to get Ian to realised what he hadn’t been able to six years ago. That he loved him and wasn’t going anywhere.

Back in the boys room, Mickey carefully placed the album down on the side table. Leaning over he ran his fingers through Ian’s hair, the younger man nuzzling into his hand even in his sleep, looking so peaceful all the while.

Mickey couldn’t bring himself to wake him up, if he didn’t have his memories back, all being awake would bring him was pain and misery. At least in his sleep he he could be happy.

Mickey grabbed a pillow from the abandoned third bed and lay down on the floor to wait, he didn’t want to be too far away from Ian, not right now but the days events had been too exhausting. He just needed to close his eyes for a few seconds

~page break-

When Ian woke up the room was lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the window. He could hear snores coming from the other occupants of the room, Carl up in the bunk bed and— Mickey sleeping on the floor? Ian remembered the events of the day, the doctors who told him he’d forgotten six years of his life, and Mickey who had stayed by his side throughout all of it, not caring about the breakup. Although, he supposed, to Mickey that must seem like ancient history by now.

Leaning over to properly look at his now husband, Ian’s eye caught something resting beside the bed that hadn’t been there before.

Picking it up he couldn’t help the small gasp that left him once he realised what was in his hands. The photo on the front was of Mickey and himself, dressed up in fancy tuxes, flipping the camera off with their other arms wrapped around each other.

Ian brushed his finger against the photo Mickey softly before slowly turning the page. The album was filled with photos upon photos of them, dancing, laughing, kissing. The ones that must have been taken while they exchanged their vows made him pause the most. The serious looks on their faces, followed by the utter joy in their grins from the pictures of them walking down the aisle together.

They fucking loved each other. After everything, they really fucking loved each other.

Ian pulled the album to his chest, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. He wanted to keep looking but his head was hurting now more than ever and it helped to close his eyes.Still it wasn’t long before he fell asleep, soothed by the images of his wedding to the love of his life.

~page break~

Waking up groggy hours later, Ian sat up with a groan, looking around his old room and the down at the album still in his arms confused.

“Hey you’re awake, how are you feeling?” Mickey asked, sitting up from his place on the ground.

Looking at Mickey, Ian suddenly remembered everything that had happened yesterday. It was strange to remember a time that he didn’t remember so much of his life.

Ian quickly moved off the bed to wrap his arms around his husband, not being able to go without holding Mickey any longer, they’d lost enough time and yesterday only proved that.

“I’m so sorry Mick.”

Mickey tensed in his arms.

“What you sorry about?”

“Yesterday, fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know how I’d manage if all you remembered was from one of our breakups.” Ian breathed into his neck.

“You remember?” Mickey asked, not quite ready to let his guard down after the hell that had been the day before.

“I remember everything Mick.”

Ian couldn’t be sure but thought he heard a slight sob before Mickey’s arms tightened around him, bringing him as close to his body as possible.

“Don’t fucking do that again Gallagher.”

“I promise Mick.” Ian replied, kissing Mickey’s neck where his head was buried. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#amnesia fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #shameless #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fanfiction #it’s set some time between 10x12 and 11x10 I dunno when tho #this is 100% full of medical inaccuracies but I wrote it across two bad days of long Covid symptoms #and like my dissertation is due in a week so I’ve got no time or energy to properly research #I might edit this in the future and make it more realistic to post on ao3 or something #Freya’s fics

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years

Text

Tracing Time

Disclaimer that I am not a therapist nor bipolar but I have had a therapist so I’m hoping it’s not too awful of a depiction. Also want to add a minor content warning for the ending scene for homophobia, nothing explicit or even verbal, just a woman with an icky vibe.

Wednesday, 16:04

Song: Haux - Youth

Sander tips his head against the back of the couch and stares at the fan in the corner. It drones in slow circles, doing little more than disturbing the air right in front of it. It still makes the air in the room chilly enough that Sander is glad he’s wearing a sweater, though.

Between it and the window is an ‘abstract’ painting of the brain. Abstract in that the supposed organ is actually scattered in pieces throughout the canvas, all in various states of destruction. One has trees growing out of it, for example. Another is on fire; it’s Sander’s favourite.

He’d stared at it with an absurd sort of fascination in his first session, almost two years ago now, and his therapist, Agathe, had simply smiled at him and asked if he liked art. It was a sneaky way in, but he supposed that was the point. These meetings have gotten fewer and farther apart over that time, now that he can supposedly manage himself to a high enough standard on his own. Well, not quite enough, he supposes, or he probably wouldn’t be here at all. He can practically hear Agathe’s rebuke that they are just ‘casual check-ins’, and Sander is free to go whenever he pleases.

At every one of those reminders, Sander debates doing exactly that—getting up and going. Instead, he usually ends up slumping sullenly for a few minutes before Agathe prods her way back in.

They haven’t been mandatory in a long time, these sessions, but now there’s just something...reassuring. There are still times he doesn’t bother making an appointment, but knowing he can, and knowing that someone with the right knowledge doesn’t see any reason to worry about him, leaves a pretty damn good sense of relief.

And he did have a bit of a blip, at the start of the year. A few days in which he had to be prodded and coerced into just taking a drink of water, and had spent the majority of in his room. It had overlapped the holidays, so he’d let Robbe come and cocoon himself with him for a good chunk of the time.

It hadn’t made him better. But it made him...safe, or something similar, and that was the most he could hope for.

It was the coming-out-of-nowhere aspect that had shaken him a bit. He’d felt better, just keeping up his sessions then, being sure that he was at least doing alright with his medication. It’s working okay, the sitting and talking, so he shows up and just lets Agathe keep making sure.

The door cracks open now and she slips back in, dropping into the couch across from Sander and shooting him her usual calm, too-happy smile through light lipstick. It brings out her dimples. She’s not yet marred by wrinkles, but there’s something soft and aging about her face, anyway. Maybe it’s the graying roots. “Sorry about that, I forget this thing way too often.” She holds up the clipboard she’d carried in with an exasperated sigh, murmuring under her breath as she flicks through it and gets settled.

It’s all painfully familiar. It makes Sander smile.

He does like her. He’s never bothered denying that.

“So, how are we today?” It’s the same way she always starts, though it’s usually accompanied by—ah, there we go—clasped hands and another smile.

“Good,” Sander says. It’s automatic, but he also means it. Today is fine. It’s good.

She raises her brow when he doesn’t offer anything else. “Alright, good. Belated birthday wishes are in order, I believe?”

“Yeah, thank you. Just yesterday.”

She nods, and Sander does not think about how that was dumb when she obviously already knows. But she just settles back and crosses her legs. “Did you do anything to celebrate?”

Sander’s lips finally stretch in a smile of his own. He thinks it’s probably a little dopey, a little lovestruck, and she probably knows exactly what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “I had breakfast with my parents because Robbe took me out for dinner. Then he had a surprise party planned at our friends’ flat.”

“A party on a school night?” Agathe’s brows raise, and she shakes her head with a small laugh. “How do they deal with that today?”

“No clue,” Sander breathes out a huff of his own, trying not to feel overly amused by how Gilles had been in the class they shared with Sander earlier in the day. For once, they hadn’t said a word, just sat with their head down for the entire lecture, wincing every now and then when Sander laughed. He hadn’t even heard from any of the others, but Robbe had looked dead on his feet this morning, as well. He’d sent Sander a slightly sunnier selfie about half an hour ago, though, so he’s probably fine. “Not very well, I imagine.”

She tilts her head. “You seem well enough.”

“Well, I wasn’t drinking,” Sander shrugs.

At this, her serene little smile returns and her nod seems approving, and even though Sander hadn’t been looking for it, he grudgingly admits that it feels good. “I know that can be a difficult choice, and I’d rarely be able to make it myself,” she laughs again. “It’s great that you feel strong and comfortable enough in that group to do your own thing.”

Sander can’t help a little snort. “Are you kidding? It was one of them that had me drinking mocktails.”

“Really?” Agathe grins.

“Yeah, but then he got kinda drunk, and the last couple he made me were just disgusting because he thought these awful mixtures would be a really good idea.”

She laughs gently. “Well, it seems like it’s not the worst. ‘He’ isn’t Robbe?”

Sander shakes his head. “No, but one of his friends.”

“And what about Robbe, then? How is he?”

“Good.” A soft smile steals over his face. “The best, as always.”

“Treating you well.”

Sander’s smile widens, and he raises his brows without saying anything.

Agathe points at him. “Not what I meant, and not what I need to know.”

“I thought we can talk about whatever I want in here,” Sander says innocently.

“Alright, then,” she acquiesces. “Tell me all about it.”

Sander blanches. He thinks about it, opens his mouth, and then thinks about it some more. Closes his mouth again.

Her smile is downright devious. “That’s what I thought.”

He huffs. “It’s very healthy, just so you know.”

“I am sure.”

“Explorative. Always consenting, of course. Frequent.”

“All very normal and well for teenage boys,” she nods, and it would be completely serious if Sander couldn’t see her eyes twinkling. She pauses. “Although, I can’t call you that anymore. How does it feel to be twenty?”

Sander narrows his eyes. “Nice change of subject.”

“Oh, if you had more to say, please continue. Just a thought that occurred to me, I don’t mean to steer you, you know that.”

He does know that, and it makes him pause, because. How does it feel to be twenty? He realises he hasn’t thought about it. He realises that’s probably a good thing—that he didn’t get stuck on his birthday this year, that it was something he just enjoyed. Maybe it was simply going to sleep next to Robbe that helped, but no anxiety had taken over at the end of the day.

Even after his conversation with Jens. It’s not the most prominent part of the day of Sander’s mind even now. Instead he finds himself tucking his hand into his pocket and grasping Robbe’s key, running his thumb over the already familiar ridges.

He hadn’t even been worrying about his major fuck-up with his assignment. He’s still not.

He’s not really giving himself the chance.

Should he be?

“It feels the same as being nineteen,” he says finally. “I didn’t become a different human in a day, sadly.”

He can see her latching on. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“‘Sadly’?”

“It’s just...a joke.”

“Okay. But why do you think it’s funny?”

It annoys him, because she’s not judgmental. She’s neither amused nor disappointed. Just curious, earnest, all focused and attentive as she gazes calmly, patiently at Sander. Even his attempt at throwing her off, making her awkward, hadn’t shaken her. She remains unfazed, as always. It’s annoying.

“I don’t,” he admits, “I guess. I don’t know what I’d consider it.”

Agathe nods, softening in her understanding, and it makes something twist in his chest. “Are you not happy with the human you are, Sander?”

He gives her a bland look. When she keeps waiting, he shrugs, gesturing at the room.

“I know,” she says gently, “that of course, you feel you would be happier without your illness. But who you are now—what you study, what you’re passionate about, who you surround yourself with, how you live your life day to day. Do you wish all of that was different?”

Sander doesn’t have to think about it quite as much. “No. But I—“

He cuts himself off, hesitating. She raises her brows and nods, prompting him onwards but not pushing. If he really wants to wait her out, she’ll move on.

“I just wish that it was easier,” he says.

She tilts her head. “Easier how?”

“I messed up. At college. I completely missed an assignment because I mixed up the dates with another one.”

She winces in sympathy. “And what happened in that case? Does that mean that assignment is marked as a fail?”

“No,” Sander admits. “He gave me the time I thought I’d have to do it. Marked it down as an extension. It’s due on Friday now.”

“And is it going alright?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t struggling with it too much?”

“No.”

“Then it seems like a fairly simple mistake. Easy to make and also, thankfully, easy to fix for you. It’s not unusual. But do you see it as an effect or consequence of your illness? Is that why it bothers you?”

Sander is quiet.

She sets her clipboard aside and leans forward, clasping her hands again as she considers him. “You have to remember, Sander, that all humans are not without fault. That regardless of who we are or what we may have to deal with, we will inevitably make mistakes. Not every slip up is a reflection of you, or a sign of failure, of failing health. You’ve actually been doing very well for a long time, now. But this belief, or this worry, that it is taking a hold of you again can sometimes help it take on that direction. Do you know what I mean?”

He takes a moment to absorb the words before nodding, knowing that if he answers too quickly she won’t believe he’s listening. But he does know. He understands. He hates that she’s probably right.

“So in a situation like this,” she continues, “do you not think, that it is more beneficial for you to focus on correcting your mistake and the fact that you have that ability? Not only mentally, but overall. That your professor is so understanding must mean he thinks well of you.”

He shouldn’t ask. He does anyway, quietly. “You don’t think it’s just pity, or something?”

“No,” she huffs. “No, I do not. Did he give you the impression that that was why he was doing it?”

Sander rolls his shoulders, adjusting his position. “No.”

Her smile returns. “I think,” she says slowly, “that this all shows just how well you’re doing. That you can acknowledge your doubts are likely just that—doubts—and that you take responsibility when you mess up and try to rectify it. Do you not think those are all good things? Things just as healthy as your sex life?”

It shocks a laugh out of him, and he sees her eyes crinkle. “Maybe,” he allows. “But it really is very healthy. I don’t know if anything else should be forced to live up to the standard.”

She represses a smile. “I remember there was a time when you would never have even spoken about this in such a kind way.”

She’s right. It still freaks him out, sometimes, the hypersexuality that can be induced by his mania, and it even made him hold back from Robbe after his episode, at the beginning. The last thing he wanted was to freak Robbe out, or disgust him, or make him uncomfortable. Then Robbe had seemed downtrodden for about a week before hesitantly asking Sander if he’d done something wrong or if Sander wasn’t actually attracted to him, and Sander had corrected his doubts and behaviour fairly quickly, because how dare the most beautiful boy in the universe think that?

“How do you feel you’re doing, Sander?” Agathe asks. “Because although I can observe, only you can feel what you feel. If you are genuinely worried, we can talk about it.”

“No,” Sander admits, after a moment. “I think everything is okay, actually.” Which is the best it can ever be, really.

Now her smile is genuinely happy. “I think so, too. And I think, even if it comes about that it’s not, you have a better support than ever. Do you agree?”

That one’s easy. “Yes.”

“It’s important to remember,” she adds, “maybe more than anything else, that if a lapse or an episode or whatever does occur, it’s not the end of the world. It’s also not a reflection of you, or a failure. Bad days, bad weeks, that’s all a part of life, and something we know you’re more than capable of dealing with and getting past. I’ve watched you do it many times before now and it’s an admirable, wonderful thing.”

Sander doesn’t actually know what to say to that. He just swallows, and feels oddly emotional, and offers her a slight nod.

The rest of the session passes in a lighter atmosphere. She lets him ramble about his assignment to alleviate what stress he does feel over it, and they spend the leftover minutes discussing his party.

