#it’s funny I thought about booking a therapist appointment

[sleepymaddy]

.

#me.txt #panicking about the trip ofc #then I have to go to the new client on Thursday #there is literally nothing I am looking forward to whatsoever #it’s funny bc I don’t feel the stress itself yet. there’s like… this hollow? #sort of like. artificial calm #(about the job I mean. I’ve been having adrenaline flashes all morning about the trip) #but it’s like. the certainty of dread. the fact that I’m stuck in a one way road that ends in a wall #the slow tightening in the lungs. #the mounting headache #the thing that’s going to manifest in back aches and shoulder tension and more thoughts about dying than usual #it’s funny I thought about booking a therapist appointment #for this week or the next #but like. what’s that going to do really #this is like. nothing. lmfao? #I have *checks notes* a trip abroad with a friend #and a new client I have to go to #which is a perfectly routine thing for my job #and it feels like dying would be preferable #so. whatever’s wrong with me. i doubt ‘talking about it’ will fix it #it’s just inherent to who I am. boring and scared and ashamed and just kind of rubbish

[auteurdelabre]

Palpation - RMTJoel!Miller x f!Reader - 18+

Rating: 18+

Summary: You need a massage and thankfully a new place opened up a few blocks away… There you’re introduced to the deliciously professional RMTJoel!Miller. He makes you feel good… maybe too good?  (AU - NO OUTBREAK)

Words: 6.8k

Tags: RMTJoel!, unprofessionalism in the workplace, power imbalance (kinda?), consent king, massage (external and internal heh heh I'm so dang funny), soft!Joel, public sex, fingering, handjob. 

a/n: Went for a massage at the spa (thanks to a thoughtful xmas gift!) and came up with this idea. I wanna make it REAL clear that this is FANTASY. Meaning RMT’s ain’t there to be sexualized. It’s all for the sensual fun of this story, but in no way should this EVER happen in real life. Alright, onto the smut.  

===========================================

Palpation

"You need to see a massage therapist."

"No I don't," you insist scowling at your roommate Pam as you come hobbling across the room to sit next to her, pizza box in hand.  

"It's been a week of you complaining about a sore back you got... How again?"

"Sneezing," you mumble with a frown. Pam opens the pizza box and you two grab a slice. Nothing to remind you of your age like pulling a muscle sneezing. 

"A massage place just opened up a few blocks away last month. I saw it when I was getting groceries," Pam says pulling up her phone and typing quickly. "It's called ... Mill."

"Sounds pretentious." 

"Looks gorgeous."

"Any reviews?"

"Yeah like sixty," Pam says sounding impressed. "Place has a 4.9 out of 5 on Google."

"Probably paid for them," you murmur, wiping your greasy fingers on your napkin. 

"There are photos," Pam says. "This place looks stunning."

She holds up her phone and you swipe through several images of beautiful pristine rooms with the luscious looking massage tables. It's like through the phone you can smell lavender and hear gentle wind chimes playing. 

"I've never been for a massage before," you say with a nervous glance back at her face. "Laying naked on scratchy sheets while some random person is touching me all over gives me the creeps."

"They're professionals," Pam says rolling her eyes and smirking. "They change sheets between clients and you wear as many clothes as you feel comfortable in."

Hmm. You didn't know that. 

You consider this proposition as you flip through what to watch on Netflix. You have to admit that the idea of a massage sounds appealing after a solid week of being in pain and hunching when you walk. Pamela gloms onto the fact that you're being swayed. 

"Okay I'm booking you in with the person all the reviews recommend" Pam says typing away. 

"Guy or girl?"

"Guy."

"Oh."

"What?"

You wince. "Isn't it weird for a guy to massage a girl?" 

"I get massages from guy massage therapists all the time," Pam says rolling her eyes at you. "It's

only weird if you make it weird." 

///

This was a terrible fucking idea. 

As soon as you walk through doors of "Mill" a week later you feel out of place. Beautifully carved doors and sumptuous looking couches decorate the front room. It smells like heaven in here, warm and fresh. Everything is so fancy.

You are not fancy. 

You are anxious. 

You've shaved every part of your body in a panic that morning, unsure if this is the correct protocol. What if they get grossed out by massaging body hair? What if your skin is too dry? What if your back is disgusting? You've never really looked at it that closely. 

Pam told you they don't care, that they see actually gross shit every day and that your body will be a welcome change of pace. But you don't trust her because Pam also told you that you could pull off red leather pants in college.

She was definitely wrong about that.

A pleasant woman of about fifty sits at the front desk typing away. When you approach she smiles brightly at you.

"Hello welcome to Mill. Do you have an appointment?"

"Yeah, hi, I'm here for the four pm," you say softly. This place is so serene it feels weird to speak louder than a whisper.

"And with which massage therapist?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, my friend booked it." 

"Not a problem," the receptionist says with a bright smile as she passes you over a clipboard with a sheet and pencil attached to the clasp. "Just fill this in."

You look over the intake form, blown away by all the questions asking about everything from allergies to if diabetes runs in the family. You fill this in swiftly; your eyes darting to the clock over the door leading to what you assume are massage rooms. You've got ten minutes. You lick your lips nervously and go back to the form. You turn the page over, circling on the diagram of the human body where your pain is. 

The last part is a yes or no checkbox. 

1. I bruise easily

No.

2. I sleep 8+ hours a night

Fuck I  wish. Nope. 

3. I have back problems

Seems like a stupid question on a massage form. But yes, obviously. 

4. I am satisfied sexually 

Your pencil hovers over that question as your cheek heats up. You know it's asking you this for medical reasons but it still makes you feel embarrassed when you tick off: "No". 

You finish the rest of the check boxes and then return the sheet and clipboard back to the woman. She gives you a smile and indicates behind you. 

"Take a seat and he'll call you in."

You slip back into one of the oversized chairs as a beautiful black woman with heels walks in. She swishes by you with a smile before turning her attention to the receptionist. 

"Hi, I have a four o'clock with Tommy."

"Perfect, I'll let him know." 

The woman takes a seat next to you in one of the chairs typing. She's stunning with long legs and glossy black braids. Her large almond eyes drift over to you. 

"Have you been here before?"

You shake your head. "No, have you?"

"No but my co-workers wouldn't stop talking about it," she says with a laugh. "I figured what the hell, ya know?"

"My roommate booked the appointment for me," you tell her grinning. "The thought of-"

Before you can finish your thoughts a voice reaches out. 

"Maria?"

A handsome man pops out from around the door, glancing to the other woman and you're struck by how muscular he is. How glossy his dark hair is and how his pants fit him just right. 

Thank Christ he's not my massage therapist. I would not be able to have his hands on me. 

"Maria?"

"Hi," the girl says and you can see she has been similarly affected. If she was a cartoon there would have been steam coming out of her ears. 

"Hi, I'm Tommy," the man says with a charming smile as Maria pulls her purse to her shoulder. "Follow me to room 1."

Maria stumbles after Tommy's disappearing figure but not before shooting you a look over her shoulder and mouthing "What the fuck?" 

You hold in a giggle as the door closes. You pull out your phone hurriedly composing a text to Pam. 

[3:58pm] You need a massage with a guy named Tommy here. Definitely your type. 

You scroll back through a few work emails distracted until the door to the hallway opens with a creak. 

A deep voice says your name and your glance up from your phone just in time to see a tall man with the sweetest smile you've ever seen standing in the doorway holding a clipboard. His dark curls are brushed back, threaded with silver. 

Please no. He can’t be for me. He’s even hotter than the other one!

"Hi I'm Joel," he says extending a hand out to you as you stand and approach him. "I'll be your therapist today." 

Shocked, you just stare at how long the fingers are, how broad the palm is that leads up to forearms and biceps just meant to squeeze. The white t-shirt he wears literally strains over his broad shoulders and biceps. And then you see it, the small dimple in his right cheek over a neatly trimmed beard. Your heart actually flutters at the sight of it. 

He's fucking gorgeous. 

And just as that thought registers with you, a dawning horror begins to flood your senses. 

There's no way you're getting a massage from him. He's going to touch your almost naked body? He's going to be so... Close? Rubbing?! Just looking at him is causing a heartbeat to begin between your legs. 

You still haven't reached out to shake his hand and Joel takes it back quickly, looking embarrassed. 

"Follow me to room four."

On shaky legs you stumble after him in much the same way Maria did after Tommy. You watch the way his body moves so languidly, graceful despite his size. You try to ignore the twitch of his tight ass as he moves, willing yourself to focus on the artwork gracing the walls or observing how clean everything is.

Once inside the small space you take a chance to look around. It's simple, pristine white with dark grey floors. The walls hold pictures of nature, a horse walking through the forest. It's very calming to look at.  It also smells divine in here, like a spring meadow. But you're not sure if it's the room or the man in the room with you. 

You stroke the soft blanket overtop the expensive looking massage table, stilling in surprise as you feel its warmth. Joel is seated on a small rolling stool and he grabs a pen from behind his ear. 

"So what brings you in today?" 

"Is this blanket heated?"

"Uh," Joel looks confused at your response. "Yes."

"Jesus," you whistle impressed before you realize he's asked a question "Oh, I, uh, I've been having some back stuff lately."

"Work related injury?" He asks, pencil poised above your intake form on his clipboard. 

"No."

"Did it come on suddenly?"

Do not tell him the truth. 

"I was playing basketball and I wrenched it," you tell him airily as if innate athleticism is just one of your many gifts. 

"Where exactly?" Joel asks coming to a stand and walking over to you. You try not to shake as he approaches. He tucks the pencil behind his ear and the clipboard under his arm. 

"Uh, here," you say turning from him and pointing to your lower back. You face the wall surprised to see a mirror there. You see Joel in the reflection and watch his face turn studious as he stares at your lower back. 

"Is it alright if I touch you for the assessment?" Joel says, eyes scanning down your back. You swallow. 

“Sure.”

Please touch me everywhere. 

Wait. When did that happen? When did the thought of Joel touching you go from terrifying to enticing? 

You feel his large forefinger skate down your spine and dip to the dimple at your lower back. You inhale sharply, thighs pressing together tightly trying to tamp down the pleasured shiver that wants to take you over. 

You see Joel's dark eyes dart to the mirror looking concerned as he meets your gaze in the reflection.  

"You okay? That hurt?"

"No," you reply confused. "Why?"

"You're tremblin'." 

He pulls back obviously concerned he's pressing too hard and you pray he doesn't notice your cheeks heating. 

"No uh, just a little cold." You give a shaky laugh. "Good thing you have a heated blanket."

Joel gives a little half smirk and turns, pulling the pencil from behind his ear once more. 

"Psoas major," he murmurs, making a note on his clipboard. "Pretty common for low back pain. Gonna start in the mid back and work my way down. Then I like to end with you facing up so i can get at those neck muscles. That work for you?"

"Yep." 

"Great, just need you to sign this consent form."

He holds it out to you and you give it a cursory glance before scrawling your signature at the bottom. At this point you're willing to sign your voice away to a sea witch if it means getting Joel's hands on you quicker. 

"Alright now, I'm gonna step out for a few so you can undress and get up on the table under the sheet. I'll knock before I come in. Alright?"

"Okay."

He gives a small smile before moving past you out the door, closing it behind him. He smells amazing. It's not the room smell. You can't place it but its warm and masculine and... 

Oh fuck you're supposed to be getting undressed. 

You hurriedly strip until you're in nothing but your underwear. You place all your things on the chair near the door. After a pause you move your bra underneath the pile. 

You pull yourself up on the massage table maneuvering yourself until you're breast and belly down with your head nestled in the tufted face hole of the table.  

You pull the warmed top sheet up to your neck and are amazed at how relaxed you already are. Maybe Pam was right maybe you have needed a massage all this time. You could drift off right here. 

Tap tap.

"You ready?"

Your heart slams against your ribcage. That beautiful man is going to touch you. Rub you with oil with those big delicious looking hands of his. 

"Uh, yeah ready," you call out in a strangled voice. 

Calm the fuck down. 

You hear the door open and close. All you can see face down is the hardwood floor. The lights dim and your straining ears hear the sound of Joel tapping on his phone. Soft meditation -like music fills the room and you take a deep breath as his voice murmurs next to you. 

"That okay?"

"Yep."

He could play Scottish fucking bagpipes for all you care. You just want him to touch you.

"Your form says you've never had a massage before," Joel says quietly and you see his shoes underneath the table. Basic white Tom's should not turn you on the way that they do right now. 

"No."

"Alright well just so you know, the next part is I'm gonna lower the sheet to your comfort level and then we can start. Yeah?"

"Yep."

The shoes are gone from your vision and you feel him drag down the blanket over your naked back until it rests low on your spine, just at the start of the swell of your ass. You suddenly wish you had cuter underpants on. 

"This alright?"

"Yep."

Your eyes blow wide when he tucks it lightly in around your hips. 

"Let's get started."

At the first touch of his hand on your spine, you twitch, your nervous body over stimulated by the situation alone. Joel's hands are off you completely, his voice concerned. 

"Whoa, you okay?"

"Yeah sorry," you say with a breathless laugh. "Wasn't ready I guess."

Joel chuckles and it's a rich, delicious sound that makes your stomach flip.

 "That's okay, shoulda gave warnin'. Startin now."

His hands alight to your midback pressing lightly. He does this down your spine to warm you up, he tells you. You don't care what he does. You'd happily become a human pretzel if it meant having Joel's hands on you. 

The hands retreat and then there's the sound of lotion being squeezed and Joel rubbing his hands together. Those big, broad hands. You're so thankful he can't see how red your face is. 

Joel begins between your scapula, his wide hands smoothing over your muscles with expert care. At first you're nervous when his hands touch places that have been overlooked for months by previous partners, but soon you allow your eyes to shut and your breathing to even out. 

His hands go to your spine before Fanning out over your shoulder blades. The sensation is so fucking good, so tender. He rubs a knot there and you hiss with pleasure at the feeling of it being worked. 

"Tell me if the pressure is too hard," he breathes. 

"I actually like it hard."

The minute you say it you cringe. Why did that sound sexual? Because Joel is hot ? Because you're horny? Pamela's words float through your consciousness. 

It's only weird if you make it weird.

Just relax. Ignore it. He's not saying anything. You try to pretend you didn't say something asinine and just close your eyes. 

His oiled hands move down your spine, coming to press at your lower back, the problem area. Joel applies pressure gingerly before his thumbs begin to knead into the deep muscles there. 

At first it hurts but you remain silent, needing it to continue. After the initial throbbing ebbs you relax into it, feeling the muscle relent under his talented fingers. The release feels so good that you actually sigh out loud. 

"Ah, there we go," Joel purrs in a voice so husky you feel your panties physically dampen. 

His hands move lower, fingers grazing just under the waistband of your panties as he massages your lower back, taking his time on the problem areas you mentioned.

It feels like heaven. 

Somewhere around the midway mark you feel so relaxed that you actually drift off, carried away by Joel’s touch amongst the scent of sandalwood and the sound of flutes. 

You shift awake when you hear Joel's raspy voice in your ear. You have no idea how much time has passed. 

"Alright, gonna get you to turn over onto your back for me. I'll turn around." 

You do as he says still partly drowsy, your whole body feeling warm and boneless. You roll over, sliding down the table a bit and tugging the blanket up until it covers your breasts. You secure it under your arms. 

Your eyes crack open to see Joel turned away from you. His broad back is smooth under his shirt and from this angle you see his tight ass through his pants. He's like a Greek god in a white cotton t-shirt. 

You hope you don't have ugly lines on your face from the hole but you accept that you probably do. Oh well. Not like Joel was gonna ask you out anyway. You close your eyes again. 

"Okay. Ready."

You hear Joel place himself on the rolling stool. He slides behind you at the top of the massage table and you hold in a shudder as he moves your hair up out of his way, his fingertips grazing your neck. Immediately you feel your nipples tighten and you pray they can't be seen through the sheet. 

