#really wish i could’ve gotten a therapist this past fall like i wanted to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

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nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough.

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him.

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says.

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above.

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt.

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong.

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much.

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start.

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt.

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his.

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow.

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #tim i know you read fanfic you can HAVE this one so we can get a recovery arc #i don't even need credit just DO IT #ficcery

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serenasoutherlyns · 3 years

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Not a Summer Crush Part Three

a/n: this one has some very fun special guests. bonus points for past calvak (s/o @storiesofsvu) in this one, and generally very fun cute pining. any feedback is forever appreciated!!!!!

Part Three

A week after you all had drinks, Rita Calhoun flew into Casey's office with a truly impressive amount of speed, banging the door against the wall, causing Casey to jump in her seat.

"Christ, Rita!" she said, catching her breath. Rita stared at Casey, like she was waiting for her to admit something. Casey had no clue what. "Can I help you with something?"

"Casey Marie Cabot Novak," Rita began. Oh God, not the whole full name, she thought.

"What did I do?" Casey asked, running her current cases over in her head, trying to come up with a place where she could've messed up. It was after the last jury of the day, and she was going over her usual end-of-the-day routine.

Rita closed her eyes and breathed. "Casey. Please tell me that you aren't having an affair with Caroline Haley."

That was not what Casey was expecting.

"What!?" Casey tried to say more things, but her brain was buzzing far too loudly. Where on earth had Rita gotten that idea?

"Don't play dumb with me Casey, just tell me, yes or no, are you sleeping with her."

"Literally, no? Absolutely not, obviously no, in no way am I having an affair with my junior colleague; and I resent your implication that I would, and I resent how you just barged in here and yelled at me."

Rita looked satisfied. Either she'd convinced her that she was telling the truth, or whatever authority she'd received this intel from was unreliable.

Casey continued in a more subdued tone of voice. "Who said I was sleeping with Caroline."

Rita took a deep breath. "Nobody did. I just guessed, and when all the pieces fell into place, I freaked out a bit." Casey looked at her. "I think the lady protests too much, though."

Usually, Casey would come back at her with an equally witty comment, correct Rita’s misquote, or, if she was feeling particularly flustered or tired, throw something. Instead, she sunk into her chair and hid her face in her hands, clearly distraught.

"Casey? What's wrong?" Rita asked, trying to pull her best approximation of sweetness out for her friend.

"You're right."

"I'm right you two are..."

"NO!" Casey almost yelled. "No," she reiterated quietly.

"What am I right about then?" Rita asked, somehow more confused than she was when she thought there was something illicit going on.

"I have feelings for her? I guess?"

"Oh, Casey. Did you tell Alex? I mean, it's pretty normal to be attracted to people other than your spouse..." Rita had taken a seat on her couch, obviously a bit uncomfortable with all this sharing of emotions.

Casey had progressed from the startled rage to a quiet sniffle, the kind one gets when they try to keep themself from crying.

"No," a sniff, "she told me."

"Alex noticed?"

"Alex brought it up. About a month ago."

"So, Alex is the one having an affair?" Casey dotted at her face with a tissue, collecting her composure.

"No, she isn't. Um, there's no good way to say it, but... We both wish we were, all having an affair, I guess? but we aren't?"

Rita whistled, a low bell noise. "That's... a situation for sure."

"It is."

"How did that conversation go? 'Hey babe, I like that new junior ADA, we should try to get her to be our third?'"

Casey scoffed. "No? We're not going to ask her out."

"Why not?" Casey just gave her a look, between incredulity and intrigue."I mean, you two are hot, she's gay, and literally nobody could turn you down."

"That's it though, isn't it? She's ten years younger than me, and we're kind of in charge of her at work. The power imbalance is less than ideal." Casey said, wistfully.

"You were sleeping with Mary Clark when you were 27," Rita said with a shrug.

Casey looked her in the eye. "How did you know that?"

---

Alex knocked very gently on Serena's office door. It was the end of the workday and Serena would be nearly done for the evening. A quiet "come in" came from inside, and Alex did.

Serena noticed something was wrong immediately. Alex always wondered how her friend was so perceptive.

"What's going on, Alex?" Serena asked, knowing that Alex didn't show up without texting unless something happened, in fact, she hardly ever made the trek uptown to her office space unannounced. She noticed a faraway look in Alex's eyes, saw her bite her lip, telltale signs that something was bothering her.

Alex closed the door behind her, leant against one of the comfy chairs in Serena's office. Alex always thought that if Serena wasn't such a good lawyer and passionate advocate, she should've been a therapist. Any space she was in was calm (really, she fit her name).

“Casey and I are, having a problem, I guess.”

Serena rose from behind her desk and met Alex, hugging her tightly. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She let go, sat down, and motioned for Alex to do the same. “What kind of problem, Lex?”

Alex laced her fingers together and then tugged them apart. “It’s Caroline,” she began. “Haley,” she added, like Serena wouldn’t know who she was talking about.

Serena looked at her expecting her to go on. When she didn’t, she asked, “Is she ok?” Alex nodded. “What happened?” Alex’s expression turned more worried, she looked away from Serena. Not a good sign. Serena ventured a guess, hoping she wasn’t right. “Casey isn’t…” Alex shook her head. “Good.”

Serena paused, even more unwilling to imply what she was about to, “Are you?”

“God no,” Alex said, whispering. Serena wondered why Alex even came to her, knowing how self-reliant she was. So... If nobody is having an affair? Serena gave Alex one of her classic looks, that always made Alex feel like her mind was being read. Serena knows that it isn’t that, but it never fails to get her to talk. If nothing else, Alex hates silence.

Alex breathed deeply and tried to calm her hands. She flips the conversation over. “What do you think of her, Ser?” Serena waited a moment to answer, hoping that Alex would open up before she said anything, but seeing that would not be happening, Serena thought about her question.

“I think she’s a wonderful attorney,” she began, knowing full well that your legal prowess was not what was stressing Alex out. “She’s obviously really smart, um, she seems to care a lot about her friends... she’s really pretty, um, I like her, I guess? I don’t know her that well, Lex.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Serena looked at Alex again, as if to tell her that she was done talking for now. “Um, she’s,” Alex swallowed, took a sip from the travel mug she always carried, “unreasonably beautiful.”

Serena was taken aback at her friend’s choice of words, how she felt about the young attorney, yet, there was no affair happening, apparently. “Strong words. But, if neither of you are sleeping with her, what’s bothering you so much?”

Alex turned her gaze up towards the ceiling. “That neither of us is sleeping with her?”

Serena turned her eyebrows up, then narrowed her eyes, pushed her lips out, considering all the things that Alex could be implying as well as all the ways she could react. She opted for some humor, hoping to shock her friend out of her state. “All this over a threesome you haven’t had?”

It worked, and Alex gave her a thin laugh. “I guess so, yeah. Um, I don’t think either of us just want to have sex, though. I think it’s gone a little beyond that.”

Seeing Alex cheer up, Serena allowed herself to react more spontaneously. “Oh my god. You have a crush, and Casey has a crush.” Serena had an open mouthed expression on her face, the kind that would usually bother Alex when it’s at her expense.

Alex bit her lip into a sweet smile. “Casey’s pretty cute about it, too.”

“You should talk to her, Lex.” Serena said.

---

Ramin was sitting at the counter reading texts while you washed that night’s dinner dishes, drinking a glass of the basil lemonade you’d made (mixed with gin for the adults). Ramin could tell something had been bothering you all week, so he’d made your favorite for dinner, khoresh bademjan and rice (every time Ramin cooked, you thanked Ashley for having the sense to marry an Iranian man instead of the string of other French people he’d dated before him). You two had let Ashley go to bed early-- his company had a big premiere in a week that he was consumed by. The girls were long asleep. You danced around to the Googoosh album that Ramin had over the stereo, making him laugh with your dramatic interpretations of the violin lines. You got contemplative as you scrubbed a plate.

“Hey, Ram?” You asked as you stilled your feet and hands.

“Yeah, babes?” He replied, still looking at his phone.

“When you met Ashley, how did you know what you wanted, or that you wanted something with him?” You put the plate down, played with the sponge, turned around. Ramin bit his lip and looked at you. He turned down the music.

“I never like, made a conscious effort to decipher any of that. It was always very natural with him.”

“You never felt like, I don’t know, like, confused?”

Ramin shook his head. “No, no I didn’t. But Ash is so, uh, forthcoming,”

“Demanding,” you interrupted,

“I never had to guess with him,” he finished.

You nodded, picked up a pot to wash.

"Like, we were both single dads, so Léa wasn't an issue. And he never resented Lowell."

"People really did that?"

"You'd be surprised at how many people are jealous of a dead man," Ramin said, looking at the photo on the wall of his late husband with a newborn Léa. "Ash never was. And I just kinda, knew, you know?"

"I don’t, actually," you replied quietly. Ramin hummed.

"Why do you ask? You got a crush?"

You thought about outright denying it, going forward with your old strategy: deny your feelings until they disappear. But Ramin would know you were lying; and you were growing tired of pretending. Every wall that you'd built over the past few months knowing Casey and Alex started to crack. They wouldn't fall just yet. You shrugged noncommittally.

“Have you ever thought about what would happen if you met someone else?”

“God, I try not to.”

“No, like, someone you both want to, I don’t know, pursue.”

Ramin raised his eyebrows, took a sip of his drink. Smiled at you.

“Did someone ask you to have a threesome?”

Your cheeks burned and you held the pan up above your face. “No, but, ah, I think I want them to?”

Ramin’s jaw dropped, half natural reaction half exaggerated fascination. “Juicy,” he said.

“Pfft,” you replied to his teasing.

“Anyways, no I haven’t thought about that. I imagine it would be a lot of conversations and figuring out what everyone wanted. But also, like, I’m too old for that. And we have the girls and very busy jobs, I don’t think either of us has the mental or physical energy for that kind of thing,” said Ramin.

“You’re not that old.”

“I’m 35,” he said, lifting his shoulders and finishing his lemonade, motioning for you to get the pitcher back out of the fridge. He filled his glass again.

“You’re going to finish that before any of us get a second glass.” Ramin did not acknowledge your admonishment.

“I’m 35 and a widower with three kids. I think I get to call myself old.”

“Only because Ashley’s younger than you.”

“And you are a veritable infant.” Ramin retorted, eliciting a wounded look from you, then resolved to return to you. “So, who’re the lucky ladies?”

You groaned as you put away the sponge, the brush, the soap, and the dish towels. The kettle you had put on whistled. “Casey and Alex,” you replied with some effort not to explode at being genuine and sharing your feelings with a friend.

Ramin gave you a repeat of his earlier performance, except this time his jaw dropped in actual shock. “Lina!” He whisper-shouted, in the way one does when they’re trying not to wake up their daughters and grumpy husband. He whistled. “Did they ask you out?”

You bit your lip. “No. But, I wish they would?”

“You won’t get very far with wishing,” Ramin said, already having moved on to strategy, ever the analytical presence. “Also, you have to introduce me first.”

“I don’t have to do anything for you,” you said, teasingly, pouring the now-slightly cooled water from the kettle over a bag of mint tea and moving to the couch, Ramin following your lead.

“How hasn’t Ashley already told me all of this?” Ramin asked, citing Ashley’s famous inability to keep a secret.

“He doesn’t know,” you said.

Ramin nodded as he sipped his drink, then placed it on a coaster. “Probably smart.” He paused, got a mischievous look in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t do pining?”

You muffled a frustrated yell with a throw pillow.

---

"Mary told me," Rita said, "when you and I were involved," Casey gave a pained smile, remembering her first few years as an ADA in white collar, "she congratulated me, actually." Casey's eyes went blank. "I could've sworn I told you that then. What, Case, people talk about people. And she was right."

Casey let it be silent in her office for a moment. "OK, you knowing the details of my sexual past aside," she said, "what made you think I was having an affair?" She didn't want there to be any gossip around the office that could hurt you.

Rita took a second, looking very much the same as she did when she was preparing an argument in court. "Three things. You've been all jumpy and nervous, Alex has been spacey, and I mentioned you to Caroline and she got this enamored grin," Rita noticed Casey seemed surprised by her last point. "I realized as I was walking over to give you this, actually," she said, reaching into her messenger bag and producing a folded blue paper. "Sorry."

Casey sighed, reading the motion. Back to earth. "OK, Calhoun. See you later," she said, as good as shooing the lawyer from her office. They shared a quick hug before Rita left.

"Hey, Casey, if it matters, I think you should talk to her," Rita said as she left.

"I'll keep that in mind."

---

" I will," Alex said, "I have, kind of. Mostly to point out all the reasons it wouldn't work."

Serena considered. "What about all the reasons it would? I mean, you all get along well, your friends like her, it seems like it could be perfect, if you and Casey are on the same page?"

"The stakes are too high," said Alex, "what if she's not into us? What if it gets us in trouble at work, what would happen if we broke up with her? Or what if it breaks me and Casey up?" The last question she raised genuinely shook her up, Serena could tell.

"Those things are all bad, for sure," Serena replied. "I guess the question would be, is it scarier to find out or to never know?"

"I'm not sure. Hell, she probably wouldn't be into either of us, I mean, I'm 15 years older than her and we both have all kinds of baggage, it's kind of part of why we work; and she certainly must get lots of attention, I mean, she's beautiful," Alex stopped talking abruptly as she saw Serena's laughter. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," said Serena, "it's just that I haven't seen you this nervous about anybody besides Casey.

---

"What are you going to do about it?" Ramin asked you once the dramatics had passed.

"I mean," you said, "nothing? What is there to do about it? I can't pursue them, not without losing my job, so I'm going to have to just get over it."

"Or you could seduce them. Make use of your feminine wiles."

You rolled your eyes.

"Flirt," Ramin said, clarifying.

"Can one use their feminine wiles if all parties are women? I mean, aren't they just wiles?" You asked him.

"I don't know, you should find out," he said. Before you could get angry, he continued, "seriously. You should flirt with them, so they either know you're interested and they go for it, or they get too overwhelmed by how amazing you are and go for it in spite of themselves."

You looked at him. "Damn, Ram. For a guy who's only had three partners you really have some ideas about strategy."

He shrugged. "The worst that can happen is they don't respond to you, and then you know. Obviously, keep it appropriate and flirt with them both so it doesn't seem like you're trying to be a homewrecker."

"Maybe," you said, thinking.

---

#casey novak #alex cabot #calex #calex x reader #alex cabot x reader #casey novak x reader #svu fanfiction #svu fanfic #svu #fluff!! rita calhoun!#rita calhoun #serena southerlyn

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brooklynboysficrecs · 4 years

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Ria’s Top 10 Shrinkyclinks Fics

I will admit this isn’t my preferred AU -- I won’t immediately jump on a fic just because it’s pre-serum Steve and WS Bucky. I gotta like the plot, or the premise, or be really, really intrigued by the tags, but to be fair, that’s how I am with everything that isn’t Modern Bucky and Cap Steve, so. That being said, I have read some truly fantastic shrinkyclinks stories, and I do very much love Steven “Fight Me” Rogers at his scrappiest. And these fics also tend to feature protective!Bucky which is another personal favorite of mine. Oh, but also: shrinkyclinks generally refers to pre-serum Steve with actual Winter Soldier Bucky, but a lot of people use the tag just to imply body types, and when they say WS Bucky they mean he’s all huge and muscled and sometimes has a metal arm, though that isn’t required. That’s the definition I’m going with as well, so hopefully nothing’s confusing!

1. If Wishing Made It So by leveragehunters. Before I get into anything about the actual fic, let me say this: leveragehunters is probably my favorite stucky writer. Like, hands-down, I read almost everything they write, and they’re big into fantasy stories, which is a great bonus for me personally. So, so, so many good shrinkyclinks fics by them (Even Underneath the Waves, a mermaid AU that features equal amounts of pre- and post-serum Steve, and A-mage-ing Grace with mage Steve are two of my other favorites, and they would’ve been on the list, but I try not to put more than one story per author, ya know? And IWMIS kinda wins out above the others for me, so). This story features jinn!Bucky who finds himself in the baffled hands of Steve Rogers, who is perfectly prickly and stubborn and good. Bucky’s got a terrible past with humans in general (and Hydra in particular, what a shocker) that he and Steve have to overcome as their relationship progresses, but that progression is frankly beautiful to watch unfold. I come back to this story time and time again because of how much I love these versions of Steve and Bucky getting to know one another, learning to trust each other, supporting each other through the worst the world has to throw at them. Plus, there’s a few more stories in this series if you get as hooked as I am, which is always great!!

2. Roots Have Grown by AustinB. I remember reading this and just... completely feeling what Bucky is going through. Not everything -- he’s an agoraphobic veteran, and I can’t relate to either of those, really, but he’s so... awkward about his crush on Steve. And that’s -- that’s relatable to me. But it’s precious, really, how he tries to help Steve even though he’s afraid to actually meet him initially; he becomes Steve’s sort of... anonymous benefactor? Guardian angel with money? Like, it’s definitely a sugar daddy type deal originally but I doubt Bucky would describe it like that. I don’t know, it’s cute, though, and I loved seeing Bucky opening up to Steve as they became closer.