Sander considers talking to her about the other thing on his mind, but ultimately decides against it. She’s already taught him how to work through that, and he really doesn’t think it will help to be putting it back into open air. Instead he leaves with a fairly upbeat farewell, and heads in the opposite direction from home.

Robbe had texted him about where he was meeting with Yasmina for a study session, and it takes Sander less than ten minutes of walking to get to the small cafe from his appointment. He sees the two of them as soon as he enters, but neither of them notice him, so he moves to the counter to buy himself a coffee before making his way over.

He’s a couple of feet away when Yasmina catches sight of him and offers her bright smile, and then Robbe is looking over his shoulder.

“Hello,” Sander greets them both, grinning as he cups Robbe’s cheek and leans down to kiss the crown of his head. “I can see we’re very busy.”

Robbe has his hand wrapped around Sander’s wrist, preventing him from pulling away. He turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to Sander’s palm, nuzzling lightly against it. Sander lets his fingers slip over and tug gently on the boy’s earring before Robbe tangles their hands together and offers Sander his crinkly smile. “Hi.”

“Not anymore, I guess,” Yasmina says dryly, but she’s still grinning when Sander glances back at her.

He raises his hands; well, his free one. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He hadn’t, really, he’d just wanted to be here when they were done to take Robbe home. He always likes being in the other boy’s company after a therapy session. Despite them not being quite so heavy at the moment, it’s always draining. Robbe is always able to replenish him with soft touches and soothing kisses, providing Sander with a silent, comforting company.

“Don’t be silly,” Robbe rebukes, predictably, swinging Sander’s hand idly now. “How are you?”

Sander squeezes his hand. “Good. I’m surprised you look so healthy, though.”

Robbe groans and buries his face against Sander’s arm. “Don’t. I’m suffering in silence.” He tilts his head ‘subtly’ at Yasmina.

Yasmina raises her brows at him, somehow managing to look wholly unimpressed and teasing all at once. “At least you can stave it off with sugar and coffee.”

Robbe has the sense to look sheepish, ducking his head in a nod. “You’re right, sorry, sorry.” He lets out a sigh. “You’re on too high of a level for me, Yasmina.”

“Queen shit,” Sander agrees, just to earn one of the girl’s unimpressed glances for himself. “Should I run now?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just sit down and drink your coffee. And keep your hands to yourself, if you can manage it? I still need my study partner, thank you.”

Sander grins and obeys, swinging a seat from the next table around to join them, dropping into it happily. He doesn’t place it as close to Robbe’s as he’d like, but Robbe leans into him for a moment anyway before refocusing his attention on his friend.

For the first while, Sander is content to listen and sip his coffee, feeling tiredness begin to creep into his bones. He lets his head loll against his own shoulder, trailing his eyes over Robbe’s profile and drifting into a sort of daydream. He can see the boy’s lips moving, but he has no idea what either of them are saying. They only let out the occasional comment, trading questions and answers and sighs and mutters. Robbe’s eyes are still red and a little puffy, a sign of his lingering exhaustion. He rubs at them absently as he looks down at his book and lets out another sigh, and leaves an eyelash on his cheek.

Sander reaches out and gently swipes it away with his thumb, an entirely mindless action that has Robbe looking at him in surprise before breaking out into a smile. He catches Sander’s hand before Sander can withdraw it completely, laying it on the table next to him. Instead of holding it, Robbe runs his hand along Sander’s sleeve, rubbing the soft seam between his fingers as he continues his work.

For some reason, it makes Sander blush. He’s sure his smile is unbearably happy, and he flicks a glance at Yasmina just to make sure she doesn’t know, only to catch her eye. She’s already smiling at him, and she purses her lips and raises her brows, teasing. Sander pulls a face at her, and she simply shakes her head as her smile widens.

“Can you work on your assignment while you’re waiting for us?” Robbe questions suddenly, drawing Sander’s attention back with a tilt of his head.

Sander glances at his bag, which he’s carried with him all day since he had to go straight to his session from a class. He considers for a moment but ultimately shakes his head. With yesterday being an exception, he usually prefers working at night—and when it’s not cutting into time he could otherwise spend admiring Robbe. “I’ll work on it when I go home,” he promises. Then, because he can’t help himself, “You’re too distracting.”

Robbe’s grin is small, and exasperated, but he yearns towards Sander, leaning across the table. Sander meets him and presses a quick kiss to his lips, then his nose, his cheek, before resolutely sitting back and waving at the textbooks and notes strewn in front of them. Robbe’s grin turns into a pout for half a second before he squeezes Sander’s wrist and focuses again.

Sander sinks back with a sigh, enjoying the feeling of Robbe’s fingers brushing against his wrist and skimming his hand, but he doesn’t feel quite as settled. There’s a prickle skittering over his neck, and he looks to his side and finds a woman staring at him.

Her nose is screwed, and there’s a vague curl to her lip. The disgust in her expression only heightens as Sander meets her eye and she flicks her gaze down to where Robbe’s hand rests over his. Sander can only stare back, dumbfounded.

When she looks at his face again, he raises his brows, as utterly bored as he can manage, and it only takes a moment for her to look away and get out of her seat across the cafe.

Sander tenses as she gets closer, hand enclosing around Robbe’s entirely, but she merely offers him another look before leaving. He deflates, squeezing Robbe’s fingers. It’s only when Robbe squeezes back that he panics again and quickly looks at the boy. But Robbe is in the middle of asking Yasmina a question, neither of them having noticed a thing.

“I meant to wish you a happy birthday,” Yasmina says, breaking him out of the moment. His mind has fogged over, and it takes him a moment to process the words. By then, she’s already moving on. “How was the party, anyway?”

Robbe and Sander share a look, and Yasmina waits. “Jens hardly said a word to me the whole day,” Robbe tells Sander, but he seems more amused than upset, so Sander allows himself to laugh.

“You didn’t tell him we didn’t actually do anything?”

“I did!” Robbe raises his hands. “He didn’t believe me.”

“What, what did you do to Jens?” Yasmina asks, confused. Then, after a second, “You know what, no, I probably don’t want to know.”

She cringes, and Robbe apologises profusely as Sander bursts into laughter, the weird incident from moments ago already forgotten.

Totally forgotten.

~^~

previous/next

#wtfock #sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #sander driesen #sander season #tracing time #had to have yasmina in here at some stage!

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fannishlyyours · 3 years

Text

So, back in July, I got this fic idea, and inevitably, it fell off my radar and now I’m just owning that it’ll never happen, so I offer you all this unsatisfying list fic outline thing. (If anyone wants to run with it, please do!)

The fic was going to be titled Crisis Management and it would go something like this:

John Sheppard learned crisis management at an early age. His mother would go from days, weeks in bed to a sudden, manic spree of activity that John could only helplessly witness and try to mitigate whatever damage he foresaw. For a while, it was fun, like they time they drove clear across the state to pick lavender in the summer, or the time they stayed up too late watching movie after movie, or the time they baked more cookies than they knew what to do with (John stored them in the freezer and ate them for three months).

But then, one day, he came home from school to find his mother in the tub, the water red, the color of their neighbors roses.

After that, John moved in with his dad and his new family, where he felt like an extra, unnecessary appendage, and did what he could to stay under the radar. When he finally joined the Air Force, he felt like he could breathe again. The predictable structures, the clear expectations, the orders--it was all easy. He didn’t have to predict what crisis would be next; he didn’t have to guess other people’s needs. He just had to do his job and do it well, be a cog in the system. It saved his life, and it was the best thing to have ever happened to him.

Until Afghanistan and the black mark on his record. He started to unravel a little then, spiraling in a direction he didn’t think he could survive, so when they offered Antarctica, he took it. It was cold and lonely, but he couldn’t extinguish the hope that the structure that gave him life when he was younger could revive him again.

And then Atlantis happened, and he was thrown in an environment where he couldn’t shut of parts of himself--the part that needed to be needed, that rose to the occasion even when it took a toll, and the part that needed structure and purpose, that kept the chaos under control because there were other people fighting beside him. There was his team, and Elizabeth, and the entire expedition. There was McKay, who sometimes reminded him of the manic chaos his mother buzzed with. So, without consciously thinking about it, he started to apply all the crisis management skills he’d learned, terrified that McKay would slip into a darkness John couldn’t save him from.

He worked within the team, coordinating responsibilities with Ronon and Teyla, Zelenka and Elizabeth, dropping hints like, “McKay needs to shape up a bit,” to Ronon and “Kick him out of the lab, would you?” to Zelenka. With his mom, he’d learned that he alone couldn’t do it all, he couldn’t be with her all the time, and back then, he didn’t have enough people, but Atlantis had people, and he could influence. He could plant seeds and give directives and create the structures.

He tried not to panic, to never react with fear, control, or anger. So, the more McKay wound himself up, the more John slouched, relaxing his body and melting into whatever surface was nearest. He became the polar opposite and more often than not, it shook McKay out of his anxiety and panic and threw him into indignation and bewilderment. When McKay started focusing on John’s lackadaisical response to emergencies, he forgot his own fear and relaxed, and John smirked on, accomplished and giddy.

He did the uncomfortable and tried to be real about what was going on. He told McKay where he could shove his death wish when he tried to save Jeannie by sacrificing himself, and any time when McKay was braver than he should’ve been. All the times that John was scared shitless because Mckay was being brave.

McKay’s tendency to avoid sleep terrified John more than most other things did. It was the most consistent thing about McKay, constantly sleep deprived and over-caffeinated. So, John cut off his caffeine (surreptitiously, because he also didn’t have a death wish) and pushed herbal remedies through Teyla, and found the suite with the jet tub that McKay instantly lay claim to and John smirked with the pleasure of a goal accomplished. He scoured the Atlantis black market for the richest foods, another easy trick for inducing sleep, and fed McKay. And John plied on the workouts to top it all off, and forced McKay into a semi-regular sleep schedule.

And then John tried to recreate the softer things that he loved about his mother, her appreciation for downtime, relaxing in nature, enjoying music. John flew his team out to the mainland once a month, so they could laze around on the beach, and sit by the fire. The fresh air revived them all, and McKay seemed more relaxed afterward. Like, he could stop fluttering like an angry hummingbird for just a little while.

Then there’s the day when McKay hands him a tablet without comment, his lips turned downward. John takes it, hesitantly, his eyebrows raising high as he skims the document. “What the fuck is this, McKay?” he asks angrily. “Too many things happen in Pegasus and there’s no one I trust more. Of course, you are likely to be killed before me since you go where things go boom, but maybe, if you aren’t a total idiot, you’ll be around to take care of things.” John stares, flabbergasted, looks down at the advanced directives and then back at McKay, feeling so utterly, stupidly seen, that he just kisses Rodney, melts into him.

After, Rodney tells John he needs to clarify some things, that he’s not suicidal, or bipolar, or whatever John has been trying to prevent--and yes, he’s paying attention because he’s not totally oblivious--and while he appreciates it, he doesn’t need John to keep watch all the time. He capable of taking care of John, too.

John just lies there, unable to meet Rodney’s eyes, his head on Rodney’s broad shoulder, and whispers, “Just don’t go anywhere.”

“I can do that,” McKay promises, tugging gently on John’s hair.

Yeah, okay, so maybe John was going a little overboard with the crisis management, but it led to here, to him feeling safe. And Rodney’s the first person to do that for him.

#mcshep #fic ideas #sga #my writing

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thisselflovecamebacktome · 3 years

Text

Dancing With The Devil Parts One and Two Thoughts/Moments That Stuck Out

(I’m going to put this under a read more before it’s long, but be aware there’s going to be talk about death, sexual violence, eating disorders and drug use)

General thoughts:

So I’ve made it pretty clear that I was definitely nervous about this coming out. Any long term Demi fan knows that making these documentaries have not turned out well for Demi in the past. Likewise, I have other concerns surrounding it. In saying that, I am also not egotistical to think that I know for sure this will be different or even if it’s not, that I can change things. I also feel a little better knowing that most of what was said so far has already been spoken about in interviews rather than it all coming out at once. Either way, as always, I wish Demi nothing but the best and hope that she is currently as okay as the documentary makes it seem.

The Scrapped Documentary:

One thing that really stuck out to me as soon as it was said was the implication that her friends lied their way through the documentary that never got released. On one hand it feels like a very friend thing to do, like we’ve all been there and done it with good intentions even if it was the wrong call to make. But I definitely think that when considering that the person who called 911 felt like they had to sneak away to make the call and everyone talking about how controlled they felt by having to be careful about food and substances around Demi, there seemed to be a major push to save face and save Demi’s celebrity persona over Demi. And I mean there’s no shock about that, we all assumed Phil wasn’t just in it for Demi’s health.

But what I do find interesting is how Demi’s friend still believes that her old team meant well but was just unequip for dealing with mental issues. Once upon a time, I felt the same. Again, obviously they wanted her well for their own sake because they were making money from her, but I believed they at least wanted her well. But the melon cake revelation changed that for me. Like at that point I went from “The label clearly favoured Nick Jonas and didn’t handle things well but maybe he genuinely thought Demi couldn’t handle it” to “Demi’s team did not give the slightest fuck about her”. So I find it interesting that it didn’t for her friend and makes me wonder just how much of this saving face came from Demi herself (or what she thought she wanted) compared to her team. This is especially the case given the focus, and particularly Dallas’ words, on how she didn’t choose to be a role model but felt she had to be for her fans.

The Death Of Demi’s Father:

A little confession for you all, I almost quit watching this documentary 6 1/2 minutes into the first part. While I feel like almost everything else said in this documentary was at very least alluded to if not flat out said in interviews, this hit me over the head. I am someone who is estranged from their own father and knows that his epilepsy could cause his death at any time should a fit get that bad and that he doesn’t really have anyone who would be consistently checking in on him. So the fear of him decomposing in his flat all alone is one that is all too relatable to me. It is also relatable in terms of my mother, but at least she has my brother who wants to stay at home forever and I would call her even if I moved out, so it’s less likely. So yeah, the way Demi said it and knowing that Father’s Day passed in that time and she probably spends every Father’s Day regretting she didn’t call stings a lot and will almost definitely stay with me for a long time.

I also related to her talking about her guilt of not helping him the way she feels she’s helped other with her advocacy more than I’d like. While not drug related, I’ve spoken a few times on my blog about how I reached a point with my mother’s bipolar and need for remedies to the legal issues that worsened her health where I gave up despite still advocating for others. And she’s pointed that out. But ultimately Demi and her loved ones are right; a person needs to want help to give it to them and trying to force help doesn’t work. It didn’t for Demi’s father and it didn’t for her until she was ready.

Demi’s Drug Use:

I didn’t actually realise Sirah was Demi’s sober companion and while I didn’t really know anything about her beforehand, I think her parts were among my favourites so far. She was honest, emotional, informative and really contextualised what she was saying not only in terms of Demi but addicts as a whole.