His hands are oiled up and then move to your neck once more. His fingers glide along your collarbone before dragging over the muscles there. The sensation is incredible, the overlooked and overworked muscle celebration with the release of tension. 

"Feels so nice," you mutter without thinking.  

"Then I'm doing my job right," Joel says and you hear the smile in it. You can feel the warm huff of his minty breath fall over your cheek.

You realize belatedly that his face must be near yours and you feel your heartbeat quicken. Your thighs press together tightly and you're shocked at how turned on you are. Joel's touch, this room, this comfort has all conspired to get you to the edge of arousal. 

His wide hands squeeze your neck muscles, gently vibrating. Something releases and your head swims warmly. 

You wriggle slightly and Joel shifts his hands to the back of your skull. His thumbs press and begin to circle there, digging pleasantly. 

"Your form says you get headaches."

"Mhmmm. Sometimes."

"Alright, might do some work on your head if that's okay."

"Sure."

"Lotta my patients like when I end with a head massage," he tells you, his voice tinged with pride. “Think you’ll enjoy it.”

You don't know how to tell him that his patients probably just like anything he does because he's the most beautiful man you've seen outside a movie screen. 

When his thumbs get to your temples you should have told him to stop. Because the thudding between your legs is increasing. With every swipe you feel your core tightening. 

Calm down. Calm down. 

His thumbs retreat and you feel a stab of relief go through you. That is until his fingers slide up the back of your neck through your hair... 

And he tugs. 

A simple motion, just a grab of your hair in his fists and a gentle tug to release the tension in your skull. Except it releases the tension.... Everywhere.  

Pleasure overwhelms you, warm and flooding your entire body like sweet golden light. Your hands grip the sheets as your back arches unexpectedly, hips digging back against the table. 

The sound of your shuddered cry hits the air sharply, like cool water thrown over the both of you. 

And then silence. 

//////

You're tense. 

That much was clear when Joel saw you in the waiting room. When he touched your tight back and saw the pinched way your face looked in the mirror. 

He was determined to get you to relax. To give you what he knew you needed: release from pain. He'd read your intake form, saw where the pain was, saw you were getting shitty sleep, the headaches. It makes sense that you were wound up.

And you'd nearly jolted off the table at his first touch of you. He hadn't been expecting that reaction. You were like a skittish horse, wild and needing desperately to be tamed. 

And soon enough you'd calmed under his light touches. And now you seem pretty relaxed as the massage continues, Joel smiles when he thinks he hears you snoring quietly. He works away at the stubborn knots in your back. 

He moves down your arm, hearing you give soft little whimpers in your sleep and noting when he gets to your hand that there's no wedding band there. He doesn't understand why that sticks out to him but it does. He works down your other arm doing the same. 

He lets a hand drift along your spine, watching as you curve up for him like a cat. It's hypnotizing how his little grazes affect you so deeply. His eyes drift to the clock in the corner. Twenty minutes left. 

His mouth goes to your ear. 

"Alright, gonna get you to turn over for me. I'll turn around."

He turns, listening to the rustling sheets as you scoot down the table a bit, pulling the sheets up over you. 

"Then I'm doing my job right," Joel says with a smile. 

Everything is going well; you're going boneless in his hands again. So pliant and willing. Joel finds deep satisfaction in this. Like he's won your body over somehow, told it there's no reason for fear. He thinks it’s because you seemed so unimpressed with him at first, so dismissive. You wouldn’t even shake his hand. But now you seem like you’ve warmed up to him and this pleases him.

He sees the crease between your brows and smoothes over it with his thumb. He smiles when it disappears under his touch. 

"Your form says you get headaches," he says remembering what he read earlier. 

"Mhmmm. Sometimes."

"Alright, might do some work on your head if that's okay."

"Sure."

"Lotta my patients like when I end with a head massage," Joel says, proudly. He's never heard a bad word about his head massages. Hell, some people come in just for that. “Think you’ll enjoy it.”

His thumbs move to your temple and that's when he first notices the shifting of your thighs. He assumes it's an itch and ignores it. Looking back that should have been his first indication. 

When your breathing began to pick up he assumed he was just hitting a good spot. Mistake number two. 

One of Joel's favorite things about massage is that as well as healing it can bring deep relaxation and even pleasure. When he gathers the hair at the back of your neck and tugs he does so in the hopes that it will work on releasing some of that headache tension you were talking about. 

And then Joel hears it. 

The shuddering gasp accompanied by the arch of your spine and twitch of your lower half. He sees your hands curl into the sheet on either side of you. If he'd been working anywhere near your lower back he would have brushed it off as a sore muscle. But as it is he knows what just happened. 

You just came. 

He sees it in the shuddering intake of breath you take now, the flush over your cheeks and what he can see of your chest. And the way your legs relax under the sheet. 

It's not the first time a woman or man has been aroused on his table. He's had his fair share of tented blankets with the men and squirming women biting their bottom lips. The only difference is he's never made one come on his table before. 

And they've never made him hard. 

His cock is lengthening in his pants and he's so thankful that your eyes are closed. He momentarily panics, this has never happened before and the professionalism he strives for is rapidly escaping him. 

He can see your face is screwed up in anxiety and a wave of pity mixed with shame goes through him. He knows what happened with you was completely involuntary.  

And you were doing so well right before, totally limp in his grasp. You were relaxed and he'd given that to you but now you're entire body is turning in on itself, tight. All the good work you both did today leaving. 

Just get over it. Do your job. 

Joel's a professional and he knows how to handle these situations. The best course of action is to pretend like nothing is wrong. 

"The pressure okay?"

"Yep," you say tightly, your entire body tensing up under his hands. He moves his hands back to your neck and rubs gently. 

"Just relax," he whispers huskily. "We're finishing up."

This seems to relax you more, the thought that soon you'll be gone from this table. 

He needs you gone from the table, from the room, from his practice. The more he touches you and looks at you, knowing how naked you are under that sheet, the more he feels that coiled sensation in his belly. He tries to ignore that ache in his cock. But the more he tries to ignore it the more it seems to pulse. 

Your head shifts slightly, showing him more of your neck and suddenly he can't help himself. His face drifts slowly towards it, so close he can smell your perfume or your shampoo or lotion. Whatever it is, it’s fucking delicious. It makes him want to run his tongue along your neck.  

His eyes drift to your ear with its simple stud and Joel knows he’s in trouble because your fucking ear is turning him on. He clears his throat, voice rumbling from the base of his chest.  

"Need it harder?"

He watches you shiver, sees the goosebumps rise all along your body and now he notices the tiny buds of your nipples through the top sheet. He holds in a growl as you give a small whimper. 

"Uh... Yes, thank you."

Your breathy voice is so tentative and he loathes that it makes his cock twitch. He glances down to see his erection tents his pants almost comically now. 

That's enough. This is a fucking patient, Miller. 

He briefly removes his hands from you and stands, planning on flipping his aching cock up in the waistband of his boxers. 

There's a sharp ring from inside your purse across the room that startles you both. 

"Oh, shit, sorry," you say automatically lifting your head from the table and opening your eyes. "I thought I turned the ringer off-"

You've stopped talking and Joel realizes it's because his hard cock is almost at your eye level and you're staring directly at it. Joel's hands are hung at his sides, uselessly. 

Your eyes drag to his, wide and unreadable and they stay fixed there for what feels like forever. The sound of the phone ringing grows dim and then finally silences. 

He's going to be fucking arrested. You're going to leave a scathing review on Google. You're going to start screaming any second. 

Joel feels like his entire world is being tilted on its axis the more your eyes drift between him and his still hard cock. 

"I've... I don't..... I've never," Joel fumbles, trying to come up with the right words. "No ones ... No patients ever done this before... To me, I mean."

You flush so prettily at that, your smile is shy and crooked. You look at the table, embarrassed before your face is turned up to face him again. 

"Would you..." You trail off licking your lips nervously. Joel feels his cock pulsing when you do.  "Would it be okay if... If I.. Or you...?"

Joel watches your fingers reaching for his zipper before stopping, waiting for him to give the go ahead. 

I should leave. Tell her it's inappropriate and go. 

Joel ignores this thought entirely, instead he nods in understanding as he pops open the top button of his pants and slides the zipper down the teeth. Your eyes watch its descent with eager anticipation. 

His cock is stiff in his boxers and he shyly covers the thick shaft and head poking aggressively from the slit in the middle. He expects that this will turn you off, his obvious arousal. But your eyes have grown glazed, mouth parted. 

"Can I…touch?"

Joel sees your hand going towards the hand covering his cock. He swallows nervously. This is crossing all ethical and moral boundaries.

And yet ...

Joel nods, dropping his hand and you hesitate for a only a moment before your eyes drift to the belt at his hip. He realizes you've spotted the lotion bottle inside. Joel says nothing as you pump a few dabs of the massage oil into your palm before rubbing your hands together. 

He feels his heart begin to hammer as your hand reaches between the two of you to grip the head of his cock lightly. Barely a touch and Joel feels a groan pulled from his chest. 

His gaze is on your hand, watching as you begin to stroke, squeezing along the head. The lotion makes your hand glide perfectly, your grip strong and tight. 

He lets his eyes drift over to your face and a new surge of arousal goes through him. Your face is fixed in concentration, cheeks flushed so fucking pretty. You give a twist of your wrist that has Joel's legs about to buckle. 

"Oh fuck," Joel moans, head tilting forward. "So....Tha- that's so fucking good, baby." 

///

Baby.

Your thighs press together almost painfully at his husky voice calling you that. 

Baby. 

You cannot believe what's happening. An hour ago you were terrified to have a stranger touch you and now you're jerking off your masseur's deliciously thick cock as he calls you baby. 

He's so beautiful, eyes closed, hands braced against the table as you stroke him. He thrusts shallowly into your hand, wanting you to take the lead. 

Everything about him is sexy to you. His tall frame arching over the table for you, the way you can see his ass clench in his pants when he moves against your palm. The little groans you're pulling from him, sailing past his teeth almost shyly. 

Your own breathing is staggered because you can't stop looking at his mouth. It's parted, his breath coming out in long shudders. You want to kiss him so fucking badly but you're lying back on the table and he's standing. You wish you could see more of him, not just the cock pulled from the slit of his boxers.

"I don't deserve this," Joel groans, his shoulders rolling as he arches into your pumping hand. 

"You do. You made me feel so good," you say softly. "I just wanna do the same."

His dark eyes open, glazed and fixed on you. His eyes dart everywhere, from your eyes to your mouth to your eyes and back down to your mouth. 

You flinch when you feel his fingers slip under the sheet and begin to trail along your inner thigh. 

"Wanna do it again," he rumbles. "Properly if that's okay."  

You can only breathe shallowly as you force a nod. It's barely more than a twitch but it's all he needs. His fingers slide between your thighs, dancing there. He groans as he does this, your hand working him well. 

He licks his lower lip, eyes never leaving your face as his fingers glide over your clothed pussy. You instinctively tilting into his touch, cheeks flaming. Joel runs a forefinger between your slit, feeling the soaking fabric of your panties there. You give a whimper as his eyelids shutter. 

"I made you this wet?"

His voice is low, awed. 

Again you give the smallest nod, feeling warm when Joel smiles at you. He looks so pleased with himself. 

You dip your eyes down your body, unable to see anything other than movement of his hand under the sheet. For some reason that makes it even hotter. 

Your eyes go back to his face just in time for his finger to slip under your panties and begin to tease your entrance. At this your body jerks and the sheet falls slightly, showing you left breast and very erect nipple. You watch his eyes greedily drink in the sight. 

"Goddam."

Joel's hips begin to stutter and you feel his hand come to rest overtop yours. His hand is large and warm and he holds you gently, stilling your movements. 

"Slower," he tells you in a rasp. "Want us to get there together."

Fuck. Could this guy get any sexier?

"Okay."

At this his finger enters you, joined quickly by a second at your whispered insistence. You struggle to maintain a slow speed over his slippery cock because of it. He begins to slowly work his way deep, curling delicately. You give a shuddering inhale, eyes at half mast. 

"You want it harder?" Joel murmurs and from your position you can see his eyes are nearly black with desire as he looks down at your face. "Seem to remember you sayin' that's how you liked it." 

You can only whimper as you nod. His palm grinds against your clit sending sparks of fire up your body. 

"F-uuck!"

Your hand is slick with oil and you can hear your dual breathing and the wet sound of your hand working his cock mixing with the harmonious strings and wood flutes being played over the speaker. 

You don't even know you're whining until Joel's free hand presses a finger to your lips, gently shushing you. 

"They're gonna hear us," he tells you, voice rough and pupils dilated so much his eyes look black. You nod and he removes his finger from against your lips, much to your dismay. 

Joel watches as your eyes roll back when he begins to move his fingers within you in earnest. Hitting deep and then retreating, pulsing there, curling and rubbing perfectly. Your hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes along his cock and Joel's eyes go from his cock to the blanket where his fingers work you so well. 

Your eyes travel to where your hand works him. Holding him twitching in your palm, watching the head weep with precome makes you feel powerful. Taking down this broad, masculine form with no more than gentle tugs to his cock. 

Joel-" you whisper, trying to be quiet but you're struggling. It feels so good. He feels so good. His eyes move to your face, his neck and cheeks flushed. 

"Gonna come for me right here," Joel tells you in that low, syrupy way he speaks. The one that says relax, tell me if it's too hard. "Aren't you?"

"Y-yes," you huff, your entire body going rigid. "Yes, gonna come for you, Joel."

Joel feels his stomach tighten at the way you whimper his name. Your back arches, your hand is a blur along his cock. And then suddenly his fingers hit that sweet spot deep inside, the one that has everything in your body coming to life and your eyes roll back. 

"Oh there she goes," Joel marvels. "There she fuckin' goes."

Joel's words curl down your body like his hands have done the last hour. They smooth and they press and they make you feel fucking amazing. 

"Gonna... " is all you can get before your pleasure overtakes you. You’re body jolts once more and your head slopes back as you snap your free hand over your mouth to keep your moans contained. 

"Uh huh, yeah baby, just like that," Joel urges you in heady whispers as you begin to climax. "You look so fucking good coming for me lik-- So fuck... Oh fuck... Makin' me-"

Joel slaps his free hand over his mouth seconds after over you. You let out a ragged moan at precisely the same time, the two of you climaxing with your hands over your mouths so as not to be heard.

His fingers work within you, pumping even as Joel releases himself in thick spurts over your stuttering hand. You soak his fingers under the sheet, body twisting with greedy desire as he stares at your face. 

The soft glow of sex fades quickly when the gentle chime of Joel's phone goes off seconds later. Suddenly reality makes itself known, cold and unpleasant as Joel’s cock grows limp in your hand.

What the fuck just happened?

Joel reaches behind him to the shelf and turns back, taking your hand in his and wiping his spend from your palm, between your knuckles, down your wrist. He does this with a red face, not once looking at you. That's for the best because you're so mortified you want to shrivel up under the blanket. 

When he's finished he runs a thumb over your knuckles, eyes darting to your face briefly before he drops your hand. He turns from you and tidies himself up, tucking himself away back in his boxers and zipping up his pants. 

"That's uh... That's all we have time for today," Joel croaks from over his shoulder. 

"Thanks," you say breathily, trying to regain your composure. You stare at his broad shoulders and tapered waist. The firm ass that you want to reach out a grab. 

"How do you feel?"

He still hasn't turned around and you wonder what he's thinking. His eyes are so expressive and to have them hidden from you seems a shame because you can't gauge how he feels about what just happened.

 "Uh ... Really good... You're very... Good."

At this Joel swallows and you feel like you're face must be on fire. You want to say something, anything to end this awkward exchange but Joel is already striding to the door. 

"I'll leave you to get dressed, then."

The door giving a snick closed behind him leaving you to shakily get up from the table. You don't even look to see the evidence of your arousal; you just bunch the sheets up in a pile with shame creeping down your neck. 