3. Through The Woods by VenusMonstrosa, alby_mangroves. Okay, hear me out: werewolves. I fucking love werewolves in fiction; I mean, not really the romance novels you’ll see in the grocery store, but. Werewolf mythology is one of my favorite things, so seeing it in fanfiction almost always manages to lure me in. And I was so not disappointed with this story! Steve’s living alone in a cabin in the woods, which of course sounds like the opening to a horror movie, but here it leads to love. Werewolf Bucky is both charming and terrifying, to a degree, he’s a wolf, but he and Steve are fantastic together. This is another story that goes in on the trust aspect of their relationship and I for one am a big fan of that. There’s some violence, minor character death and the like, but it’s definitely not undeserved so. If you can handle that (and the sex, because there is sex in this) then I highly recommend this one!

4. The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat. And so we move from werewolves to dragons. Yup. Dragons. Another of my beloved mythical creatures that I obsessed over when I was kid. Bucky’s capable of shifting into a human in this, but primarily he’s a big ol’ dragon that surprisingly doesn’t want to eat the scrawny sacrifice from the local village. Steve ends up working for Bucky, instead, and from there hilarity ensues. Steve’s obviously wary of Bucky, but Bucky isn’t at all what he’d been expecting, and they grow closer the longer Steve’s staying in Bucky’s caves. There are a couple of stories with Dragon!Bucky, but this is my personal favorite; it’s cute and heart-warming and, well. I just really like it.

5. I Just Want to Love You in My Own Language by agetwellcard, inediblesushi. So this one has Cap!Bucky (Bucky!Cap?) but again, sometimes it’s more about how Bucky looks rather than his role as the Winter Soldier. Anyway, I remember my biggest take away from this story was how adorable Bucky was in his quest to win the affections of sassy Nurse Steve, who patches him up after missions and is probably playing hard to get. Bucky uses terrible pick-up lines, absolutely awful, and he is completely unashamed of that fact. Which is, as I said, adorable. Steve, initially, does not agree with my assessment, but he gets there eventually. After some requisite drama, of course.

6. Tint & Shade by forestofbabel. Oh, god, this one hurt me, I remember that pretty clearly. Bucky is the Winter Soldier in this, and Steve is a 21st century art therapist who just so happens to resemble his late grandfather, Captain Joseph Rogers, who fought in -- you guessed it -- WWII. Like I said in the intro, if I really like the premise of something I’ll usually read it regardless of the configuration of pre-/post-serum Steve and pre-serum/WS Bucky, and this was definitely one of the fics I got into for that reason. Having actual WS Bucky interact with a modern pre-serum Steve is always interesting, given how much they don’t have in common, generally (there isn’t even really the veteran status that modern Bucky sometimes has in fics), and it’s a journey to see how and why they connect. Having Steve resemble his WWII era grandfather caught my attention, and the fic itself made me grateful that I decided to go for it in the first place. This is another one where is trust is key to their relationship, considering the mental/emotional state Bucky is in at the beginning. Very good story overall!

7. Fourth Floor by dirtybinary, mithborien, picoalloe. So dirtybinary has written some amazing stucky fics, which is why I was so excited when I saw this being posted initially (a few years ago, but still). There’s magic! Mystery! Suspense! Some NatSharon! Looking this over, I’m wondering if I should’ve saved it for the Urban Fantasy list I wanna do (and If Wishing Made It So, if I’m being honest) but I do like it for the shrinkyclinks list. The writing is great, the characterization of Steve and Bucky is great, and like, they live in what is essentially a magical apartment complex, so what’s better than that?

8. my heart tells me you are lonely, too by FanGirling. Alright, so I read this one as it was being published, and the slow burn about killed me. You know, in a good way, though. Bucky lives in Steve and his mother’s apartment building, trying to figure out where to go with his life now that he’s broken free of Hydra and gotten his autonomy back. He’s obviously wary, skittish, but he takes a liking to Sarah Rogers when she reaches out to befriend him, surprised anyone wants to be near him let alone take the time to get to know him. Steve... is not so easily sold on Bucky. And I’m not gonna spoil anything here, but the shit these two go through is intense, and I cried a lot during this fic, sometimes out of frustration because they’re both ridiculous about their feelings (of course Bucky’s fears are valid, the man has been through literal hell, but also I was internally screaming a little as Bucky continually talked himself out of getting closer to Steve.) I wanted to wrap the both of them in about thirty blankets for pretty much the entire length of the fic. God. They’re just -- they’re so incredibly sweet in this one, once they work past their issues (Bucky and Steve are both more than a little messed up from their respective circumstances, but they make it work). Mind the tags on this one, also, especially because there is a chapter that deals with attempted sexual assault against Steve (obviously not with Bucky!), but Bucky handles the situation before anything truly nasty happens, that I can promise.

9. Local Raccoon Befriends Angry Chihuahua by charlesdk. This is yet another author I really love; they have a fantastic farmer!Steve/Modern!WS!Bucky story that I love to bits, as well as other great fics. But anyway, this one. The title sold me the second I saw it, honestly, I can’t even pretend that wasn’t the deciding factor in me reading this. I don’t think I can really do any better than the summary in explaining why I recommend it; feisty tiny Steve and lovestruck grumpy Bucky are a winning combination in my book. This one does feature the boys dealing with homophobia and ableism, though I can’t recall how severe it is. So I’d just mind the tags, and if you’re alright with them, thoroughly enjoy this story.

10. The Road to Hell is Paved with Tony’s Good Intentions by pinlilli. Bucky as a mail-order Russian bride. That’s the detail that pretty much demanded I click on this fic, and oh my god, it was even better than I ever could’ve expected. Tony, in a bid to help Steve get over his awful ex-boyfriend (fuck Brock Rumlow in every universe, honestly), literally orders him a husband -- in the form of beefy James Barnes, who is a fucking gem and I will not hear one bad word against him. He does chores, it’s lovely and adorable, and you will definitely fall just as hard as Steve does. There’s some canon-typical violence in this one that relates to James’ past, but nothing super graphic as far as I remember. Again, Rumlow is a dick and should be treated as such, but he’s hardly the most important part of this fic and I urge everyone to take a look at it if they’re as intrigued by Bucky being a mail-order husband as I was.

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier #chris evans #sebastian stan #fic rec #shrinkyclinks #top 10

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squad51goals · 3 years

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Fandom meme

@trumanjo asked:

Wkrp! For the fandom ask. :)

the character i least understand

Herb Tarlek, you need a slap upside the head, a divorce lawyer, and a therapist, in that order. (Though it makes sense that he got a lot of his mannerisms and maladaptions from his father's influence.)

interactions i enjoyed the most

A certain scruffy, dysfunctional DJ and a certain anxiety-riddled reporter/continuity manager, of course. :)

Also a) every time Jennifer calls Herb out on his bullshit, b) the long mind game between Andy and Mother Carlson, and c) gosh Arthur and Carmen Carlson are a cute couple. And Hirsch is always fun to watch with anyone.

the character who scares me the most

Lillian 'Mother' Carlson is a (very genteel, of course) dose of poison in a finely crafted bottle, metaphorically speaking. I've had to deal with a couple of people like her IRL, and the scary part is that no one tends to believe how bad they can get till the worst happens.

the character who is mostly like me

...I really wish the answer to this was 'Bailey,' but I've been forced to come to the realisation that it's Johnny. (Minus the dope-smoking and terrifically bad relationship history, I hasten to add)

hottest looks character

I think we all know this has to go to Andy 'Fanservice' Travis and his very fitted wardrobe. (Oh they absolutely knew what they were doing there.)

one thing i dislike about my fave character

Johnny, you might want to consider easing up on the substance abuse juuust a tad. (Although honestly it's understandable given his past, I mean...)

one thing i like about my hated character

You have to admit that Mother Carlson does have a certain amount of style (both fashion-wise and in her villainy).

a quote or scene that haunts me

'Who Is Gordon Sims?' -- Venus slowly, quietly, with that thousand-yard stare, telling Mr. Carlson the story of the atrocity he witnessed in Vietnam, such that you realise he's never told anyone about this before and that his entire life just kinda...broke in half...at the moment that event happened.

'An Explosive Affair' -- The moment the music on the transmitter feed suddenly cuts out and turns to static.

'Nothing To Fear But...' -- Venus and Andy and the gun, holy shit.

I had trouble watching 'Dr Fever and Mr Tide' -- I think the writers meant it to be much more played for laughs when they wrote it, and instead it's funny at first and then turns into this slowly creeping 'something is really seriously wrong here' story.

a death that left me indifferent

The Colonel's death, and Jennifer's subsequent grief, just sort of falls flat IMHO. (If the network had approved the Jennifer-centric ep leading up to this, it would've made way more sense, but they didn't and it never got made, argh.)

a character i wish died but didn’t

Mother Carlson could've gone feet up just fine...though she actually seems like the sort of person who'd live to be 100 just out of spite.

my ship that never sailed

IIRC one of the things they had lined up for a S5 was that Johnny and Bailey would've, definitively, gotten together at least for a while...

I like the idea of Jennifer ending up dating the advertising guy from the second-to-last ep -- he seemed really nice, and the concept of 'woman who guys constantly boggle over solely for her looks dating a blind man' could've been interesting.

#meme stuff #fandom stuff #wkrp in cincinnati

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bangtancentricsblog · 4 years

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Love?

❒ pairing: min yoongi x reader

❒ genre: fluff, smut, humor, slight angst

❒ alternative universe: college/university

❒ word count: 3,332

warnings: mentions of therapy, slight smut (oral f receiving), dirty talk, drug use (weed), awkward encounters, lots of kissing

(•••) - is yoongi reminiscing/flashbacks

this is final part of Sweetpea, thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed the story! i was so nervous when i started posting on tumblr because its a tough audience and i wasn’t even sure if my works would be good enough so i really do mean it when i say thank you! Special thanks to my always supportive and amazing wife @boymeetsweevil for always helping me out, offering support, or even just listening to me ramble my ideas at her in our chats. I’ll always be grateful for! 💜💖

<< pre - seires masterlist - main masterlist

There’s a chill to the air, a sign that the fall has truly begun to settle in, the leaves are starting to change too. The once vibrant shades of emerald have now turned marigold, chestnut or vermillion, and change is good. The quad is relatively empty despite the school year having come back in full swing once the summer ended. Yoongi is enjoying the soft warmth of the sun on his skin before his next class. There’s an occasional student hauling ass across campus to make their lecture on time, everything has seemingly gone back to normal, and it’s so utterly boring. He’s sighing heavily, tired but mostly because he misses you.

•••

After things had settled with Jb, the two of you had finally sat down to talk. Talked about where you wanted this to go, this thing that had bloomed between the two of you when it had been nothing but sex to begin with. You’d been the one to take his hands, twined your fingers and said you wanted to be with him. The smile so wide, so bright it made his heart flutter, he’d squeezed your fingers a grin kissing his lips as he pressed his forehead to yours. A giggle has slipped past your lips the sound filling his ears and filling his being with pure joy, pure love.

It’d gotten a little heated afterwards, you’d been quick to smack your lips against his, teeth clacking together painfully. It was hard presses of your lips, an awkward scrape of teeth with too much tongue, so very reminiscent of his first time playing seven minutes in heaven with a girl a few years older than him in middle school. Except this one was sweet, more passionate and not at all something he wished he could forget. He’d been quick to stop you though when he’d felt the brush of your hand a little too close to his more than eager dick. He’d apologize to his dick later but right now you two still had things to discuss.

“What’s wrong?” you’d asked looking unsure of yourself again.

“We’re not done talking yet.” He says thumbing at the swell of your cheek, he watches you shift closer to him, climbing into his lap pressing every bit of your body as close to him as possible.

“okay, what else is there?”

“I think you should talk to Jimin about what happened, what you’ve been through.”

“No.” you say voice firm.

“He needs to know, I can't imagine what he would’ve felt if you’d gone through with it.” He says softly, moving to cup your cheeks, there’s a shine to your eyes, tears that have begun to blur your vision.

“What if he hates me?” you hiccup, tears finally falling but yoongi is quick to wipe them away.

“He won’t, he loves you too much.” He breathes with a small smile kissing your cheeks, your nose, and your lips. He presses so many kisses to your face, you’re no longer crying when he finally pulls away.

It takes a full week before you work up the courage to tell Jimin, Yoongi’s there for support. The two of you are seated opposite Jimin, Yoongi holds your hand tight in his, silently sitting through you recount your past pain to your brother. He can see the pain etched into Jimin’s face as you bring up all that had transpired. Feels his heart break a little when Jimin starts sobbing, you move to hold him, a hand running through his hair the other rubbing over his back. By the time you’ve finished both of you are crying, even Yoongi had teared up a little at the reminder but he tries to stay strong if not for himself for the two of you. Jimin is the one who convinces you to seek therapy, cries through trying to get you to agree.

“Please, for me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He pleads, voice broken. Yoongi meets your gaze briefly nodding his head in agreement with Jimin. When the tears have subsided Jimin is quick to turn his gaze to Yoongi, his eyes are red rimmed and swelling but still hold the effect of an older brother trying to intimidate their sister's boyfriend.

“So why are you here?” Jimin spits rubbing at his runny nose.

“Yoongi, convinced me to tell you.” You mutter, playing with your fingers before hesitantly glancing over at Yoongi.

“But why is he here?” he asks again.

“He’s my boyfriend.” You answer, mouth twitching in an effort to keep a smile at bay. It doesn’t work because Yoongi is smiling at you, all teeth a hint of gums peeking out.

“Well, I’m happy for you.” Jimin says sincerely that you and Yoongi nearly get whiplash from how fast you whip your heads to face him.

“What do you mean you’re happy?” Yoongi blurts, eyes narrowed. This has got to be some sort of trap.

“Just that, I’m happy that the two of you finally figured your shit out. _____, had her flaws so I know she’ll be a handful but I know you’ll take good care of her.” Jimin says to Yoongi a smile lifting the corners of his lips as he leans back on the couch arms spread across the back.

“Thanks.” Yoongi says a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Don’t sweat it, and if you hurt her I’ll kick your ass like I did the last time.” He says all smug his lips splitting into a smirk.

“It’d be a different story had I fought back.” Yoongi spits eyes narrowed at the younger boy.

“Sure, you could’ve but I’m pretty sure the outcome would’ve been the same.” Jimin sniffs rubbing a finger under his nose. Yoongi’s brow twitches, as he runs his palms against his jeans.

“Let’s go with that.” Yoongi says, after noting the small look you shot his way.

It’s a few days later that you tell Yoongi that you’ve found a therapist. He’s glad you’re seeking help, and wishes you a safe trip when you inform him that it’s closer to your school a couple hours away. He doesn’t expect you to call him down to the lobby of his apartment complex, doesn’t expect you to shove him against the brick building once he’s come out. You’re on your tiptoes, hands buried in his hair as you kiss him. Your tongue swipes over his lips quickly caressing his as he kisses you back. Your eyes are closed as you take your time really kissing him, tasting him. Yoongi can see Jimin seated in his car a few feet away, watching with a disgusted expression and Yoongi can’t help himself.

He grabs a handful of your ass in one hand and tangles the other in your hair, his gaze still trained on Jimin. He pulls you in closer with the hand gripping your ass cheek a small moan sliding out your mouth into his. Jimin’s honking, loud and long yelling from his seat, breaking the kiss as Yoongi smirks at the younger boy. He chuckles planting another small kiss to your lips and for effect smacks your ass as you walk away. The glare Jimin sends him has Yoongi cackling.

•••

That had been back in August, it's now nearing November, and he remembers the summer like it was yesterday.

•••

He spent the time you weren’t in therapy taking you on dates, to the movie theater, the beach, anywhere really. It’d been the first time he’d gone on a date since he’d been forced into being a wingman for Namjoon back in high school, but this was admittedly way better because it’d been with you. It had all been easy and for Yoongi nothing had ever been easy, especially not love. There’d been stolen kisses at parties, the tangle of your fingers in his hair, and soft whispered conversations in his bed late at night. The easiness of the whole dating thing was weird and at the same time comforting. It had made his heart feel full, his cheeks heating from the loving look you would give him while kissing his nose, or his lips.

There’d been no sex, something that your therapist had reccommended so that you wouldn’t fall into a similar situation. Yoongi didn’t mind, especially when he could still see you, could still feel your smile pressed against the skin of his neck whenever you’d come back from a session, wrapped up in his arms. Jimin had been nice about the whole thing, the worst had been the disgust that etched a scowl into his features whenever the two were in the same vicinity. It was funny really, to see the soft baby face that was Park Jimin purposely seating himself between the two whenever there was a small group outing.

He remembers your laugh, the way you’d gotten brighter than he could’ve imagined. The way you literally lit up a room, and the ease in which you had started doing things. Something had changed in you and he liked it, liked you, had made it his goal to remind you just how much. It was fun, more fun than he’d had in a long time and then summer came to an end, he’d been sad to see you go. Had offered to drive you home instead of hanging back while Jimin drove you back, it was funny to him. Funny because he never imagined being able to feel so much in so little time for someone he’d barely known, and now loved more than anything. There were wet kisses the taste of your tears on his tongue as he kissed you. Hiccups slid past your lips as you wrapped your arms around his frame, your face pressed to his chest, he’d held you tight whispering reassurances into your hair.