Unfortunately one of the most relatable parts of this documentary so far was when everyone spoke about how Demi seemed normal in the weeks before her overdose. To this day, a lot of my then loved ones, whether it be family or friends, still don’t know I went to rehab in my teens. A lot of the people who do know now didn’t find out about it until years later when I was ready to talk about it. Looking back, the only really clear sign I showed that something was “wrong” is that I went from being a teacher’s pet to skipping a lot of classes and heading home for lunches instead of hanging with friends. But given a lot of my friends knew I had gone through trauma and a separate death in the year before, they didn’t think anything of it. Like from memory, I think at “worse” there was a joke made about I had become one of them and cared about school less. Granted there is always the case that they realised but never said anything, but yeah, at least from where I’m standing, they never knew. And that’s why I will never judge loved ones of someone who does anything negative off the bat, because it, and especially addiction, can be so easy to hide.

I also find it really interesting and relatable that Demi linked her drinking with drugs like that. I spoke about this the other day in an ask, but the two have always been super linked to me. But what I find most interesting is that she spoke about it in connection to negative emotions. Because while yes, I have always connected both with negative emotions, for me, being in a negative mood has somewhat made it easier to not relapse over the years because I could justify it with “well I’m feeling bad, of course I want something to pick me up. That doesn’t make it what I need though”. Meanwhile, I found out last year that I still feel that need to use when drinking in a good mood and that freaked me out to the point I don’t drink at all anymore. Either way though, like I said, it was an interesting point to bring up the connection and definitely relatable.

This isn’t really about the documentary itself, but it really hit me how far I have personally come when she spoke about and started playing Sober. Like at the time Sober was released, I was so close to relapsing myself that I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it straight off and yet now I am really starting to feel like I reached a place where the future looks so bright.

The Sexual Assault:

I don’t really have much to say here past “god I wish this wasn’t so relatable”. During my time using, and even the early days of trying to get clean, I had someone in my life that would constantly try to start something sexual with me and when they realised I wouldn’t do it, they drugged me and did it anyway. And while that is clearly sexual violence, there still very much was that stigma of ‘well I was getting high with them anyway” and feeling like that made it consensual and realising down the track that no, it really didn’t. And while not part of the documentary itself (yet), Demi talking in an interview about how she invited the drug dealer back to her house to “make things right” afterwards really hurt my heart knowing how long I spent with the same delusion that this person would make amends too.

Other/Final Thoughts:

I find it interesting that Demi noted that this pandemic is pretty much what made her stop and fully comprehend all of her past trauma. In many ways, it reminds me of sentiments that Taylor has said in regard to Folklore and Evermore, so it’ll be interesting to see just how much of that makes it onto Dancing With The Devil: The Art Of Starting Over. I also find it interesting that according to wikipedia, the last part is meant to come out after the album which could be an implication that the album finishes at a point of Demi’s life before the documentary finishes.

All up, this documentary gives me a similar vibe to Taylor’s documentary Miss Americana where it somewhat feels like it’s more for the casual/non-fans because anyone who pays attention to Demi’s recent interviews will have heard/at least been alluded to nearly all of this information already. That in no way makes it a bad (half of a) documentary, it’s just an observation. In many ways, I also feel like that’s what made the content about her father hit harder too because it was new or things she has not spoken about in a while. It will be interesting to see where the next two parts go from here in terms of being more positive and/or the nitty gritty of picking yourself back up. Either way, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

#demi lovato #dancing with the devil

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chimswae · 3 years

Text

BTS Caretaker CH39

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,161

- Author Note: Sorry again for late update, i just finished my quarantine so now i am pretty caught up with my final exams! ^^ i will try to post another one on time next monday~ for those that have read Untold, a character from the fic made a crossover appearance here.

Previous | Next

Chapter 39

Thirty minutes before they wrapped up the promotion, the boys were interacting diligently with fellow Armys and enjoyed the remaining time left before they bid a real goodbye. God knows when will they be having their comeback again? Months from now maybe?

There were few fans left in the line waiting for their albums to be signed and as usual Bangtan Sonyeondan gave all their best until the end like they usually did. Jin and Hoseok chirpy voice diverted Jimin attention to those two whom sat three seats away from him.

He glanced at the fan stood straight in from of them with an obvious bulgy stomach. A pregnant young lady that looked like in his early 20’s was having a lively conversation with the two pranksters. They were basically asking her about the baby inside her stomach while Hoseok made an attempt to poke her belly, Jin swatted his hand away claiming that he’s being rude.

The beautiful young lady laughed at their silliness and bowed slightly, before inching slowly towards Yoongi side. Jungkook looked amused and didn’t wait for her to move to his side, joining Yoongi with the conversation.

Jimin tore his gaze from them and smiled sweetly at the fans knelt before him. As usual, Jimin listened to the girl story attentively and even teased her making the girl blushed in process. The staff had ordered the fan to move as time was running out, and the fan earlier was soon replaced by the pregnant lady.

“It is Jimin! Hi!” she said excitedly, placing the album on the table.

Jimin flinched at her friendliness and nodded with a smile “Hi. What is your name?”

“Na Yeoul!” her chirpy but soft voice was addictive.

“Are you here alone Yeoul-ssi? How many months pregnant are you?” Yeoul took a deep breath, getting tired over a simple conversation that she had with previous members. She took a moment to respond to his question. Jimin looked concern and offered her to take a seat, with that he called out one of the staffs to bring a chair for her to sit.

The female staff assisted Yeoul to sit down and she thanked her before answering his question, “I come here alone and 37 weeks pregnant” his brows knitted, thinking intently.

“Yeoul-ssi, shouldn’t you be staying home or hospital? It is your critical stage, right?” Jimin freaked out knowing the risk that she took just to meet them.

She nodded in agreement “Yes. However, my baby told me that he is craving to see Bangtan Sonyeondan ” she stroked her belly, smiling softly.

“What type of craving is that? I thought it only meant for food..So, it is a he? Do you have a name for him?” her lips curled into a smile.

Pursing her lips into a pout, Yeoul hummed softly “Not yet. I will think of a name soon. It feels good to see your face before my due, thank you for making it happen” he was smiling from ear to ear while signing her albums before handing it back to her.

“But it is your due, 37 weeks”

“I am the one carrying the baby not you” she blinked.

He let out a small chuckle “I pray that you will deliver this beautiful baby safely. Visit us again with your baby in the future okay?” Yeoul hugged the album closed to her chest and stood up slowly. Seeing her struggle, Jimin took her arms and helped the pregnant lady to stand.

“Thank you Jimin-ssi”

“See you again Yeoul-ssi” as she was about to move to next member, Yeoul felt a surge of pain around her lower abdomen. She bit her lower lips, feeling the cramps worsening that panicked Namjoon and Taehyung.

“Are you alright?” Namjoon scrutinized her dark expression and realized something was off. Jimin quickly went to her side turning the hall into a dead silent for few minutes as everyone’s attention were on the pregnant lady on stage.

Other members, followed by the staff moved to inspect the scene and like a cue they heard Yeoul’s soft scream “OH MY GOD” everyone started to panic.

“Her water broke!” the audience gasped in horror.

Yeoul squished Jimin’s hand, breathing heavily as she could no longer withstand the pain. The staffs had spread out, calling the ambulance and some were looking for a comfortable seat for her while waiting for help.

“Calm your breathing. Do not panic” Jimin massaged her arms with the help of one of the female staff.

“How can I calm down when I am about to deliver my baby on this stage! OH MY GOD” she said dramatically. Even in situation like this, she was acting like a drama queen which amused Jimin. Do all women acted like Yeoul?

“The ambulance will be here soon, don’t worry Yeoul-ssi” Hoseok stared at her in horror. The image of a woman giving birth on stage in an unprotected environment scared him to the core. The pure baby need to be protected at all cost.

Yeoul let out another small shriek, while steadying her breathing “If I give birth here, my baby better be the next Bangtan Sonyeondan” she blurted out of the blue earning chuckles from the floor. Jimin wiped off the bead of sweat that started to trickle down from her forehead using his sleeves.

“OH MY GOD I CAN FEEL IT” Yeoul shrieked again louder than before.

“Yah don’t give birth here! Hold the baby in” Jin panicked.

“Are you crazy?! How can I hold the baby? It is not a friggin faeces. It is a real huma-SHIT IT IS COMING” the crowd was horrified to hear Yeoul voice. She was groaning in pain and trashing some random shits not caring whether it is Bangtan Sonyeondan or heard by many Armys whom attended the event.

The staffs have assisted all the fans to leave the venue and the members apologized to those who didn’t manage to get their albums signed. However, the company promised to compensate them later on. They have an important thing to settle at the moment.

“The ambulance is here!” one of the staffs hollered, as he sprinted inside sending a wave of relief. Manager Sejin helped to move Yeoul on the stretcher with the help of Jungkook, Namjoon and the two crews.

‘Please be alright’ Jimin stood there frozen watching her body being moved safely inside the ambulance.

----------------------

BTS’s Baby made it to major headlines and became a hot topic among the netizen. Everyone was excited upon hearing the news. They were referring the baby as BTS’s baby because of the incident took place during their fansign.

The members of Bangtan paid Yeoul a visit after their schedule ended and the rumours previous night died down for a moment to commemorate the newborn baby. Little did they know the members were already knocked down by Yeoul bluntness, more like every word that she spouted sent them off the grid.

“I am naming my son Minyeol. Jimin plus Yeoul, Minyeol!” she chortled, batting her eyelashes innocently at Jimin causing the latter to blush in his stance.

“Shouldn’t you be naming him after your husband’s name? Why are you dragging me in? That makes me feel uncomfortable” he mumbled lowly.

“Yeoul-ssi, what about your husband?” Jin tilted his head

“What about him?”

“Urm… you are combining your name and my name, for your son. I don’t want to cause any misunderstanding” he chewed his lips, glancing at others for help. Namjoon shrugged with a teasing smile, he enjoyed watching Jimin being tamed by a girl.

Yeoul puckered her lower lips, expelling a long sigh “There is no husband. I don’t need anyone’s approval” the revelation made their eyes flung open. They didn’t expect a woman at this age to lose her husband tragically and gave birth to a child alone. Yeah, the boys really assumed her husband was dead. Bangtan were scrutinizing her expression to catch any sign of sadness, but she remained stoic and calm.

That didn’t last long when the pale lady opened her mouth. “That piece of shit, after planting his fucking seeds in me, he ran away with some bitch to Japan. Ugh, a mere thought of him angered me to the fucking core” the words flown like flying bullets ripped their innocent ears.

“Heol..” Namjoon took a deep breath, gawking at the weak girl on the bed as though she had just committed the biggest crime of the century.

“YOU!” she yelled angrily directing towards Jimin. The latter flinched at the sudden attack, as he watched she waggled her finger while recollecting her thoughts. “I will keep that name, Minyeol” “What?” stupefied, he cursed in his head judging this bipolar lady before him.

“Are you Jimin hyung fan?” the maknae finally spoke up after keeping his mouth shut for hours.

With zero hesitation, Yeoul shook her head “I am your fan. For an add reason, these days I am more to Jimin. No offense though, I am sure that is part of my craving” Jungkook scrunched his nose in confusion.

“Hey so I am just a substitute?” way to add more salt to his wound.

“Arent you guys tired? Thank you for checking on me but I am fine. Have a good rest so I can start teaching Minyeol to call Jimin daddy” she teased.

“Yah! Don’t ruin his innocent mind”

“Minyeol is my son. I can do what I want. Why are you so nosy?” she snickered sarcastically.

Jimin batted it away with a roll of his eye “Not when you just dissed me openly”

Amused, Yoongi mouthed everyone to leave the room giving the space for the two to banter until their energy drained. He had no energy to listen to their endless bicker from the moment they arrived there until now. Yoongi had enough.

They made their way out quietly, minding their own business whilst Jimin tried to reclaim his throne as Yeoul’s bias from Jungkook. More like fixing his reputation.

-------------

As night falls, Jungkook put on his casual outfits to go out. He had been waiting for these days to come since forever. Now that their promotion ended, he needed to hear it from Seul directly before conforming to reality.

“Are you sure you can do this alone?” Jimin glanced at his way.

“Yes. This is the only way. I promise to come back home after meeting Seul-ie” he smiled in assurance, grabbing his beanie and mask. “Thank you hyung, for everything” Jimin walked up to him, patting his back as an acknowledgment.

“You can do this. Call me when you are done. Be careful” Jungkook’s genuine smile put his heart at ease. With one final glance, the golden maknae exited his room with determination. It was the right time to face Seul before Yoongi made the first move. He didnt want to prolong this unrequited love any longer.

-------------

“Seul! Seul!” dashing from the kitchen to the front using last ounce of her energy as though time is running out for her. She panted heavily, with one palm up seeking for a minute before she could break the news to Seul.

Seul raised one of her brows in amusement “What is wrong with you?”

“Okay. Remember I told you about the rumours from Namjoon’s Vlive a week ago?” Seul nodded briefly, and mentally judging her best friend. “The rumour resurfaces again!” she squealed in the most annoying way.

She clasped her ears to quell the sound from damaging her eardrums. BTS members told her about the rumours and how it trended on twitter and naver, however they assured her everything would be alright since it was only a mere assumption from the fans. Seul thought the rumours died upon the news about an Army almost giving birth at their fansign caused an uproar among the fans.

So, it came back again. This world is scary.

“You don’t need to squeal in my ears. For goodness’ sake. I thought their fans are only playing detective, and no one talked about that anymore”

Hwasa rolled her eyes “This time it is not the Armys. Dispatch spilled a tea. Someone tipped them off about Yoongi’s unusual activities in his studio. They said the reason why Yoongi had his studios secured with passwords and high-quality door because he brought women to his studio and slept with them” frowning deeply, Seul turned to her friend dropping everything that she did.

“Since when you trust words coming from dispatch? Yoongi wouldn’t do such thing” she defended.

“Hear me out before you get angry. I swear this is big and real. So, this anonymous claimed that Yoongi owns a personal Instagram and he usually updated his story there. This person sent a screenshot of ‘Yoongi’ Instagram story to Dispatch. In that Instagram story, Yoongi wrote “I have a lot of pussy lately”. That man is bragging how much he and his girl friend have sex. If this is true, I cant see Yoongi the way I am seeing him now. It is gross, he doesn’t need to announce it to the whole world that he got some pussy that week” Seul’s expression darkened as her heart was racing madly. She didn’t know how to react to this, since she was never a fan of dispatch or other medias. The only thing that they did all these years were to smear shits on BTS’s names.

Noticing the air inside the room thickened, Hwasa stopped talking and examined Seul’s face “Yah..Are you alright? You are scaring me!”