You don't even know if Joel is married or dating. Just because you're not doesn't mean he doesn't have a very fulfilling relationship outside these four walls. Guilt now takes you over to go along with the shame, like longtime friends holding hands and skipping. 

The worst part of all of this was how much you liked it. The needing to be quiet, the rush of doing something forbidden, the feeling of his cock growing harder and harder in your grip. Making a man like that groan and moan for you. You wish you'd tasted him, even just a lick. You also wish he'd talked more. That deep voice of his is more potent than any aphrodisiac you know of. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? This is a business. I just jerked a stranger off! This shouldn't turn me on. 

You pull on your clothes in haste, tugging the purse over your shoulder and jerking open the door in a rush to leave. To your horror Joel stands just outside in the hallway, eyes on the ground. He looks like an admonished schoolboy forced to make an apology and the sight of it makes you wince. 

"How're-"

You don't wait for him to finish the sentence. You want to get away from this place as soon as possible. You give a mumbling goodbye and move past him out the door, just as quiet and detached as when he first met you. 

You burst into the waiting room, the door main closing behind you. It's empty save for the receptionist who looks over at you in surprise. 

"I'm just here to pay," you tell her, hoping she can't see the shame in your eyes. You go to bring out your wallet from your purse. 

"It's already been paid," The receptionist says cheerfully typing on her laptop. 

Pam. Of course you're roommate paid for it. You flush as you consider what she actually paid for. 

"Would you like to make another appointment?" The receptionist asks cheerfully. "Joel's schedule tends to fill up fast."

You swallow, fingers hovering over the counter. The question is so simple but the answer is anything but obvious.

Yes or No?

#RMT!Joel #Palpation #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #smut #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #fanfiction #soft!joel miller #soft!joel

[cursedcola]

Can I request an imagine of the dorm leaders chap 1-4 going to therapy after their overblot? How would they react to it and what problems would they work through? Someone help these boys :’)

Prompt: Dorm leaders go to therapy post-overblot Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ahsengrotto, and Kalim Al' Asim (ft. Special Guest) Warnings: Mentioning of emotional distress and disorders DISLCAIMER: This is not serious what-so-ever. This prompt will be taken in a light-hearted context for simple headcannons. I do not claim to have any professional knowledge of anything within this post.

Premise:

Dire Crowley does not want the reputation of NRC to fall because of a few "mishaps," popping up as of late. Rather than hiring a professional School Psychologist, he decides to call upon a ghost therapist to haunt one of the back rooms in Ramshackle Hall. Any student involved in recent, "mishaps," are "encouraged," to go seek counseling.

Oh, no. Not you MC. You're fine just as you are. Please tend to the "guests," in your home when they are on the premises. Since NRC's therapist is a ghost, they will need an assistant with posable thumbs to do the heavy lifting. Remember that you are staying in Ramshackle FOR FREE at the KIND GRACE of your beloved headmaster, yes?

One other thing. Be sure to share all the gossip with NRC staff when you're through. Have Fun ~

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

Riddle Rosehearts

Mommy Issues

Man has identity issues like no other. He's pulling traits from textbook definitions and does not think for himself

He goes into therapy thinking that he knows exactly what answers to give. Definitely the one to think that he is out-smarting all the "mind games" being thrown his way

He goes because it's "recommended," but is peeved that its a ghost. NRC is that cheap, really?

Gets told to go to anger management. Becomes angry at the suggestion. Cycle continues.

In all seriousness though, he definetly benefits from having an impartial person to talk with. "Dead Men Tell No Tales," like who is the ghost going to gossip to? They're bound to the dorm?

Nevermind assistant MC pssshh they're totally not listening in

More than being upset at his overblot, Riddle is thankful for it. It threw him on his ass for a wake-up call, and is now working towards becoming his own person

Kind of funny how his mother acted all superior in her child-rearing, when she completely ignored his mental state. Yeah. He isn't moving back in after graduation.

Leona Kingscholar

He has to be physically forced into therapy. I.E Crowley makes you trick him

He did not trust you much before, but now? Run. Lock the door. Take his magestone and DO NOT let him out of that room

Best listen through the door on this one because he can and will kill you

Anyways. Inferiority complex, anxiety, emotional neglect, stress - plenty to unpack for this one. It's a good thing that the therapist is a ghost, because Leona would have harasses the door key from them somehow

Funny enough, he talks plenty when mad. All the therapist has to do is edge him on and he's raving up a storm.

I don't need stupid therapy...this is all his fault... overblot? Someone say anythin'? why should I care then? Not like I have anything to be ashamed about

Very open-book, just in-directly

In all honesty? Leona's likely not going to get much out of the session. He'll be more willing to come back if it's mandatory since he has a feel for what it's like. I think he has a good sense of what's hurting him after his overblot, and it's not something a third party can fix. He needs to duke it out with his brother back at home.

Azul Ashengrotto

If you thought Riddle was bad, then Azul's cockiness is horrifying. He is seriously trying to act like he can outsmart a therapist with a lifetime of experience. All because he read a few Psychology 101 books.

He was told about the requirement the night prior to his appointment. Why? So he couldn't try to make a contract with the therapist. Also so he couldn't do any research.

Oh yeah. He tries that. The contract thing. It's not even five minutes into the session and he's attempting to swindle the secrets of other patients. After all, the ghost is dead, so private policy who???

Fails

It is actually painful to hear him conjure up a fake life-story. Did he think that Crowley sent the ghost in blind? He did. You filled them in. Azul really needs to take this seriously.

Which is why he is told to come back. Twice a week. Oh, you have a restaurant to run? You want to be expelled? Better show up.

He is the hardest nut to crack and the anxiety this boy holds is so intense-

Ghost therapist makes you go buy a heating pad. He's always got such tense shoulders

Overall, he benefits from the therapy. Ghost therapist has him doing self-affirmations and journaling every day.

They also work on his relationship with food. It's good that he wants to be healthy, but on terms of self-image there is a lot to be done. Azul needs to learn that enemies die quicker when you have thicccc thighs (tentacles) to demolish them with.

^ can be taken in many ways. It's up to you if MC decides to add on their own little affirmation hehe

Kalim Al' Asim

Couple's therapy

The session is more for Jamil, but Kalim has his place. Ghost Therapist is honestly shocked at how well Kalim has reacted to recent events

In short, identity issues again. There are sessions dedicated to Jamil, some for Kalim, and others where Ghost Therapist leads a conversation between the two

Well, for as long as Kalim sits still. He's listening, but gets side tracked so many times.

Jamil and Kalim definitely argue about MC being there. Jamil wants you out, and Kalim is all "do you just...not remember what you put them through? Not cool,"

On that day it was therapy for three

I want to believe that Ghost Therapist touches on Kalim's choice of only eating Jamil's food. Yes, he trust Jamil but that is a lot of pressure on one person. Youa re expecting them to make all of your food, being entirely dependent, etc

As for Jamil, they definitely go into his feelings towards his lineage. Jamil knows who he is, but he can't be that person with those familial blockades.

Yup. Couple's therapy. Hands down.

These two are the most compliant. It took some convincing, but the overblot incident has put strong tensions on both students' relationship with the school. They are not stupid. If it's mandatory then it is mandatory.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts #twst leona #leona kingscholar #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #twst kalim #twst jamil #kalim al asim #jamil viper #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

After death | Lost Gods

He looks at the skyline ahead of him, its famous shapes that tourists gape at like they’re observing a gorilla in an enclosure. It’s all grey to him, not just because of the looming storm but because the grids of buildings and lights have become boring in a way that seems fatal—this city is a dead thing on earth, he doesn’t care what anyone says. It’s all post-mortem—the blinking traffic lights, shafts of sunlight interrupted by high-rises, yellow taxis honking, honking, honking, like they’re shouting a prayer. He feels sort of like that too, caught in kitschy after death.

A little Harrison art <3 !! And an excerpt from the opening of Lost Gods!

4 years ago today I finished writing his very first solo novel, Moth Work, & I’m kind of in awe of how far we’ve come in that short time… 4 novels & 2 novellas narrated by this man who’s a little embarrassing and a whole lot profound (but you didn’t hear that from me!). A few more thoughts under the cut, but here’s a little note I made myself in 2020, the only note I’ve ever made after finishing a book (possibly because finishing this one changed my life a little).

TW for mentions of: mental illness, trauma in the mental health system, internalized homophobia

Technically I finished Moth Work at 2:34AM because I lived on the west coast at the time lol.

I don’t usually celebrate or remember the anniversaries of finishing books. But I wanted to celebrate this one because a) it’s Leap Day & I haven’t been able to commemorate what I was doing during the last one for 4 years, & b) because finishing MW was such a significant accomplishment!

I started MW in January of 2019 because I was struggling emotionally. At the time, I was racing to figure out “what was wrong with me” before flying across the country for uni in the summer (SPOILER I WAS JUST AUTISTIC LMAO), which led to a lot of stressful and traumatizing appointments with doctors. I desperately needed a book to cheer me up but a different one from my WIP at the time, especially because in 2018, I’d both discovered my voice and become really afraid of messing it up!

I also was taking a religion class at the time that was emotionally difficult for me because I felt reallyyyy alone and especially isolated in my queerness that I’d been hiding for a couple years at that point (& that I literally would not talk about at all, not even to people I trusted). When it became very clear I needed an outlet to explore my feelings (of being “unhelpable,” internalized homophobia, a general sense of aloneness/isolation) the decision of what I was going to write became pretty clear.

I’d written 3 stories in Harrison’s POV that predated MW starting in late 2018 (they were also my first explorations in third person present tense, which fun fact, I only tried in his POV because I’ve always written my notes ideas in that POV/tense combo, even when I only wrote first person!). I hadn’t written in a different POV character’s head beside’s Reeve’s since 2016, so it felt natural that the second character I felt closest to (Harrison!!!) could be a narrator. Funnily at this time Lonan was my favourite so I’m actually surprised I did not choose him but can we imagine how different things would be if I had???

I started Moth Work in my notes app (ICONIC) on January 16th 2019 at 11:37pm! The first chapter came pretty quickly, is actually quite non-linear for a bit, and was overall a lot of fun to write. I’d planned for the project to maybe be a short story or at the most a novella (does this sound familiar), nothing very long and definitely not a novel. I believe the goal word count was 5k which is so funny bc that’s exactly how Changing States & Lost Gods started!!!

And then the project stagnated, it wasn’t something I’d planned to write seriously, and I didn’t pick it back up until August of that year when my therapist at the time suggested I try to complete a “reach goal” as I was reaching Crisis and I guess I was so done with everything going on in my life that I was like okay fine!!!! I will write Moth Work as a novel!!!!

This book literally flew with me across the country… I wrote a lot of it late at night in my dorm with all the lights off after a long day on campus. I wrote a lot of it in my intro to sociology lecture LMAO. I wrote a lot of it on my phone. It was the first project (no literally) where I intentionally explored queerness, especially my own feelings as a (sort of?) catholic at the time. I explored atheism a lot! Something I needed to process my own feelings about faith & God. I explored what it’s like to be this completely unhelpable person because you’ve decided there’s no possible way to help yourself anymore (hiiii Lonan). I also explored (a bit like a premonition), what it’s like to care deeply for someone you can’t help (but that you very badly want to help).

And I almost didn’t finish the book! The imposter syndrome and insecurity went crazyyy when writing Moth Work. I didn’t feel like I was writing the First Person Retrospective Flowery Literary Fiction I’d deemed as the only possible “good writing.” (Still LOVE but I really was struggling seeing a very minor style shift, which is funnily much closer to my writing now than when I was writing the “best” way.) I deleted so much from this book. I couldn’t look at it. I was so embarrassed by it!! I made ultimatums with it!! I edited it so much but still couldn’t stand it! It was literally the safest space I had and I could barely be there a lot of the time!!!

SOOOO this is why I’m very proud of me for finishing it lol & while I would typically have celebrated the anniversary idk, in 2021, bc it didn’t exist until this year it felt apt to sit with those feelings now. I’m really proud of 17-year-old Rachel who was undiagnosed autistic & convinced I was a lost cause, who was sooo afraid of being queer I could only think of that through Lonan (& sometimes still do thx king 🫡) who literallyyyyy wrote a masterpiece in my collection that contains some of my best work (even if I only realized that 4 years later) & that’s been the start of EVERYTHING!

This is so much more than a book or an anniversary!! Somehow I made it through all the things I didn’t think were possible and now have written 2 books & 3 (writing the fourth) novellas allllll in this world. AND 2 additional novels in his POV!! Also thank you baby Rachel for Jeremiah. Like hello!!!! This is the only place I felt safe to be myself when I couldn’t be with anyone else! And there’s something priceless about that…

And it’s all bc of Harrison!!! Whoever I saw in that man in 2019… girl thank you!! Can’t explain what it’s like to grow with that character (who is sooo much more than that to me). Never would I have predicted where I am now. And IMO, that’s all thanks to him so ily fictional man in my head, this is soooo his day LOL.

& if you were here since the first MW update & made it this far… I MUST KNOW!!!!

#art #GETTING GUSHY UNDER THE CUT I COULDN’T HELP IT #tl;dr ily harrison #also everyone weigh in - what’s he listening to????? #IM THINKING OF READING SOME OF MW FROM THE PRINTED COPY #AT THE STREAM TOMORROW!!! SO COME!!!! #CELEBRATE THE DAY!!! YAYY!!!

[spacerockwriting]

I just wanna show of some random bits of part 4 of Soft Bitch. Mostly the chaotic parts.

“So, middle school,” Mickey says, leaning against the counter. Finn’s been in and out of school for the last three weeks of the year, going to all sorts of doctors’ appointments, therapist appointments, and whatever else. On top of Ally’s speech, and Monnie’s new desire to start dance, their schedule is getting pretty full. “What the fuck do we do?”

“Pray Finn’s not the next King of the Southside?”

Mickey laughs. “Kid’s already getting that title.”

--

“Finn doesn’t have tits. If anyone needs those things, it’s Ian.”

Ian lightly swats his husband, causing Trevor to laugh. “God that tattoo is ugly.”

“Who the fuck put tits on a portrait of their dead mother?”

“I know!” Trevor laughs.

--

“Mick, we gotta do something about this.”

“Leave Chuck Norris alone. It’s punk.”

“Mick,” Ian says, gently combing through their son’s curls. “He’s got scrambled eggs in his bangs.”

“Monnie had oatmeal in her hair, and I don’t see you making a fuss over that. Thought we were being all gender affirming and shit?”

“Mickey,” Ian says, shaking his head. “This isn’t about Ally being a boy. This is about you and your dumb obsession with their ginger hair.”

“It’s not an obsession.”

“I still remember your stupid expression when I rolled into prison with black hair.”

“That shit was fucking ugly, and you know it.”

“You still got upset when I shaved it.”

“Yeah, well, you looked even more fucking insane with it growing out, but damn, could’ve left a little bit. Didn’t want anyone thinking I was banging one of Terry’s fucking racist assholes.”

--

Ian shakes his head. “Kinda wanted to actually know what I was learning. How I tested out of English.”

“I married a fucking nerd.”

“Newd!” Ally repeats. “Fucking newd!”

--

Mickey lifts her up, placing her on the counter. She stands up on little feet, taking off her plastic tiara. Beaming, she shoves it in Mickey’s hair. “Baba pwincess,” she says, loudly.

“Monnie, careful,” Ian calls from across the room. “And yeah, Baba’s a pretty princess.” Ian beams, taking his phone out to take a picture.

“You send that to Lip and I will end you,” Mickey threatens. But the threat is empty.

--

There’s even more laughter and Carl is the one who blurts it out. “Did Debbie fuck a Milkovich? ‘Cause I think Finn’s more like Mickey than us.”

“Well, there was Sandy,” Mickey adds.

“You know what I mean.”