Your soft cries settled as he caressed your cheeks gently shifting your gaze up to meet his, he’d pressed his forehead to yours a grin kissing his lips as he stared deep into your eyes. Reminding you that he was only a phone call away, and that just because the summer was over didn't mean the end for you too. He felt your giggle more than heard it as you’d pressed your lips to his, standing on your tiptoes, to deepen the kiss. And just like that you had been reassured that this was real and he wasn’t ready to let you go, not now, not ever. He’d watched you make your way into your building, smiling happily at him while he drove away. It wasn’t until he got home that he really felt your absence, felt his heart ache the slightest because he already missed you.

Namjoon was home for the first time in what seemed like all summer, his eyes glazed over a roach burning in the ashtray they kept for when they only wanted a quick hit from a fresh joint. He rolled his head to face Yoongi who looked about ready to break down and cry, a soft smile twitching at his lips.

“It’s not that bad everything will be okay, I’m sure of it.” Namjoon says.

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi asks a quirk to his brow.

“Who knows, but it felt like the right thing to say.” he laughs before shoving a hand in between the couch cushions. Yoongi watches the boy with mild fascination and confusion as Namjoon pulls a ziplock bag out. He throws it at Yoongi and to his surprise it holds a couple of joints. He eyes them warily because of all his friends Namjoon has yet to stick to one dealer and amongst campus Jungkook has the best stuff. A close second is a boy he knows as Johnny who attends a different school but likes to party across campuses, but Namjoon smokes everything, not just the good stuff. He doesn’t realize he’d wrinkled his nose at the bag until Namjoon scoffs.

“Relax, it's Kook’s. I won't be buying from anyone else anymore, Jackson’s strain fucked me up pretty bad and not in a good way.” He offers with narrowed eyes as if momentarily reliving the incident. Yoongi is quick to open the bag, snatching two joints and then throwing the bag back at his friend.

“Thanks.” he says shuffling down the hallway to his bedroom.

•••

He sighs heavily, pondering whether he wants to risk trying to get a coffee, his gaze falls to the watch on his wrist, he's still got a half hour before his next class. There’s a strong possibility that the coffee shop is crowded at this time but he could also run with a bit of luck, it is Friday after all. Who doesn’t like a good start to the weekend, he thinks gathering his bag and standing from the bench he’d been seated on. God he misses you, he thinks again as the sun shines down on him, you hadn’t called him in over a week saying you would call him again when things got less hectic. He had no idea what that meant or why you’d sounded so happy to be leaving him alone for so long, but he assumed you had a good reason. The coffee shop isn't too far now, he notices as he walks past the main office, his class isn't too far from the shop either so he should make it on time, but he won't mind if he’s a few minutes late either.

His phone rings, a tune so upbeat and unique he automatically knows who it is. Still he lets it play because it makes him smile. It's a kpop song by some world wide idols who are singing about not having things like batman but still having enough to want to be someone’s hero. It’s cute he thinks as he stares at your picture before he answers.

“Hey, sexy.” he hears you say followed by a giggle.

“Hey, to you too.” He says a smile already splitting his lips.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“I'm not sure I could handle getting a nude right now.”

“It’s not a nude.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“This time it really isn’t, close your eyes.” you say hurriedly and he frowns.

“Baby, I don't think that works over the phone.”

“Just do it, I’ll know if you cheat.” you laugh and he complies even if he thinks people will give him weird looks. The line has gone silent, and he waits a beat then two, still he hears nothing and he briefly wonders if you’d hung up. He’s about to open up his eyes when he hears it, the small sigh in his ears, followed by a ‘surprise’. His eyes shoot open when he realizes the voice comes from his phone and right in front of him.

You stand there, a smile lifting the corners of your lips, cheeks rosie from the cool air. He’s quick to throw his arms around your frame pulling you into a hug, his face is buried in the crook of your neck, you laugh pulling him close. He’s quiet as you continue to laugh, telling him how much you missed him, and how hard it was keeping this a secret from him. It's when you’ve stopped talking that you realize how utterly quiet he is.

“Yoongi?” you say.

“Hmm.” he hums, finally pulling away and cupping both your cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect.” he says kissing you, it’s soft and sweet so full of love it melts your insides. He takes his time, touching and tasting, wants to reacquaint himself with your lips and your taste that he’s missed so much.

“Okay enough of that!” Jimin yells, breaking the two of you apart. You’re quick to scowl at your brother, twining your fingers with Yoongi’s.

“Oh god when will you leave us alone.” you sigh.

“Never, I’m your brother so it’s my job to make sure you don’t get into trouble.” he says with a glare.

“Really?” you ask and you two argue for a bit before Jimin leaves huffing about a class he’s going to be late to if he stays. You’re happy to see him go, yelling at him to have a good time as he flips you the bird. Yoongi watches you fondly, never once asking why you’d suddenly come to visit. Your brow furrows briefly before smoothing out as you inform him that you’d transferred to their school and he breaks out into a smile so wide it's contagious. Your smile mirrors his and he’s quick to kiss you again except you’d wanted more, had sighed your request against his lips and he’d been even quicker to pull you along, all the way back to his apartment.

The sweater dress you’d been wearing had been pulled over your head the moment you’d tumbled through the door. His hands touched, and his lips tasted reacquainting himself with all that was you. He’d taken his time kissing you, working you up, until he was sure your pussy was more than wet, had watched the way your arousal clung to your panties as he slowly pulled them down your legs. Had you crying for more, as he slowly slid his fingers through your arousal, had let you believe you’d won when he’d laid on his back on the couch and pulled you body until your heat was level with his mouth.

“So pretty.”

“Pl-please.” you whine.

“You gonna ride my face baby, gonna fuck yourself on my tongue?” he says lapping at your never ending wetness.

“Yoongi.”

“Missed your pussy baby, best pussy i’ve ever had. Tastes so sweet.” You whimper thighs shaking as you struggle to keep yourself up instead of just planting your weight on him and taking what you really want. There’s a thin layer of sweat covering your skin, the chill of the room making it that much more colder. A shiver wracks your body and Yoongi pulls you closer to his mouth tongue working over your wetness, swirling around your clit before sliding back down to your entrance where his fingers had taken residence. The slow drag of his fingers are working you up to your orgasm, but you need more. You whine again, a hand leaving the arm of the couch to tangle in his hair, you pull slightly and he groans into your cunt, the sound goes straight to your clit. A moan slides up your throat, out your lips and when you look away from the sight of Yoongi beneath you, you freeze. Your eyes grow wide at the man who stands in the entrance to the living room, he’s looking right at you, but his eyes have this far away look to them.

“Uh, Yoongi.” You say a little too breathy, as heat rushes to your cheeks when the man narrows his eyes at you.

“Hmm.” he hums, still too engrossed at the task at hand, it takes him a minute to realize you haven’t made a sound. That has him sliding out from underneath you brows furrowed because he was sure you were into it not too long ago.

“You oka-” he starts before he takes note of the way Namjoon stands in the entryway.

“Are you fucking serious?” he spits.

“Hey you’re the one who decided to fuck this Jimin look alike in the living room.” Namjoon says with a shrug before turning on his heel and heading for his original destination.

“That’s Namjoon?” you ask trying to cover up should the gangly man reappear.

“Yeah, sorry I didn't know he’d be home.” he says a hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“So how much do you think he saw?”

“Who knows, but I don’t want to find out.” he says, hurriedly gathering your clothes and pulling you in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn't until later that Yoongi learns that Namjoon had been there too long and proceeds to repeat the things he’d been privy too.

✧✧✧✧✧

taglist: @bussy-posts, @peachymochimochi, @spiritsrider

#heartsforbtsnet #houseofddaeng #bangtanarmynet #emm writes #min yoongi x reader #alternative universe: college/uni #bts fanfic #bts ensamble #college boy yoongi #college girl mc #college boys bts #older brother park jimin #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jung hoseok #park jimin

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remy-arzt · 4 years

Photo

TASK iii || A look through the past

For a long as you can remember you’ve had nightmares. Huge waves threaten to drown you and no matter how much you run, you’ll never be able to outrun them. You went to a sleep therapist once. She gave you some pills. They didn’t work. The dreams got more diverse.

Now it’s not just the wave threatening to drown you, you also find yourself floating over an abyss, knowing you will fall eventually. So you decide to try psychoanalysis, the results make sense but say nothing you didn’t already know. The wave represents deep emotion, which you’re terrified of. The abyss is your unconscious and all those unknown parts of you that sometimes you dare take a quick look at but could never face. That doesn’t help you figure out how to stop them, though. Then there’s the other nightmare, the one that is very clear to you.

February 1997 “Wake up! Wake up, boy!” Cold water drips form the tips of your hair, the droplets falling on your skin like small needles of ice. You startle awake. “You’re three minutes late already. Get to work or you get no food.” A quick nod and you get up and shake the dirty water from your hair. The morning passes in a whirl. Your hands hurt. Your back hurts. You can barely open your eyes in the dark, smoke-filled corridors under the factory. But you keep working until lunch time. Porridge, some stale bread and a fried egg. Then back to work, now it’s time to beg. One of your shoes has a hole in it. You’ve gotten used to it, to the cold, murky water seeping through your threadbare sock. Some of coins from a couple who clicks their tongue at you but forgets you five minutes after. A half-full bottle of water from a garbage man whose eyes seem to see right through you. When night hits you count your earnings and sigh. Not enough. Dinner is just a spoonful of peanut butter, you look on with envy at the plates of the kids who managed to raise more.

August 1999 You sit at the police station, your legs swinging back and forth. You wonder if they’ll put you in jail. Probably not. But you wish they would. Free food and a ratty old bed, all to yourself. Sounds like heaven to you. There’s blood in your tongue and the metallic taste of it makes your eyes water. You wonder what will happen if you cry. Will they judge you? Will they slap you, like The Man used to do? Maybe they’ll just ignore it. Maybe you can cry just a little bit.

April 1992 You have some faded, almost gone memories of your biological parents. Immigrants, struggling. They did their best to survive. That’s about it. Somehow, sometime, they got themselves into a mess and The Man pulled them out of it. They owed him. And since they didn’t have money... he took something else from them. You. You never found out if he took you away from them forcefully or if they gave in and let you go willingly. You remember your mother’s last wet kiss against your forehead, as if tears were running down her cheeks. Then training began. You worked in the morning and begged in the afternoon. In exchange you got food, a space on the factory floor and a moth eaten blanket. If you didn’t work you didn’t get any of that, you had to sleep outside. Where anyone could get you, The Man always said. “And then you’d have it much worse than here, boy. That’s for sure.”

March 1999 One night you startle awake, a nightmare too weird to ignore forced you out of sleep. You look around, hoping you didn’t wake anyone else, and your sleepy eyes focus on a pair of moving silhouettes. Maybe if you stay really, really still they won’t see you... but they do. They walk over to you and invite you to go with them. You hesitate, but you’ve never felt like you’re a part of anything before and you’d like to know what it feels like. They’re older, sixteen and seventeen. Looking for real jobs, they say. You’d don’t get what it means. When they ask for your name and you fail to give them one they start calling you “the kid”. It makes sense to you, sometimes they even call you boy too.

October 1997 You found some old books by an alley. The box where they were was musty and wet. The pages were crusty with dust and other mysterious stains. Still, they seemed special to you, you’d never really owned anything before. At night you found a way to convince some of the older guys to teach you how to read. Just twenty minutes before bed, they’d take turns and you’d give them some of your rations in exchange. Sometimes words are more nurturing than food, it seemed fair to you. Until The Man found out. You’d never seen him so angry at you, not even when you were younger and you’d cry on the job. He destroyed the books, you lost the chance to get more than one meal a day for a week. And he gave you a more permanent reminder of what would happen if you tried ”a stupid stunt like that again. Work or die out there, alone. Your choice boy.” You hid what remained of the books and didn’t dare look at them again.

August 1999 When you stated hanging out with them you knew you were probably making a mistake. You barely got by as it was and now you were losing sleep. You got less work done and less food in return. But it was... fun. You were always the lookout. They would steal some liquor or cigarettes and you’d stand outside and scream if you saw anyone coming. Sometimes they even stole some snack for you. But then everything went wrong. They lost control and they hurt someone, and when you saw them running away you tried to go after them. But they were older, taller and faster... and they didn’t wait for you. The police found you a couple of blocks down and the storeowner identified you. Little did you know then that this was actually the best thing that could’ve happened to you.

August 30th, 1999 When they pick you up you hardly believe your eyes. When you see the house on the Hill you’re sure you must be dreaming. This can’t really be your life now, can it? With time you will come to realize living in the Athanas house is not just a blessing, it comes with a curse too. But still, it seems like heaven to you compared to what could’ve been. The man that greets you is tall and imposing. There’s something about him that immediately calls for respect, but it also calls to some deeply buried part of you that yearns to impress him. You need him to think you’re worthy. He welcomes you to his house and then proceeds to tell you his rules. Your chores. What you should do, what you need to learn. You pay a lot of attention to him and nod your head at everything. You’ll do whatever it takes to stay here. Then comes the question you’d feared.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“I... um, my name? Well...”

He says he will call you Remy. And suddenly that’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been and who you dream to become at the same time. You have a name and it’s more than you could have ever asked for. It’s the best birthday present anyone could have given you.

May 2006 You’re walking through the house, your mind doing it’s usual run over everything that needs to be done and should be happening. You’re humming softly to yourself. A noise brings you out of your mental reverie and you notice Belva running outside. The wind is in her hair and her laughter fills your ears. Florence is watching her too, sitting near her and braiding a flower crown. A soft warmth fills your heart and moves through your whole body. In that moment you feel completely content. The calm smile remains as you walk over to the library, you promised to help Cassia and Horatio with their homework.

December 2001 Your laugh rises over the trees and you feel like it could reach the sky. You turn towards Mom and smile as you finish folding the picnic blanket. Today everyone wanted to have lunch outside and you helped her set up, now you’re picking everything up. She seems distracted, and you know this isn’t unusual for her, but you’re happy she’s still present enough to laugh at your bad jokes. She runs her fingers through your hair as you walk into the house and you lean into the touch, enjoying as much of it as you can. Then you go check on kids, you know you have to look after them. You like to do it.

July 2014 You look at the clock and are surprised to realize you and Pacifico have been talking for hours, way into the night. It’s not the first time it’s happened and you’re happy to know it probably isn’t the last. He’s telling you about fishing, about the calm and patience it requires. About how you need to learn to wait and carefully keep control in the meantime. Maybe someday, when he gets a day off, you can both go. You’ve never seen a body of water big enough to fish in, but in that moment you decide you already love it. You never took that fishing trip...

2019 You’ve been struggling with finding yourself now more than ever. You always did have trouble identifying and adequately classifying your fears and emotions. So you simply tried to counteract them with logic. It usually worked. When it didn’t, you made sure you were alone to let it all out. Now even that certainty has been taken from you. All you used to believe you were, everything you thought you needed to do. The boy you were and the man you’ve become are not enough to make ends meet and you’re wondering what’s missing and how to find it.

And amidst all of this confusion one more thing stands out: all this time you thought you were important to him. You thought you mattered to him, maybe not as much as your work, but... did you ever matter at all? What was real and what wasn’t? What parts of you are truly yours and which are just a cog in the well-oiled machine you willed yourself to become for him? Even as these questions rage through your mind, even as your horror over the murder and everything that’s followed corrodes it, you can’t hate him. You can resent him but you could never hate him. Because Vidal Athanas gave you a purpose, a life. But more than that, he gave you something no one else could. He gave you a name, and with that he gave you an identity. And a life to live with it.

#dhtask #( task 3 )#( hc )#( past )#// well this is long and messy but I liked how it felt with the timeline all mixed up and this was way overdue...

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sugaxjpg · 5 years

Text

04 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words: 6,892

Author’s Note: And here it is... whatever this is. Laura and I are sorry. Also, Part 5 will be a bit longer than the ones we have put out so far, so pls be patient!! It’ll come :,)

Your debate class had its intense, hair-pulling moments in the past — from the dichotomy of the current political climate to philosophical dialogues about Descartes’ universal doubt — but, every once in a while, even your professor would get stressed at the constant bickering of his top 10 students and, instead, would chose a dumb theme that the class could find some sort of humor in. After some time, even that showed itself to be an obstacle, since most of your classmates had their head so far up their own ass that they forgot what the sun looked like, even less what it was to have a chill, borderline comical, conversation with another human being.

And that was where you and Namjoon came in.

If you were to be completely honest, you could say without a shadow of a doubt that the two had a constant veil of bitterness floating between you. What could you do? Both of you were a bit more competitive than you should be, and the prospect of academic validation was far too tempting for you two to just let it slide. But, damn. If Dante Alighieri had the misfortune of meeting Kim Namjoon throughout his life, you were absolutely sure he would have added the man somewhere amongst his circles of inferno — because, Jesus Christ, was he a pain in the ass when he took things to his personal side.