Gritting her teeth together, she sighed “Show me the article, now!” her voice sounded demanding and harsh.

“Seul-ie.. I am not done, there is more. Are you sure you want to read it by your own?” “Yes. Now Hwasa. Give it to me” her brows pinched together, trying to surpass her anger.

Slowly, she handed her phone to Seul which she took it without uttering any words. Seul scanned the screen with beating heart, even though she wasn’t that ready to read whatever written in the article.

Breaking: BTS’s Suga flaunting his sex life with his alleged girlfriend

Following up the rumours a week ago pertaining to a suspicious shadow from BTS’s leader RM studios door during his vlive, this time Dispatch had finally come up with a proof to answer the mysterious shadows.

Dispatch claimed that an anonymous had sent a screen shot of what they believed to be Suga’s personal Instagram. A short Instagram story with captions “I have a lot of pussy lately” was posted by Suga indicating he’s having frequent sex with his girl friend these days.

They believed the mysterious shadow caught in RM’s Vlive was Suga and his girlfriend. The image of the mysterious shadow spread like wildfire a week ago within the fans community and some were assuming one of the members are in a serious relationship.

Fans are debating the possible members that fits the criteria even though, it is hard to tell whether it is the member of BTS or staffs, fans are still open to any possibility. Many fans demanded an official statement from Big Hit to stop the rumours from circulating around and injured BTS image even more especially Suga.

“That is the first article, if you scroll below..You will find the second article” Hwasa’s voice sounded unsure and shaky. “Seul.. I hope you will be okay after reading the second article” Seul paid no attention to Hwasa as she returned to read the second part.

Breaking: Underground rapper Stephanie claims she’s one of BTS Suga many exes?

Within 24 hours, the news of BTS Suga once again shook the industry. This time around, like many rumours being pointed towards a rising star like BTS, someone from the past finally stepped out from her shadows to unravel the truth. Bitter truth!

Stephanie, a Korean-Canadian underground rapper claims that she’s one of BTS Suga many exes in her recent Instagram post. And what seems to attract everyone’s attention was her caption directed towards the star, accusing him as a playboy.

“Why I am not surprised? Kekeke Yes, he always gets many pussies in a week because that’s what he only good at. I hope his current girlfriend realizes it sooner, that she is only another person from many girls that he fucked. Thankfully, I was out from the game earlier kekekee Good luck”

Armys are enraged with her Instagram post and demanded the rapper to pull down the post and apologized to Suga. It seems like Bighit owes another explanation to clear this mess.

Seul stood there silently making no move as she dissolved into tears upon reading the article. Like those days when her heart broke after learning the truth about her real father, she could feel the pain returned scaring her already fragile heart.

“Seul-ah…” taking a step towards Seul, Hwasa embraced the broken girl an attempt to clam her down. “Hey..Are you alright?” Seul shook her head in defeat, clutching onto Hwasa’s arm for support.

“If I were you, I would wait for his explanation. A moment ago you have a lot of faith in him, so you should keep that faith until you talk to him” she stroked her hair, sighing softly.

“I know..I don’t know why I am crying. It is not like we are in a relationship. Its hurt so badly” sniffling a little, she tried not to sob yet she failed to control her emotion.

Smiling meekly, Hwasa retorted “You love him, Yoongi. You are hurt because you love him. Don’t you realize that?” blinking away her tears, Seul pulled away from the hug with a wary look.

“I am not sure now if that is love”

“It is love. You are stupid”

Seul wanted to protest but a voice boomed across the room garnered their attention “Jungkook?” surprised by his sudden appearance there, Hwasa whispered softly “Go talk to him. I can close the shop alone” she insisted giving Seul no chance but to agree on her so-called order.

“Seul, did you read the article?” nodding weakly, Seul’s gaze fixated on the ground. Jungkook rushed to her workplace as soon as he received a text on their kakaotalk group in relation to Yoongi’s article. Everyone was panicking, and they were summoned to the company in an hour for an emergency meeting.

He couldn’t leave Seul alone when he was sure this girl might already come across the article. The tears evident on her cheeks was enough to tell him that she’s affected by the rumours. Indeed, Jungkook took the right decision by giving up on Seul.

Jungkook held her wrist, sending chills down her spin. Her lower lip quivered fighting with her own tears, she was not supposed to be seen this weak in front of him. He mumbled lowly “Follow me. I owe you an answer” she looked up looking a little confuse.

Jungkook is trustworthy, she must give him a chance.

#btscaretaker #bts x oc #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x oc #jungkook x oc #jin x oc #bts fluff #bts idol au #jungkook idolau #yoongi idolau #suga x oc #bts romance

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tainted-wine · 4 years

Text

Past Due

Reader X Giran, Dabi, and Mr. Compress (NSFW)

(OOF, This little bastard of a fic has been fighting me every step of the way. It took so long because I was second guessing every single sentence I wrote. Finally, here’s the darkest shit I’ve written so far.)

(This is pre-Overhaul arc, so the bois Giran and Compress are still whole)

Words: 7.8k

Heed These Warnings: Murder, Kidnapping, Noncon/Dubcon, Giran being a dangerous dude, Knives, Forced Oral and Anal, Voyeurism, Humiliation, and the Protagonist just being a total dumbass

--------------------------------------------

For as long as you have lived, luck has been by your side like a bipolar twin attached to your hip. It was thanks to luck that you were born into a quirkless family in the trashiest of neighborhoods, your penniless parents separating and leaving you to fend for yourself. The streets had no use for you; no quirk, no charisma, no money, you were just another parasite desperately clinging onto the city’s rotten underbelly.

But it was also thanks to luck that you survived this long. The average person can remember each and every brush with death in their life clearly, but you—you’ve lost count of how many times this cruel world has tried to pick you off. So far, you have dodged every bullet, knife, and blast of quirk-based power aimed in your direction. How do you keep slipping past all of these dangerous criminals? Your reckless ass has no idea. Luck was simply a sadistic douchebag that enjoyed dangling you over the jaws of death, only to yank you back up and repeat the process like a sad little yo-yo.

As you drove to your place in a panic, you wonder if luck has ever fucked you this hard before.

———

Things had gotten somewhat organized, and by that you mean that you finally had some sort of plan instead of gravitating toward the nearest opportunity that didn’t look ready to tear you apart and throw your remains in an alley. You’ve even made an accomplice, a woman not quite as powerless as you, but an unfortunate soul with less experience in this…line of work. To make things even better, you managed to strike a deal with a prominent broker. Giran was a name known all throughout Japan’s black market, and to think that he’d see potential in a quirkless broad whose notable trait was simply not dying—it was your lucky day. He supplied you with weapons that will make surviving in this hellhole much easier, telling you to pay him within the next five days.

Your partner in crime asked if this was a good idea, that you didn’t seem capable of gathering that amount of money in the span of time you were given. There was no reason for her to worry; with the heat the two of you were packing now, you now had the ability to rob more than distracted civilians wandering the streets.

But before you could even enjoy your brand new firepower, luck decided to be a total asshole again. It was only the second day when you both were ambushed by a group of ruffians. Their quirks were pretty damn impressive, honestly. One of them levitated your gun right out of your hands before you could even fire, instantly leaving you helpless so that the other dudes could close in and beat the snot out of you.

The two of you woke up, bruised, bloodied, and stripped of Giran’s weapons. Damn, you don’t remember a deal ever going south this quickly. Must be a new record.

Alright, so your weapons were gone and you only have a fraction of the money so far. You can figure this out. Your partner was fuckin’ hysterical and you have to smack her before she gives herself a heart attack. The money was barely coming in, and before you knew it, the fifth day had arrived.

Yeah, you weren’t ready to face him yet.

Look, you weren’t exactly running away from him, you were just making sure to give yourself some space while you got your shit back together. That’s why you immediately moved to another part of town and now made sure to never drive down the same route twice. No, you weren’t gathering money for yourself and completely brushing off Giran, like your partner was suspecting. She has no idea what she’s talking about so she needs to shut up already and help you sell this jewelry that you worked so hard in stealing.

Okay, maybe Giran has been trying to call you for the past couple of days and you were officially ghosting him, but she didn’t need that knowledge to add to her stress. You probably weren’t even in any danger. The deal didn’t cost that much, and he didn’t seem like the type of guy to get truly pissed over some petty crook like you, right?

It’s been a week since the due date, and you both were still safe and sound. It was time to get your paranoid little buddy and discuss your next course of action.

When you reached her shoddy rented room, the door was already cracked open. Strange, and very careless; she should know better. You pushed it the remainder of the way and strutted inside. “Don’t leave your door open, dumbass. Anyway, I gotta—”

Your partner was sprawled out on the bed, open eyes still showing hints of the terror that she most definitely felt before her body became riddled with bullets. The smell of smoke and blood finally reached your nose when the shock of the scene before you wore off. The poor gal probably didn’t deserve such a gruesome fate.

“Oh…nevermind.” You close the door and briskly walk through the hall and out of that dangerous building.

------

This all led up to you speeding to your own run-down apartment.

‘Don’t jump to conclusions, now. This might have nothing to do with Giran. Maybe she pissed off some guys behind my back, or maybe I pissed them off and they found her before they found me. I keep forgetting just how many shit-lists probably have my name on them.’

Whatever it was, that instinctive twist in your gut was telling you that it was no longer safe around these parts. You had overstayed your welcome, anyway.

You glanced in every direction as you entered the building. At what time was your partner killed? If they’re after you too, do they already know where you live? There was no time to waste.

Checking to see that you weren't being followed, you entered your room and went straight to packing. You were basically a drifter, so you had few long-term possessions, so few that they could all fit into one bag. You packed your clothes, essential groceries, and your knickknacks that were ripe for selling. You’re loaded up and ready to go, and you don’t even need to go through the trouble of contacting an accomplice anymore. It’s those paper-thin silver linings that keep you going through this endless shitstorm of a life. With a silent goodbye to your short-lived home, you made your way to the door…

And a series of knocks freezes you in your tracks.

The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was dizzying. Shit. Shit shit shit. Whoever is on the other side can’t be friendly, but you had checked! You made sure no one was tailing you!

You backed away while your eyes darted around, deciding if you should defend yourself or find an alternate route to escape. Your only line of defense was a switchblade, so fighting was probably as bad of an idea as it usually was. You looked back to the single window in the room. ‘The fire escape.’

Several harder knocks spurred you into action. You unlocked and pulled at the old window, the worn frame almost breaking off as it opened. The damn ladder and stairs were one room across, but you can jump across the sills if you were careful enough.

There were more knocks, this time followed by a male voice. “Why the hell are we knocking? She’s not gonna answer.”

Another man responded. Shit, there’s more than one? “True. I just like to give the peaceful route a try.”

Something happened to the door that your fear-addled mind couldn’t comprehend. In the span of a second, the wooden door’s shape was warped and shrunken down into a small sphere. You didn’t spend any time to observe the two men at the entrance—you were already scrambling out of the window. The small ledge was difficult to balance on. If you could just get enough leverage for a jump…

“Oi!”

Fuck, you had to take the leap now, but before you could, a pair of hands took hold of you. In a blind panic, you drew your small blade and swung wildly at your attacker, doing your best not to lose your footing. One hand drew back and you heard a hiss of something like “little bitch”, and you thought this was your chance to break free and get away, but the hand still gripping the waist band of your pants got hot, so hot that it reached your skin and had you yelling in pain from the intense heat. With a powerful yank, you were falling back into the room and being pinned to the floor.

‘No no come on, Lady Luck. You’re always here to save my ass, right? I could use your help right fucking now.”

You thrashed and screamed, but then you saw the face of your captor and ew, that shit made you scream even louder. At least make the last face you see more appealing and less…burnt.

The burned man just looked annoyed while holding you down. “Just compress her already.”

Compress? What? Were they about to crush you? That sounds like a really shitty way to go. A gloved hand was pressed to your head, and everything began to distort at a rate too fast for your mind.

It was dark…you felt like you were floating…are you dead? Did it happen that fast? At least it was painless. There was a voice echoing somewhere, but all you saw was blackness. It sounded like it was coming from above. “God?” He’s real, after all?

God sounded very similar to the burnt asshole that attacked you. “That was easy. Why did he need us for this?”

The other voice that you still couldn’t attach a face to answered. “Giran does a lot for the League. It’s only fair that we do him the occasional favor, isn’t it? Her partner has already been taken care of.”

Well shit. Not only were you still alive, but you had been captured in some way to be delivered to him. You wanted to believe that you were in no serious danger, but no one sends two guys to break into your place and abduct you unless they had something sadistic in mind. Maybe your late partner was onto something this whole time.

The talking continued, but the sound was so faint. It’s like you were wearing a thick pair of earmuffs. This entire void, or whatever it is, was uncomfortable—the darkness seemed vast, yet it felt claustrophobic and heavy, like a powerful gravity preventing you from moving. What kind of quirk was this?

The mystery man was talking again. “Your arm is bleeding.”

“Oh right, she caught me with that little blade.” The burnt one said calmly. “It’s not that bad. My arms can’t feel much.”

“It’s not the pain I’m worried about; find something to wrap it up!” There was a sound that was difficult to discern, possibly a long sigh. “She made quite a scene at the window. I hope she didn’t bring any attention to us.”

You heard a grunt from the burnt one and could picture him shrugging. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say that she was a jumper and we stopped her.”

“…Who in the world tries to jump from only three stories?”

“A dumbass, and I’m pretty sure that’s what she is.”

The burnt guy can kiss your ass.

Their conversations were the only indication of time passing. Maybe you heard a few noises from whatever area they were currently in, such as a car passing by or a dog barking, but it was all too muffled to know for sure.

You hope you won’t be stuck in this prison for too long. The emptiness of it all was going to drive you insane. The abyss apparently sensed your distressed, shaping lights and colors all around and lifting the phantom weight off of you so quickly that you had to hold down a rush of bile in your throat.

It’s still fairly dark…a dimly lit room, no furniture, your knees on a hardwood floor, a figure sitting in front of you…

“Good morning.”

A greeting has never filled you with so much dread, uttered by a voice you haven’t heard in nearly two weeks.

The big-time broker himself was seated before you in a simple metal chair. When you met him in the bar to do business together, he had such a nonchalant aura around him, friendly yet detached. The smirk on his face seemed permanent, wearing it even now as he stared down at you, the little rat that has been hiding in the cracks of the city to avoid his sight. You didn’t feel threatened at all when you spoke in the bar; part of you knew that this man was in no way harmless, but he didn’t go out of his way to intimidate.

But now, even with the same relaxed posture and the same informal tone, his presence was sending strong chills down your spine with your brain screaming DANGER.