--

Ian grins at Mickey after they put Finn to bed. “Now I remember why I liked these books.”

“Matt Dillon’s fucking hot?”

“Yeah, and his characters always remind me of you, all bad boy and in juvie and shit.”

“Hey, isn’t he trying to get with a redhead in one of the movies?”

Ian snorts, covering his mouth. “He is you.”

Mickey smirks. “Least I’m one of the hot guys. Not unlike that fucking Justin Beiber or whatever that you liked.”

Ian scoffs, playfully swatting at Mickey. “Justin Timberlake. Justin Timberlake,” he repeats. “Do I need to bring out that chart that Mandy and I made back in high school?”

--

. He prefers plugging in the inflatable Santa, the penguins, and the humping reindeer décor. They’re supposed to be grazing grass, but Mickey prefers them grazing ass and Ian doesn’t care either way. Plus, the kids think it’s funny, so there’s that.

“You’re not even hanging lights,” Ian says, stepping down the ladder. “You’re just watching my ass.”

“Ladder says do not leave patrons unattended. Just following basic safety, Man. Isn’t that what Tommy always says on his worksite?

--

anyways, enjoy those little excerpts! Just some bits I love that don't showcase the plot much.

#galladrabbles #gallavich #comet rambles #ian x mickey #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless

[ieatsmallorphansnamedtom]

Pam Headcanons

TW: Alcoholism Spoilers for Penny's backstory. Also, these might not perfectly fir canon, but it's my post.

Pam was actually a really good mother when Penny was little. She was a lot sweeter and spent a lot more time taking care of her. She helped her daughter achieve her current intelligence. She also read a lot of fairy tales to her when she was a little girl, thus sparking her interest in reading. Penny goes to escape in these books because they remind her of a nicer time in her life.

She went to university! She's pretty smart but couldn't get any good jobs due to being so poor. She often blames herself for her situation and for not trying hard enough to get a better job to support her family.

Speaking of university, it's where she learned to drive a bus. It was what she imagined would be a past-time job for a little extra cash. She's even run a couple of party busses in her days. She used public transport a lot and has a lot of respect for bus drivers for what they have to put up with.

She's done a lot to try and get out of her alcoholism, but nothing seems to work. So many therapists, AAs, appointments with Harvey, etc., but nothing helped. She hasn't told Penny about a lot of it, but she knows she knows anyway. Penny has a knack for knowing when something is wrong and why. By the time the farmer arrives, she's lost almost all hope.

Pam was one of the first characters I befriended, so I've always thought that she can actually be a really social person. She's super funny and friendly (once she knows the person isn't a threat), she just has to be spoken to first. And considering her popularity, she doesn't get spoken to much. Hence why everyone thinks she's just a grouch.

#sdv #sdv headcanons #stardew valley #stardew valley headcanons #sdv pam #stardew valley pam

[not-this-guy]

I love when you talk about whatever is going on in your life or just random thoughts you have. You are legit irl bro and its so funny

Tell me more about yourself dude. I wanna inspect you like a micro organism

what'd i say about getting parasocial on me without pay

and i wouldn't say irl. he fucking wishes he was me. and eh, still got 5some years til i'm a thirty something. still plenty of physical progress i can make.

have some indistinct info: yellow belt. used to run a horny mortal kombat blog since i was 16 and people used to draw me fanart. can't remember any details if it was more than a couple days ago. aggressively autistic but undiagnosed. the one time i tried to book a therapist, we had one session where she wrote a fucking book worth of notes... and then scheduled our "next" appointment to a day they were closed and never called me back. broke as shit. one time i drank an entire bottle of whiskey mid game with the fellas and passed out because I fell on my bed on the way back to the computer. i don't smoke except when i do. got put in school therapy after choking another student and taking four punches in the face. binge watched 60s speed racer once. tried making an arg (and failed) at age 13(?) after becoming obsessed with the slenderverse. also made this amv when i was 13 and have since lost access to the account.

#📩 #🆒

[khaleesiofalicante]

¡HOLA DANI! ¿Cómo estás? ¿Todo bien? 👋🏼

I'm very sad today (fuck pms) I'm actually hoping for some angst because I need to cry!!

Not too much though 🙃

Therapy is Fucking Exhausting

It is!! Don't you wish therapy was a magic fix-all??

THE BEGINNING

Senator Robert Lightwood Shot to Death Three Weeks Before Congressional Hearing on Marriage Equality in New York. 

Oh no 😔 poor Alec!! I'm actually sorry about Robert WTF?

He is alive.

He is here with his Magnus and the boys.

He is here.

I knew this chapter was going to be painful but I thought we'll be eased into it 🤡

“Alec,” he hears the other man whisper. “Come here.”

“Not tonight,” Alec manages to say.

“That’s not…That’s not what I meant,” Magnus says quietly. “Can we cuddle? Please?”

You do know my twin can be happy right?? That is allowed just FYI

“Good,” Alec hears himself say. “Now you know what it feels like.”

“You need to get help,” Magnus whispers back. “Please.”

It's what I've been saying since chapter 1... to all of you!!

But he books the appointment anyway.

Just so Magnus would stop looking at him like that.

Nooo... you're doing it wrong!!

“Good,” Alec smiles. “Thank you for making me do it. I really needed it.”

Alexander DO NOT lie to your husband!!!!

“Because no one feels better after therapy. Certainly not after their first session.”

This is like too real!!

I'm getting very disappointed in my twin right now and I don't like it!!

“We’ll remember,” Alec says again. “He left us with enough memories and love to remember him.”

The Lightwood siblings are perfection... they are also a fucking mess but they are perfect!!

He thought this conversation was going to go the other way.

So did I...🙄

Maybe this Luca guy ain’t that bad.

Luca is a Saint!!

Dani you are such a good writer OMG normally I'm able to excuse my faves behavior no matter what and my twin is grieving so it should have been easy to do that but I couldn't because even when Alec couldn't see others pain I could and yes I want to hold him and keep him safe and protected but I also want him to learn and to grow and to be better and I forgot where I was going with this NVM you're an amazing writer that's it!!

THE MIDDLE

Let the evil therapists come... I'm ready!!

But here is how Alec is different from other people.

He doesn’t just say these things.

He means it – and he follows through.

Yep!! That's my twin!!

A priest??? 🤣 that shouldn't be funny!!

Dr Queen you bitch 🤬🤬 I hate her!!!

Fuck Dr Queen!!!

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alec replies incredulously. “I remember the last time we fu…I remember, okay?”

As if he would forget sexy time with Magnus Bane!!!

Fuck Dr Verlac 🤬 you creep!!

Alec stumbles a couple of steps backward and looks at Magnus in confusion – his blue eyes are pained.

😭😭😭😭

“Catarina recommended him,” Magnus smiles as they walk downstairs. “He might be good.”

Ok in Catarina we trust 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼

Ok Dr Luigi is a NO 😔

“It seems to me that lack of communication is a key issue in this marriage,” Dr. Lovelace points out. “So, instead of talking to me, I want you to talk to each other.”

Dr Lovelace you have no idea!! 😔

WTF Malcon??? 🤬🤬

Fuck Dr Fade 🤬

Magnus stops caring at some point.

You know what I feel exhausted too!!!

Magnus had met Scott Woolsey in Cambridge.

“Don’t let me how to talk to my husband,” Alec glares. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

This is like really bad!!

“Who is Tessa?”

She is the greatest Alec please don't fuck this for me I want to see her!!

“Alec.”

“What?”

“This isn’t working.”

😭😭😭😭

I'm crying... thank you Dani!!!

THE END

This part will be fine, right??

Right?

He can wake up early and do it.

That's a lie, no one in the history of humanity as accomplished this 🤣

Because this place has survived so much.

It makes Alec feel like he can do it too.

Alec is the only one that has any appreciation for that house!

He closes his eyes and thinks of Magnus and Shinyun.

It’s his new boner killer.

Shit works on him instantly.

Yeah I bet 😭

Max is already there – still frowning at the laptop.

What's going on in the Mavid front???

Max sighs. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life.”

🤯🤯🤯

“Awesome,” Max grins. “Please ask God to DM me the plans in 2-3 business days. Thanks.”

I'll be using this as soon as possible!! 🤣🤣

A black turtleneck and ripped jeans that are artistically torn apart just about everywhere.

From the open patches, Alec can see the fishnets Magnus is wearing on the inside.

Look at this hoe!! My poor twin!! Magnus he needs his brain!!!

On their way downstairs, Magnus trips on the staircase. Alec reaches out and grabs him by the waist.

I've seen enough telenovelas to know steamy times are afoot!!

He looks up, still kneeling in front of Magnus. His hand still holding Magnus’ ankle. “Okay?”

Magnus swallows. He nods.

I've seen porn less indecent than this 🥵🥵🥵

“Um,” Alec clears his throat. “Max told me that Shinyun is moving back to London?”

Magnus please tell my twin that you broke up with Shinyun!!!

“Dr. Carstairs,” Alec nods. “Thank you for having us.”

“Please,” the man smiles. “Call me Jem.”

QLWLQÑWÑÑQÑQÑÑQ!!! OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am loving this session... Luca you have some competition now bb

Jem smiles. “Very good, Alec.”

Alec kind of blushes at that.

I too would blush if Jem Carstairs speaks to me!!

“I like him,” Alec breaks the silence.

“Yeah,” Magnus smiles. “Me too.”

As you should!!! I wouldn't trust you anymore if you didn't!!!

“You can speak to me now, you know,” he hears Magnus say after a moment. “About your family and your childhood and the trauma that doesn’t feel like trauma. You can still talk me about that stuff.”

Yes please just talk!!!

Jem chuckles. “Alright. Let’s move to Max.”

Oh boy!! Where to begin??

Including Max’s boyfriend – who he kept referring to as ‘perfect’.”

But he is perfect!!

Oh  no 😔 Maxwell what did you do????

Therapy with Jem was awesome!!! And that hand holding was very sexy of them!!!

Alec nods slowly, rubbing his jaw. “You’re thinking of David and Anjali.”

Yes please!!! Bring my precious perfect beans in!!!

Alec scoffs and holds out his hand. Magnus holds it. Alec pulls him up.

Don't let go!!!

He hadn’t believed it when David had told him.

But there he is.

His Max.

ALDOALWDLQ!!! O MAI GAAAAAA!!!! THIS!!! THIS!!!!

David, who is in his pajamas because it’s probably like three in the fucking morning there, is eating a cornetto. 

Of course he is!! My RWRB loving angel!!! Look at that... He makes miracles happen!!!

There is so much love.

And that’s okay too.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, love is enough.

Listen!! This is!!! I mean!!! I just!!! 💛 I...!!!

WoW 😍 😍 😍 😍 😍

This wasn't a roller-coaster this the whole damn park!!! Holy shit!!! I went through emotions I didn't know existed!!!

Thank youuuu Dani!!! 💚💚💚💚💚

I laughed so so so hard at this.

THANK YOU.

Fun fact: I'm downloading Duolingo to learn Spanish lol. BYEEEEEEE.

#tlnd

[hedonismcat]

Speech language therapy 14 months after the stroke

I saw the speech language therapist / neuropsych specialist today after my stroke in September 2022. Yes it took that long. Yes that was first available. I could not schedule out anyway after this appointment even if I wanted to. Luckily I don't.

She took me seriously here. We got along, and we passed book recommendations back and forth. I gave her enough of a background of what The Handmaid's Tale was about to serve as a trigger warning which of which she was grateful. I recommended MadAddam series instead. She recommended me two memoirs from World War 2 from the side of Holocaust survivors. She said it was rare for a Durham-raised person to arrive to a specialized clinic. I thought that was funny, and then I remembered Durham's median income. Then it was markedly unfunny.

However, she helped show me a few conclusions:

I was already using the strategies she would have recommended in my position, and she was unsure she could do anything that I already hadn't started. This includes:

Using speech language worksheets I found online, because the most important time to work on it was shortly after. She confirmed this prevented more permanent damage than it would have otherwise.

Taking advice from my older cousin who had to regain language after a TBI. She validated that we both had (from descriptions) Wernike's aphasia. I'm not wronggggggg.

She thinks I should get an ADHD diagnosis, because my below range scores were in attention areas, which impacted memory but also speech in weird ways. She also said:

That I was already employing what she'd recommend someone with ADHD should do to mitigate their condition without medication.

Seek medication and a formal diagnosis.

She believes I'm not back to where I was, but she says I'm still within range albeit on the lower end.

But I was pretty proud of that. She still gave me a list of resources, wrote down strategies she thinks I could incorporate that I'm not, challenges she sees I'm having. I do not feel dismissed.

Unrelatedly, I organized all my poetry by removing them off iCloud/Notes and putting them into Drive with actual titles, previous versions in order behind the current.

#adhd #speech therapy #stutter #neurodiversity #neurodivergent #neuropsychology #stroke survivor #stroke rehabilitation

[stealtharchaeologist]

@modernpolymath Hoo boy, that was a LOT. Sorry for the very long responses in turn, I am working through some thoughts. Thank you SO MUCH for all of this good information. Here we go:

I looked up the tests for IH, I've done overnight sleep tests but not the naps. I will totally bring this up to my sleep doc. Very curious if the naps would find anything interesting or useful.

Yeah, I have a gastroenterology appointment in May. It's funny that you and I had discussed Crohn's a long, long time ago, but I never considered it for myself until recently. I've got SOME sort of IBD, for sure, but we'll see what exactly. Very interesting that there's some sort of connection between IBD and sleep issues? Makes sense inasmuch as, if you're not properly absorbing nutrients, you'd be tired, but I wonder if there's more connection than that?

I had NO IDEA narcolepsy was potentially autoimmune! Fascinating! My pain doc told me at some point that she usually sees autoimmune disorders come in threes. I've had rheumatoid arthritis my whole life, and was just diagnosed with Hashimoto's thyroiditis, so gotta find number 3. Likely Crohn's. It totally makes sense, if your immune system is gonna erroneously attack one thing, why shouldn't it attack all the things?

Have you been able to stay off of the Remicade? I know biologics are super rough, so even if going off of it didn't help your fatigue, I hope you are able to do okay without it.

I will do some more research on the modafinil. The liver toxicity language was starting to get too technical for me when I was digging before, but I'll stick with it this time, lol.

Ohhhh. Thank you for the heads up. I'm between birth control methods right now. I was on Depo Provera for like... eight years? Then got a new gyno and she didn't want to continue it. Apparently long term use causes bone density loss, and since osteoporosis runs rampant in my family, I saw the wisdom in discontinuing. She suggested the arm implant, but, uh... I have... a Major Problem with picking at any sort of blemishes or weird spots on my skin, so I am Concerned that I would not leave it alone. ://// Really stupid, I know. But I'll bring up the modafinil interference at my next appointment so that we can make a decision with that in mind. I have GOT to restart birth control ASAP. My last period sent me to the ER. 🙃 Fucking love endometriosis.

Oh. Well, shit. I very much ruin my routine on weekends; I tend to not take the modafinil (or drink coffee) and sleep through either Saturday or Sunday. Wahhhh. I'll, uh. Have to seriously consider stopping that.

... to be fair, staying awake on the weekend would improve my mental health. Like. Being only ever at work or in bed means that I do basically nothing wrt leisure activities, which weighs really heavily on me, lol. It would be nice to like, play a video game. Make art. Read a book.

HMMMM. Never even considered that since I'm not hypermobile... though as I say that, I'm reminded that my physical therapists tend to comment on my flexibility... but I've never dislocated anything and my skin isn't stretchy. I will do some digging. I've got a friend with EDS, I'll see if she'll let me pick her brain a bit.

So you did 23&Me? Did it find anything else useful? I am deeply skeptical of the DNA testing trend, but like, if it has actual medical uses, I may reconsider?

Again, thank you so much for all the info. You're giving me a lot to investigate, think about, and potentially act upon. Which I've desperately needed.