“In synthesis, professor, I must conclude,” Namjoon started, leaning against the tall surface of his table. The copy of the discussed book was placed before him, and you could see that he had highlighted — and color-coded — at least half of it. “Bella Swan should have picked Jacob instead of Edward. The amount of danger she faced was ridiculous, and perfectly avoidable if she had chosen the one that was always there for her and, quite frankly, much more attractive.”

Subtle. Always so subtle.

With his feet over a nearby desk, your professor hummed, and used his cup of coffee to hide the smirk that creeped up on his lips. From your peripheral vision, you could see the other students exchanging animated glances, waiting for your turn to defend Team Edward. “Alright. Very good, Kim,” he praised, then turned to you. His mop-like moustache was stained by the brown coffee, and it looked more disgusting than it should. “What do you have for us, defense?”

You pushed your shoulders back and, without a missed beat, spoke your truth. “I disagree with Namjoon’s conclusion, professor. Edward Cullen cared about Bella Swan much more than Jacob ever did. He was only angry because he was thrown into the friendzone, and did not get his desires fulfilled by his best friend.” Your eyes darted towards Namjoon as you verbalized those words, wishing you were just as subtle as he had been — that is, not at all. “Edward protected Bella since the start, was patient, and didn’t force anything on her. With all due respect, professor.” You turned back to the class. “Jacob had no free-pass to Bella’s black lacy underwear just because he had been there for longer.”

“That’s irrelevant to this debate, come on!” Namjoon defended himself, blushing from the tip of his ears to — not that you had been looking before — the place where his tan skin disappeared under his shirt. The buttons opened, that would’ve gotten him a warning in high school—but in college it was the average cool dude uniform. “Jacob was not as simple-minded as he’s thought to be. He may be a werewolf but he’s not stupid—”

“Well, I have to disagree. As you may have read — and I’m sure my opponent highlighted this part too—, in the fourth book of the saga Jacob imprinted Edward and Bella’s new-born baby, under the justification that, and I quote, everything he was—snip, snip, snip—floated up into space when he met the baby’s eyes, which are coincidentally very similar to Bella’s who happened to be at the moment, dead.”

“It is explained within the Twilight universe that werewolves often link themselves to their partners for life.” Namjoon barked back, although there was no confidence left within him when he opened the book, and started looking through his notes, wondering how he could’ve left the imprinting-the-baby topic out. What a mess.

Poor Namjoon had surely been very busy dreaming of your black underwear to finish preparing the debate and that, good for you, meant you had won — for once.

“My shaking jerked to a stop; heat flooded through me, stronger than before, but it was a new kind of heat — not a burning,” you read, trying to occult behind the pages the wicked smile invading your features. At the back of the classroom, your classmates started laughing enough for Mr. Moustache to turn around and shush them. Namjoon was paralysed. His projection into the Jacob’s character was not as funny anymore. “Around five minutes before he falls in love with the half-vampire parasite, he’s hugging Bella’s flailing body, forbidding her from dying. He’s not what I call… consistent with his feelings.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to talk, but all of the present souls knew that his chances of coming back from that annihilation were practically zero. With a smile and a resonating laugh, Professor Pornstache turned around to the class. “Alright, children of the corn, you all know how it goes,” he started. You had no idea how he hadn’t noticed the soaked mess that his upper lip had turned into, but that’s what botox injections can do to your overall sensibility, after all. “Write on a piece of paper who you think won, and then let’s do this as democratically as we can — even if we all know that the final word is mine.”

You rolled your eyes at your professor’s attempt at being Cool With the Kids. Mussolini over there — Mustachelini? Nah — constantly tried to sneak in references of popular movies into his every sentence, which explained his constant obsession with reviewing young adult novels. Next one up, according to him, would be something from Cassandra Clare, and you really didn’t think you’d be able to endure another painfully awkward love triangle discussion, even less the hidden incest.

With a few chuckles and guilty gazes crossing, the classroom was quick to pass the papers off to the front row, where the teacher’s personal pet — Jisoo? Achoo? Bless you — could organize and count the votes. You were lucky she was great at her job, for it took her less than five dragged-out, silence-filled minutes to have an answer.

With a grin that seemed to come out straight from a Monopoly live-action movie, your professor looked down at the winner’s name. “Oh, look at that,” he said. “Seems like we have a new name to pay attention to. Namjoon…” he dragged out his speech in a way that you swore the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Next to you, the boy leaned forwards, chest filled up with pride. “Better luck next time, kid. Y/N got the trophy. That’s ten points to gryffindor, and a nine for Team Edwards.”

With the weight of defeat dragging his shoulders down, Namjoon retreated to the back of the classroom, where the bad boys — you almost cringed thinking of him as one of those — sat and gnawed gum loudly trying to make the world believe their attitude would get there somewhere in life except, perhaps, jail. He plopped onto his chair, and let out a defeated sigh. If he couldn’t win a Twilight debate that meant his career was over, his reputation on the floor. It was a tragic defeat, one he had never expected.

Part of him, you thought, should be happy that it had been you the one to conquer the first place. It could have been someone else, like the guy from second row who carried an anime figurine around and ate his boogers when he thought no one was watching; or maybe, the resident weed-lover, who would probably rant for five minutes about the necessity to legalize marijuana, and avoid altogether the mundane problems of two-hundred year old bloodsucker hottie number 1; and very white, very anodyne Bella Swan.

“So, tell me, what kept you so busy that you couldn’t finish the assigned reading?” You questioned, rubbing — as they would say — salt over his overabundance of pride wounds. It was petty, but it was the funniest part of defeating the smarty-pants in the room. “Anything on your mind? Do you need a pep-talk? My therapist’s number, perhaps?”

Namjoon crossed his arms over his desk and laid his head over them, hoping the earth could just open up and swallow him alive. It crossed his mind that Jungkook probably didn’t even know which elements that are inside the Earth’s core — nickel and iron, for the ones wondering — even less which layer was liquid: internal or external. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe you wanted someone that was more than brains, or maybe you could be searching for someone so dumb that would make you feel more confident at your own IQ — yeah, that was probably it. You wouldn’t pick anyone but Namjoon if that wasn’t the case.

But he needed to control the flux of his thoughts before it got the best of him, and he made the mistake of being a little bit more honest than he should. What could he do? His pride was completely shattered — over a Twilight debate, for fuck’s sake — and he was struggling to seat down after the catastrophe that had been that pizza. Never underestimate the enemy. Never underestimate cheese left out to rot for too long.

And, most importantly, never underestimate Jeon Jungkook.

“So, Y/N,” he started, raising his head from the desk. Two other students had already moved to the front of the class to start their debate on the powers of some of the secondary vampire characters, but he didn’t care about it — that one, he could win it in his sleep —, for his eyes were completely glued to your own. “You ran away from us that night at the party. Care to say what happened between you and your misunderstood knight?”

And god bless your winner high for not making your face crack under the sudden question. Even if the image of Jungkook rubbing his cherry splitter came back in a hormonal rush throughout your body and mind, the smirk in your lips lingered, and your inner despair did not drip through your words. “Nothing happened, we are perfectly fine,” you lied. “In fact, he invited me to go to Jimin’s pool party next weekend. Hope you don’t mind my company.”

It was ephemeral, but you saw the way Namjoon’s eyes widened for an instant — he was a mortal man, with simple mortal needs. Seeing glimpses of your black underwear? That was nice. Seeing you in full bikini? That was a miracle, and Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone to disregard a message from the Lord.

He cleared his throat, and looked towards the front of the class, where the debate was starting to heat up. One of the students claimed that vampires having weather-controlling abilities made no sense, for it was Twilight, and not X-men. He had to agree with that one. “That’s… something to consider,” he spoke. It was getting hot there? It was either you or the intestinal cramps from that forsaken pizza — how many days would it take for it to leave his system? God. “Never thought of you as someone who enjoyed… the outdoors.”

“I’m not the sun’s biggest fan, that’s true,” you acknowledged, “but that’s what relationships are about, you know? Making sacrifices, spending time with your boyfriend’s friends. All that.”

Namjoon, once again, lost his space to speak. As his eyebrows twitched together in a sign of his disbelief — and a bit of jealousy, let’s be honest — and his plump lips parted in a silent exclamation, the screen of your phone lit up, a loud ding! ruptured the attention of the class. From the front row, Pornstache asked for you to turn the device off.

“Won’t you look at that,” Namjoon complained, watching your fingers as you quickly placed your phone on silent mode. “Edward Cullen is here to save the day.”

There was a tinge of agony in his voice, that you interpreted as a silent hope that he could someday become the one to disrupt the class to send you, perhaps, a corny I miss you, let’s meet at the library after class, or a more saucy — and god knows you hate that expression — I’d love to be in bed right now, doing you-know-what. Namjoon didn’t strike you to be one to send a I’ll fuck you raw against the wall only because he would understand the physical limitations that would come with such statement.

“Edward Cullen is just trying to know if I’ll be going to your match next week, I think,” you lied. The phone vibrated against the table, insistent. It was like having Jungkook behind your back, saying whatever nonsense he had come up with that same morning. “Don’t you have something useful to do? I don’t know, start reading Cassandra Clare’s failed incest fanfic attempts or something?”

“Nah, you know what? I’m going to the bathroom. That pizza is still kicking my intestines, and not in a good way.” He smiled, and it was dashing. “See you later.”

“When you finish pooping.”

“Yeah.”

With raised eyebrows and the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips, you watched as Namjoon made his walk of shame towards the front of a class, then quickened up his pace suddenly. If you could go back to the night of the party and tell him about the consequences of his ridiculously high cheese consumption, you wouldn’t. It was too funny to just let it pass.

Your entertainment, however, was short-lived. As soon as you turned your gaze back to the device on your hands and actually read through the previews of Jungkook’s messages, you could tell that something was wrong.

Jungkook’s only neuron: [incoming video]

Jungkook’s only neuron: SHRIIRSHIT

Jungkook’s only neuron: NO DONT OPEN THAT PLEASE DONT

Jungkook’s only neuron: THAT ISN’T FOR YOU BABY NO

Jungkook’s only neuron: IM SO SORRY OMHFGF NPONONOONO

Jungkook’s only neuron: i want to die please dont download the video please i will do anything i will buy you milkshakes for the entire week plea...

But it was too late: you knew Jungkook was terrible at finding compelling arguments, but that was just too much. He knew you were curious, and his overwhelmed texts only increased your sadism to prolong his suffering. Of course you were going to see whatever the hell he had sent you, and of course you would make sure to tease him for it until the end of time. It was what he deserved after dragging you for yet another acting gig.

So, you unlocked your phone, and went straight to his conversation. Nothing could have prepared you for what you were met with — but one thing was for certain: you were so happy that you had brought your earphones that day.

Curiosity started to carve a hole within your chest. It started as a mere tingle, just below your breastbone, when you plugged in your earphones and starting downloading the video. Had Jungkook been a bit smarter that day — or just more technology-conscious — he would have remembered there was an option to delete his video. It would erase it from the face of earth, and with it the shame it would bring along. It was useless now, because by the time he understood the power he had allowed to slip away you would have already saved the thing in your phone. For blackmail purposes only, of course.

With absolutely no expectations, you pressed play. The condemnatory piece of evidence Jungkook had sent by mistake started playing on your screen, a vastness of black pixels and an eventual flash of light. It must be something huge, for him to panic — while sober — on the chat-room. And huge it was, although at first the image was without form and void. Darkness invaded the screen, like there was a towel or a shirt placed in front of the camera, and the only remnants of light that managed to filter in were through holes in the cotton.

Maybe Jungkook had finally lost his mind, and he had recorded one of those confession videos with huge cards. You are perfect to me, could have been read in one of those, scribbled with a Sharpie in his terrible handwriting. But Jungkook was not the romantic type so that would not be the case, he had a reputation to hold — surprisingly, he had not destroyed it yet.

And so the dumbass said “let there be light”, and there was light — and the most horrendous pink tiles covering the bathroom floor. He appeared into focus, clad in grey sweatpants and a tee shirt that you recognized immediately as part of the training gear for the volleyball team.

“Oh, god,” you muttered to yourself, watching him seat cross-legged before the camera. You had watched enough porn in your life to, at least, sense where this was going, but you were not prepared. Not at all.

When the boy — Jungkook, it was fucking Jungkook and you knew it — moved backwards on the shot, the entire scene came into focus, presenting you with the image of what you presumed was his bathroom. You would recognize that pink abomination anywhere, even if, the last time you witnessed it, you had not payed attention to the disgusting fact that the tiles were also a pallid tinge of roseate; the same color of the heat that painted the boy’s cheeks, all the way to the tip of his ears.

The image was slightly blurred still, but you could tell that he was sitting on the floor, back pressed against a bathtub. Jungkook had moved down on the shot enough so you could see up to his nose, but his eyes were still out of frame. It didn’t matter: you knew it was him, and you could not stop looking at the way his swollen lips were parted, glistening with the thin layer of his saliva. From in between them, came the weak, shy sound of a moan, and his body shivered in expectation.

Before you could even take hold of your actions, your gaze was already shooting downwards, past the droplets of sweat on his tan neck, and the obnoxious colors of his team shirt — for fuck’s sake, he was clearly not the brightest of minds, but, if he wanted it to be a bit harder to figure it out who it was, he shouldn’t have worn that. Dumbass. The hottest fucking dumbass you’ve ever laid eyes upon. Not the point.

Then, you saw it, and your mind went blank. Jungkook had one of his veiny hands placed over his hard member, its outline vaguely visible through the thick fabric of his pants. And, shit, that wasn’t the only thick thing in sight. But anyways. He was caressing it slowly, up and down, then rolling his palm against it slowly, dragging out the whines that broke upon his lips. Through your earphones, you could hear the fragile inflections of his voice against your ear, and you swore you could feel his raggedy breath hitting your skin at every new exhale.

On the upper part of your screen, another message popped up: I can tell you’re online!!!! it practically yelled, reeking of desperation and pheromones. You ignored it. There were more interesting things happening. Bigger things.

Jungkook pressed his palm down on his cock one, twice, but soon grew impatient at the lack of sensibility it provided. You tapped on the video and saw that it was three minutes long, which told you just how much he was eager to get straight to the point; and, much to your inner satisfaction, your hypothesis was quickly proved.

Almost timidly — who would’ve thought Jeon Jungkook could be any shade of timid, for fuck’s sake — the tip of his cock was released from the constriction of the elastic. He had been dripping enough to wet the fabric, and it elicited a thousand questions amongst which the idea of Jungkook cumming in his pants, unable to stop himself was primordial and very much overwhelming.

With more tenderness you had ever imagined he would be capable of, he pressed his thumb against his crown, smearing his slick all around. It ripped a long-drawled groan out of his throat, as he threw his head back and against the bathtub. Sweat started to pool in hollow of his clavicle when he dared move again, hand encircling his length.

That was the moment you understood the situation was serious in more than one way because a) Mr Pornstache was still doing whatever he believed was teaching, b) Namjoon had just crossed the classroom threshold and was about to return to his place by your side; and c) your panties were wetter that the goddamn Nile and it was Jungkook’s doing.

Way to start the week.

Then again, miracles can present themselves every once in a while and, for you, it was the fast-thinking that suddenly overtook your senses. Even if every fiber of your being begged for you to do otherwise, your fingers were quick to pause the video, block your phone, and shove your earplugs inside your jacket’s pocket before Namjoon’s gaze even casted itself in your general direction. Usain Bolt who?

You cleared your throat — was it hot in there? “There you are,” you whispered as he sat down next to you. Namjoon looked one shade whiter and many years older. “Had fun?”

He rolled his eyes. “What kind of question is that?” You did not know. You weren’t thinking straight. You could barely recall your name amongst the echoes of Jungkook’s moans inside your mind, and it was driving you insane. “Anyways,” he started, “did I miss something important? Any big arguments to take into consideration?”

“The biggest argument I’ve ever see— I mean no, nothing,” you were quick to correct yourself. Your heart was beating so fast inside your chest that you recalled every medical drama you’ve ever watched, the movement of the defibrillators and the anxious screams of the doctors — charge it to 200; to 500… There’s nothing else we can do, we lost her. Jungkook strikes again. “You know what? This reminds me, I should go to the bathroom as well— To do… to… take care of lady stuff.”

Taken aback by surprise, Namjoon leaned back against his chair and raised his eyebrows in expectation, trying to predict where that was heading towards. He was clearly doubtful of your actions, and Mr Mustachelini was far too enrolled in the superpower debate to care about the way you roughly moved to your feet, almost knocking the desk over as you did so. Thank the heavens above that you didn’t wear a skirt that day, because the situation in between your legs was reaching critical levels.

“Lady… stuff?” he repeated slowly. There it was: the man you learned to fear in debates and in the court, with those piercing pupils and the expression that told you that there was no use in lying, for he already knew the secrets that you hid underneath your tongue. “Did something happen?”