Giran leaned in, elbows resting on his thighs and a lit cigarette tucked between his fingers. The hanging bulbs illuminated only parts of his face, leaving the rest in a menacing shadow. “How have you been?”

You had no idea how to answer that. “F-fine?”

He gave a satisfied hum, as if he cared about your wellbeing. “That’s good to know. You’ve been hard to contact lately, so I had no idea.”

You swallowed, or at least you tried, but your throat was forgetting how to work properly. “I…” A cough escaped you. “I’ve been busy.”

His gruff chuckle unsettled you. “Of course. We’re all so busy these days, aren’t we? I’m not the type to stick my nose in others’ business, but may I ask what you’ve been so busy with? Hopefully something that involved gathering my money?” There it was.

Creating some more distance between your potential killer might help you think a little more clearly through the loud beating in your head, so you crawl backwards on shaky limbs like a drunk crab. “Y-yes! I’ve been doing my best, it’s just that I ran into a little problem an—” You bumped into something, turning your head to see a man looming over you. His attire was sharp, like that of a showman—even had a damn top hat. However, the mask he wore was rather ominous, the strange pattern resembling an abstract face. He didn’t budge when you had backed into his leg, only looking down at you as if you were a scared kitten.

In the corner of your vision you noticed the burnt one leaning back against the wall, watching you with disinterest. If it weren’t for the cold stare and the peril that he’s already put you through, you’d dare to admit that the greenish-blue hue of his eyes were kind of pretty.

“Don’t mind them,” Giran said with a lazy wave. “Those two are being kind enough to stick around in case I need them again. So, you were saying?”

You tried to recall where you were in your improvised excuse, and decided that you couldn’t risk having such a lie backfire. “I-I’m working on it. I have most of it so far. I just need a little more time.”

Giran’s face didn’t change. “And how much do you have?”

“Um…I…” What the hell do you say? Are you just digging yourself deeper? Is it possible to go any deeper? “Maybe I don’t have most, but I will soon so—”

“How much do you have?” It was firmer this time, making you shrink back. Dancing around his question wasn’t a good idea.

With a shaky breath, you answered quietly, “A hundred thousand yen.”

Giran placed the cigarette between his lips and took a long drag before blowing out a small cloud of toxic fumes. “A hundred thousand…of my three hundred thousand yen.”

Fuck, when he says it like that, maybe that is a lot of money to be missing out on.

You honestly wished he would show some sort of anger; his unwavering calmness was making you more anxious than any kind of rage.

“Can you tell me what you didn’t understand?” He asked.

“Huh? What…do you mean?” You couldn’t hold back the tremble in your voice.

“When we talked, I thought I made my measures clear. I give you the weapons, you pay me within the next five days. For every late day, I add more to what you already owe me. And if you take way too long, I’ll have to personally show you why you shouldn’t make deals where you can’t hold up your end.” He took another drag. You’re getting a feeling that the shrinking roll of tobacco is playing a big role in maintaining his leveled head. “Well, that all sounds clear to me, but there must be something in that explanation that didn’t get through to you, because you just ignored all of it.” Those final words were topped with a humorless laugh.

Just like that, every foolish decision you’ve made during the past week slams down on you. You were like a child that was confident they could escape whatever punishments were planned for them, now that they were finally caught, they just wanted to blubber endless apologies in hopes of being forgiven, and that’s exactly what you do. “Please, please just give me more time. I’m sorry. I just need another chance.”

Giran simply rests his head in one of his hands while pondering. “You know, this normally wouldn’t bother me. I consider myself an even-tempered guy. But you just had to go and run, avoiding my calls and hiding away for an entire week. If there’s anything that steams me up,” his brows furrowed, the first physical sign of anger that he’s shown. “It’s when an uncooperative client runs from me. Sorry about your friend, but I had to make sure I got my point across. Now it’s your turn.”

He reached into his violet jacket and pulled out a knife. Most of it was a large bulky handle, topped with a short but efficiently thin and curved blade. A wood carving knife.

As he rose from his chair and approached, you were suppressing the urge to just laugh at your own distress, a habit of yours that has caused more than one misunderstanding in the past.

“Compress, if you will.” Giran’s hand beckoned you upwards.

The man still behind you, apparently named Compress, locked both of your wrists at your back before pulling you up on your feet. “Hey-I-Wha-Wait a minute! We can talk! I can fix this!” You stuttered in pure desperation. Giran was poking at the tip of the knife and testing its sharpness, paying no attention to your pleas.

“It’s a shame, really. I happen to have one major weakness,” he admitted while inspecting his pricked finger. “Women. I’m always going easy on them—giving them more chances than they deserve. I can’t help it.” He grips your cheeks roughly, making you squeak. “And it really breaks my heart that I have to ruin such a pretty lady.”

“You don’t have to.” Your squished puckered lips sputter out, making you look and sound ridiculous. “Maybe I cou—"

The knife hovering so close to your face silences you. “Where should I start?” He wondered. You hold as still as possible while the sharp metal lingers dangerously close to your eye. “Maybe I should take out an eye? Maybe both?” His grip on your face prevents you from turning away, so you shut your eyes instead, accidentally releasing the tears that have been gathering in the corners. You feel his hand lower to hold your chin so that he can press the blade against the side of your face, so close to breaking skin. “Or maybe I’ll carve out your cheeks?” A thumb brushes against your lips and pushes past them. “You are quite a talker. Maybe I ought to go in there and remove that tongue.”

Your eyes remain closed, trying to focus on something else. The full-body tremors that you couldn’t stop, the press of Compress’s body against your back as he held onto your wrists, anything but the deadly blade trailing across your flesh. Every time the cruel man applied pressure, you braced yourself for the pain of cold steel cutting into you like fresh produce, but he would always pull back. It was pure torture and he hasn’t even harmed you yet.

“Hmm, you really are a cute one,” you heard him murmur as the knife trailed down your neck and across your collar. “Do I really want to carve such pretty skin?”

There was a loud groan, prompting your eyes to open and look to the burnt one who left his post at the wall. “For fuck’s sake, old man. How about I handle this so you don’t have to play mental tug-o-war with yourself?”

Giran didn’t seem fazed by the crude way he was addressed. “Oh? What did you have in mind, Dabi?”

Dabi gave an evil smirk of his own as he walked over. “I wonder how badly I can burn a person without killing them.” A scarred hand was placed on your shoulder and you squirmed at the rising heat. “Maybe we can find out together. How about it, girlie?”

You felt the other man behind you shake with a soft laugh. “So cruel, Dabi. I’m a gentleman myself. I could help, but taking a limb or two from such a beauty would be an unforgivable crime.” The implication of what he could do with his quirk made you fear for your arms that were still in his grasp.

“Great. Chivalry isn’t dead in the world of villains.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong, though. She doesn’t look bad.”

There were too many hands on you. A rough aged hand caressed your throat and jaw, a gloved hand was tenderly running through your hair, and burned ones were shamelessly groping your chest and squishing your breasts. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut it.” Dabi snapped, not letting up his assault. “Burning you might be a waste. Maybe I should just fuck you instead.”

Your stomach twisted in disgust at the very thought. The other two men pulled back and stilled at the suggestion. This nasty motherfucker wishes he’d get some. At least there were more reasonable voices in the room to keep the sicko away.

“Well now, that’s not a bad idea.” Giran declared with a nod of approval.

‘Ex-fucking-scuse me?’

Compress gave your shoulder a suggestive squeeze. “A vulgar way of putting it, but it’s an idea I can get behind.”

“Then it looks like we’ve all come to a new agreement.” The sleazebag exhaled smoke right into your face, stinging your already watery eyes and forcing several coughs out of you. “I hope you’re alright with that, darling.”

You shook your head fast enough to disorient yourself. “No! This is sick! Get your hands off me!”

“No good, huh? You think I should stick to the original plan?” Dabi dared you with a dazzling blue flame appearing in his palm. The memory of his scorching touch had you freezing up. “I’m just kidding, I don’t give a shit if you want this or not. This ain’t a friendly hookup.”

Compress leaned into your ear, voice sounding horribly close even with the mask protecting you from his lips. “I’m going to let you go now, and you’re going to cooperate with us, right? Surely you know how outmatched you are.”

Yes, you knew, yet there’s a little voice strongly urging you to fight and attempt an escape anyway. But you knew that will only end in pain and possibly death, and even though you were dreading what they had planned for you, the pitiful survivor in you is willing to sacrifice your dignity to stay alive. And so, you nodded.

“Very good,” you heard the smile in his praise. Your tender wrists were released so that he could take the hem of your shirt and slowly begin to pull it up. Your arms remained stiffly at your sides, the oppressive air around the three dangerous villains suffocating and leaving you light-headed.

“Cooperation, remember?” Compress reminded you.

With a hitched breath, you raised your arms, allowing him to peel the shirt off and throw it aside. Dabi wasted no time in exploring your newly revealed skin, while the gloved hands moved on to work at your bra and Giran undid your pants. You try to keep your breathing steady as you’re stripped, even when your pants fall down to your ankles. The second your bra is unclasped, you move to cover your freed breasts, only for the scarred bastard to slap your arms away.

“Quit it, I’m trying to feel you up,” He wasn’t very gentle in handling you, and his texture was so strange, wrinkled skin and the staples keeping him together scraping across your mounds. While he ventured lower, the other two men took their turn with your feminine assets.

Giran was fondling you slowly, but he seemed to be paying much more attention to your face, the face that you were having a very hard time keeping blank while Compress was massaging your other breast way too tenderly. It would help to shut your eyes once again, but that only enhances their touches, sparking goosebumps all over and threatening to pull a moan from your throat. You chose to look to the side and hide away from the broker’s dull gaze, but there was no avoiding Dabi’s hand palming your clothed sex, making you yelp. “AH! Don’t! You can’t just—”

He squeezed you down there, sending a foreign buzz through your abdomen. “What the hell did I just say?” He scolded. “I think I know how to shut you up.”

Giran made an amused hum. “Well Dabi, given you were the one who suggested this, I’ll grant you the honor of teaching her a lesson first.”

Your stomach dropped at the rough lips parting into a toothy grin. “You’re too kind.”

“Just don’t ruin her too quickly, alright?” Compress urged him before patting your back and stepping away. Giran also turned away and returned to his chair, leaning back with one leg crossing over the other.

The only one holding you now was the fiery villain; it had you sweating profusely even without the use of his quirk.

“Now, on your knees,” he ordered and pushed down onto your shoulders, forcing you to kneel. Your chest was tightening painfully when he unbuckled his belt to draw his half-hard cock. It wasn’t exactly any comfort, but it was wholly intact unlike the rest of him. “Start sucking.”

You kept your lips sealed and shook your head, only to have your hair grabbed and yanked back. Your pained cry was all he needed to shove his meat into your mouth. Your shout changed into a gag from the fleshy intrusion.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name was uttered with a mocking venom. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of a doubt and believe that you don’t have the memory of a dead goldfish, but in case you do, let me remind you that we brought you here to hurt you.” That dreaded heat was back, his hand threatening to call those blue flames and set your hair ablaze. “So which would you rather deal with: being carved and burned into a bloody mess, or having to please a couple of dicks? Doesn’t the latter sound more bearable?”

You couldn’t pull back to answer, his hold on your head tight and unyielding, so you nodded.

But for some reason, that didn’t satisfy him. “I need you say it. Come on, you can do it.”

‘No I can’t, you overcooked motherfucker! What do you want from me?’ Having no idea what to do but also not wanting to try his patience any further, you worked your voice around the thick rod and managed a choked and barely comprehensible “mmyeff.”

The sloshed word made Dabi laugh and you felt him twitch on your tongue. “Cute. That’s good enough. Now put that mouth to work so I won’t have to turn your head into a torch.”

Admitting defeat, you moved your head to take in more of his growing erection, wriggling your tongue in a poor attempt to get away from his salty taste, only to stimulate him in the process. You feel him respond with shaky breaths, but the fact that you’re servicing this terrible man doesn’t make you want to try any harder.

Dabi realizes your slow pace isn’t changing and his grumpiness quickly returns. “Oh come on, put a little more energy into it. A quirkless bitch living in the worst part of town, this can’t be the first time you’ve had to suck dick to save your life.” You look up and glare at him, which didn’t do much to intimidate when you were blowing him at the same time. He only smirked. “If you don’t pick up the pace, then I’ll have to take charge, and I don’t think you’d want that.”

You push yourself to put in more effort, taking in more of his now fully swollen cock and gagging pathetically. Despite what the singed shithead had guessed, you weren’t experienced with this. Your sex life boils down to a couple of hookups. This hectic existence with its cast of untrustworty characters wasn’t suitable for any kind of serious relationship, and sexual favors were something you tried to avoid as much as possible. Those rare nights with a partner were nothing like this, and you sure as hell would never ask for a fucking audience. A wisp of smoke nearby reminded you of Giran’s presence.

The sick broker was just sitting and watching with interest, his smirk still present. He seemed satisfied with just watching you in this humiliating state. Compress stood out of sight, but he was most likely doing the same. It made you just want to curl up and hide from these hungry eyes.

You heard a tired sigh over you as Dabi adjusted his grip and was now holding both sides of your face.There was no warning when he thrusted forward to jam himself into the back of your throat, the sting making your eyes well up.

“Sorry, but I think I’ve given you enough chances,” Dabi panted while reveling in the feel of your mouth all around him. His cock slid back and allowed you to breathe for just a second or two before plunging back in.

Breathing through your nose was the only option as he pumped in and out of your throat with little restraint. You gurgled helplessly and tried to push at his thighs to keep him from going so deep, but that only made him chuckle and fuck your mouth more roughly. He was in complete control now, so all you could do was take it as best as you could. Saliva gathered as your throat was violated, some of it oozing past your lips and running down your chin.

“Look at you, turning into a drooling mess for my cock. You like having your mouth fucked just like a pussy?” Demeaning words were spoken between his grunts, commenting on the depraved state of your face—you could only imagine how you looked at the moment with your extra lubricated mouth allowing him to move in and out more easily.

The erratic slams of his hips against your face signaled that this torture will be ending soon, as long as you could endure the assault on your windpipe that was making you dizzy. Any cry of distress or plea to slow down was reduced to wet gurgles and more spit bubbling from your mouth. With a teeth-clenched growl, Dabi presses your face flush against his pelvis, engulfed by his musky scent as cum shoots straight down your throat. Black spots were appearing in your vision with both your nose and throat blocked. ‘Can’t breathe…can’t…’

“Hang in there, just need to make sure you swallow every last drop.” He keeps your head locked in place so that you could feel every spasm as he feeds you his seed. Finally, he releases you and steps back, allowing oxygen to rush into your lungs as you coughed and wheezed.