#reply #modernpolymath #health stuff

[mercurypyrite]

ok so i finished book 6 last night so this is a bit belated but whatever. longass masterpost of my thoughts on everything post 6-81 incoming

i felt awful for vil (3hrs of crying, he’s gotta be dehydrated) but it was lowkey kinda funny how malleus just popped up and was like “i’m in your debt (according to lilia) (pretty sure this was just for their own amusement?? idk man they’re fae) so i’ll help 👍” and just kinda poofed him back to normal.

i think this is the… third time we’ve seen him do smth like that? first at VDC, then during endless halloween night, and finally now. (though EHN came first canonically.) he seems to be making a habit of it. and that joyful squeal? love that. (vil’s normally so poised, though — goes to show how deeply book 6, and being rudely confronted by his fear of aging, rattled him)

=

leona: i’ve been fighting all night and i’m dead on my feet

ruggie & jack: sorry what. PLEASE elaborate

=

once i saw adeuce the only thought left in my head was “MY BOYS THEYRE HERE” i’m so glad they’re okay like damn. it feels like everyone’s been gone longer than 2 days lmao

=

“Human lives are as ethereal as silk thread on a spinning wheel — and just as easily cut short. But their fragility can be a boon. Interweaving and layering those threads creates the strong, resilient tapestry of their history. Such is the creature called man — neighbor to we creatures of the night.”

so so tempted to make part of this my blog quote but it sounds so pretentious. not like the current one isn’t i guess. also sleeping beauty ref goes brrr

=

ortho (lovingly) dragging idia is one of my new favorite things i think

“You don’t have any close friends who can keep you in line yet, and I don’t know if you ever will. Not to put too fine a point on it, but leaving you to your own devices is a terrible idea. So… I want to stay with you. Is that asking too much?”

“You’ve been my real brother for a long time now, Ortho.”

“Let’s go back to Night Raven College. You’ve got people waiting for you there.”

“…Yeah, I do, huh.”

LIKE GOD. THEM. i want to stay with you. you don’t have to act like my little brother but you’ve been my real brother for a while now. you don’t have close friends but you DO have people waiting for you. they won’t forget. (and then he ends up gaming with vdc gang and bantering with ortho around them, slowly coming out of his shell if only temporarily, and i’m so soft over that)

=

refurbished ramshackle was nice to see but… not really surprising, lol. looks directly at the guest room feature. twsten rlly likes doing things out of order huh.

=

also yuu spent “a few weeks” at pomefiore?? honorary heartslabyul student yuu is out, honorary pomefiore student yuu is in. they even got a uniform!!

jk they can coexist

(i will make them coexist. i love them both sm)

(i wanna see riddle and vil fighting over yuu /hj)

=

“I was called before parliament in the Land of Dawning. Bigwigs from STYX, the Department of Education, AND the Department of Magic all bombarded me with questions and glared daggers at me… ‘Why are so many consecutive overblots happening on your watch?! How do you explain this?!’

“That’s what I want to know! What have I done, except run this school as diligently as I could?! Night Raven College has resident counselors and medical mages appointed by the Department of Education as it is!

“Since the assembly saw no major issues with the school’s leadership, the inquiry came to a close… But I certainly didn’t expect one of our students to bring about an off-campus catastrophe even as we convened!”

crowley actually getting in legal trouble (or at least being threatened with legal trouble) actually surprised me a lot??? i’m so used to thinking stuff like this would more or less get covered up for plot convenience or wtv that it’s nice to see crowley get smacked with it. rip headmage

ALSO rip therapist yuu memes bc NRC HAS THERAPISTS (tho theyre not rlly dead bc. no one SEES the therapists. probably. stubborn kids.)

=

seeing ortho again = no thoughts left in my head redux, “BABY BOY” edition!! he looks so nice!! i love the lil buttons!! rlly i love all the details, looking like an NRC uniform while still being undeniably ortho

“‘I don’t get it’ is a perfect encapsulation of my current state!”

LOL. he’s not wrong though.

=

…of course crowley took a bribe. i dunno why i’m surprised to hear that.

though in vil’s words, “It’s hardly our place to interject if it’s a win-win for both parties, I suppose.”

crowley’s inquiry about grim’s health makes me side-eye him more strongly the more i think about it. yes i know why (grim attacked yuu, was more strongly affected by the blot, etc) but i’m still suspicious, i wanna know if there’s more to it.

“I’m truly glad that you — ah, that is, ALL of you — made it back to the school safe and sound.”

the way he added “all of you” made it seem to me like they were an afterthought compared to grim…

=

twst rlly put aaaall the fluff at the end huh. not like i’m complaining though!! it’s like a reward for getting through all the angst. idia’s gift is very him (lol) and idia and ortho playing video games with everyone is adorable

“We should probably make Idia play holding the controller backwards or something, though. He’s super good.”

“I see what you’re doing, Ortho. Trying to skate by without any handicaps for yourself, huh? YOU’RE the one who needs extra restrictions, like no items allowed.”

=

play for a crowd! is also up there on my list of favorite twistunes but i can’t play it while sleep deprived or my score goes down the toilet. ask me how i know. half the time normal mode is harder than hard mode.

also i haven’t said it anywhere yet but idia’s battle theme is a banger too. ignihyde osts killed it

=

and rook and vil’s discussion of ortho’s soul!! screams!!

“He — or rather, they — chose to try and boost their brother up from the depths below to the skies above. What do you call such love and affection, if not a soul?”

=

the “dream” sequence was so interesting!! yuu and mickey can’t see anything but each other. grim can’t see mickey either, and vice versa.

but. mickey could see silver. why was silver at ramshackle at night? a reasonable assumption is that silver went to ramshackle to find malleus, couldn’t, and left, but really…

why could mickey see silver at all?

i’ve heard (though i haven’t got a source for this unfortunately) that silver says — somewhere — that he’s seen yuu before, or that they look familiar, or something along those lines. i wanna know if this is connected to that. also, silver’s curse. that too. sleep/dreams vs reality etc.

=

and last but not least, lilia is dropping death flags left and right and malleus is Concerned. to be fair, so am i. what’s going on, dude?

(sidenote: damn it riddle’s hair went back to normal. i was hoping he’d just have white hair now 😭)

(also, eagerly awaiting the “gloomurai is idia and muscle red is lilia” reveal in book 7. yana pls.)

(i… may have gotten spoiled a bit. unintentionally. so now i know that in book 7, [REDACTED].)

#py liveblogs twst book 6 #twst #twst book 6 spoilers

[needtogetitoutnow-blog]

Back again, it’s been a year since last time I posted..

I’m back in a deep deep hole of depression, sometimes I can’t I’m even get myself to brush my teeth.

Two months after my post last year, I got a girlfriend, we’ve been together for a year, but broke up last Saturday, because i keep fleeing from my past, my thoughts and my depression - I do that by drinking a lot of alcohol, contrary to before where I used to smoke weed every day.

She called me yesterday and wanted to talk, she asked me if I wanted to give it another try and I said yes - but to be honest I feel like maybe it’s a bad idea, not because I don’t want her, but because I’m afraid that I’m going to hurt her again. When we broke up I didn’t give up on her, I realised that loving her, was also realising that she would be better off without my depressed self and how should I love her, when I don’t even love myself.

I moved back to my moms place after three years in Copenhagen and it’s really hard to hide my depression when I’m around my family all the time, it was way easier when I lived with 3 other boys my age, they don’t notice shit. That’s just how boys are so I don’t blame them, society taught us not to show emotions/feelings and not talk about them either. That’s who I blame for me being fucked up now.

I’ve booked an appointment with my doctor to get a recommendation for a therapist, I need the straighten this out now, I’m tired of this bullshit rollercoaster of depression and happiness, I could almost throw up.

So I stopped smoking weed and I’m trying to stop drinking alcohol, it’s even harder because it is so socially acceptable and in Denmark we do it at all occasions. But I’ve been tipsy two times the last 3-4 weeks and that’s way better than what I’m used to, so it’s going okay. I really wanna get to a point where I can control it and i think I can only get there by stopping completely.

Also I need to stop lying to the people I love and have around me, they need to know how I feel and why I’m acting like this, because it’s not all the time I’m like this, normally I’m funny and creative.

It’s seems like I have so much to do when I put it in writing and it really stresses my mind and makes everything seem to far away and unrealistic, but I also truly believe I can do it this time.

Until next time! 🫡

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [five] // daisy johnson

summary: the longer Daisy spends with you, the more you realise that maybe nine years isn't enough time to get over her.

warning/s: mentions of PTSD.

author's note: this is the final part, but it was a little long so i’ve put it into two posts. hopefully the daisy stans appreciated it 😊

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six | masterlist | wattpad

I woke with a start, immediately feeling my hair sticking to the nape of my neck and the need to shake off my duvet.

The fear of my nightmare still implanted in the pit of my stomach made me reach for my bedside lamp. I half expected someone to grab my hand in the dark, my imagination working overtime to scare the living hell out of me, but nothing happened except for the lamp turning on.

I sat up in bed and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. It was just a dream, nothing real. And I knew that, logically, since I was in my childhood bedroom instead of a dark torture chamber. Yet I couldn't stop crying and imagining the worst.

It was getting worse – the nightmares, the anxiety, the nausea. Ever since Daisy and my mum had told me to see a therapist, I knew it was getting worse, but I still hadn't done anything about it. Clearly, things had to change.

Barely thinking about, I found myself grabbing my phone and dialling Daisy's number. I hadn't spoken to her since she came over, and it was my fault things had been left on a bad note. That was only last week and I felt like an idiot as I heard the phone ringing.

"Hello?" her groggy voice came through, and I immediately felt bad.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I tried to silence my heavy breathing. "Hey, Daisy. It's, er, it's Y/N. I'm sorry, I– I didn't mean to wake you. I–"

"Y/N?" she asked, voice laced with fatigue and confusion. "Are you okay? What is it? Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," I said quickly, trying to maintain my shakiness. I brought my legs up to my chest and wrapped an arm around them tightly. "I'm at home. I just–" I flinched, closing my eyes. "I'm sorry, did I wake you? My parents gave me your number and I– I didn't know what else to do–"

"You don't need to apologise," she cut me off, wakening up a little by the sounds of it. "I'm glad you called. What's wrong?"

I smiled dryly, wiping away at my tears. "I, er, you were right about me. I should have–" I breathed out deeply. "I need to talk to someone about... yeah. But right now I... I can't go back to sleep."

"Do you want me to come over? I'm not far and–"

"No, no!" I said quickly, slightly embarrassed. "You don't need to– it's the middle of the night. I just– I don't know what I was expecting. I just didn't want to be alone and I didn't wanna wake my parents and worry them."

"Of course," she said reassuringly. "It's okay. I won't come, but I can stay on the phone with you if you'd like? We can talk. Or we can just stay silent. Anything you want."

I sniffled and put my head between my legs, feeling my shoulders relax a little. The last thing I wanted was to be a bother to her.

"Thanks," I muttered, and I wasn't even sure if she heard it. "I'm sorry for how I acted last week... with this."

"We don't need to talk about it," she said softly, her voice raspy as she'd just woken up. "I just want you to be okay."

I closed my eyes, breathing out quietly. I wasn't sure what to say, but the sound of her voice was instantly reassuring.

It was quiet between us, for at least another minute or so, and all I could hear was her breathing on the other side. As much as I appreciated the company, I knew it was unfair of me to keep her on the phone.

Swallowing hard, I said, "Daisy?"

"Yeah? Are you okay?"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, knowing I wasn't. "I don't think–" I sighed awkwardly. "I won't be falling asleep any time soon and I– er, you should go. I don't want to keep you on here for no reason."

"It's not for no reason," she reassured. "I'll stay on until you fall asleep, Y/N. You'll get tired eventually."

"But if I don't–"

"I'll stay on."

I nodded, despite her being unable to see me. "Thank you..."

It went quiet again, and I felt my heart rate returning to its normal pace as I distracted myself with the sound of Daisy's breathing. It wasn't hard to tire myself to the sound, as I was already exhausted, just scared. But when I closed my eyes and let her breathing comfort me, it almost felt like she was right next to me, and my fear slowly faded away.

—

When I woke up the next morning, I was drooling on my phone screen as the sun streamed through my curtains. When I wiped my mouth, a yawn escaped my lips and I moved my phone from my pillow, confused to why it was there. But then I remembered the early hours of that morning and felt my face flush with embarrassment. I checked the screen, seeing the call wasn't still on, but there was a text from Daisy.

Daisy: hey, Y/N, I hope you feel better in the morning. I figured you wouldn't want to wake up to me on the phone, so I hung up. Please don't be angry, but I'm on my way over to see you. I just want to make sure you're okay.

That message was sent fifteen minutes ago, so I wouldn't put it past Daisy to already be outside. It was embarrassing, don't get me wrong, but I appreciated that she cared enough to check on me, even after I'd treated her disrespectfully.

I'd just managed to brush my teeth when Daisy arrived. My mum called me downstairs, claiming it was for me, and I tried not to fidget in my pyjamas as I descended the stairs and saw Daisy waiting by the front door. When she saw me, a relieved smile was on her lips.

"Hey," she began quietly, hesitant to say more in case I was mad.

I exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing at the sight of her. She'd helped me more than she'd known, and with that thought in my mind, I moved forward and hugged her gratefully.

"Thank you," I whispered into her shoulder, closing my eyes as my arms laced around her neck.

She returned the hug and I sensed her surprise.

"Anytime, Y/N," she replied with a squeeze. "I just want you to be okay."

I nodded, lingering for a moment longer than I probably should have, before pulling away. She searched my eyes with a hint of concern and I subconsciously grabbed her hand and kept ahold of it.

"I'm gonna book an appointment with a therapist," I told her, the thought terrifying me in itself, but I knew it was the right thing to do. "And I wanted to ask if you... would you..." I swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Will you please come with me?"

"Of course I will," she promised, squeezing my hand and earning my attention. "I'll be with you whenever you want." She blinked, clearing her throat with realisation. "I mean, for the appointments, obviously."

Thankfully, her messy words brought a smile to my face and reassured me about the whole therapy thing.

"Thank you," I said, finding it cute how she was the one to avoid my eyes now. "Since you're here, you may as well stay for breakfast. If you're not busy, that is."

"Breakfast. Sure. I'd love to."

I didn't let go of her hand as I tugged her towards the kitchen to join me.

—

Having Daisy back in my life was probably the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

Not only had she literally saved my life as Quake, but she was also saving my life every day after. Whether it was accompanying me to my therapist appointments or hospital appointments, or hanging out with me way more than she needed to, she was more present in my life. I didn't ask her to – it only began when I'd asked her to come to my first therapist appointment – but she'd chosen to. And I didn't want to question it because I'd missed her more than I cared to admit.

My parents took her in as family like no time had passed and I was accepting her back into my life, too, but I didn't want to get too attached. She had a job to do at the end of the day, and knowing Daisy, she wouldn't stay for too long. I guess, in the back of my head, there was still that expectation of her picking up and leaving, just like she used to. Which was silly, since that was years ago, but still...

Despite her presence in my life again, we'd been avoiding talking about what we'd missed in each other's lives. The specifics anyway. I knew she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and found her family, and she knew I became an investigative journalist and did many news packages on different topics, but I didn't know anything more and neither did she. I wasn't sure if it was on purpose or if we just avoided it without thinking, but I knew we had to face the music soon.

We were getting coffee after she picked me up from one of my therapy sessions when I brought it up.

"So, my therapist has been helping me with some stuff," I began, staring at my coffee as we walked back to my house. "Stuff outside of my PTSD, that is."

"Oh?" Daisy asked, and I could see her looking at me in the corner of my eyes. "Like what?" 

I took a sip of my coffee, trying not to feel embarrassed as I answered, "Well, we obviously talk about my life. And what happens in it. Who I'm with..."