You laughed nervously. “Absolutely nothing happened,” you lied. He could tell. Somehow, he just could. “I just have to leave, it’s gonna be really quick just… okay, bye.”

Namjoon moves around very slowly. The commotion of your sudden leave had probably pressed a slow-mo button he could not turn off. It was like all his energy was being redirected towards his brain, aimed at the gears you could almost hear rumble. It was just a bathroom escapade, it wasn’t that deep. But Namjizz was keen on discovering the secrets you were not skilful enough to conceal — at least not with the image of Jungkook’s swollen dick in his pretty hands still engraved in your brain.

“Bye,” you repeated, waving him farewell. Still perplexed he muttered something along the lines of: are you sure everything is alright? That you never responded to. All you could picture was the girls’ bathroom at the end of the corridor, the cubicle at the far left — the one less transited.

You had some dignity left inside, so you didn’t run. Instead, you walked as fast as your legs allowed. In hindsight, it was a ridiculous image, but you could only feel the weight of your phone growing heavier in your pocket, the wires tangling like serpents as some sort of cosmic punishment for your unspeakable crimes. As if it wasn’t enough that you had fallen for the local cliché; that you had been tempted by the one character in the comic you had promised you would only treat with disdain and, perhaps, some well-founded superiory.

Jungkook was an overused trope, that was clear enough — thanks brain for the painful reminder! — but fuck, did he make you wet with only a few seconds of his blurry, leaked sextape.

Despite the late hour, the bathroom was deserted. You had been hoping to find someone there, someone disagreeable and nasty who would kill your libido with just a look. Coco would’ve fit the role. But there was no one around, and the cleaning lady had just polished the tiles till they shone like diamonds.

Weren’t you the luckiest girl in the entire university, huh?

Giving it no more thought, you locked yourself inside the cubicle. Your phone vibrated again, this time in your hand.

Jungkook’s only neuron: please Y/N i didn’t mean to send that to you. it was a mistake. come back and call me a pig BUT DO SOMETHING. THIS IS LIKE POKING A STONE WITH A STICK

Jungkook’s only neuron: if you didn’t see it as I BEGGED YOU TO PLEASE FORGET I EVEN SAID THAT

He continued to rant into the group chat, monologuing about the many reasons behind your silence. It was — truth be told — abnormal of you to skip a chance to roast him, but there were more important matters to attend to. With a quick swish of your finger you silenced him, and with it the guilt that could come.

In movements far too quick to be your own, you plugged in the earphones in your ear, checked that they were well connected to your device — the last thing you needed was to interrupt the chastic beauty of that recently-cleaned bathroom with Jungkook’s devilish moans — and moved back to the video. The recording started over, but you were quick to move back to the time stamp you had stopped in — 1:38, precisely and, yes, you had memorized.

Now, that was when your morning started to go downhill, because it was when you decided to, as you had mentioned before, defenestrate the rest of your pride, and do the dirty work. Kind of: you were a bit out of your senses, but not enough to finger the baby maker in the middle of a public bathroom, no matter how clean it was.

So, you settled for the second best.

As the video resumed, you noticed the wetness that had spread between your thighs, only increasing as those lust-filled images flashed before your gaze. There was something alluring about the idea of the Great Jeon Jungkook playing with himself, allowing for his hips to roll against his hand as temptation overtook his senses; his legs so weak that he could barely move in that gruesomely pink bathroom floor. He was edging himself, that you could tell from the continuous biting of his lower lip, and the quivering pants that left his mouth, and he was adoring every second of his self-inflicted torture.

Moans and curses poured from his chest like ambrosia, and your other hand was quick to undo the buttons of your pants. You could see him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, as his parted lips groaned for release, his muscles clenching again and again; cock throbbing in his hands. Perhaps, in an instant of patience, he would rub himself through his underwear until he was hard enough, or maybe he would grind against his bed until he could no long take the pleasure that monopolized his carnal desires.

Not that you were far away from that fate.

Hastily, you placed your hand in the space between your jeans and your underwear, finding your clit instantly. Your fingers traced circles over your sensitive spot, but the numbed feeling was awfully frustrating to endure. Just like the fucking video before your eyes was; the rise and fall of Jungkook’s abdomen as he reached for his own orgasm; the teasing of his thumb against the top of his member; the weak, whimper-like moans that infested your mind like a damn egyptian plague. Everything about that situation was frustrating, and it was tearing you from the inside out.

As he so tenderly caressed his length, you wondered at the rubor that had conquered his neck, the toned expanse of his chest. Jeon Jungkook had lost the intimidating arrogance that seemed to envelope his entire being. There was no arrogance in the curve of his mouth when opened his mouth in a whimper that broke before it could be captured by the microphone of his phone. There was no pride in the way he tilted his head back, fingers tight around his cock as he fucked himself relentlessly.

Despite the lack of friction, the sole image of his muscles tensing as he approached his release was enough to have you trembling. The memento of his hands roaming your waist was clear in your mind when you pressed your clit just a bit harder, wishing it was him the one to tease you with the same cruelly he was teasing himself. The wonders his fingers could do, his tongue. As his moans became louder, your movements turned erratic, almost desperate. It threatened to break you, but you could not find reason within yourself to stop.

Still, Jungkook wouldn’t be Jungkook if he didn't find a way to ruin your fucking day.

The vibration of your phone in your hands made your heart jump inside your chest and, for an instant, you swore you had seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and the angels calling you to join them above. But no — it was the human-shaped devil named Jungkook and he was, quite literally, calling you.

With a stressed-out groan, you barely thought about your actions before sliding to answer his call, his previous moans being immediately replaced by static. “What the fuck do you want, Jungkook?”

From the other sound of the line, you heard a shuffle. “Oh great, you picked up,” he spoke. You couldn’t tell if his voice was permeated by annoyance or by relief and, quite honestly, you didn’t give a flying fuck — you had your hands pressed against the soaked mess that had become your panties in a public bathroom, and the last thing you needed was to psychologically characterize his timbre based upon the inflections of his tone. “We have to talk.”

Honestly? Fuck it. The guy had already ruined one rub-out session for you, and he wouldn’t do the same thing again; not when the only detail you could think about had been the ridiculously hot video he had sent you. “No we don’t,” you threw back, breathing growing sharp as you continued your motions — slower this time. “This is not the time, and you have nothing—” You paused, biting back a moan, then masking it as a cough. Okay, you certainly didn’t think that through. “You have nothing to justify.”

“You know I do.” He hesitated. “It’s about the video.”

“Of course it’s about the fucking video,” you interrupted, throwing your head back against the wall. You were starting to get close, and you knew it. “Are you narcissistic enough to jerk off to a video of you... jerking off? This is the weirdest case of inception I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook paused on the other end. “Inception? But that has nothing to do with my family.”

Good god, have mercy on your soul. “Inception, Jungkook.” You groaned. “Not incest.”

“Not the point, smart ass,” he was quick to reply and — fuck Jungkook and his honey voice — you could have sworn he had almost stuttered. There was no way you could have known for sure, for your own mind was wandering elsewhere and you were barely containing the tremors of your own voice. “I really need to see you and explain, so tell me where to go and I’ll be there.”

“Jungkook,” you called, and your brain thought it was a great moment to bring the images you had been trying to avoid, of Jungkook in-between your legs licking your wetness away as you whimpered his name. At the end of the line there was only static to match your error, so you rapidly added. “There’s no need to explain. I really have no interest in seeing you beat your meat to whatever Arctic Monkeys song you chose as your sex jam, so I don’t really care about your reasons—”

“It’s very normal to do something like this, okay? Some guys do it all the time. I do it all the time to, you know, see how I perform and everything.” You had long lost track of his explanation. The murmur of his voice was just an echo at the back of your head, for you had never stopped pressing your fingers against your clit, trying to subdue the sweet pain threatening to take over. Your brain was overworked — and overwhelmed — and Jungkook blabbing his way out of shame was not annoying enough to stop you. “It’s like monitoring yourself, and It makes me a better lover. A better partner, if you want. Y-you should be glad I’m doing this—”

As Jungkook ranted on, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt him, for you knew the moment you tried to speak only a moan would emerge from your throat.

Jungkook, however, took your silence as a punishment. “So you really watched it, huh?” He chuckled, humorless. “Guess I fucked up again—”

For fuck’s sake not now. The way he hesitated — just for a second — before he spoke and his voice refused to come out untainted but in a rough whisper, was the last thing you needed to complete your descent into Dante’s nine circles of hell.

Before you could notice, the faintest whimper dripped from your lips, a broken chord that sounded like his name.

Well, if you wanted to stop Jungkook from blabbering, that was the way to go.

Maybe if you had been a little more in your senses, the realization that you had just moaned out the fragmented syllables of his name would have seemed like an apocalyptic forewarning for the chaos that would ensue. But no: you were far too gone to care, and it had fulfilled your initial purpose of silencing the annoying insect buzzing in your earphones.

But of course, Jungkook wouldn’t let it go so easily.

On the other end of the line, he cleared his throat. “What… are you doing?” He paused, seeming to take in all the details he had ever so naively overlooked aforetime — the vague panting that departed from in-between your lips, the eagerness in which you rushed to finish your sentences. Something odd was taking place, and even his one living neuron could perceive it. “You sound like you just ran a marathon. ”

“It’s a debate class, genius, things got… heated,” and that had been the perfect word to use. “I’m not doing anything.”

There was a second of hesitation before he spoke up again. “Isn’t Namjoon in that class with you?”

“Yes. Congrats on the goldfish memory.” You breathed out — okay, you could maybe hold yourself back. You were getting close, for your legs were already shaking, and you could barely keep your eyes open for longer than a couple seconds and, if you had holden tight for that long, you could do it again. Just no more moaning. Not in front of him. Later, maybe.

“That’s weird,” Jungkook spoke. Fuck his voice, fuck the way his whimpers and cries for release still echoed inside your head; fuck the delicious sight of his head thrown back, and his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. Fuck him. Fuck you. Hopefully. “I just texted him and he said that you left to go to the bathroom. For lady pro—”

“—It’s a different Namjoon.” What kind of answer was that? You were barely thinking. “Listen, Jungkook, I’m not in the mood to talk, so maybe you could just… call later?”

“There’s only one Namjoon, and we both know his lame lactose-intolerant ass.” Jungkook could be sharp if he thought very hard. Maybe the ruptured thoughts crossing your mind, the weakness spreading all over your body, was what he had needed to fight on equal ground — and somehow you knew he would be very proud of this victory. “You received the video, and then went to the bathroom?” He was trying to organize the timeline of your befall, and for once his solitary neuron was cooperating, while yours were just running around, screaming like hippies high on acid. “Did you go to the bathroom… to watch it?”

“Jungkook, just drop it.” You whined, the sound needier than you had ever intended. “Let’s talk later, okay? I need to go back to class now. Call me later if you want and we’ll talk about the stupid party or your rampant narcissism, whatever you want.”

“I’ll wait for you after class—” He didn’t sound convinced. The raggedness of your voice was a good reason to be puzzled, but the guy was apparently too idle to hang up and do something useful. “We can go somewhere to discuss the party details if you’re up. You know, like a business meeting but in like a café or something.”

“I have a test tomorrow.” Holding to the last threads of rationality, you understood it was time to end the conversation. “Nice talking to you, Jungkook. Bye.”

Jungkook would have questions, of course, but you could only think of him, his hands, his soft lips against your own. Your hand returned to torture your clit, this time unrestricted by his presence on the phone. It was ridiculously easy to find the right pace, to bring back the memory of his weights pressing against your own, his tongue discovering your mouth. Jungkook could mess your existence even in your imagination and that was something you had to confess you had never expected.

Call ended, you allowed yourself to suspire in relief, dwelling in the absence of his frequent interrogations, and the pleasure that was overtaking your senses. The silence, however, was short-lived: you forgot you still had the video playing in the background.

Now, some things in life are beautifully synchronized: the fly of birds as the sun sets; your favorite sad song playing while you’re driving in the rain… Jungkook’s dragged-out moans echoing inside your head the same instant you found your high. You know, the simple stuff. The kind of stuff that makes you lay awake at night in horror.

Your legs trembled when you reached your orgasm, waves of heat running up and down your thighs as you fought to suppress a prolonged whimper. On your hands, the device called for your attention, and your parted eyes barely got the glimpse of a smaller, digitally edited Jungkook covering his abs with the white strands of his own relief; hips rolling against his palm as his mouth, open, cried out in sheer alleviation. You loved that sight, and it pushed you even further down your decay into inferno.

But, of course, the video didn’t stop there. It didn’t fade into black, as you had expected, because you deserved a plot twist to end the day. You had depleted your luck reserves long ago — probably during a math exam — so it was highly unlikely that the guy would just finish the deed and turn off the camera.

No, instead Jungkook continued teasing his cock until his thighs trembled with the excess of his own caresses; limbs flinching under the tides of his exaggerated stimulation. He could not bite back he suspires of despair as he rode a second orgasm and muttered an unintelligible prayer.

Wait, scratch that. You rewinded the video, to listen for a second time. In this occasion you closed your eyes, because his fucked-out face was far too distracting for your brain to keep up with so many stimuli.

It was, actually, very intelligible.

Jeon Jungkook was not praying, but moaning your name.

That, nevertheless, was a secret that would die with you. Or so you hoped.

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iloveyouthree-thousand · 5 years

Text

five times peter parker could hear tony’s heart beating (and the one time he couldn’t)

// one //

“It wasn’t that bad, Mr. Stark, I promise.”

Two months had passed since the Vulture incident, and despite Peter declining an official role on the Avengers, he and Tony had kept in touch.

It helped that when May Parker found out about her nephew’s extra-curricular activities, she marched up to the Avengers Compound and made Tony swear on her grave that he’d look out for Peter.

Even without the lecture, though, Tony felt drawn to the spider-ling.

Half of him wanted to run far, far away, because this felt dangerously close to caring, and he had a nasty habit of ruining things he cared about. All it took was one look around the empty Compound to see that.

The other half of him, though, couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid and reckless teenager fighting crime, all by himself, with no training and an iffy track record at best.

So he invited Peter over to walk through the different functions in his suit, or practice his combat skills, or sometimes just to keep him company (though he wouldn’t admit that to the kid).

And, deep down, he knew that May’s threats were unnecessary, because if anything were to happen to Peter Parker, Tony would hate himself more than May Parker ever could.

This is exactly why, when Peter admits off-handedly that an entire building collapsed on him while he fought off Adrian Toomes, he nearly has a heart attack on the floor of his workshop.

“Please don’t freak out,” Peter continues, sending imploring looks his way, “I would’ve told you sooner but it didn’t really seem important at the time, you know?”

One look at Tony’s face tells Peter that he does not, in fact, know, and so he continues to ramble.

“Besides, I’m fine, see?” He holds out his arms as if to prove his point. “Not even a bruise.”

Tony keeps breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, like his therapist told him to do when he feels a panic attack coming on.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks, a moment later.

“Mhm,” he utters, trying and failing to put any sort of strength behind his voice.

“Please don’t freak out,” Peter repeats, softer this time, “because if you freak out then I’ll freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he explains, “and it’s racing.”

He could lie, but the kid is right. His heart is beating so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if Peter could hear it even without the superpowers.

“You could’ve died,” is what he settles on instead.

“But I didn’t,” Peter counters, as if that makes it all better, as if Tony isn’t about ready to vomit at the thought of him crushed under a pile of rubble in a pair of glorified pajamas.

“I should’ve been there.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have taken the suit.”

“I deserved it.”

“God, kid, if something were to happen to you, I--,” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but Peter knows. He can see it in his eyes, can hear in in his heartbeat.

“I survived, Mr. Stark. I’m okay.”

“I just... I should’ve been there,” he says again.

The kid stops and looks him in the eye, and for a second, the terror of crumbling concreate all around him comes flooding back.

“Maybe,” Peter concedes, his voice cracking as he remembers calling out for help, only to realize that no one was coming to rescue him.

Tony tenses as the guilt tightens its hold.

“It’s okay, though,” he continues, “because you’ll be there next time, right?”

It’s not so much a question as it is a plea.

He wishes, more than anything, that he could go back in time and do it all over, but he can’t change the past.

He can only change the future.

“I promise, kid, from now on, whenever you’re in trouble, I’m going to be right there with you. You’re not alone. Not anymore. Okay?”

The fear begins to fade from Peter’s eyes, quelled by Tony’s words, and after a moment his face flips into a smile.

He hears Tony’s heartbeat finally fall into a normal rate, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Okay.”

// two //

“Pete, you’re missing the best part.”

Tony frowns at the mop of hair buried into his sweatshirt, jostling his arm to lightly nudge the boy awake.

“You still with me kid?”

“Mm,” Peter murmurs, neither confirming nor denying Tony’s suspicions.

The fight sequence continues to play on the screen, the screech of metal on metal as the robots battled it out filling the room.

Peter doesn’t even stir.

“Alright, spider-baby, I guess it’s bedtime,” Tony chuckles as he moves to stand, intending to carry Peter to his room in the Compound.

“Mm,” Peter murmurs again when Tony shifts his weight, the single syllable sounding more like a protest this time around.