“Whoops, maybe I went a little overboard,” Dabi joked at your shaking form that was hunched over hacking up a mixture of saliva and semen. That fucking bastard…

“You think?” A sarcastic remark sounded from an approaching presence behind you. Compress kneels beside you, placing a hand on your back as your coughing fit slowly died down. “That’s not my ideal way of punishing a lady. Wouldn’t you agree, Giran?”

You didn’t have the strength to look at said man and the amused expression that he was undoubtedly wearing. “I’m not picky myself. It was a good show,” you heard him say. You can physically feel your dignity leaving you.

“Well, I can give you a better one.” The phony gentleman grabbed and straightened you up. You noticed that he had removed his hat, his head concealed by what may be a ski mask. It was strangely symbolic—beneath all of that pizzazz was just another unforgiving criminal. “Dabi certainly did a number on you, didn’t he?” He observed, fingers tracing over your chest and the drying drool that had trailed down. You heard a “damn right” from Dabi who had returned to his spot at the wall. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t leave you so roughed up.”

His words did nothing to alleviate the growing fear as his hand wandered down to your panties, fingers pressing against the damp cloth. “Oh my…and here I was thinking he was being too hard on you. Looks like you didn’t hate it as much as I thought.”

You shuddered at the small chorus of laughter from all three men. Dabi took the opportunity to taunt you again. “I had a feeling she was the type that loves being treated like a hole. The bitch probably would have gotten off if I went a little longer, not that she deserves to.”

“Ah, but I think she does. In fact,” Compress pulled the underwear to the side and touched your slick directly, making you gasp. “I’d say she deserves more than she can handle.”

“N…St…op…” Your voice was hoarse from the abuse your throat had gone through. His fingers began soft strokes against your glistening folds, a feeling that wasn’t unpleasant, but you held back your whimpers to avoid both the vocal strain and giving him any gratification.

The gloved digits moved skillfully across your sensitive lips, kindling a hot desire deep inside of you. No, you really didn’t want to be feeling that from him. Your own hands curl into fists when you feel him prod at your opening, just barely penetrating you and making you bite your lip in a painful effort to suppress a moan.

He looks right at you; you can only guess what face he was making. “Trying not to make any noise, are you?” His free hand removed the patterned mask, revealing chocolate eyes and a smile that wasn’t at all sweet. “I sure do love a challenge. Then again, I already know that I’ll win.”

Any retort you had prepared died on your lips when two fingers slipped into your heat, unable to hold back your whimper even with your mouth closed. “There it is,” he purred close to your face. “But I think we can do better.”

Your cunt throbbed with each brush against your walls. He couldn’t go too deep in your current position, but that didn’t deter him as he pistoned in and out, flexing his fingers every which way until he found that forbidden spot that made you wail. The white hot heat was threatening to smother you completely. You found yourself grasping his arm and weakly pushing at it, silently begging to make it stop before you burst.

‘Don’t look ahead…Giran is watching…don’t look ahead…’ The mantra repeated in your head, echoing loudly to distract you from the unstable knot in your core. The inner chant was to no avail—several hard presses against your nerves had you crumbling beneath the searing heat of your climax. With no restraint remaining, your broken whines rushed out of your convulsing body and echoed through the room. A thumb circles your clit and prolongs the all-powerful sensation.

“Try to bear it, darling.” Compress says to you, but his voice sounds so far away, drowned out by the vibrations starting from your pussy and spreading all over, engulfing you. Even after your orgasm passes, the assault on your sensitive womanhood doesn’t stop, the sensations becoming painful. You would have fallen over if Compress wasn’t holding you, his arm wrapped around you in an insultingly affectionate embrace as he continued to overstimulate you. The words falling from your lips were weak and incoherent, the occasional ‘no’ and ‘too much’ being heard.

Sobbing in the villain’s shoulders, you can make out the blurred violet figure in your foggy vision, still lounging and taking silent delight in your struggles. You just barely noticed the slight curve of his lips as Compress forced you to cum again, pitting your muscles against another wave of excruciating spasms. This time he did let you collapse, your body sprawled out on the floor as your walls continued to clench.

“Hmmph, not bad.” Dabi can be heard, and his voice alone makes your throat burn again.

Compress was still close, curiously squishing your juices between his fingers. “I could have gone for longer, but she still needs energy for the main act.”

You hear a dark laugh from Giran. “So generous of you Compress. What would I do without you gentlemen? Just do me one more favor and remove the rest of your clothes.”

“Of course,” the showman moved over to fully strip you. You stayed limp as he pulled your drenched panties down along with your pants that were still hanging at your feet, then moving on to remove your shoes. You were now completely bare, body shivering despite the warm still air of the room.

“Alright, miss. That’s enough rest. Time to get up and come over here.” Giran orders coolly. There was no urgency in his voice, but you knew you shouldn’t keep him waiting. If only your entire lower body wasn’t screaming. Compress sensed your plight and took hold of your waist, prepared to pull you up.

“No no,” Giran held up a hand while stomping out his cigarette. “She’s a big girl and can stand on her own.”

Compress simply shrugged and retreated, leaving you to force your aching arms and legs to move and lift you up.

Even after being violated, you still couldn’t resist covering your chest and mound as you slowly approached the man that you deeply regret ever getting involved with. You tried to ignore how gross your body felt—the salty fleshy taste lingering on your tongue, the wetness that continued to run down your legs, your bare feet shuffling across the old dusty floor. There was a prominent bulge in his pants, revealing just how much this was all exciting him.

“Sit down and have a ride on me.” It was said so casually that you needed a moment to comprehend.

Dabi barked impatiently. “Hey, don’t just stand there like a modest statue.”

Realizing that Giran isn’t going to take out his erection himself, you lean in to open up his pants, fighting every urge to pull your hands away as they work at the buttons and zipper, pulling down his underwear to watch his cock spring out. He didn’t seem to react, only watching your face like he has been since you’ve been tossed into this damned place. You stare at his waiting dick until you accept that you have to get closer, standing over his legs before lowering yourself down onto his lap. You have to grab the soft yet firm organ to keep it in place as it touches your opening.

He was so close, smoke-scented breath hitting your skin. There was no way to avoid his gaze at this proximity. He was free to see all of the shameful details on your tear-stained face.

It pains you to admit that Compress’s fingers made the stretch more bearable as Giran’s head pushes into your cavern that was still sensitive from the previous man’s onslaught. You had to place your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as your hips sunk down on him, breaths shallow throughout your poor attempt to stay relaxed and not tighten up. Several inches later, you had him fully sheathed inside you.

“Good. Very good.” His voice was low and rugged, eyes closing briefly so that he can take in your surrounding heat. “Now start moving. I didn’t bring you over just to keep me warm.”

You didn’t have enough pride left to protest, so you did as instructed, slowly lifting your hips before bringing them back down, ignoring the strain put on your thighs. Giran placed a hand on your ass, the contact making your pace falter for just a second. He looked so at ease as you bounced on him that you wondered, if it was just the two of you, perhaps you could have taken this as an opportunity to attack. But in the current situation, it would only lead to certain death. The thought leaves your mind as quickly as it came.

“Three days.” The two words cut through your weary breaths and the squelch of your pussy. You give Giran a look of confusion before he specifies. “I’m giving you three more days to collect the money.”

The news surprises you enough to halt your hips, an action he doesn’t approve of.

“I didn’t say stop.” The warning in his tone had you instantly moving again. He lightened at your compliance; he sure knew how to flip his friendly mode on and off like a damn light switch. “Very good. I’m trying to show you some more mercy here. Don’t ruin it for yourself. Anyway, you need to hurry and do whatever you can to get that money. Steal, call some old friends, maybe sell your body? I don’t think you’d be half-bad at that.” He gave your rear a light smack, making your walls squeeze him in shock. “If you don’t have enough by the time we meet again, your lovely body won’t stop me from peeling your skin off a second time. Are we clear, sweetheart?”

The fear from his threat grips your chest as you keep trying to please him, moving in a way that keeps his dick away from your g-spot. “Yes,” you whimper through your pants.

Giran caught on to what you were doing. “I’m not convinced.” Both of his hands take hold of your hips and push you down, forcing stimulation on your hypersensitive bundle of nerves. A scream rips through your burning throat. “I’ll say it again: Are we clear?”

“Yes!” Your voice cracks and tears are flowing down your face once again.

“You won’t run from me again?”

“No! I swear I won’t!”

“Good girl.” He was the one setting the pace at this point, forcing you up and down in pursuit of his release. There was another agonizing orgasm growing in your abdomen, but the hands controlling your movements weren’t giving you a chance to escape the inevitable storm.

The final slam collides his throbbing cock with your cervix, and the pained pleasure has you quivering in his hold, crinkling his shirt with your white-knuckled grip as you cried out from every foul spurt into your womb. His soft groans were heated against your neck.

His pats of approval on your back are enough to push your worn figure into his chest. He chuckles and rubs you like a lover that didn’t just force you into the most disgraceful moment of your life. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

Despite your limbs feeling like pure lead, you wanted to get off this man as soon as possible. “Please just let me go.”

His smile filled you with a fresh wave of dread. “Soon, darling. But I need to make sure I’ve made my point. I think the other two gentlemen would appreciate a turn.”

You heard the quick footsteps before he even finished, scarred hands grabbing and pulling you off of Giran’s softening cock. Fuck, the two had been so quiet for the past moment that you forgot about their presence.

You jolt at the feel of Dabi’s revived hard-on pressing against your back while Compress stops right in front of you, his own length bobbing freely. You flinched at the damp gloves caressing your chin and lips. “Are you ready to return the favor? Don’t worry, I won’t treat your mouth as badly as Dabi did.”

“Sadly,” The crueler man behind you added before pressing down and bending you forward, your head now leveled with Compress’s waiting dick.

“Open up for me,” he orders with a hand resting in your hair. Your jaw still ached from the last cock in your mouth; you hoped that he truly was going to at least be more gentle as you parted your lips and took him in.

Dabi rubbed up and down your spine as he watched. “Well look at you, such an obedient little bitch now.” He began to knead your ass cheeks before spreading them, your body tensing in fear as a finger toyed with your back entrance.

“I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, guess I’ll have to take another hole.” It was the only warning he gave before his thickness was pushing forcefully into your unprepared ass. The searing pain was as intense as his quirk, your muffled shrieks vibrating against Compress and making him moan. Dabi smiled at your suffering. “Can’t complain, ‘cause this sounds a lot better. Hope I don’t do too much damage in there.”

He fucked you as hard and fast as your tight passage would allow, pushing the other villain’s dick further into your throat with each thrust.

Soon, they will switch places. And then they will take you separately. And Giran will stay seated, taking pleasure in watching you break.

Your mind eventually wanders to what will happen afterwards, if there is any possible way to right the biggest wrong you’ve ever committed…or if you simply had three days left to live.

It feels like luck is done saving you.

--------------------------------------------

tagging @mothwithteeth because their thirst for Giran inspired me. Go check them and their awesome work out!

#bnha #smut #dabi #giran #mr. compress #dabi x reader #giran x reader #mr. compress x reader #tw noncon #tw death

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flameontheotherside · 2 years

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Ugly Betty 😂

...Okay I'm not as ugly NOW... But yeah I used to be called "Ugly Betty". I have horrible eye sight (-4), I'm clumsy, I have tourrettes, bipolar and I'm on the spectrum. Easy target? Of course. I started wearing contacts when I was 12 because I was bullied a lot for looking weird. Sometimes in high school Id wear glasses because I was tired of poking my eyes every morning.

My awkwardness and annoying character stopped me from feeling any kind of self worth. People are shit. By the time I landed in my 30s I've learned how to stick up for myself but the damage done in my formidable years gave me PTSD. I now have social anxiety and a chip on my shoulder so even if someone wasn't really being a dick to me I would sort of be catty or "mean". I have a hard time understanding if someone is good or bad.

I have a big heart.

If I see someone in need I go to them and I do what I can. Often times people take advantage of me. I don't usually understand when they do until it's too late. It's always the assholes I cater to. I never see them coming and the people who do right by me, I confuse with being the asshole. I'm so fucking backwards.

People often think I have all of this confidence but I don't really. People tell me how beautiful and talented I am allllll the fucking time. You'd think I'd be miss hot shot by now but, no. Not really. Sometimes if I'm in a good mood I go about my happy self at the bars sitting at a stool chatting it up with some random old dude or awkward guy my age. I catch other women looking at me not able to tell if they are jealous or admiring.

Some women are jealous of me.

Every once in a while I'll hear of some chick flirting with my bf while I'm away. My bf tells me what they say. When people are drunk, the truth comes out. A lot of times Rick will tell me of some chick to talks to him about how "lucky" he is but then they drool over him too. Huh?

There's a rumor at a bar that one of the bartenders doesn't like me. Used the excuse that I'm too intimidating and it causes people to not want to participate in karaoke. So I've been limited to the kind of songs I sing. Seriously! I'm not even kidding. I'm a singer so uh yeah I'm going to be decent on stage. This makes me worried about the competition. Would it be ruined now that both me and my professional singer bf signed up? It's interesting they do the contest on 4 Saturdays. We usually show on Thursdays. Did they think we'd not show up or something? Eh, idk or really care because I'm doing it anyway.

People either love me or hate me.

This may or may not be true. I realized this in comparing how people treat me. It's annoying that situations are never consistent. Idk what to expect. Like, I'm always nervous when I go to a new place to hang out. I have a lot of friends here in Washington who don't know my awkward past and I like it that way.

My friends in Florida know me too well from when we were kids or whatever. I don't think they like me at all or they feel sorry for me and just want to play "nice". Maybe a few of them are okay but a big majority of them can suck my left ovary.

Which brings me to the conclusion that if Erik and I ever met...

...I don't think he would have liked me. No one back then did. Then the ones that did like me annoyed me. Rick is very very similar to Erik. I met Rick just a few months after Erik's death. The beginning of 2010. Rick annoyed the fuck out of me. We were too much alike. Since then, I've calmed down and choose a quiet life. So has Rick but he still kind of annoys me.

Or maaaaybe Erik and I would be attached at the hip like Matt and I were. It could have gone either way. I try not to dwell on it too much because it's pointless while Erik's dead and now Matt's dead. It's weird. Matt and I were super close. Now he's hanging out with Erik. Losing Matt sort of feels like I've lost Erik again.

😘💕 Have a wonderful day!

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justformyself2 · 4 years

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shower

Hi guys, how are you all doing?

So this smut goes out to @krasinskigirl, based on her idea about a hot shower with John. I liked the idea and wanted to test my smut skills. Here I go, I hope you all enjoy it.

BEFORE YOU JUMP IN BE ADVISED:

. THIS IS A +18 STORY. I can’t keep you from reading, but God is watching you, and so is the FBI agent assigned to your computer.