"Yeah..." Daisy was grinning now.

I rolled my eyes, wishing my face wasn't as warm as it felt. "She noticed you've been dropping me off and picking me up and... you may have come up in conversation."

"Ah, so you talk about me," she said slowly, trying very hard not to laugh. "Did you tell her how amazing I am? Or how beautiful, charming and funny I am?"

I sighed, finally lifting my eyes to look at her. Brown eyes twinkled with amusement as she gave me her usual teasing smile, making me shove her in the shoulder gently. Laughter spilled from her lips and I hated the butterflies in my stomach at the sound.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, falling into step with me again. "You were saying. Go on."

Looking back ahead as we walked, I said, "Yes, well, we talked about you. And then she recommended that I try to catch up with you more. You know? Because we both talk so much about the good old days and even now, but not the in between. Not the parts that we weren't there for."

I looked back to Daisy when I finished, and she thankfully lost her amusement as she nodded in agreement. I half expected her to take the piss, but she was supportive as she glanced at me.

"I like the sound of that," she said, easing the nerves in my stomach. "So. What do you want to know?"

I cleared my throat, taking another sip of my drink and thinking of where to start. "Okay, erm... why don't we start with your S.H.I.E.L.D. friends? They're your family and I would love to get to know them better. What are they like?"

She nodded thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "S.H.I.E.L.D., okay. Well, you met Jemma. She's basically my sister. Her and Fitz – I think I mentioned him before?" I nodded, recalling her throwing in the name in one of her stories. "They're together and they've been with me since I was recruited a few years ago. We've been through a lot together, but they've got my backs and I've got theirs."

I smiled at the carefree expression on her face. Just talking about them put her at ease and I felt a little better knowing that her time after high school wasn't completely terrible like I imagined.

"Then there's Coulson, of course," she continued, glancing at me every now and then to see if I was listening. "He's basically our dad. He's the reason I'm even with S.H.I.E.L.D. and he's always looking out for me, even when I'm doing stupid stuff."

"So, regularly then."

She nudged me in the arm at my comment, making me chuckle.

"He was how I learnt about my family," she explained. "There for me when I found them. When I got my powers. When I lost my family... he's been there through it all. I'd do anything for him."

I watched her carefully. "He sounds important to you."

Her lips curved into a small smile as brown eyes met mine. "He is."

She continued to tell me about the rest of her team and what everything was like at work, and the whole time she did, she was smiling.

"I'd love for you to meet them all," she finished, and I was surprised at the hint of nervousness in her voice. I didn't think she ever got nervous. "I mean, you've met Jemma, but the others– you should meet them, too. If you want to, that is."

"I'd like that," I said instantly, appreciating the way her eyes lit up and she tried very hard to hide her smile.

She cleared her throat, distracting from the pink spreading on her face, before asking, "So, you basically know about everything interesting that's happened to me these past nine or so years. What about you? Anything life-changing occur for you?" I opened my mouth to answer, and she added, "Apart from travelling around the world and being an investigative journalist?"

I feigned offence. "I hardly think that's fair. That's like me asking you not to talk about working for S.H.I.E.L.D. or being Quake."

Rolling her eyes playfully, she said, "Go on. Tell me something different."

I looked away from her in thought, thinking back to the past nine years. "I guess... oh, I know. I was almost married."

Her jaw dropped. "You were what?"

A laugh escaped my lips at her intrigued expression. She shook her head with disbelief.

"I have to know more," she insisted, before raising her brows. "You? Almost married?"

"It does sound strange," I agreed with amusement, before recalling the event. "It was about two years ago. I was with this guy who worked at the same paper I did. We'd been together for about a year and–"

"–and you realised he had a second family in the Bahamas?" she finished with a roguish grin.

"Very funny." I narrowed my eyes jokingly. "But no. I just realised I didn't love him. Well, I wasn't in love with him."

"Ouch."

"Ouch indeed." I paused, remembering the poor guy's face when I broke the news to him. "It was a month into the engagement when I told him the truth. He was very understanding, but–"

"–but you broke his poor little heart," she concluded, before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and tugging me closer. "Dear Y/N. The heartbreaker."

"Fuck off."

She laughed when she saw me attempting to fight a smile from my lips. Though eventually, one appeared anyway. Daisy always had the ability to bring out the best in me like that – I'd missed it.

"How about you anyway?" I asked, hoping for an opportunity to tease her in return. "Any boyfriends or girlfriends I should know about? Crazy exes, maybe?"

She snorted, swallowing her coffee before giving me a knowing look. "You're gonna need to brace yourself for this one. I doubt you'll believe me when it comes to this."

I rose an eyebrow with curiosity. "Damn, you've got me hooked, Johnson. Proceed."

And of course, that was the first and last time I heard about Agent Grant Ward. An interestingly dark tale of a dickhead of a man whose existence I was glad was no more.

"...so, do I win?" Daisy asked once she finished talking about him.

"Win what?"

She stared like it was obvious. "The best ex story, duh!"

"Wow." I snickered, shaking my head. "I guess you do."

Fist-pumping like an idiot, she said, "Knew it. Nothing ever beats homicidal psychopath almost-boyfriend."

"You need help."

"No, no I don't. I have you."

"Uh-huh."

"Love you, too." 

—

Three months passed since returning from Myanmar and I was finally in a place where I could return to work. Even though I'd been putting together my research and interviews into a coherent news story at home, I hadn't physically been back to the newsroom in about a year.

My therapist had been helping me to treat my PTSD, my physical therapy was helping me get back function in my shoulder and arm, and the injury itself was almost healed, though I still had to wear a cast. Everything was actually beginning to look up.

I'd even sent off the complete news series about what I'd discovered in Myanmar to my editor which got published just before I returned to work. So, of course, as soon as I got there, that was the first thing everybody congratulated me on.

"Views have been going through the roof," Taylor, my colleague and closest friend at work, said as soon as he spotted me walking to my desk. "Your story is all anybody has been talking about!"

"Good to see you, too," I joked, an attempt to disguise my embarrassment at all the attention. "It's only been a year since we last saw each other."

He gave me a grin. "You know I missed you, Y/L/N, get over here."

I rolled my eyes playfully but accepted his hug, being careful of my shoulder. He squeezed me gently before letting go and perching himself on the edge of my desk as I took a seat. It felt strange to be back, but a good strange.

"I still can't believe you're actually here in the flesh," he said after a moment, eyeing me suspiciously. "I've been so used to quick calls and texts where I try to convince you not to do stupid stuff."

Chuckling, I shot him an appreciative smile. "You know I'm grateful for that. Even if I didn't listen."

"You not listening helped you get the best story though," he countered. "I bet you didn't expect S.H.I.E.L.D. to make the bust in the end though."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Definitely not. But I owe them a lot. They saved my life."

His expression softened. "That's another thing... thanks for not dying on me."

"You're welcome," I returned, though appreciated what he meant. "Now. Catch me up on everything I missed. Gossip an' all."

That was enough for him to pull up a seat and remind me of everything I'd missed whilst being away. We'd spoke many times whilst I was gone, but nothing quite beat a good bitching session in person.

Eventually though, our editor ended up interrupting and asked to see me in her office. I wasn't worried in the slightest, but there was still that tiny part of me that imagined the worst.

"You can stop holding your breath, y'know," Karla told me when I stopped before her desk. She seemed amused as she added, "I wanted to congratulate you on the human trafficking story."

Relaxing my shoulders, I raised my brows. "Oh. I– thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

"You put a lot on the line to get the results you did, but it shows," she continued proudly. "You've made an excellent name for yourself and done your fellow journalists proud."

"I didn't do it for that," I said politely, "but thank you. I just wanted to help those people in Myanmar the best I could."

She smiled. "And you did."

"Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. did."

"But you shared the truth, didn't you?" she reminded me. "Don't belittle this achievement."

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet and watched as she took a seat at her desk chair.

"I heard that it was Quake who saved you back there," she said curiously. "You know, we've never actually gotten an interview with her. Nobody has."

Oh, so that's what she actually wanted.

"I thought, well, since you know her, you could get us an exclusive?" she asked.

I chewed on my lip. "Erm..."

"You don't have to," she added, noticing my reluctance. "But it could be good for everyone. The city can get to know its hero, you can get a great interview under your belt. And our paper gets all the views. What d'you say?"

I was beginning to regret putting that one quote from Daisy in my article now... I should have known Karla would want more. That was the thing with editors – you give them one taste and they want to eat the whole thing.

"I'll ask," I decided, which she seemed to love. "No harm in asking, but I can't promise anything."

Karla leaned back in her seat, nodding. "Very true. Thank you for understanding. I'll let you settle back into work now. Remember to take it easy, yeah? Don't want to lose my best journalist from overworking herself."

I smiled awkwardly as she laughed, before nodding in response and leaving her office.

It wasn't that I didn't want to interview Daisy, but I didn't want to ruin what we had by asking for a favour. Everything between us was going well, even if it was probably temporary and she'd have to leave soon. I assumed that anyway. And on top of that, I was certain I was falling in love with her again, just like I had nine years ago.

Could you blame me? It was impossible to just remain friends with her when she went through all this extra effort to make sure I was okay. Her kind, considerate, supportive self was always on my mind whether I liked it or not. A girl could dream, right?

After my first day back, Daisy picked me up outside. She insisted when she rang me at lunchtime to make sure I was okay, wanting to know everything about how my first day went. I couldn't find it in myself to say no, so I eventually found her sat on a chair in the lobby when I came downstairs after work.

#daisy johnson x you #daisy johnson #daisy johnson imagine #daisy johnson x reader #chloe bennet #quake #agents of shield #agent skye #marvel imagine #mcu

[ladyblogger-margie]

Ohhh hi honey! Can you write me a little something with Benny Miller having a very obvious crush on his physical therapist? Sounds cute! Thank you! ❤️

Here you go! I love an enthusiastic Benny and I remember the days of crushing on my physiotherapist so I tried to write a bit of what I know! So here's something fluffy Benny Miller x F!Reader

You smirked to yourself when you saw your schedule for the day and realized Benny Miller was your last client of the day. The former military man turned boxer had been coming to see you for a few weeks now for a minor knee injury. He was a huge flirt and his presence was always a bright spot in your day thanks to a combination of his sunshine personality and stunning good looks.

Ever the professional you never gossiped about him, even when the receptionist at the physiotherapy clinic you worked at was practically salivating when she asked you if he smelled as good as he looked. He did but she didn’t have to know that.

Later in the day between appointments you sat around with another physiotherapist snacking on veggies and chit chatting. Your friend had a client earlier who, despite needing help recovering from an ankle injury, refused to properly clean their feet or clip their toenails before their appointment.

“I hear Benny Miller is coming in again tonight,” your friend said, forcing the casualty into their voice.

“You heard correctly,” you said.

“Do you find it distracting?” they asked.

You were a little offended. It was one thing for people to comment on the obvious attractiveness of your client, but it was something altogether unacceptable for them to accuse you of being unprofessional.

Your friend saw your reaction and backtracked, “Sorry, I just meant because he obviously has a crush on you.”

Your brain buffered for a moment, “A what?”

Your friend rolled their eyes, “A crush, obviously he has a crush on you. I’ve never seen a grown man literally lean so heavily on a trainer for a mild knee sprain.”

You grabbed a carrot and chewed loudly, trying to drown out the thought. It hadn’t occurred to you that he had a crush on you, you just assumed he was that way with everyone. Kind, thoughtful, funny, vulnerable, charming, the inherently Benny qualities running through your head.

“Well, it might be distracting now!” you said, suddenly nervous.

“Oops,” your friend said, making a face.

Suddenly their eyes went wide and they gestured over your shoulder. You whipped your head around to see Benny saunter into the clinic.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Benny cooed softly in your direction, his voice dripping in honey and you felt your knees weaken.

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath.

You led Benny to your physio table along the back wall and he dropped his bag casually on the chair.

Your friend gave you a wink and a nod as they left for the day, leaving you and Benny alone in the studio. You tried not to overthink the situation.

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Miller?” you asked, keeping your voice neutral.

“My knee is really bad today,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

You scrunched your face, “Really? Your scans came back from the hospital and everything looks great. Frankly I’m shocked you're here today.”

Benny’s face flushed pink slightly, “Uh, it’s, um, important that I take preventative care.”

“Hmm,” you said, “So no pain?”

“Um,” Benny paused, a bashful smile on his face, “Yes? No? Um, you better check it out.”

He sprawled out on your table and you tried not to look as the bottom of his t-shirt rode up, exposing the flesh above his waistline.

You watched his face, his eyes wide, a grin splashed across his face and it hit you, he hasn’t been injured in a while. Something else has been bringing him back every week to see you. You flushed at the thought and turned your eyes to his knee.

As long as he was going to pretend to be hurt, you were going to indulge him.

“I should probably book in for the next month worth of sessions too before I go,” Benny said, his voice a little higher than usual, his attempt to play it casual completely unsuccessful.

“Or,” you said, not able to make eye contact, “You could save some money and just take me out to dinner instead.”

He sprung up, nearly knocking your heads together, fully of wild enthusiasm.

“My knee is fine, let’s go right now,” he said. He leapt off the table and led you out the door frantically, both of you laughing and giggling all the way.

#request #benny miller x f!reader #benny miller x reader #benny miller #triple frontier #garrett hedlund

[roger-that-cap]

jack pendleton

summary: moving into an apartment to get away from your last relationship was fun all fun and games until you met your extremely attractive across-the-hall neighbor, who makes awesome cookies and even better novels.

author!bucky x reader

warnings: no legitimate warnings besides swearing, it kind of moves just a weensie bit fast but i think it’s cute, minimal angst, I WROTE THIS IN ONE DAY and that is a warning tbh so expect mistakes in this hunk a junk-

word count: 6.2k!

Searching for your new apartment was a terribly long and boring process, but even you couldn’t deny that finally moving in was heavenly. 

It was the first thing that you did by yourself after having a mutual break up with your boyfriend, and you would be damned if it felt anything but good. He confessed to you that he had fallen in love with a man that he met online. Not only that, but an Italian man that he was teaching English to over a website. He was brave enough to tell you as soon as he realized that he loved the man, so the heartbreak was minimal. 

You never told him, but honestly, you sort of respected him for that. So, with your hidden respect and gratitude, you wished him well and knew that you were going to be the one to find a new place. 

 So there you stood, right in front of your new place with a singular box in your arms, all the others in the smallest U-Haul available to rent that you drove there. You stared at your door for a moment, which read an embroidered C7, and then you fiddled with your keys to unlock it.  

  You had a lot of work to do. 

§§§

By the end of the fourth day, mostly all of your things were put away. You didn’t think you had much to begin with, but unpacking made you realize that you had more than you thought. So with your ambitious mind, you got everything done on your own, even the decorations that you had at your last appointment were on the walls. 

 By the seventh day, it was starting to feel like home again. And that called for a celebration. You got your purse and your car keys, your mind already in the shopping mall. 

  As you stepped out of your door, the door directly across from yours opened too. You didn’t pay them much mind besides flashing a smile and turning around to lock your own door, not even looking at whoever it was properly enough to see them. But when you did, you definitely did. 

 A man with long, brown hair and clear blue eyes was staring at you like a deer in the headlights, and you would have thought that he mistook you for a celebrity if it weren’t for the wrinkle of confusion on his forehead. The first thought that came to your mind was that he was as stiff as a board, and that it was almost comical. The second thought that came to your mind was that this man was very handsome, despite the way that he was looking at you like you had just said the dumbest thing known to man. 

 “Um, hello,” you said, not even having to be loud because you were just a few feet apart. You were tempted to be a smartass and say something rude about his incessant staring, but instead, you reminded yourself that you were going to have to deal with the consequences of your smart remark later on. Humiliation and awkwardness every time you saw him was not what you wanted. “Have a good day.” 