“Are you going to say any real words tonight or are we talking in grunts from here on out?”

“Mm.”

“Noted.”

The boy nestles back into his shoulder, and Tony begins to accept the fact that he’s going to be stuck in this exact position for the foreseeable future.

It was probably better this way anyhow.

When May had dropped Peter off that afternoon, she’d mentioned that he hadn’t been getting much sleep.

If spending the night on the couch was what it took to get the kid to finally get some shut-eye, Tony was willing to make that sacrifice.

An hour later, Peter is still pressed into his shoulder, and Tony is still wide awake, half-watching a B-list sci-fi movie on the TV.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, good, we’re using English now,” he smirks, looking down at the kid, but Peter’s eyes remain closed.

“Mis’r Stark,” he says more forcefully, slurring the words a little, eyes still shut tight.

“Hey,” Tony pokes at the boy’s shoulder, “is this lucid Peter or sleep-talking Peter?”

The boy just whimpers. And then he starts crying.

“Pete, hey,” he pokes harder, “wake up.”

After a few more attempts, Peter’s hazy eyes spring open, wide with panic.

“Easy,” he soothes, running a hand over the kid’s hair, “it’s just me.”

“Oh,” Peter takes in the situation quickly, “I fell asleep.”

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie. But May said you haven’t been sleeping well, so I decided to leave you to it.”

“Ah.”

There’s a beat.

Tony thinks about not mentioning it, because maybe it’ll just embarrass him and who knows if Peter even wants to talk about it. But Tony had also pushed his mental health to the side for so much of his life, and he knew there were consequences. You could ignore the demons all you want, but it doesn’t make them go away.

“Tell me about the nightmares, Pete.”

His eyes go wide again, cheeks flushed, as he ducks his head back into the couch.

“It’s nothing,” he says, the words muffled by the cushions.

“It’s enough of something to be keeping you awake at night.”

“I’m okay.”

Tony reaches down, raising Peter’s chin with his index finger until their eyes meet.

There are visible bags under the teen’s red-rimmed eyes, a pool of tears caught up in his bottom lashes.

“No, you’re not,” he argues, “and it’s okay to not be okay. You should talk to someone about it, though. It doesn’t have to be me, or even May. We can set something up with a professional. I’m just worried about you, kid.”

Peter looks at him, words on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitates.

He wasn’t supposed to know about Siberia. There were protocols on FRIDAY’s database for a reason, because Tony didn’t ever want to see that look in Steve Roger’s eyes again, the look that told him everything he didn’t want to believe. And he sure as hell didn’t need anyone else to see it.

But one of Peter’s fatal flaws is that he’s not exactly known for following protocol.

Tony had never told him about what happened after Germany, but judging by the fact that he and Colonel Rhodes were the only Avengers that ever hung around the Compound, he’d guessed it hadn’t gone well. Every time Peter asked, though, Tony got this sad, faraway look in his eye and promptly changed the subject.

A sane person would’ve left it alone.

Peter was too concerned about Tony to be sane.

Two weeks ago, he’d gotten an idea. If his own suit recorded every single mission, surely the Iron Man suit did, too. He hacked FRIDAY’s database and, sure enough, there it was.

He should’ve turned it off--should’ve walked away when he realized just how personal it was--but it was like watching a car wreck. Peter couldn’t quite look away.

Instead, he watched the whole thing to the bitter end, living through Tony’s eyes. He gasped as the red and white shield came crashing down, could almost feel the weight of the metal in his own chest.

And then the screen went dark.

“Earth-to-Peter.”

He blinks a few times as Tony’s voice pulls him back into the present.

“You went silent on me there for a minute.”

Peter swallows, debating for a second before he decides it’s time to face the music.

“I saw the footage from Siberia,” he blurts. “I know I shouldn’t have but I hacked FRIDAY’s database and I watched it and I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

He bites at his lip and stares at his hands as he twists them in his lap.

“That’s why I’ve been having nightmares,” he finishes, and it’s barely above a whisper.

Peter waits, bracing himself for a lecture on boundaries and invasions of privacy.

He half-expects Tony to lay into him and kick him out right that second.

“Pete,” is what Tony says instead, zero parts angry and one-hundred parts concerned.

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, a sob on his lips.

“Hey, shh,” he shakes his head and wraps his arm around him tighter, “no apologies.”

“I was j-just worried about you.”

“I know, kid,” he smiles softly, “you’ve got a heart the size of the sun and I hope that never changes. You don’t need to worry anymore, though. I’m okay, Pete. I promise.”

He stops, running his fingers in circles on Peter’s back.

“It’s time for me to worry about you, now. And I’m going to start by figuring out how to help you sleep.”

Peter gets a sheepish look on his face, and Tony raises an eyebrow.

“It helps,” Peter pauses, looking away, “it helps when I can hear your heartbeat, because then I know you’re okay.”

“But it’s stupid,” he continues, “and kinda weird, and obviously I can’t listen to your heartbeat all the time because even just saying that sounds crazy and--,”

“Kid, please stop talking.”

He hadn’t noticed during his rambling, but Tony’s pulled a blanket around the two them and turned the TV off.

“Can you hear it?” Tony whispers a few moments later, his lips pressed gently into Peter’s hair.

Peter listens, hears the steady thump in his ears, like a gentle rhythm. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.

He’s out like a light before he can even answer the question.

// three //

Peter’s intuitive enough to know it’s not going well.

“You know, I live in New York, do I really need to know how to drive?”

“It’s a useful skill, kid. What if you’re ever on a mission and you need to tail someone? You can’t just take the train for that.”

Peter remembers the incident with Flash’s car and his cheeks go red.

“And the next time that happens,” Tony looks at him pointedly, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t total the thing and/or nearly kill yourself in the process.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yea? Let’s ask Karen about that when we get home, then.”

Peter mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely like tattle tale and Tony breaks into a smirk.

“Alright, now what you’re going to do is ease off of the clutch and give it a little gas.”

Peter is about to follow his commands when he stops suddenly.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Mr. Parker?” Tony echoes sarcastically.

“How much did this car cost?”

“I would guess somewhere in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Peter’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“Oh my God.”

“Relax, kid. You’ve been doing just fine.”

That was a lie. Peter had stalled out more times than he could count. He sent Tony’s stomach lurching every time he accelerated and nearly gave him whiplash every time he hit the brakes.

“Now, up off the clutch while you press down on the gas pedal.”

Peter does as he’s told, but chickens out when he goes to give it gas and promptly stalls. Again.

“Let’s try again,” Tony says gently, restarting the car, “just give her a little more gas this time.”

Peter takes a deep breath and lifts his foot off the clutch.

A little more gas this time.

He pushes his foot down on the pedal, way overcompensating for his previous attempt, and sends the car straight through the grass and into the wall of the closed course.

Peter can hear Tony’s heartbeat spike as it pumps erratically.

Tears well up in his eyes as he braces himself for the anger, the disappointment, because Peter’s really done it this time.

“Peter, are you okay? Look at me,” Tony says, perching himself over the center console to check for cuts, bruises, even a hair out of place.

“I t-told you this car was t-too nice for me t-to drive,” he sniffles, hyperventilating because this car is worth more than his entire apartment and he’s crashed it into a cement wall.

He doesn’t know, though, that Tony didn’t just choose this car on a whim. It’s won every safety award in the last three years, and he’s even added a couple extra precautionary measures just in case. Peter could probably drive this car off a cliff and walk away just fine.

When it came to Peter Parker’s well-being, money was no object.

“Hey,” Tony stops him, “I couldn’t care less about the car, kid. What I do care about, though, is you. That being said, you know the drill. Injury report.”

Peter finally takes a breath and gives himself a once-over.

“All clear.”

“FRI,” Tony prompts.

“My scanners are not picking up on any injuries, sir.”

Then, and only then, does Peter hear Tony’s heartbeat slow down.

“Thank God. I think it’s probably time to call it a day. We’ll pick up the same time tomorrow, though.”

Sure enough, Tony has the car all fixed up and ready to drive again the next day.

They keep practicing, day after day, until Peter can drive around the entire course with Tony’s heart rate remaining fixed and stable the entire time.

When it finally happens, he pulls of the course and puts the car in park, practically radiating giddiness.

Tony just smirks and tries not to look too proud.

// four //

“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.”

Peter takes two steps forward and collapses into Tony.

“I don’t wanna go,” he chokes, “I don’t wanna go, please, Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go.”

Tony looks into the kid’s pleading eyes and feels the bile burning his throat.

“You’re alright,” he says, and it’s not enough, of course it’s not enough, but nothing else leaves his mouth.

Around them, the Guardians are turning to dust and vanishing and Tony can only pray that the kid is spared from whatever hell they’ve stumbled into.

Tony holds Peter closer, as if that will stop whatever force of nature is stealing the rest of their team away. At the very least, as if to tell Peter that he’s not going anywhere without him, that they’re in this together.

He’s not alone. Not anymore.

They’ve done this before, when Peter’s anxiety ramps itself up to eleven and he gets so scared that he feels like he can’t breathe.

It helps Peter to hear his heartbeat. He knows that. So he’ll press him up against his chest and tell him to tune out the rest of the world and just listen to him.

Listen to my breathing, kid. That’s it. Just like that, in and out. Perfect. Hear my heartbeat? I’m right here, Pete. I’m right here. Just listen.

Just listen.

Every other time before, Tony would keep Peter locked in his arms until the panic melted from his face and the rhythms in their chests were synced. Tony didn’t even need to say anything.

As long as Tony’s heart kept beating in his ears, Peter knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Now, as the world is fading around them, Peter just keeps concentrating on his heartbeat. It’s constant and steady.

He’s scared, terrified, even, but he knows that as long as he can still hear it he’s going to be okay. He has to be okay.

Except, Peter can feel his fingers starting to crumble as he falls to the ground, taking Tony with him.

Tony’s heartbeat is still strong, but it’s starting to get farther and farther away.

The reality hits him all at once. He’s dying.

He’s dying and the only thing Tony can do is watch him as he goes.

And if you die, I feel like that’s on me.

Peter looks up at him, sees the brokenness seep into his eyes as the reality of the situation hits Tony too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Tony’s heartbeat is the last thing he hears before the world fades to black.

// five //

Tony’s heartbeat is the first thing Peter searches for when he comes back.

He has to strain, a bit, because the clamor of the battlefield rings loud in his ears. His eyes scan the hundreds of faces, looking for one in particular.

There.

“Mr. Stark! You will not believe what’s been going on,” he says, getting closer to the man, “do you remember that we were in space just a minute ago and I like, vanished,” he stops, looking at the gray flecks in Tony’s hair.

Those weren’t there a second ago.

“What’s that in your hair?”

“It’s just gray hair,” Tony says lightly, looking at him funny, and Peter just nods and continues.

“Oh. Well, Dr. Strange was there when we got back, and he gave us this big speech and--,” he’s cut off by a pair of arms nearly cutting his air off.

“What’s happening?”

He can hear Tony’s heartbeat now, because it’s pounding right up against his chest.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

“Just hug me, kid.”

Peter swears he hears it skip a beat when he does just that.

It’s all so weird, because they were in space just a second ago and now they’re home, at the Compound, but everything is on fire and there’s a battle raging around them.

Peter doesn’t know what to make of it, his brain is going into overdrive trying to remember the minutes before he got all dusty and passed out, but Tony’s arms cinch around him a little tighter and he decides not to worry about it for the time being.

Right now, he can hear Tony’s heartbeat drumming in his ears. As long as he can still hear that, he’s going to be okay.

Tony places a kiss on his cheek, making no move to let go of him, and Peter doesn’t protest.

“This is nice,” he says.

Everything’s going to be okay.

// six //

The smell of burning flesh hangs in the air, but Peter ignores it, running straight toward Tony.

“Mr. Stark?”

His face is ashy white against the blood dripping down his skin, and Peter feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Mr. Stark, you did it,” he says, holding back tears because he can hear it, can hear his heartbeat faltering, “we won.”

“Mr. Stark, we won,” he thinks that if he keeps saying it then maybe it’ll make it come true, but Tony’s heartbeat is still falling, fading into a dull murmur.

“Tony?” He tries instead, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but it doesn’t come.

Eventually Pepper pulls him away and he’s sobbing now, because the thumping in Tony’s chest is so faint it’s almost silent, and the beats are few and far between.

Peter watches as Pepper kneels next him. He can feel Rhodey’s hand squeeze around his shoulder as she promises Tony that they’re going to be okay.

He wants to scream, because he feels anything but okay, because Tony’s heartbeat was one giant constant in his life and now it’s dwindling into nothing.

For the longest time, he’d known that as long as he could still hear Tony’s heartbeat, he’d be okay.

He needed Tony to hold on, because he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if he lost him.

Please don’t go.

Tony looks so tired, though.

And as much as it hurts, Peter needs to let go.

“You can rest, now,” Pepper whispers, and Peter holds his breath as Tony gives her one last smile.

Peter hears the exact moment Tony Stark’s heart stops beating.

He hears awful silence creep in and replace the familiar ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.

And, for a moment, Peter swears his heart stops beating, too.

#irondad #peter parker #tony stark #fic #endgame

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a-vision-of-paradise · 4 years

Text

13/7/2020

It’s been a rough day. Nothing really happened at all, a lot of the usual, I just felt extra shitty about it. I had a terrible headache in the morning, my sleeping’s off again. I could’ve gotten up at 8 but I kept going back to sleep. I woke up and the first thought in my head was that I hated myself for sleeping again, that I can’t get anything right ever. I feel like such a mess, all the time I feel like a walking cry for help.

We’re in the middle of a global pandemic right now, I’ve been at home for the past 4 months, I gained weight but somehow lost my appetite. I think quarentining has made me even more incapable of dealing with the world or with people. I doubt every single thing I do, every text I send is risky. I feel bad after talking with friends over the phone or even commenting on their posts on social media. They’re my friends, supposedly I know they love me, but I feel like I don’t really know because everytime they do something to show it I get surprised.

I had a final yesterday that I surprisingly did well on, I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown and I only cried like 5 mins so that was nice. I was more shocked that I actually did well in the exam though because I feel like I can’t do well in anything. I can barely get out of bed, and I don’t really want to. I think I only pretend to want to because it’s somehow normal to be annoyed you can’t get out of bed, the truth is I’d stay in bed forever unashamedly if I could.

I want to tell my friends that I’m not okay, but I know there is nothing for them to do about it, I don’t want to burden them. I feel so self-centered all the time, I feel like shit and worry about how shitty I’m feeling and want my friends to worry with me, to deal with my shit with me. It’s just impossible though, I’m putting way too much on them.

I got professional help so I wouldn’t expect things from them, so I’d stop being a burden, so I’d have someone to call and talk to when I’m feeling like this who can actually tell me what to do, so I’d get better. But really all it’s done is that it’s made me realize how not okay I am, it gave my sadness a name and made it more visible to me. Every week I talk about how I feel, and the more I do, the more I realize what I’m feeling and what comes out of me scares me, what scares me even more is my therapist’s reaction to it.

I want to kill myself again today, but the feeling isn’t as all consuming as it was a week ago. I still somehow think I don’t have that long left, but when I think of what my family will think if I kill myself I feel like it will really bring them shame and I feel bad. Then I think that I won’t be there to deal with the crap of it all, I won’t be anywhere, It wouldn’t even be like I’m sleeping, which is the feeling I crave all the time.

I just think it’s really odd that I want so desperately to disappear, but when I feel like it’s actually happening it upsets me so much. Whenever I miss an outing or a hangout I feel like my friends will forget about me, they’ll get used to my absence and won’t miss me anymore and I feel horrible about it. But killing myself will definitely do that though, eventually people will forget about me, as they should, and I’ll really disappear completely. Some people might even hate me for wasting all their time, the years they spent loving me and trying to help me get better, I’d hate me for that too honestly.

I just wish I could press a button and be someone else, I was going to say I wish I could press a button and feel something else but it seems impossible now, the way I feel has kind of become who I am, I can’t really think of myself without the shittiness I feel.

The thing is, I say I need people, but when I actually talk to them all I want to do is to hang up. I can’t handle the small talk, I can’t handle the worrying, I don’t want to think of how they feel about what I say. At the same time, I wish they would notice that I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff and I’ll fall off any second.

I expect my friends to help but when I think of my family knowing anything it terrifies me. I never think of asking them for help or even expecting it from them, I don’t know if it’s because on some level I know they caused all of this or because I know they won’t understand or because I don’t want them to worry.

I just feel like I’m in a fog and I’m getting suffocated, I’d do anything to get out of it. I actually have to get out of it because I have another test in two days and I don’t have time to be sad right now.

#depression #sad #anxiery #corona #therapy #friends #family #journal

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delicateheartstranger · 4 years

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March 16, 2020

Dear world,

This has been started actually on the 15th, but since it will take awhile to write out everything I will mark it the 16th.