.There is cursing, intercourse and is graphic.

(gif taken from google images search)

“Are you okay?”

John asks when he stopped the car, bellow the red traffic lights.

“Yeah.” It’s a short answer. Your eyes, focused on the people crossing the street, some of them starting to open up the umbrellas under a sudden heavy rain of the bipolar summer weather. There is nowhere else they are allowed to look, but he knows.

“You are doing it again.” “Doing what?” “Not talking to me, instead of saying why you are upset.” You laugh bitterly. Name it stubbornness or denial. It won’t let you give in and won’t let John be right on top of making you feel the way you feel. You rather drown in pride than give him this much power. “I’m not upset.” It’s his turn to laugh. The lights become green, and the windshield wiper is on. “We’ll see, then.”

The rest of the ride is silent, and the rain followed you all the way home, still pouring outside when the garage door was closing. Taking the seatbelt off and grabbing the Gucci metallic handbag, John’s gift for valentine’s day. You leave the car and the intense way he observed you behind.

‘We’ll see, then.’ echoed inside your mind.

He was determined to prove a point when he wanted, as stupid as the matter could be at times. There was a dominance struggle between both of you, light-hearted competition, and sometimes, pettiness that always ends up under the covers, it was like a type of foreplay, but he couldn’t be all smiles and flattering comments to that freaking stranger only to provoke a reaction. John was not too far behind when you went upstairs, entering the room, you two shared. You leave the handbag in the bed, knowing that this was the territory to avoid before getting answers, without letting him know about that low vibrancy feeling, hitting you every time the way he was making her laugh replayed on your mind. When he enters the room, you give up.

“I’m going to take a shower. I feel sticky.” He wanted to smirk; he was having fun with this. John comes forward, taking the brown leather jacket off and leaving it next to the handbag. “Great, I will join you. I also feel sticky.” You breathe in slowly, his eyes locked into yours, and you won’t give him the satisfaction, but at the same time, it was exactly what you were doing. “Unless you are mad at me, then I won’t.” He places a lock of hair that escaped from your bun, behind your ear slowly. His thumb caresses your cheek and stops at the bottom of your chin. “I’m not.” A full smile appeared. The hazel eyes drop to your lips. Your breathing is building up little by little when John started to come closer to them. You take a step back, unwinding the spell, and escaping to the bathroom, a trap you set up to yourself. While undressing, the feeling of being watched by him from behind, mixed with the earlier anger, left you confused, but most of all, lustful when you heard the metallic sound of his belt hitting the floor. You were taking off the red Louboutin’s when you got a glimpse of his feet, walking towards the shower box, and as a habit, you spend too much time looking at his naked back, and the way the muscles moved when he turned the shower on, sculpted, solid. You never stood a chance, did you? The water dripping down only made it worse, but that was only the sight, you had to get in, and the way your thighs clenched against each other was a clear sign of what you wanted, but there was still some shame keeping you company all the way through, the shame in how easy he had you. John turns around to face you, his fingers combed the wet, dark brown hair behind before he called you to come closer, with a hand sign; The same sign made when two guys are about to get into a fight, and one of them is confident enough to provoke, calling the other one out to the ring. Still, in this case, he had already proven how good he is because you are here, and you are coming closer to the fog coming out of the water, observing the drops running on his abs at random directions while unmaking your hair bun. The hairband falls on the wet ground. John gives in his space under the shower, his hand, placed on your back, goes up to your shoulders. You hear the plastic sound of a lid getting open, while the water washed your hair and body. He could have used the soap, but then, his hand wouldn’t be able to come in contact with your skin, so the liquid form should be it. He starts slowly, pacing himself on purpose, like a sensual massage that went up and down your back, arms, waist, he pulls you closer, exposing his hardness against your ass. Back against chest, you don’t care to open your eyes while his hands travel from your belly towards your breasts. His palms, full of you, his thumbs enticing your nipples, it didn’t take long till he started griding against your ass. You wanted to grab him, but your arms weren’t long enough while his were under yours. The best you could do, while supporting yourself with one hand against the wall, was to work your hips in circular motions against his cock. The wetness you both were under made the friction easier, pleasurable, and confirmation came from the way he started low growling against your neck. His right-hand goes south again, down where you wanted them the most, and the experienced finger parts your folds, entering you with just the tip, caressing your clit in the process, he starts the torturing friction. “Oh, fuck.” Escapes your lips, and you hear his delighted laugh in response. “Not so easy to give me the silence treatment now, right babe?” You were ready to answer, but your words turn into a gasp when you, without warning, get filled in deep by him. The hand left hand that was once on your breast goes to your upper back, forcing you to bend and keep both hands against the wall for support. The warm water hits your back while John grabs you by the hips, but his patience was gone, he is urgent to hit your walls, urgent to make your skin slap against his. “God, you feel amazing… so fucking tight, take it, baby, take it all, just like that.” A hard slap your in your ass makes you moan in pain and pleasure. “Come here.” You feel his chest against your back again for a second before he reaches your forearms, bringing you up from that bending position, and locking them behind your back, exposing your chest forward, using the position to hit it harder on all the right places. You can now hear his moans better, and how vocal John was. It was not fair how quickly you could cum just from hearing him. “You are clenching, do you want to cum for me already?… No, you are going to wait, you hear me?” He was doing what he loves to do, bring you towards the edge and make you beg for it, especially when he had the upper hand. You decide to change that. Waiting for the right moment of distraction when his arms release yours, you break the physical bond and turns to face him, seeing his face on the other side of the wall made of water, his smile coming closer, surpassing it. He is waiting for you; it’s his turn to give in. You take his lips with ferocity, and before you could think he is already lifting you against the cold, wet wall, your legs wrap around his hips. Breaking the kiss for a second to insert himself once more. An involuntary smile comes out of you while watching his face, the way he bitted his lips when he was all inside of you, starting to pick up the rhythm once again, going deeper. His moans mixed with yours, his hot breath on the skin of your neck, the way he held you, fucked you, the feeling building up in your lower stomach. “John.” You called, he kisses your jaw and searches for your mouth, the way he did when he was also getting close. Your nails dig deep against the skin of his shoulder as you feel yourself reaching your high. Thighs are shaking, lungs desperate, swallowing the humid air. “Holy shit, (y/n).” It was his turn to roar your name. His hands, holding your ass, gripping them hard, his hips struggling to keep the rhythm as he came. John presses his lips against yours, suppressing another moan as he slowly stops the movements. “I love you.” He whispers for the last time in your ear before putting you down but doesn’t let go of you. “I know you when you are jealous (y/n) you should know that by now, and there is no reason for you to be, can you see what you do to me?” He holds your look in place, by keeping his thumb under your chin. “I don’t even know much all this wasted water is going to cost me this month.” You closed your eyes, laughing while he turned off the shower. “You ruined me for all other women, both financially and romantically.” “Oh, shut up and go get us a towel.”

#John Krasinski #john krasinskixreader #john krasinski imagine #smutt #imagine #smutt imagine #smutty #story #holy shit #let me know what you think #+18 story #fanfiction #fanfic

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kissjane · 4 years

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SECOND CHANCE / Not so short at all fic

#28 from this prompt list

[[Warning, not very fluffy, lots of angst with a happy ending]]

We literally ran into each other

Lucas got to the supermarket at ten to eight, out of breath from running. Ever since he broke up with Didier, he had needed to adapt to doing his own grocery shopping again, and frankly, he had resorted to ordering take-out six nights out of seven for the last few weeks. But now he had run out of coffee, and he was on his last roll of toilet paper, so he needed to come in for the essentials. It was just that his long hours – which had, ironically, caused the final row with Didier in the first place – made it nearly impossible to get here on time.

As he rushed through the aisles, frantically trying to remember what he had to buy, he pondered how he had let things get so out of hand. He had settled into a job he hated, with a demanding boss expecting him to stay late every night and more often than not called him in on the weekends too. He had been with Didier for years, ever since their university days, even though Lucas had never really been in love with him. It was just convenient. But when Didier had started to hint at wanting more – move in together, commit to each other, plan for a family at some point – Lucas had distanced himself, and when the fights became more and more a regular occurrence, he hadn’t found the energy or even the desire to try to work things out. When Didier had finally had enough and broke up with him, he hadn’t even felt sad. It was honestly a bit liberating, even, to not have to pretend anymore. He felt guilty about not having the courage to break up with Didier sooner, to string him along like that – but it had just happened. One day they started dating, and the next day five years had passed and they were on very different pages.

The lights flickered in the supermarket, and somebody announced in a tired voice that they were closing in three minutes and to please make for the check-out registers.

Lucas started for them, when he suddenly realized he didn’t grab coffee. He turned on his heels and half ran to the back of the store, where the coffee had been last time he had set foot in here. He wasn’t paying attention, and when he turned the corner, he slammed into a tall body. He dropped his basket, and he heard a grunt escape from the other guy. He started uttering an apology while picking up his basket, hoping nothing had broken, conscious of the time running and still needing to find the coffee.

Then he suddenly heard a voice he didn’t think he’d ever hear again, a voice he would recognize everywhere.

“Lucas? Lucas Lallemant? Is that really you?”

Lucas froze mid-movement. He slowly lifted his eyes – dreading what he would see.

In front of him, in all his gorgeous glory, looking even hotter than eight years ago, stood Eliott Demaury.

In a flash, Lucas was back in high school, crazily in love with the new boy, kissing him one magic night in the rain. Eliott had been his first kiss, the first guy he had loved. Oh hell, who was he kidding – the only guy he had ever loved. Lucas had been confused for weeks, when Eliott had kissed his ex at a party only a few days after he had told Lucas he had broken up with her, then leaving Lucas a bunch of cryptic drawings. Eventually, they had stopped coming, and later on, Lucas had heard from someone that Eliott was bipolar, so he had put their ultrashort affair down to Eliott being manic.

Not that it had been easy to forget about the tall boy with the grey eyes. Eliott had haunted his dreams for months, and it had taken Lucas years to get back into the game. And then he had met Didier, who was tall and had messy hair, and Lucas had known it was not the smartest move to get together with somebody who vaguely resembled Eliott, as some sort of ersatz, but he had gone with it anyway.

Standing here in front of Eliott it was a miracle he didn’t forget to breathe. Eliott looked at him as if he had seen a ghost, and they just stood there, staring at each other, until a harried-looking employee came towards them.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, it is five after eight, we really need to close now.”

She shepherded them both to the register lane, and Eliott went first, paying for his purchases, and waiting on the other side. Lucas wished he would just go, he didn’t want to talk to Eliott, he didn’t feel like getting back into that insane infatuation from all those years ago – it had taken him long enough to get over it the first time around. He didn’t want to “catch up” or “rekindle their friendship” or whatever – he wanted to go home and wallow in self-pity. And to add insult to injury, when he was bagging his groceries, he realized he still didn’t have any coffee.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, noticing too late that Eliott had stepped closer to him.

“Everything okay?”, came Eliott’s voice, careful, neutral.

Lucas felt anger rise in his throat, but he didn’t want to make a scene. Eliott didn’t need to know how affected Lucas was by this chance encounter.

“I didn’t get to grab coffee, and I’m all out,” he gritted through his teeth.

Eliott nodded, and seemed to waver about what to say next.

“I have coffee at home… Do you want to – I mean – or go to a café with me –”, he stammered, and Lucas threw him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“Your girlfriend might be upset if you start bringing men home. Especially men you’ve kissed.”

Fuck, he berated himself. Why did he bring that up? They could have pretended for the next thirty seconds they were just old schoolmates, but no, Lucas had to broach the subject of their awkward fling.

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”, Eliott said, blushing slightly, probably because Lucas mentioned their kiss. Maybe he had forgotten all about that, until Lucas reminded him. He must regret staying and trying to talk to Lucas now. Well, all the better, Lucas thought. The faster they could get this over with, the happier Lucas would be.

“Ah, sorry. I assumed you were still with Lucille. My mistake”, he said, as politely as he could muster, and grabbed his coffeeless bag as he turned to go. He would go home and get into bed and forget all about this day.

“Wait, what?”, Eliott called after him. “Lucas, wait a second!”

Lucas wanted to keep going, he really did, but Eliott’s legs were longer than his, so unless he started running, it would be to no avail. He sighed, and stopped walking. Eliott came up to him, and because Lucas was staring at the pavement, he saw how Eliott shuffled his feet.

“Why would I be with Lucille? I told you I broke up with her.”

Lucas looked up at that, the anger threatening to erupt in full force. His eyes were icy when he stared straight at Eliott, who seemed genuinely confused.

“Yeah, you did, but when I saw you sticking your tongue down her throat only a few days later, I assumed you had changed your mind.”

He took a strange kind of pleasure in watching the colour drain from Eliott’s cheeks.

“You saw that?”, Eliott breathed, and Lucas only nodded.

“Fuck,” Eliott said, almost to himself.

They stood in silence for a long beat.

“Lucas, I’m sorry about that. I was… confused, and trying to sort out some things… But didn’t you get my messages, then? I – I left you a few drawings in your backpack… I wanted – I wanted…”

“You wanted what, Eliott?”

Lucas heard the harshness in his voice, but honestly, he was exhausted, and he really didn’t want to do a post mortem on their… relationship, or whatever the word for it was.

“You told me you broke up with Lucille, then you kissed her as if nothing was wrong between you, and then you left me all those drawings. I have no idea what you wanted, Eliott.”

He should leave. He should lie to Eliott, say that his boyfriend was waiting for him. He should go home, write a letter of resignation for his asshole of a boss, get over Eliott once and for all, find somebody else to love, and finally start living.

“I wanted to talk to you, Lucas, I wanted to apologize, to tell you why – Look, everything was so beautiful when I was with you, and I was so fucking afraid of ruining things unintentionally I ruined them intentionally, but I regretted it as soon as it happened. I just – I just wanted to beg you to give me another chance, without any secrets between us. I – I… God. I was so fucking in love with you.”

The last words were breathed out so softly Lucas had to strain to hear them, almost as if Eliott hadn’t meant to admit that out loud.

“I didn’t know that,” he said pensively, softly. He wondered how he felt about knowing that it had been real for Eliott, as short-lived as it had been. It was bittersweet, realizing they both had been in love with one another, and yet, they hadn’t made it.

“I should have told you,” Eliott replied, even softer than before, then louder, “I should have told you, Lucas. You deserved to know. There is a lot I should have told you… But when you didn’t reach out after I left you those notes, I figured it didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me, so I backed off. But now you know, at least.”

He sounded sad, Lucas thought. And the idea of Eliott thinking it hadn’t meant anything to Lucas left a sour taste in his mouth.

“It did mean the same to me, though. I – I was in love with you too.”