  You turned to your left and walked down the stairs, thankful that you lived on the edge of the hall and could just run down some steps to get away from whatever that “encounter” was. 

§§§

The mall was utterly packed, but that didn’t matter to you at all. You were there to browse for something that was going to make you even happier after your move, and a few people in line weren’t going to bother you. You went in and out of clothing stores, buying a few things here and there, and then on your way out, you passed by a bookstore. 

  You liked books, you really did. But you were avoiding that store like the plague. For you to go into a bookstore with so many options available, you knew that the safest route for your budget was to know what you were getting from the second you walked in. You stood in front of it for a second, debating on going in without looking online beforehand or just coming back another day. Your own feet answered the question for you, and then you were entering the huge book store.

 The shelves were high and wide and sturdy, dark brown and creating isles. Fantasy, Young Adult, Spiritual, Languages. The genres went as far as you could see. And that meant that if you weren’t wise, you could be buying a book from every aisle.

  You counted the number of shelves, seeing that there were almost thirty as far as you knew, and then took out the two dice that you took with you everywhere, for reasons like this. You were indecisive, and two little cubes with black dots on them were as sure as it could get. They were your Decision Dice. They had never steered you wrong before, and today wouldn’t be the day. You were going to roll twice, and if the sum was a number less than ten, then you would multiply it by two, which was your lucky number.  You liked to make things difficult. 

You saw a woman staring at you with cautious eyes as you bent down and shook your closed hand, and you heard her chuckle when she saw the two little cubes roll out of your palm. 

  “Four,” you murmured once you saw three dots on one and one on the other. You picked them up and shook your hand again. “Three. That makes seven, and seven times two makes aisle fourteen.” You picked up the dice (that you would never admit came from your grandpa’s set of Yahtzee) and walked past the still laughing woman in the science fiction aisle.  

  Of course, aisle fourteen was the aisle that you probably had the least business in. Romance. You almost walked away and went for the fifteenth instead, but then what would the point in rolling be? What would stop you from denying the Decision Dice in later situations? You sighed for a second after your own dramatics and looked the shelves up and down, trying to find a title that grabbed you. 

 You walked up and down the aisle, slowly combing through until you saw a book on the bottom shelf by some Jack Pendleton. You frowned. It wasn’t often that you saw men’s names in the romance section, and when you did, you hardly liked what they wrote. The love interest was always flat or too out there to be believable. The female love interest in men’s books always had to be “not like other girls”, and it was worn out. For some reason, you reached down for it anyway, ready to see what you had already seen a million times before. 

  What you really ended up seeing shocked you. 

It was about a man who served in the army oversees and came back an amputee, and became locked in a love triangle between his physical therapist and his best friend, all the while dealing with his sexuality. 

  That was a lot of man versus self. You wanted it. 

You stood up and without second thought walked to the counter, handing the cashier the book and getting out your credit card. 

§§§

You cracked open the book the second you threw your fast food trash away in your trash can. You made yourself comfortable on your little couch and put some light music on in the background, just so that it wouldn’t be completely silent. You didn’t do well with silence at all. 

 It took all of four pages for Jack Pendleton to surprise you again. His writing style was gorgeous and smooth, and you cold tell that he meant every word that was printed on the pages. His diction was brilliant, his descriptions even better. He didn’t give too much or too little, and you were already falling in love with it. 

  The main character, Elijah, was likeable but flawed. Within the first thirty pages, you could already sense that he was gaining feelings that he didn’t even know about for his best friend, Will, who wasn’t named until about forty pages at Elijah’ first physical therapy appointment. Will hadn’t even shown up yet. 

You had blown through nearly half the book when you realized that it was eleven at night, and that you had work the next morning. You swore to yourself and put a smaller piece of paper in your book this time, looking at it longingly and patting it on the spine before leaving it on the small coffee table. 

§§§

Work was horrible. It was boring, and you spent the whole first part of your day with a man who was mad at you specifically because you ran out of a special type of shoe that he needed to wear the next day. The store that you worked at wasn’t even really a shoe store. Then, he asked to see the manager. You were the shift manager. He got so pissed that he threw a hanger at you and stormed out, and all you could do was laugh. 

 You were so tired of retail, it wasn’t even funny. 

 You were a little more than a hundred and twenty pages in when there was a knock on your door, and it came right as you were about t flip the page. You resisted the urge to scream, completely and utterly fed up with the public for the day. There was no use in trying to ignore the knocking that already yanked your mind out of the fictional world, and so you left the book on your couch, sticking a piece of paper in it quickly to save your page. 

You swung the door open, expecting to find someone who wanted you to fill out a survey or maybe even someone from maintenance making sure that everything was okay with your apartment. You certainly didn’t expect to see your beautiful neighbor with a pie in his gloved hands and a pink flush on his face. 

  He spoke first. “Hi, I live across the floor,” he pointed towards the door that you knew he lived behind. “I was just coming to bring you a welcoming gift.”  

  You were stunned. The man who stared you down and didn’t even say a word to you was at your door with what looked like a homemade pie, and wow, was that a turn of events. It was something straight out of that cheesy romance section that you were in at the bookstore. “Wow, thank you. You made that?”

  The pink on his cheeks graduated to scarlet. “I-yeah, I did.” 

You couldn’t contain the grin that stretched onto your face. “That’s really kind of you, thank you. I’m sure I’ll love it.” You gently took it from his hands and smiled up at him. 

  “It’s also an apology, for staring at you like that when you were leaving.” You noticed his subtle accent and fought the urge to swoon. He was so adorably shy. “No one’s lived in this one for years, and I didn’t notice you moving in. Kinda scared me.” 

 “You didn’t see the moving truck?” You asked teasingly.

You saw the small grimace on his face, and your smile faltered. “I don’t really go outside much,” he said vaguely, and you felt that you hit a nerve. 

  You shrugged with the pie still in your hands, lips turning upwards at him. “It’s okay, I don’t, either.” 

  You were both smiling now. 

“Well, um,” he started to say, and you nodded your head at him, already knowing that he was about to go. “I have to finish something. I’ll see you later?” 

 “There’s a pretty good chance that you will,” you said, and he gave an awkward wave before turning around and walking away, right into his apartment without another look back. You cursed softly when he shut his door, and you looked down at the pie. 

You didn’t even get his name.

§§§

You realized after five days of nothing (and cleaning out the pan of delicious pie by yourself) that you weren’t going to see your neighbor by chance. You hoped that you would, more than you hoped for anything else before. But he was right. He didn’t go outside much. The doors in the building were all so loud that it was nearly impossible not to hear them opening or shutting, and you never heard his once. 

You had to do it yourself. Somehow, you needed to figure out how to see him again without it being incredibly weird, but you had a plan. In your eyes, it was pretty foolproof. Your mom’s chicken parmesan could never go wrong, and everyone liked to eat. You went to the grocery store without even having to roll the Decision Dice and got started on it the second you got home.

***

When it was done, there was a thin line of sweat on your forehead. You put a note to yourself in your head that the kitchen got insanely hot when you cooked, and you vowed to remember it next time. You took off your fancy apron and the chef’s hat that you wore for fun when you cooked and set it on the countertop. Now, the hard part came.

How were you supposed to get brave enough to bring a plate over to his place? Were you supposed to hope that he hadn’t eaten yet? Or, were you supposed to let him in to eat? Shit, that sounded too much like a date.

With all those thoughts in mind, you walked up to his door, C6, and knocked on it. You realized last minute that you forgot the plate on the table, so dinner was over at your apartment by default unless you did an awkward dash across the hall. The sound of boots coming towards the door were loud and clear, and then the door opened, barely giving you enough time to swallow your anxieties. You got a panging irrational fear that he wouldn’t remember you, but were relieved when he smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you said, sounding more like a telemarketer than a neighbor. “I made chicken parmesan.” It was silent for a few seconds as you both tried to make sense of what was happening, and you kicked yourself on the inside. “I made a plate for you because um, I wanted to thank you for the pie. It was really good.”

His face lit up, and it was like you were given a new burst of life and hope simultaneously. “Oh, thank you! That’s really sweet, thank you,” he repeated, his words getting slightly jumbled up the more and more he spoke. He was so cute. 

You realized that the both of you were just staring at each other, standing with smiles that were increasingly leaning towards more than polite by the second. “I can, uh, bring it to your door if you want.”

“I can come over, if that makes it easier.” Both sentences were spoken at the same time, and it caused you both to apologize once again at the same time. “No, no, I’ll come back with you,” he said when you two finally spoke your own sentences. 

You tilted your head. You were sure that he was shy, you could have bet money on him wanting to eat alone. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he gave you a small smile and stepped out of his apartment, and suddenly, you were aware of how he smelled like a bakery. Flower, sugar, apples, cinnamon, the whole nine. Your eyes widened when you smelled more of it when he shut his door. It smelled amazing. You didn’t want to be greedy, but whatever he had in there, you wanted a slice. 

   Your apartment smelled good, but in the opposite way. It smelled like sauce and spices and chicken, like a good kitchen. You almost laughed when you saw his eyes widen after he caught a whiff. His eyes scanned the table that was already set up for one, and he saw all the food in the middle and only grew more surprised. 

 “You did all of this yourself?” 

You didn’t think it was a big deal. You knew how to plate food and you knew how to cook it fine, but it wasn’t too special, in your opinion. It was second nature because of your mother, but you could always go for a nice compliment. “Yeah, I have fun cooking.”

  “It looks amazing,” he said softly, and you smiled at him. 

“Let’s hope it tastes as good.” 

It felt oddly domestic. You got his plate for him and watched him make his first because he was the guest, and you warned him about touching the hot pan, even though he didn’t seem worried about it with his gloves on. You asked him if he wanted wine, water, or soda, and he got his own glass of water after saying that he felt bad making you do it. By the time you sat down and started twirling your fork in your spaghetti, you were starving. 

 You heard him take his first bite more than you saw him do it. “Holy-” he put his hand in front of his mouth. “You made this here?” 

You laughed. “Mhm.” 

“Are you a chef, or something?”

You were flattered. “No, but my mother is,” and man, was she a cook. She could cook anything and make it taste good if you gave her a flame. Always, she had pressured you into knowing how to make a meal, because making a meal meant providing for yourself and everyone else in your family. You watched him cut into a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, smiling when he gave you the “food look”. “She taught me everything I know.” 

“Well, I’m about to call her and thank her,” he joked, and you giggled, twirling your own fork and getting some spaghetti in your mouth. You tilted your head. It was pretty good. 

  “And what about you? You can bake,” and there he was, all shy again, and you loved it. “Where did you learn?” 

“My father’s a baker,” he said, and a slow smile spread across your face. 

“Well, would you look at that,” you said, nodding your head in thought. He smiled back. 

 “Would you look at that.” 

For a second, just like the two of you had done many times before, you were stuck in a world where there wasn’t anything else, not even the food. It was just his smile and yours, and the fact that somehow both of you knew that the moment was genuine. 

  “I’m so sorry, what’s your name?” He blurted, and you frowned. 

“My name?” A flame of embarrassment and shame shot through you. You were fawning over a man that you didn’t even know the name of yet. You sister would be disgusted with you. “Oh, have we really not said our names yet?” 

 “I guess not...” he said, voice trailing off at the end. 

“Well, good thing names aren’t that important.” 

He gave you an intrigued look. “Names aren’t important?”

“They can be, but sometimes they don’t mean a thing. You can learn so much about someone before learning their name, and when you do, nothing changes what you already know. I cook and I like spending money in book stores, and you bake and stay inside. That doesn’t change after we learn names.” 

 He looked like he had just reached cloud nine. “You like books?”

“Of course I do,” you said, and your eyes trailed over to the book that was sitting on your couch. “I actually took that little name bit from what I learned from a book, so I won’t take credit for that.” 

  “What book was so in depth and interested with names?”

“I don’t even think that the main focus was the name, I think it was the opposite. His name didn’t matter because all that mattered were the emotions that came with him.” You took a second to think. “And I also think that saying his name made it real for the main character, so the dude’s name didn’t come up until he was in mid conversation.” 

  At first, you were worried that you lost him. But you hadn’t. “He was in love with this person?” 

“Madly. But he was his best friend.” You were so excited. You were really talking to a man who liked to read? And one who liked to analyze what he read? This must have been heaven. “For a while, all we hear about is how amazing the person is that he fell in love with and about how he struggled with loving him because he was a man. We knew everything about him before his name was even said and before he was even present, and that’s probably what I like most so far about the book.” 

   Through your rambling, you failed to notice that he was looking more and more panicked. “Um, what’s the book called?” 

   “Here, I’ll just go get it,” you said, standing up and walking over to your couch, pulling it off and walking over to him. You set the book down, and watched his eyes grow so wide that he looked cartoonish. “Have you read it?” 

  He blinked at the cover. “Y-yeah, I’ve read it.” He looked at his watch, swore so emptily that you swore it was acting, and then gave you an apologetic look. “Um, I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  So, you did scare him off. You hid your frown with a polite smile, and tried to remind yourself that even though it felt like one, it wasn’t a date. It was you paying him back for making you something in his own kitchen. “Oh, alright. I hope you liked it.” 

 Maybe he heard something in your voice that you didn’t, because he stopped frantically putting his jacket on to look you in the eyes. “It was amazing, I mean that. And it was very sweet, thank you.”

  This is crashing and burning. What the hell happened? It was going so well! “Well, I’ll see you later,” you called out, and you watched him wash his own plate with a shocked look on your face. “Thanks,” you whispered, and he nodded at you, a tight smile on his face as he wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and left. 

***

Maybe you hadn’t scared him away, after all. 

You had full intentions of leaving him alone until he came to you, if it was ever even going to happen. You only left for work and debated on finding something simple to bake for him to extend another olive branch, but then you decided that you would let the universe control what happened, if anything was even meant to happen in the first place. There was a knock on your door, and there he was, with a pan of cupcakes that had blue icing perfectly swirled on top. 

  Alright, so you hadn’t. 

He gave you the cutest smile, and you couldn’t help but to give one back. “Hi, I’m Bucky.” You gave him your name, too. 

From then on, you two were practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t at work, he was over with you, watching a movie and talking about foreshadowing or how good the book version would have been if it came first. He was also one of the only people you knew who had actually read Tarzan, and you got a kick out of it. You got so close that you even met his little quartet of friends, Steve, Natasha, and Sam, who all liked you after the first meeting. You fit in with them like a glove. 

 Speaking of... “Why do you wear gloves?” You had asked him one day, and he stiffened up like a board. 

“I get cold easily on my hands,” he explained coolly, and you let it go. 

There were little things about him that you questioned every time after he went back home. You questioned how he never left his apartment but made enough money to keep it. You asked yourself how he was so busy in there, and what exactly he did. You wondered why he got so funny when you mentioned the book, and how nervous he was to talk about it when you finally finished it. All of those things slightly worried you, but they had nothing on the one, huge thought that loomed over all the others. 

 You were falling hard and fast for Bucky Barnes. A part of you could admit that you were already on the ground. 

  If started off slowly. You admired his mind and his smile and the way that his eyes shined when he taught you how to bake a perfect cake without all the fancy, expensive supplies. You loved the way that his cheeks glowed when you complimented him or touched his hair or his nose. You loved that he started calling you “darling” and the way that his Brooklyn accent left out the last letter. You loved the way that things with him already felt so natural, like you cooking dinner and him helping you wash and dry dishes after. You were in for the long haul before you could even reach for the door handle of the speeding car, and you didn’t really want to. 

   There was a knock on your door out of courtesy, and you called out for him to let himself in. You were way past knocking, but he was polite. You were tapping away at the keys on your laptop, humming to yourself as you looked into Jack Pendleton. 

  “Watcha doin’, darlin’?” He set down the items you two needed for homemade lasagna and his father’s recipe for some simple pumpkin bread on the counter. 

“I’m trying to find more books by Jack Pendleton,” you muttered, sighing when nothing else came up. “I can’t find anything.”