So here begins my crappy 2000s movie start of a blog. Unlike the movies where at some point my blog will blow up and my life will take either a turn for the worse or better I have nothing to fear because that was barely realistic even back then. Since I wanna make sure though just in case any chance someone who knows me finds this I will not state my name. I’ll tell ya’ll this, I’m 19 years old and will be 20 in October, I like fandom shit, I’m trans, I’m pan, I wish I could go back and kill baby Hitler so I would never be born and no ww2, I’m in love with one my best friends, I have feelings for a guy I met online that lives in Norway while I’m stuck in the U.S., I suffer from ptsd/depression/anxiety/a fuck ton of just not being mentally stable, live at home with my parents right now, have no job, most of my close friends are toxic, and I have no privacy.

I was at college for a few month, but then a bunch of things happened and I had to drop out. When I came back home my parents I feel resented me a bit for not being stable enough to stay at that college (they loved it and want to send me back) so now my home life became a lot worse. I’m in a php program currently so even if it weren’t for the fact that my parents would rather roll over dead than have me work (earn money to get the fuck out) I can’t get one since most conflict with time. I’m 19 and only ever held one real job because my parents claim the house needs to be clean before I can work. I’m not the only one who lives here, but okay. Also I would make less messes if I wasn’t home. Top it off it’s like “we don’t want you working for other people before you do the work you owe us at home.” They have this whole family first idea, but the thing is I don’t feel a part of the family. They decided I had no say when I was younger when moving far from home, I wasn’t a part of it enough to get attention while my brother was sick, I wasn’t a part of it enough for them not to judge me to the point where I quit lots of things I loved just so they’d stop hurting me, I wasn’t enough a part of it that they would do things for me that would be what “family” does.

So yes I will put myself aka my mental health first because you guys never will. Because of the Corona outbreak my area has been quarantined. It means 2 weeks no school (wasn’t enrolls), no physical php, less people in public, and that good old shit. Thing is now my parents are trying to force my brother who’s off in college to come back home AND not let me see my friends physically while locking me up in our home. The most I can do if I wanna leave is go for a walk for like 30 minutes near our house. I hate walking as it just riles me up ever more and brings back bad memories of my parents forcing me to. They tried super hard when I was younger to walk the fat off me. Worked like a charm, said no one. If anything the many years of fat shaming made me gain weight as they didn’t get me a therapist, didn’t think I was depressed, didn’t let me take meds, and all I had was eating to comfort me. So yeah I’m basically trapped in my own house. I think I may fuck up. I’ve been around a month or two clean of self harm, but I know that will change in these coming weeks if I am forced to stay here alone with my folks and brother.

I usually have passive SI and SH thoughts, but within this weekend I’ve had so many that I was close to acting on them. They’ve gotten to the level of overwhelming that it’s like I’m back in 11th grade again. Which by the way, found out one my few friends from that time tried to MURDER my other friend (who is a bit newer, but still) is living in a house for people with murderous tendencies. So that’s just peachy. Oh another friend from high school has a brain tumor which probably will kill him and it makes me super sad even though we haven’t talked in years. I am currently upset about my life choices of who I made friends with.

My three best friends would be LM, DW, and LL.

LL is a friend I made in my third high school. He’s kinda going through lots of shit right now. He used to realize that he couldn’t drink and that he could only smoke in small amounts. Now he’s back on his bs. He’s also having unsafe sex with strangers he met on tinder. Now it’s find to fuck around. Go live your best life. But if you are having unsafe sex that’s a problem. He is constantly having pregnancy scares (he’s trans). All of this while on the fact that when he’s not too fucked up he’s like kinda self center. I told him like the other night when he was doing better that I was feeling really down given some shit I got for being fat, but I was fine talking. This man goes ahead and spends the whole time talking about all these stories about himself and doesn’t let me speak for like the whole time. And he was like on this thing about how I need to do something, but he never got there. Don’t tell me how to self improve when you’re in a worse state than me.

Then there is DW. I’ve been in love with him since middle school. We met at this outside of school after school activity. I fell hard. When I first confessed to him he didn’t really speak to me and avoided me for about a year. Then we became friends again due to weird grouping things at that after school activity. Irony was I was trying to get into the group he wasn’t in so I would lose my feelings. Then after we got close again I confessed my feelings, again. Some how that made us best friends? I mean I’m glad he didn’t cut me off again don’t get me wrong, but it just wasn’t what I was expecting. Now here’s some hard shit. About almost a year ago over the summer (2019) we were talking about my weird love life. You see I still tried to date outside of him. Can’t keep going after something that won’t happen. Then I asked about his love life as it’d been like months since I brought it up directly with him. Turns out he’d been dating a girl for almost a YEAR. He just “forgot” to tell me. I understand he could’ve been worried about my feelings, but I’m more hurt that he hid something that big away from me and lied about it too. We’re supposed to be best friends. Course I don’t wanna hear about how he fucks her or whatever. I just wanna be there for him. And so now I’m getting a taste of my own medicine. He is talking about her. How they go on dates, how they had a dear valentines day date, how he cares about her, how she even was in the same php program as me. I wanna fucking strangle her. She used to be my friend, but we grew apart. Then of course I find out that she’s dating the love of my life. Cool. Worst is when me and him are texting and she has the NERVE to try and talk to me. I don’t ever wanna speak to her again. I will if it makes DW happy, but for my sanity and her life I will avoid that. She’s a fine person, props forgot about me and my feelings for him, and doesn’t deserve the utter rage I hold for her. That don’t change it though. All of this on top the fact we’ve been distantly lately. I noticed about like 5 months ago how I was always the one texting DW and that started our convos. How I was the one putting in effort. So I started to text less. He only about 5 times started the conversations. It was over memes and reply to my general instagram stories. I’ve given up and realized if I want him in my life have to do the texting. I won’t let him go anymore. I’ve tried in the past, it don’t help anything. No matter what I try I need him and even if it’s bad for me it’s no worse than not having him.

Now we are on my closest and most toxic best friend. LM. LM I also met in my third high school. She was kind and charismatic. Thing is she is unstable, manipulative, controlling, hurtful, and just really toxic to me. She’s the alpha of the friend group I’m in with her. She can hurt me so much. I’ve tried taking breaks from her in the past, but when that happens she gets angry. She tried in these times to ruin my reputation. She has so much dirt on me. Top it off she lies like crazy and people just like, believe her? The only ones who have been able to see through her shit would be: Me, LL, and MA. That’s it. Not even her own sister can, least she doesn’t show it. It’s shit like, let’s say I was embarrassed by something and felt bad. LM would say I sobbed over it and yeah. Or she also just full on lies about me doing or saying something. It’s too the point where she’s said things about me that could get me in legal trouble if she told some authority figure and they believed her. Like she claims one time that I was about to drug one my crushes if she wasn’t there to stop me and that I masturbated with his jacket when he left the room in his closet. Yes I’m not proud of it, but when I was in a bad head space I thought about the idea/fantasy of having him take horny pills that SHE showed me and offered me. I did also once smell up my crush’s jacket in the closet. Not proud of it at all. I wasn’t stable and wasn’t thinking in my right mind. Doesn’t make what I did okay, but I did not do anything that would be as fucked as she claimed. Sometimes with that old crush she’ll bring it up saying straight up lies like I went to his house. Never did. Did find my crush on white pages (again not okay, but I wasn’t healthy), but never went anywhere near him outside of our setting. So yeah if I cut her off or just take a break she could realllly ruin my life given everyone believes ever word she says. All of that and I’m still a bit bitter over her manipulating a situation where me, her, and a few friends had a crush on the same guy. She lied saying she didn’t have feelings for him. She told us to confess and when we were like ‘idk not to ready for that’ she went ahead and did it for us. He didn’t like us back which is valid. But then she got really handsy and did things that basically helped him fall for her. Now I don’t have feelings for him anymore. If I do imma just push em away given he wouldn’t be good for me. But they constantly do things now as a couple that feel like an invasion on my being. THEY HAD SEX WITH THE DOOR SLIGHTLY OPEN IN THE ROOM NEXT TO ME ONLY TO LIE STRAIGHT TO MY FACE. So they couldn’t see I’d woken up. I was facing the door and they were full on sex. Like I heard the moans. I heard it all. I knew they were fucking. So when they finished and went to wake me up I pretended to be asleep. Then later that day I brought it up to my friend CS (her boyfriend/ex crush) I thought they were having sex cause I could heard them in my dream, he lied to my face saying I was crazy. Straight up gas lighting tactics LM would use. This isn’t the first time they tried that. Even when I was with someone and we both were like yeah we heard ya’ll having sex they denied it and said we were crazy. Like please just don’t fuck when there are others around or at least have the decency to do it where we can’t hear/wake up from it.

All of this said about each one I love them all dearly. And it’s hard the idea of losing them. It’s just so shitty dealing with all their shit on top of my own.

Now the worse thing happening right now that I can’t even talk to a friend about it that I got my new name outed. So my parents are transphobic, but diet transphobic. Like they “support” trans rights yet do really transphobic things.I came out to them a few months ago and not a SINGLE time have they used the right pronouns. Then when bringing up trans things they have shot me down claiming xyz. I just wanna be me, but the same time I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. At my php program I go by my chosen name. I told all the staff my situation at home yet the nurse managed to fuck up when emailing and wrote in an email that was attached to my parents my chosen name. So great my parents probably know something is up. I’m gonna fucking cry if they hurt me more. They already invalidate me on so many things I can’t stand the idea of them doing so on something so close and core to my identity. They do it with everything else and most things core to who I am. I had one safe space and the nurse had to fuck it up for me. I just can’t fucking deal with all this.

Top it off the one good person in my life, ESK hasn’t spoken to me in about 3 days now. ESK is someone I met online who lives in Europe. He’s genuinely the only good thing in my life. The only non toxic source of happiness. He brings me so much joy. I’m pretty sure he also has feelings for me or had them at one point. He’s 2 years younger than me and is turning 18 soon. I wanna get him a gift, but not only would that be weird, but he also hates celebrating his birthday. So I’ll just wish him a happy birthday when it comes around. Regardless I might not even be able to since he hasn’t responded in awhile. He has some serious health problems so I am worried he could be really sick. That or he’s angry at me/hates me/doesn’t wanna talk anymore. It could be just my anxiety, but the same time it could be true. I hate that I can’t tell. I can’t even talk to any of my bffs about it since they’ll all be super judgmental. Maybe DW, but even then it’d be hard. I just wanna make sure ESK is okay. He means the world to me. I don’t want to lose him. This is all happening after we both showed full face selfies of ourselves in our last convos. I hope he doesn’t think I’m ugly. It’d break my heart into toooooo many pieces if my looks scared him away or made him lose his romantic feelings for me. It’s not like we could date rn as not only are we an ocean away, but I’m far to emotionally unstable to. But hey that won’t matter if he drops off the face of the earth.

Lastly before I go I wanna talk about this girl in my php program who is legit making me crazy. We will call her LLL. She looks and acts just like my first crush, but if she’d grown up. The only difference is her eye color, age, and where she’s from. She isn’t her, but boy that doesn’t stop my lizard brain. I feel like a piece of trash whenever my eyes wander over her more revealing parts. It’s bad to objectify women and bad that I’m placing this role on her. Plus I’m like 90% sure she’s straight and like 60% she has a thing for a guy in our php group (who is much hotter than me). It’s just so hard since I lost my crush via my abusive grandma. It was her fault I didn’t wake up in time (I was 9) which meant I never got her number. I remember my heart sinking seeing her wave good bye to me from her car window as she drove off. I never really got over her as I just repressed any sense of being not cis het. I only really realized what I had for her was more than “wanting to be bffs” like a year or two ago. Still haven’t had the proper therapy to undo all my baggage. I really hope she hasn’t realized that my eyes linger on her just a little too long or that my feet are always pointing towards her. I want it to be a safe space for her.

SO yeah. That’s like 2% of my life rn plus 1% back story. You guys can tell I say like, so, and ya’ll a tad too much. I don’t know what to do and I have to wake up at 7. If anyone sees this I hope you can give me advice before it’s too late.

Yours cordially,

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smuttyfairy · 7 years

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Undo (EP)

Description: “Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millenia, I will find you.”

Warnings: age gap, mentions of death

Word Count: 1,906

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader

Author: Admin Xiufairy ㅅㅇㅅ (one more part!)

After the first few months of raising Chanmi, you were sure you would be fine. Once she began to teeth, she was crying all the time. She wasn’t even crying, more like screaming. Even with Junmyeon and Baekhyun’s help, it was easily becoming too much for you.

Thinking back, you wondered what would’ve happened had Baekhyun not found you attempting to down a bottle of vodka. You’d barely gotten any of the liquid down your throat before Baekhyun was quickly pulling it away from you.

You immediately broke down, his arms wrapped securely around you as you sobbed over the loss of the best man you’d ever had the pleasure to meet; over the loss of your husband, your best friend, the father of your child.

He held you while you screamed how unfair it was, while you cried for the man who was no longer around. He held you while you yelled at Chanyeol for leaving you alone. You screamed at the top of your lungs, hoping he’d hear how mad you were at him.

Because of him, you were broken; defective. You cried yourself to sleep that night, after screaming until your throat was raw. That was the night that you stopped pretending you were okay enough to take care of your daughter.

For a while, much to your protest, Chanyeol’s parents took Chanmi in until you were sure you were stable enough to take care and to love Chanmi. So that’s exactly what you did. You pulled through for your barely born daughter.

His parents also brought you aside, giving you an envelope with your name on it in Chanyeol’s painfully familiar handwriting. You waited until they were gone before you sat at the kitchen table, opening the envelope carefully. The first thing you pulled out was a small picture. You almost burst into tears at the sight of it; it was a picture of the two of you from your sixteenth birthday, you were smiling as widely as possible, nearly burying your head into his chest in the embarrassment of him making you take a selfie with him. Of course, you were wearing the familiar red sweatshirt the two of you always battled for.

To my dear wife,

I know it will be a while after my funeral that you’ll be reading this. I’ve also enclosed a photo. I remember that day so well. It was half a year after I discovered my feelings for you and it was also the first day you stole my sweatshirt. The thought of that still makes my heart flutter, you know? I like to believe that you fell for me around that point in time.

I look at that photo and I realize just what I’m leaving behind. My love, I don’t want to leave you, or our baby. Our beautiful baby that I know you’ll raise so well. Honestly, I’m terrified. I’m terrified to leave this Earth when I’m sure I have nowhere to go. I’m scared of where I’ll end up, or that we will end up in different places. When your time comes, you’ll meet me again, right? We’ll get a second chance? As hopeful as that sounds, that’s the only thing allowing me to be ready for death.

That sounds ridiculous. How could anyone be ready to die? To leave those they love? The fact that I have to leave you hurts me so much that I feel I’ll be brought upon an even earlier death. I know it’s almost time, and that’s why I’m writing this to you. I gave it to my parents for safe keeping, until after the funeral.

This is what I want from you: for you to be happy. I know it was so selfish of me to keep this from you, to let you love me when I knew my life was coming to an end, and quickly at that. It was incredibly selfish, but (Y/N), I needed you. I still do, and I always will. Now, our daughter will as well.

Fucking cancer. I hate cancer. I wish I could just get rid of it. I don’t want to fade into the memories of those who cared about me. I don’t want to be forgotten, I’m terrified that my daughter won’t know my name, or that she won’t know how badly I wanted to stay for her. She won’t know how much I truly loved her, and her mother as well. Her beautiful, extraordinary mother that made me so happy. This serves as a reminder to you. You are the woman I fell for, the woman I fell in love with all that time ago.

Please, you can blame me if you want to. You can hate me, vandalize my gravestone, I don’t care. I want you to be happy. Whatever it takes for you to be happy. I need you to live the life you deserve, not an empty one because you think I’ll be upset if you move on. I just...I wish I could hold you one last time. I wish I could kiss you like I could the first day I told you I loved you. I wish I could laugh with you like we used to.

I will make a promise to you right now, my love, as I finish this letter. I promise that even if my life is taken from me, it is yours. Every single thing of mine is yours. Since day one, that has been the truth. But the real promise? The real promise is that I’ll meet you again. Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millennia, I will find you and I will remember you, and most of all, I’ll still love you. Please never forget about me, (Y/N). I love you.

- Your husband, Park Chanyeol

You began therapy, which oddly helped you despite the aura surrounding any shrink. You talked about Chanyeol, how some days you would cry just because you couldn’t function anymore. Even your therapist made comments on just how pure yours and Chanyeol’s love sounded. It was ‘a match made in heaven that was separated too early’. You almost laughed at that one. Almost.

It was a few months after Chanmi’s first birthday that you were able to take her back in. You had a hard time still because Chanyeol had been right. She was a constant reminder of him and every day she grew to be more like him. From her laugh to the way her eyes gleamed, she was Chanyeol.

The day she came back into your life, you decided that it was a time of forgiveness. It wasn’t Chanyeol’s fault that he died, that he left, but that didn’t mean you could help being mad at him. You wanted to hate him for leaving you but even the thought of hating him made you cry.

The next week, Baekhyun watched her as you visited Chanyeol’s gravestone. You sat on the dirt in front of it, running your fingers over the stone. Over the past year and a half, it had become...dirty. It hurt you just to be there. You weren’t doing the one thing he had wanted you to do - move on.