It wasn’t easy to force out those words, to confess his feelings out loud, but maybe this could be the closure he needed after years of wondering and pining.

“You were?”, Eliott breathed, unbelieving.

Lucas nodded, and Eliott’s eyes lit up for the briefest of moments, before they dulled again.

“Oh, God. I really fucked up, didn’t I?”, he said, and his voice was laced with so much pain and sadness Lucas almost reached out for him.

“It’s okay,” he said. It wasn’t really, but it would have to be. “I fucked up too. It’s fine, though. It was a long time ago.”

Eliott looked at him, a storm blowing through his grey eyes. Lucas wished he could read them, but he hadn’t been able to decipher Eliott’s emotions back then, so it was futile to try now.

“It may have been a long time ago, but –”

He cut himself off, looking away from Lucas.

Lucas didn’t know why his heart suddenly started beating erratically, why he took a tiny step closer towards Eliott, why he put a shaking hand on Eliott’s arm. Eliott’s eyes whipped towards it, looking at Lucas’ hand touching his bare skin as if it was a mirage.

“But what?”, Lucas whispered, afraid of the answer, afraid of the tempest brewing inside him, afraid of letting Eliott walk out of his life again, afraid of never being able to love anybody else.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s over,” Eliott finally answered, after a long silence. His words hung heavy over them, like a pressure front coming in from over the ocean, moving too fast to predict the outcome.

Lucas stared at Eliott until Eliott looked back at him.

“What – what are you saying?”, he asked, not letting go of Eliott’s arm, trying to stare into his very soul.

“I never stopped loving you, Lucas.”

The answer came fast this time, and Eliott’s voice was calm, steady. He looked straight at Lucas, unwavering, certain of his words.

Something inside Lucas shifted. A chasm he hadn’t known was there closed within him, and he felt old wounds heal.

He couldn’t control the future and he couldn’t change the past, but he had a choice right here and now. Maybe he and Eliott weren’t meant to be back then. Maybe they weren’t meant to be ever. But he had loved the man in front of him for years, ever since he first saw him, and it seemed he had been loved for just as long, and maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant everything.

He took a deep breath.

He smiled at Eliott, and slowly, tentatively, Eliott smiled back, his sunny smile which Lucas hadn’t seen in years but which still made him feel like he was invincible.

“I’d like to come with you for that coffee, please,” he said.

#I write things #50 cliché prompts #Elu #skam france fanfic

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myheartrevealedocs · 4 years

Text

Untouchable Ch 8- Keeping a Secret

Warnings: mentions of death (suggestion of suicide?), discussion of graphic injuries for like two lines, discussion of mental illness

Ch 7 | Ch 9

~ ~ ~

“You nervous?” Lydia whispered as she walked past her fidgeting date for the evening. “The-always-punctual-Dr-Reid?”

He jumped, looking at her with rounded eyes. “Uh… hey!”

A smile tugged at her lips. God, he looked so small sitting there. He was actually terrified.

“Hey.”

“How’s, uh… How’s your schoolwork going?” He was blinking at a rapid rate as if he couldn’t believe she was there. As if any minute now, she’d disappear and he’d once more be alone at a table for two.

“It’s been good. I’ve been putting off on stuff for the past few days after… everything. So, I’ll need to catch up. Hopefully, by then, I’ll have your help again.”

“You don’t need my help,” he argued.

She could tell he was new at this. So was she, of course, but she’d known Spencer for some time now. It’d been almost a full year since she met him and they’d been working together for over seven months. She figured this would be like any other time they’d met. She just had to show him that them going out together didn’t change anything.

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe not. But I enjoy being with you.”

Finally, he let go of some of his jitteriness. “I was so happy you wanted my help,” he admitted. “I couldn’t wait to hang out with you.”

“Me too.” She stuck out her tongue, teasingly. “I’m glad we can hang out now without the pretense of me needing help.”

“Lydia is this all… I’m just not sure I really believe that you wanted to go out with me.” He fumbled over his words, a pink flush gracing his cheeks.

“Spencer, I’m pretty sure my exact words were ‘I’m not going out with you unless-’”

“‘I’m not going to get food with you unless it’s a date’,” he corrected. “I know, but maybe you knew I wanted to ask you out and only said that to make me feel better.”

Before she could think better of it, she reached across the table to grab his hand and said, “You gave me a book of Sherlock Holmes stories and told me I reminded you of the main character. Believe me, you’ve had my whole heart since that moment.”

His words caught in his throat and his eyes travelled down to their piled hands. Just as he had when she’d done that the last time, he slowly flipped his hand over, so that her fingers rested in his palm and his thumb could slide over her knuckles. For a moment, he hovered over the ring that she wore when she was off work. The one she’d told him belonged to her father.

“Have you read any of them?” he asked, softly.

“Of course. I was going to call you to discuss them, but you were on vacation so I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You couldn’t have bothered me,” he insisted. “I was happy to get your call… until I found out what it was about.”

“Yeah… that last case was tough. But at least some good came out of it!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like…?”

“Hotch offered me a job.”

His jaw dropped. “He did? You're going to be working with us full-time now?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. But I won’t be an intern anymore and I’ll have more freedoms. I still have to convince Strauss I’m fit for the team, but after that, I’ll be contracted out for cases. I’m like your guys’s hireable forensic expert!”

He squeezed Lydia’s hand gently. “That’s amazing!”

They settled into comfortable conversation for the rest of the night. The food was great, as she figured it would be since Spencer liked the restaurant so much, and when they were finished, he offered to walk her home.

The spring air was still cold and she wasn’t used to the temperature compared to California. They walked in silence for most of the night, Lydia looking around at the buildings. All the months she’d been living there and she really hadn’t taken the time to commit anything nearby to memory. But now that she was planning on taking up Hotch’s offer, Virginia could end up being a permanent home.

Oh god, Rebecca was going to kill her, she thought suddenly. She was going to insist she was abandoning her like their parents had.

Abandoned. She hated to think of it that way, but that’s why her and her sister had always stuck so close. They were all they had left.

“Hey, Spencer?” she began, nervously. “Do you want to know what happened to my mom?”

“Lydia, you don’t owe me-”

“No,” she interrupted. “I’m okay with telling you, I promise. There’s no… pressure on me to say, but I…” She sighed. “I feel like someone should know. And I don’t mean ‘know’ as in read the new articles Garcia came across when she did a background check on me. I mean understand.” She looked down at her hands and Spencer knew without even looking, that she was twisting her ring around her finger like she was winding up a toy. “It was kind of a… complicated matter.”

“Complicated?”

“My mom was bipolar. I don’t remember a lot about her, but of what I do picture, it’s almost like I had two mothers. When she was on a decline, she wasn’t anything like my mother. She was hollow and distant and I couldn’t understand it.

“And, when I was ten… I was the one to find her body. She’d overdosed on her meds. Bupropion to be exact. And it became somewhat popular around town, because no one could tell if it was a suicide or an accident… I don’t even know. Local papers were speculating about it and some people even thought it could have been a murder.

“People wouldn’t leave us alone for the longest time, trying to find evidence that proved their theories. It was really hard on my dad and, of course, that’s approximately when my anger issues started to manifest and I was acting out and being a real piece of shit. So, you know, no help. And the doctors basically said that that was the first sign of her giving her depression to me.”

His eyes started to water. “Lydia-”

“I’m not telling you this because I think it makes us even, Spencer. Sharing your past isn’t like trading cards. But, after finding out about your mom, I wanted you to know that I understand. I really do. You’re terrified of turning out like her. And you feel guilty, because you love your mother, even with her disorder. But watching her live with it for all those years and-” She stopped herself, feeling her own emotions get the better of her. “I don’t think I’m strong enough. If I turn into that… I don’t think I’ll survive.”

She shut her eyes and stopped walking, waiting for him to tell her that she was wrong about him. Maybe she didn’t really understand. She’d assumed a lot and there were so many different factors, but it felt the same. When he talked about his mom, she recognized those emotions.

“Lydia?”

His voice was controlled. Almost forced. She worried he was holding back anger. But after cautiously cracking an eye open, she realized it was tears. He was close to crying. And to be honest, so was she, although none had fallen from either of the pair.

“Can I hug you?”

She tried to muffle a little gasp, before nodding.

His arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his warm chest and she snaked her arms underneath his jacket to hold him closer. He smelled clean, like detergent, and she had to keep herself from rubbing her face into his soft shirt.

Telling someone about her mother’s death was never going to be easy for Lydia. She hadn’t expected it to be. But Spencer was one of the first people who wasn’t treating her like an alien. She’d lost someone. People die all the time. It hurts like a bitch, but 12 years later and she still could feel a weird air around the topic. No one wanted to bring up what her mother’s death meant for her.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “For listening. And for putting up with me before this when I dodged the subject.”

“When I found you sitting on the floor of the conference room, listening to my mom,” he said, his hold on her not letting up, “I was blown away. I’d never seen anyone other than her doctors be able to talk to her so cleanly. When people realize she’s different, they tiptoe around her like she’s dangerous. And really, she’s not. She never has been, not to anyone else. She’s just… strange.”

“We’re all a little strange,” she comforted, pulling back to look at him, but neither one of them dropping their arms around the other. “And she was absolutely brilliant. No wonder you turned out to be a prodigy.”

He grinned. “She used to be a great literature professor before her mental state began deteriorating. She’d read me historic poetry and writings. I didn’t think anyone in the world could be as amazing as my mom.”

“I can believe it,” she told him sincerely.

They stood there for a moment, then walked the rest of the way to her apartment, arms still wrapped around one another like they were a life raft.

“Do people normally talk about their moms’ mental illnesses on their first date?” Spencer asked, his tone completely serious. “I feel like we jumped the ‘what’s your favorite color’ questions.”

“My favorite color is green,” she informed him. “And this is just a guess, but I don’t think anything about our relationship is or will ever be normal, Spencer. Romantic or not.”

He glanced at her, questioningly. “Is that okay?”

“Perfect.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia’s meeting with Strauss was set a few days later and it went well. At least, according to Hotch, it did. Strauss was… terrifying.

Lydia was ready to collapse from stress as she followed Hotch out of their superior’s office, but once they were a few feet away, he confided that she’d answered all of Strauss’s questions appropriately and fully which was all they could ask for.

“She looked so annoyed,” Lydia admitted, quietly. “I thought I was on trial, not applying for a job.”

“Strauss is…” He hesitated, not sure how to put it lightly. “She can seem like that at times,” he decided.

She nodded, the two of them finally reaching the bullpen. “Well, call me if you hear anything.”

“You too,” he replied before walking away to his office.

Lydia stepped down into the bullpen, deciding to stay a few minutes before heading home. She had something to ask Spencer and if she got this job, she might have to do some more training, which would mean a little while out of the field.

“Hey, kiddo,” Morgan called with a smile as she stepped down.

“Not sure I appreciate the nickname, Derek.”

Spencer spun around at the sound of her voice, but didn’t say anything.

“I call pretty boy here ‘kid’ all the time and technically, he’s not the youngest anymore,” Morgan argued, Lydia stepping up next to them at their joined desk. “You’ve got him beat by three years.”

“Two,” Lydia fired back. “I turned 22 two months ago.

“Oo, a big girl,” he teased. “Tie your own shoes and everything?”

“Why? Do you need help?”

“Sugar!” Garcia cried, entering the bullpen from the opposite direction. “What are you doing here?”

“Spice!” Lydia held out her arms to pull her in for a brief hug.

Garcia gasped in her ear. “I love the nickname,” she said, pulling away. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh,” Lydia sighed, brushing her hair back. “I’m not sure if this is on the downlow or not, but I was interviewing for a job!”

“What?” Morgan demanded, setting his mug of coffee down firmly. “You’re thinking about leaving us?”

“No!” Garcia argued too. “Who wants you? I’ll sabotage your chances!”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s scary, because I’m certain you could. Quite easily. But if you don’t want me getting this job, you’ll have to take it up with Hotch or Strauss.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “You mean it’s a job here? At the BAU?”

“It’ll be no different than before,” Lydia promised. “I’m not here for every case. Hotch just thought it was time I had more freedoms and he’s trying to convince Strauss of that too. I don’t know why anyone would entrust me with that, but if Strauss agrees, I get to carry a gun, so that’s cool.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Morgan disagreed. “Don’t act so excited about getting to use deadly weapons.”

“Noted.” Lydia winked at him and he smirked back. “How’s Elle doing?”

“She’s back home,” Spencer said, speaking up for the first time since she got there. “She won’t be allowed back in the field for a few months, though.”

“That really sucks,” she grumbled. “I saw her place and there was no getting that blood out. She probably had to get the carpet replaced and the wall repainted. And I told Hotch this, but it must have been excruciating.”

“Why’s that?” Morgan asked.

“He wrote on the walls in her blood,” Lydia cried. “How did he get that blood?”

“You think he stuck his fingers into the bullet hole?”

Garcia’s face paled. “Oh no, please don’t say it.”

“He had to.”

Garcia’s hand covered her mouth at Lydia’s words. “Oh god, you said it. I’m gonna be sick.”

The woman scurried off, leaving Lydia with the two profilers. “Sorry, I wouldn’t think Garcia would be squeamish.”

“Very,” Morgan informed her, standing up. “I need more coffee. Be right back.”

Lydia gave him a halfhearted wave, letting him leave before turning on Spencer.

“You’re quiet,” she said, bluntly. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t think I’d see you today.” He shrugged, but Lydia could see straight through him. “I thought you’d be too busy.”

“Yeah… Or you were hoping you wouldn’t see me,” she accused and he panicked.

“It’s not because of you-!” he blurted out.

“You don’t want to tell the team we’re dating,” she figured, interrupting him. “You thought I’d spill the beans.”

“I’m scared!”

“Of telling them? Or of them knowing?”

“Both? I mean, what if you decide I’m a bad boyfriend? I’m not sure I could face the humiliation of them knowing you broke my heart.”

“I doubt you could be a bad boyfriend if you tried,” she argued. “But okay, we can wait as long as you’d like. They are profilers, though. You think they’re going to know?”

He shook his head. “As long as we aren’t holding hands around the bullpen or anything… Everybody's already super close, so us talking is totally normal. They might think I’m crushing on you, but Garcia already caught onto that.”

“Garcia what?” Lydia clamped her teeth shut over her lips to keep from laughing at him, but it didn’t help much. “She profiled that you liked me?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“How long has she known?” Lydia demanded.

“Since… our first case together.”

She didn’t even try to stop her laugh this time. “Dude, there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide this from the team. But I mean, I’m more than happy to try.”

His face turned bright red. “You really think they’re going to figure it out?”

She shrugged, calming herself before Morgan could get back and ask what she was laughing about. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll turn out to be great at keeping a secret.”

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