 “Why do you like that book so much, anyway?” You were far too into your laptop to hear the tremor in his voice. 

 “Because it was raw, and real, and it hurt my feelings.” 

Oh, and it had. Bucky witnessed the result of you finishing the book first hand. He walked in right as you got the first sob out and looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, but he came to you anyway. How were you supposed to know that the therapist, an equally important person in the main character’s life, was going to pass away not even days after he and Will got their happiness? 

  You remembered how he held you the whole time, and that for some reason, he whispered a very heartfelt, “I’m sorry.” 

  “If it hurt you so much, why would you want to read something by him again?” 

“It was brilliant, that’s why, cowboy.” You said, looking up and pointing at him with your fancy little stylus. He broke out into a smile at the name, like he always did. You called him that one time because you caught him watching The Longest Ride, and it stuck. 

  There was a stretched, tense moment as the sound of your typing filled the room. “I don’t think he has anything else out right now, darlin’.” 

“And how would you know, rancher?” 

He gave you that same deer in headlights stare that he gave you when he first saw you in the hall, only less confused. Then he sighed. “What’s in a name, anyway?” 

 You rolled your eyes, but you both knew that you were on the edge of laughing. You could never be serious with him. He was just so full of light. “You’re not going to get me quoting Shakespeare right now, I just asked you a dire question.” 

 He inhaled deeply, his face already boasting a rich scarlet. “How would you feel if I told you that I wrote that book?”

  Your world crumbled beneath your feet. You knew he wasn’t lying, because you knew that he had no reason to lie. His aversion to talking about Jack Pendleton and everything surrounding it made you believe what he told you right as you heard it. You gasped, and then saw him grimace. “Bucky, Jack stole your work?” 

  His face fell. “What?”

“Have you taken legal action yet?” 

  “No,” he said slowly, and then he took in another deep breath, preparing from something. “I don’t need to, because I am Jack.” He said slowly, a small and guarded smile resting on his face. You noticed that he looked the least comfortable you had ever seen him. “It’s a pen name.” 

  Different kinds of humiliation were coming in large, mean waves, and you bit your lip to prevent from talking. You had really gushed over a book right in front of the author the whole time? It was so horrible and embarrassing that you couldn’t even stop thinking about it. You felt like an idiot. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop talking?” 

There was a quick, hesitant intake of breath between the both of you. “Because I don’t want anyone that I know in real life to know about that.” 

You froze. There was no way that he was implying that what was in the book actually happened, right? 

 He took off both of his gloves, and beneath one of them was a silver appendage, very clearly a prosthetic. He was breathing heavily, like he had just lifted a weight off of his chest that was double his own size. You looked at it with a wild expression of your own, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

 “Almost everything in that book really happened.” You closed your mouth. “Some things are exaggerated, but nearly everything happened. Elijah is based off of me.” 

  Oh, fuck. That meant that he was actually bisexual, that he actually fell in love with his best friend, that he actually got his arm amputated after getting a grenade launched at him. His therapist actually died. You had no idea what to say. “I’m so sorry.” 

 “The main thing that didn’t really happen was the semi-happy ending for Elijah and Will. He and I broke up years ago. This all happened years ago.” Your heart broke again for him. “I put it under a fake name because it’s something very personal to me, but I felt like it should have been shared. Thought that it would maybe help some other kid who was going through it.” 

You knew exactly what it was. You had gone through it yourself. If you had read the book when you were much younger, you were sure that you would have been able to find some sort of peace in the turmoil that you caused yourself. Now, you were much better, and you loved the fact that you were part of the LGBT community, but that didn’t mean that the book didn’t mean something to you. 

The book was so raw that you should have known that it was real. There wasn’t a word that didn’t mean something, not a sentence that wasn’t thought out. It was such heavy material with realistic ups and down that you caught yourself relating with Elijah, not knowing that the real “Elijah” was right in front of you the whole time.

“But, um, I write science fiction under my real name, though.” You were too busy thinking about how you gushed about someone’s actual life story, and how that someone just so happened to be your super cute neighbor that you fell in love with. You gushed about his terribly sad life story right in front of him. “That’s why I’m always inside. I’m a hermit writer.” 

You didn’t even get into the science fiction aspect of the conversation. “I would have never read it in front of you or talked about it in front of you if I knew that, I swear.” 

“I know.” He slowly took his jacket off, and then you were seeing his arms in all their glory. It truly was a beautiful prosthetic, and from how much he used his hands, you knew that it was reliable and practical. “I just needed to tell you that.” 

You could sense his unease, and it made you feel wrong. It felt like you were taking steps back. “If this is about you being bisexual, I don’t care about that. That would never bother me.” 

 For the first time since his confession, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I know. And I know you are, too.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen the bookshelf in your room. No straight person reads that many books written by and for the community. And you cuff some of your jeans.” You shrugged, a small smirk on your face. He got you there. “I need to tell you something else.” 

You didn’t know if you were ready for it, but if he was, then there was no way that you were going to stop him. “Of course, go ahead.” 

“First, I should start off with telling you again that all of that,” he pointed towards her computer, “was about eleven years ago. I’m not healing, not recovering, none of that. Yeah, I’m sad about my therapist every once in a while, but I don’t feel anything for the man that Will is based off of anymore. That’s all gone.”

You swore at yourself for feeling butterflies of hope. You squashed them all down and made yourself pay full attention to Bucky, even though your mind was starting to have stupid little fantasies about picnic and stargazing with him. This is what you got for reading romance novels. “Okay, Buck.”

“I’m telling you all of this because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you.” Your mouth hung open, and before you could even get a word out, he was all over it again. “I have been for a while now, and I think now is the best time to tell you.” There was a pause for you to cut in, but you couldn’t form a word. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way or if you’re weirded out by my story-” 

“I love you too.” You blurted, watching his face become shocked. “I’ve been dying to tell you that, you know?” 

He sputtered, trying his hardest to form a coherent sentence. “Now I know.” 

You felt a smile slide onto your face as both of your racing hearts stilled to a normal, content rate. In that moment, you swore that if someone came and checked, that your heartbeats were alternating, taking energy from each other to make one long beat. You just, clicked.

“It- none of that bothers you at all?”

“If anything, I feel bad. I feel like I intruded.”

He scoffed. “You didn’t intrude, Y/N, I’m the one who published it.”

“I’m going to hug you now,” you warned, and then you two met each other half way. Your face was in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. You smiled when you felt him gently brush your forehead with his lips, and all felt right.

You stood there together for what felt like forever but two seconds all the same, swaying a bit subconsciously. “Are you- are you sure about being okay with all of this? I know it’s a lot. And I just kind of sprung it on you.”

There he was. The shy Bucky. You knew that he could be insecure, and you knew that he was insecure about being that way. But luckily, you felt for him so much that you could assure him for the rest of both of your days with no complaints. If it took a thousand times a day for Bucky Barnes to know that you loved him and Jack Pendleton and Elijah Harris, you would do it two thousand times.

 “Out of all the books in the store, I unknowingly chose yours.” Your voice was shaky, but you meant every word you said and were about to say. “And out of all the people in the world, I intentionally, without doubt choose you.” 

***

If someone had asked you three years ago where you thought you were going to be in life in the same amount of time, you would have told them that you were probably still going to be working in retail. That wasn’t the case at all.

  Your mother gave you a loan when Bucky persuaded you to take your talent and passion for cooking and turn it into a business. You had a medium sized restaurant that you let your mother in on, and you cooked side by side often times. It felt just like it did when you were back in the kitchen of your childhood home, but now you were getting paid for it, quite a bit. 

  Across the street from your restaurant was a bookstore that held a number of books that were written by Bucky yourself, but your favorite by far was the cook book that was technically a baking book, full of all of the recipes that he felt like giving away. 

  You didn’t expect any of that to happen within three years, at all. But what you hoped to happen most of all did, and it was proven by the simple diamond on your finger that Bucky had given you. You wanted him to think that you were surprised when he popped the question, but you weren’t. 

  After all, you could see the outline of the box that he carried for three weeks straight. 

#bucky barnes #bucky fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #my fics #bucky one shot

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. V

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: one/two swear words

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 1500

links: prev. | next

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: a muffin never tasted so bittersweet

can you believe it’s been three years? i miss you army

you can’t help the bittersweet memories flooding your mind at jungkook’s tweet. it’s been such a long time since bangtan stood in front of their fans – performing their music to the people who adored them with all their hearts.

you, yourself, were part of this crowd, more times than your bank account wishes to remember. their stage presence was so enticing, so alluring, you could not not fall in love with them.

jungkook shared some pictures in his tweet, old photos of jin and him demolishing a plate of deep-dish pizza in chicago, of jimin and taehyung posing in front of their pop up store in seoul, and one with all four of them bowing to the crowd in tokyo dome.

there is a smile on your face – not because you think about their shared journey, but because your best friend chose photos of events that you attended. sure, you hadn’t known them back then. but it can’t be a coincident that you have similar pictures – granted from another perspective – on your own camera roll. it makes you miss him.

“what’s going on?”, yoongi asks as he slides your coffee across the table. your starbucks is full of people, but namjoon, yoongi’s dear friend, works here. so, there is always a spot cleared for you. you don’t mind the special treatment as you sip your white mocca.

“just thinking”, you mumble, warmed by the caffeine.

“that can’t be good”, he says and sips his iced americano. he looks as tired as you feel. yoongi is recording his second mixtape right now. so, after he finishes his work talking to people about their problems, he starts rewriting, taping, recording, mixing and editing. no wonder he looks like death.

“i have you know that i’m actually thinking 67 percent of the day.”

“that can’t be good as well, ______. please use your brain more often – it might evolve with training.”

you gap at his audacity. “you do know i’m not paying you to talk me down, right?”

yoongi’s eyes smile while his lips are still half asleep. “you’re not paying me right now, _____. we are just friends meeting up for coffee before we have to… be a part of the working class.”

“i still can’t believe i get to see beautiful, brilliant, boisterous butterflies”, you say. your friend answers with an unattractive snort as his hands move into his thick, bleached hair.

“and i can’t believe you’re getting paid to watch bonkers, brackish, boring butterflies.”

you look away as you see his biceps flex. when did get this muscular? it takes a second for you to register his insult. maybe you need another coffee before leaving.

“i do have to care about my class as well, yoongi. it’s not all sunshine and butterflies. it’s also children’s snot and education.” still, you’re not making eye contact. if this was a therapy session, he’d ask for you to look at him, to ask why you’re feeling uncomfortable. but here, you are… just his friend.

“your work is important, _____, i know”, yoongi answers honestly. he knows how much you love these animals and children. and it is a big deal that seoul’s butterfly exhibition opens up just for your excursion. it makes him happy to see you this excited.

“and because i know that, i’ll remind you that you had to leave three minutes ago.” what? your eyes rush to your watch, only to widen in surprise.

“damn it, namjoon”, you mutter. your barista friend did take a long time with your order.

“don’t blame joon, _____. we were the ones who missed the train”, your friend reminds you as you put on your jacket in a rush.

“less correcting me, more helping me, yoongi”, you shush at him and make a motion to your heavy bag right next to his chair. “come on.”

yoongi doesn’t know why he agreed to help you carry all the lunch packs to school, he really doesn’t. nevertheless, he gets up and slings the heavy bag onto his shoulder and grabs his half-finished drink.

“let’s go – teacher of the year.”

**

the exhibition is amazing. you feel true bliss walking around the nature themed rooms, all home to one of the most rare, beautiful creatures. the kids hang on their tour guide’s lips as she tells them interesting facts about butterflies.

your phone is a constant companion – the camera roll now filled with funny pictures for the moms and dads to enjoy at the next parent-teacher conference. there are even a few photos of just you with a pink butterfly resting on your shoulder. jisoo, your coworker, is an amateur instagrammer, so the results of her taking your pictures are… really flattering.

now, the kids enjoy their break before you guys leave to drive back to school.

“really, you amaze me, ___”, your coworker says as she sits next to you on the bench – eyes trained on your students chasing around the butterflies.

“why?”, you ask, your attention monopolized by the two boys in a heated exchange over their shared butterfly net.

“getting the exhibition to open up just for our class? after hours? without additional fees?”

you flinch at her words as your heartbeat quickens. “wha- what? jisoo? i-“, you start to stutter, “i thought… you organized that.”

there is a fruit basket waiting on her desk with a thank you note for all her planning. now jisoo, too, looks uncomfortable.

“i didn’t”, she says.

**

it takes you a long time before you reach out. the whole train ride was spent with a pro and contra list on your ipad. then, while you were making yourself a two-person bowl of ramen, you crafted more than one email, only to delete every attempt. you haven’t talked to jungkook for more than five days. that’s the longest period the two of you ever went without seeing each other.

there is still a tightness in your chest when you think about his insult that night on the terrace. at first, you weren’t sure if jungkook realized that he hurt you – admittedly you aren’t the best with communicating your feelings. but your cold responses to his texts the next day must have been enough of a red flag for him to act.

then came the gifts: a triple chocolate muffin, still warm, delivered to your home before you had to leave on monday.

on tuesday, there was a singed copy of the unreleased album from one of your favorite kpop groups.

the next day, there was a poem collection where he scribbled in some commentary. you nearly teared up at that because this used to be your ritual when you first got to know each other: lending books with marked and commented pages for the other to enjoy.

on thursday he was strangely silent – only a single daisy decorated your briefcase.

but now, on friday, he went out of his way to get your class into this exhibition. you don’t even want to think about what that must have cost him.

there is an uneasiness in your fingertips as you dial his number. for one fleeting moment you want to call your therapist instead. but you can’t… because you may have left your whole “cold-shoulder-to-jungkook”-move out of the last session. and you really can’t take yoongi’s probing right now.

he answers after seven rings, breathlessly happy.

“______”

you smile and it’s not uncomfortable.

“jungkook… you didn’t have to”, you greet him and can’t help the endearment in your voice. he picks up on that and chuckles.

“of course, i didn’t… i wanted to.”

“thank you”, you answer, “it was really the highlight of my week.”

you can hear his cockiness at your words. “better than stray kids’ new album?”

“better than your thoughts on contemporary poems”, you counter teasingly. then, there is a beat of silence.

“______”, jungkook begins, “i… i really didn’t want you to think i’m not … or that i wouldn’t… do anything for you. you mean so much to me… it’s a shame i have to prove it to you… it should be… obvious.”

you suck in air as if your life depends on it. his words warm your heart and his awkwardness makes you smile.

“i get that i wasn’t the best of friends… but i’ll improve – trust me!”, jungkook vows with fire in his voice. “the winter collection has been kicking my ass… my family has been nagging about christmas… and the wedding…”

there is a beat of silence you do not dare to interrupt. this is his moment, not your responsibility.

jungkook collects himself fast and continues. “i know how much you’ve done for this wedding, for me… for us… and i want to be more involved… i’ll be by your side for all of next week’s appointments. ms yang already cleared my schedule.”

jungkook wants… to be by your side when you talk to the dj? the cake decorator? when you finalize the seating chart? dear lord.

“let’s spend some quality time together, ____. just you and me… and the wedding.”

you cannot find the right responds as you gap silently into your phone. after a moment, another voice is heard through the speaker.

“ask her if she liked the muffin i baked her.” his fiancée’s words punch you in the gut without ill-intent.

___

hi guys! I hope you are doing well! i had to take my first covid test this week – it was negative but that’s an experience for itself, right? i hope you are healthy and you enjoyed this chapter. i’d really love to hear your thoughts! next up: junkook and the reader tackling some of the wedding preparation… love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid​  @thequeen-kat​ @kagami-s-void​ @goldenclosethobi​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @jinsalpaca​ @bishuthot​ @laabellaavitaa21​ @baekstans​  @jalexad​

#btswriterscollective #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook angst #ceo!jungkook #idol!jungkook #rich!jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts angst