“This is so hard, Chan.” You already felt the tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t know if you’re still here, waiting to hear from me but I can’t take it anymore. Every day it’s worse and worse, all I think about is you.” You sniffled, wiping away a tear quickly. “Did you really have to leave? God damn it, Park Chanyeol, how could you leave us like this?” Your voice shook as you got louder.

“I just...I loved you so fucking much, Chan, how did you leave me so easily?” You bit down on your lip as you took out your frustration on this gravestone that was supposed to represent your husband.

Park Chanyeol

It is not length of life, but depth of life.

He jumped into life and never touched bottom.

1992.11.27 - 2017.12.04

“I just -” You scoffed, wiping away your tears, shaking your head as you looked at the gravestone. “I guess I hit the bottom for you.”

The next fifteen years were hard. Small questions from Chanmi asking who her father was, where he was, what he was doing. You played it off for as long as you possibly could, but sixteen year old Chanmi was done with waiting for the news. She even dared to ask you if Baekhyun was her father. You quickly, quickly assured her otherwise.

“He was a great man, Chanmi. I grew up with him, he was my brother’s best friend. It’s a cliché story, really, the girl falling in love with her older brother’s best friend. Maybe I was foolish back then, falling in love with a man so out of my reach. It really didn’t help that he was attractive, Chanmi, I’m serious. He was dangerous since day one.

I never imagined someone like him would ever fall for me, honestly. About three months after I married him, I found out that...that he was dying. It was hard. It was so damn hard to come to terms with the fact that the man I’d been in love with for years was simply going to die and I couldn’t do anything about it.

He was strong, despite the situation he was strong for me. He put aside his illness for me even though he physically deteriorated every day. Chanmi, your father was such a strong man. He didn’t get to meet you but he loved you so much. I miss him...so much every day even sixteen years later.

I remember the night he died like it was yesterday. I’ll never forget what he looked like when he was trying to hold on to his life just for us…

The point is...is your father, Park Chanyeol, was the best man I’d ever met. I-I hope that one day you can find someone who genuinely cares for you as your father did for me. Just...don’t ever question if your dad loved you. He held on for so long...so damn long because he wanted to meet you.

I guess...I guess I was mad at him for a while, you know? Blamed him, maybe. I mean - he could’ve told me earlier. We could’ve gotten him treatments but...ultimately I understand why he did that. Brain cancer...is unpredictable. There was no way he could’ve lived much longer with treatments or not.

He loved me. It took me so long to realize that he had to go early because the longer he stayed, the more he didn’t want to leave. The longer he stayed...the more of a hole he would leave in the hearts that he loved. He loved us - you, Uncle Junmyeon, Uncle Baekhyun, and I - he loved us so much.

So maybe this was fate or a destiny of some sort, I don’t know, but all of this led me to you. And you? You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I don’t want you to think for one second that that isn’t the truth.”

And for the first time in years, you broke down into tears over Park Chanyeol, except this time, Park Chanmi was there to comfort you.

#chanyeol fic #chanyeol smut #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol #exo fic #exo #exo smut #exo fluff #exo angst

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blazedroses-archive · 5 years

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under read more are melinda’s halliwells headcanons!!

ok but melinda views phoebe as an evil pre-aiden situation. murdering someone? running away from its crimes? sacrificing everyone to save herself? YIKES!!! coward moves in melinda’s eyes. her entire future ruined because of her mothers half of the family. unfortunately, mel doesn’t get it till she follows into the same footsteps. definitely a no bueno. hates phoebe for setting up the path for darkness since melinda had no control.

PIPER IS A GREAT MOTHER! don’t get me wrong, i know in my main verse, piper is nonexistent in melinda’s life. realistically, in morality bites, it is the only universe piper even considered leaving her child behind. at the end of the day, in canon, phoebe would have never let her. it isn’t piper to abandon her family. she is the heart of the family because piper fights for it. drastic situations cause people to take drastic measures. leaving melinda behind to save her sister? it was difficult, but at least melinda would have her father and phoebe would still be alive if they escaped.

honestly melinda has a really bad habit of just…. speaking out her ass. she doesn’t think and just blurts everything out. truly not her finest quality yikes!!!

melinda loves her bad boys and girls. she loves when they give her trouble and is like severely addicted to them. they’re her weak spot and senses them when they’re like a mile away. it’s what gets her into her sticky situations all the time and like???? yikes terrible dating life.

melinda, due to those great whitelighter abilities, is able to speak multiple languages, both commonly and uncommonly known. it’s definitely comes as a surprise to others when she’s in school and hears people talking shit in a different language due to being related to phoebe halliwell, but ya know, gotta reciprocate that trash talk.

melinda talks a lot with her hands especially when she’s angry. that’s it. thnxs for coming to my ted talk.

melinda knows when she fucks up. she won’t deny or try to hide it. the downside? once she already knows she’s in trouble? she’ll keep on doing it. out pass curfew? looks like she’s staying out. stealing? well, there’s no return. secretly using magic and then getting caught? oh fuckin well!!! truth is, she is self destructive but is super clever when it comes to getting herself out of shitty situations.

elders can go fuck themselves!!! she has and always will hate them. they’re cowards in her books and hid when the witching world needed them the most. when they needed guidance, they vanished. they are useless and the fact she is even part whitelighter is like a punch to the gut because they are a disgrace. ok thanks. plus their rules and moral even during this time are unethical!!!!!!

bisexual mel? YOU BET! boys were typically a means to an end, using them just as a fun time or to occupy her time. with girls? those are some of her best memories and the places she stems her relationship advice from. girls were so affectionate and caring and kind and loving and everything melinda could have asked for in a partner. the reason why those relationships never lasted because of trust issues. melinda knew her girlfriends and aiden weren’t the same but letting her past go was just too hard. it was a buried memory she wanted to keep hidden. plus melinda knew it wasn’t her partners job to fix the toxic mess of herself. it wasn’t their job to stick around when she would self destruct. it was her own problems to deal with and letting them go was the easiest way to keep them safe and happy.

melinda had gotten into some serious trouble crime wise growing up. luckily for her, darryl was ALWAYS there to help weasel her way out of it. the last time she was ever arrested was when a reality check hit her in the face. darryl was told to not let her out per leo’s orders and ended up spending a night in lock up. although it wasn’t terrible, the idea of doing something so terrible that she’d end up in prison for the rest of her life was a NO GO. ever since, mel has tried to be on her best behavior and doesn’t give darryl too much grief with the amount of times he had to put up with her.

in any reality, melinda wasn’t very keen on getting told she was like piper. she never wanted to be anything like her because piper broke her heart in the worst ways possible. it wasn’t like she had DIED and there was closure. in fact, being ALIVE with no contact made everything so much worse. melinda just wanted her mom to play with her hair, give boy advice, protect her, and even tell melinda how much she loved and appreciated her. abandoningyour own child and never looking back? YIKES!!!! a no go in mel’s book and refuses to be anything like that.

mels mother figure is wendy beauchamp ( aka @wouldntdie ). she stepped up to the plate when piper left. the person who tucked her into bed, told all her secrets to, her pride and joy, everything and more. that’s her mother in every way, shape, and form. having piper walk out on her was painful, no doubt about that, but if that hadn’t of happened? wendy wouldn’t be the mother melinda had. she wouldn’t change that for the world.

friendly reminder that mel has five tattoo’s and twelve piercings! the first tattoo she ever got was when she was fifteen. her dad definitely did not know about this and basically, one of her older friends had a tattoo gun and low and behold, that’s when the triquetra tattoo came about on her hipbone - to represent the heritage of magic! leo didn’t find out about it till summer time since it was hidden but when she’d go out swimming in a bathing suit? yeah that was ruined!! did that stop her? nope!! her next tattoo was fairly simple, small flowers and leaves wrapped around her wrist. she was seventeen getting this tattoo and had wendy’s permission with leo slightly against it ( too bad neither girls ever listen to him? ) BLESSED BE on the bridge of her foot written in cursive on her eighteenth birthday, nothing too crazy, it was a little treat to herself. a little after turning twenty, she then got a moon tattoo behind her ear with a minimalist mandala within it and at this point, no one could say jack about what she did. that was the last tattoo melinda got for awhile until a little after jaxon died. she ended up getting the phrase ’in aeternum’ on her rib cage which is latin for ‘to eternity ; forever.’ because to mel? that’s what their love was.moving on to piercings! she has her belly button pierced and a double nose piercing. she actually got this when she was fifteen too and convinced leo into letting her get them…. which they regretted once they found out about her little tattoo scandal. the rest are just ear piercings which mel gradually just ended up getting over time!

if you ever wanna get fucked up, mel is your go to! not only is she the best joint roller ( teen mel just took a huge jump to rock bottom but it’s ok she built herself up again ) and not afraid to ever cook up a batch of pot brownies ( which her family probably ate by mistake a time or hundred ) but the BEST bartender. the second she turned 18, melinda was behind the bar serving drinks, being everyone’s personal therapist to get them through their dramatic bullshit, but all-in-all? there for a good time! it was a natural talent for someone who delved head first into drinking at the age of fourteen and built a fucking tolerance. even before her 21st, melinda would sneak into clubs that never carded. those who personally knew her knew that her id was a fake, but no one ratted her out because she was that chill. bringing pot brownies to share, taking shots, dancing, you name it, melinda patricia halliwell fucking did it. coyote piper? more like coyote melinda because mother like daugher! when she was legally allowed to bar tend, melinda started attending a university to get her bachelors degree as both entrepreneur and engineering and paid for it using her paychecks and tips.

not being able to use her powers literally killed mel. she had no help from anyone, not even her father. melinda learned how to orb and sense on her own in secret. without anyone knowing, she figured out how to connect with those she loved in order for them to remain safe. obviously, mel had to be super careful due to the fact she could get caught. yet, this one? was super sneaky and sly, running under everyone’s radar in order to remain a secret.

aiden really fucked her up. he was the boy she would’ve gone to the end of the world for. the one she would’ve given up her entire family and morals and lifestyle just to be around. melinda was willing to convert completely to dark magic and essentially expose herself in order to keep him in her life due to wanting to be a magical being. they would’ve destroyed the world if they had to. the worst part about him is that even though he was so bad for her, he treated her so perfectly. aiden treated her like a princess, spoiling her with endless gifts and a kindness that wasn’t shared to the public. like she wishes he treated her bad so the pain and sadness wouldn’t of been so bad and she could’ve walked away sooner in the relationship. even after he died, melinda was still so in love with him and it took years for her to realize how toxic aiden truly was. his death was and always will be a pain that she carries in her heart. after his passing, melinda never settled for anyone. she had MAJOR trust issues and the idea of being in a serious relationship was a literal nightmare. never did she think she’d find love again, let alone really wanted to. then when she was 23, melinda met jaxon and everything really changed. he was a military man, no ties to the magic world. she didn’t want to fall for him in fear of being his downfall. he mended her heart in so many ways and taught her how to love again and just opened her up. he was everything the family envisioned for melinda and they truly lived a happy life with their 3 ( 4 but you’ll see in a sec ) kids. when he died during his final tour, it really put a dent into her life. she couldn’t grieve the same way she did for aiden because she had kids to care for and a baby on the way, one that wouldn’t even have the chance to meet her ( 3 girls, 1 boy. we all know this!! ) father. she wanted to keep his memory alive in positive light and the years that they had together were the happiest. aiden damaged her in so many ways, jaxon was truly melinda’s salvation. having a mortal husband kept her tamed in the no magic world!

listen, if piper ever walked back into melinda’s life, honestly? she’d rock her shit. like to abandon her without saying goodbye or even trying to communicate with her really messed melinda up. all she wanted was her mother and at her worst times, piper wasn’t there. her mother chose her sisters over her own daughter and that was a hard concept for melinda to come to terms with. she doesn’t have it in her to forgive piper, phoebe, or prue. it is too painful to even consider letting that possible heartbreak from happening again. even though melinda’s last name is halliwell, she’ll introduce herself as melinda patricia wyatt because her father? yeah, that’s her hero in every shape and form. wendy? stepping up and being a mom? yeah, that’s her mother in every shape and form as well. a halliwell by blood, a beauchamp-wyatt by choice.

#* ✦ ⋆ ˚ ❪ MELINDA HALLIWELL. ❫ — dossier.#i have so many #i wouldnt be able to post separately

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

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another chance for us to get it right

crimson_kiss17: I'd love to see how Mike and Ginny end up together at the end of a night that began with him showing up with Rachel and her still with Noah.

it’s not weird to write a New Year’s fic in April and post it in May, right?

read it on ao3

When Noah asked about Ginny’s plans for New Year’s, she hadn’t thought twice about it. After all, this was the guy who’d asked her to take a world tour after their second date, the guy who’d bought out a restaurant for their first. Asking about New Year’s plans in November was a little odd, sure, but she’d gotten kind of used to Noah Casey’s brand of odd.

(Used to it, but it really hadn’t grown on her.)

Still, Ginny replied without much thought, “I think the team usually hosts something? I’ll probably go to that.”

He’d grinned lopsidedly back and said, “Great! Good to have a plan already.”

Which could have been a compliment for her scheduling skills, but Ginny was pretty sure it was more along the lines of Noah inviting himself to the Annual Padres New Year’s Bash.

Sure enough, a month and a half later, Noah was her New Year’s Eve date.

She’d only allowed it because she really didn’t want to be the only single person there. Well, the only single person among her friends, at least. Plenty of the front office staff and quite a few of her teammates were sure to show up stag, but it wasn’t like Ginny was going to spend the majority of the evening with them.

No, she’d hang with Blip and Ev, like always. And Mike and Rachel, too, if they made the trip down from LA. Couples. She’d probably hang out with couples because that was her life now.

it would be nice not to be the odd one out for once.

And walking into the swanky, bay front restaurant the team had rented for the evening with Noah at her side, Ginny even believed that.

Noah whistled low after they cleared the coat check and finally got a good look at the venue. A huge bank of windows dominated one wall. During the day, Ginny was sure that they offered a beautiful view of the bay, but with darkness descended, just reflected the rosy glow of the room. A room which was nearly full to the brim with employees of the San Diego Padres, eating and chatting and drinking and even dancing.

It reminded Ginny of the Nike party—with admittedly fewer pictures of her face plastered on the walls. There were still a few, but mostly within team shots: highlights from the past season—She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

“Looks like you baseball players really know how to party.”

Ginny shook her head to clear the train of thoughts from her mind as much as the observation. She laughed anyway, elbowing him in the side. Teasingly, she replied, “If most of these guys had a say, there’d be three kegs, a bowl of chips, and a beer pong tournament. This is definitely the front office’s choice.”

“Well, thank God for the front office, then,” he drawled, his long, lanky arm draping over Ginny’s mostly bare shoulders and reeling her into his side. “Because I was a beer pong champ at Cal Tech and I’d hate to embarrass any of your teammates.”

She laughed again, more honestly this time. “Talk to me when you’re a Roomba pong champ, Casey.”

“Roomba pong?”

Ginny was so caught up in detailing the game she’d learned with Cara, she didn’t notice Noah’s arm dropping to her waist or the fact that he’d guided her out to the cleared space operating as a dance floor. She didn’t really notice until he twirled her around, words falling away.

It wasn’t the unexpected spin that startled her, though. No, that was down to the sight of Mike and Rachel walking into the restaurant, looking perfectly cozy together.

It hadn’t been a fight to get Rachel to agree to attend the Padres’ New Year’s party, but if it had been, Mike would’ve won.

Which was maybe why Rachel had been so quiet in the car ride over.

To make up for it, Mike was determined to make sure she had a good time. He even laid his hand, palm up, on the console between their seats, but she was too busy watching the scenery flash by to notice.

When they finally pulled up to the valet stand outside the party, Mike hopped out of the car and jogged around the front to hand Rachel out because who said chivalry was dead? She already had the door open, but gave him her hand and a funny little smile as she climbed down.

With a hand low on her back, Mike led her into the party. (Maybe one of his last as a member of the team. Who knew what his knees or even his back were going to spring on him this year?)

Music thumped through the restaurant, which was admirably doubling as an extremely exclusive club tonight, too. It took a moment for Mike’s eyes to adjust to the low lights, but sure enough, he could make out plenty of his teammates and their dates tearing it up on the dance floor.

Shaking his head and grinning, he helped Rachel out of her coat and held his hand out for her purse. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d ended up holding her bag because Rachel got sick of carrying it around. Might as well get ahead of it now.

“Actually,” Rachel said, bringing the small bag up to her chest, as if to protect it, “I’ll hang onto it. The network wants me on call tonight, so I need to keep my phone handy.”

That was the first Mike was hearing of this, but he tried his best not to react.

“They expecting some big shake up on New Year’s Eve?” he asked with a grin, handing the coats over and accepting a claim ticket.

“You know pro athletes,” she shrugged.

Mike did. But he wasn’t sure he liked the edge of superiority in her tone.

Rather than respond, he looked back over the crowd of dancing bodies. Almost immediately, his attention snagged on one in particular.

It’d been a while since he’d seen Ginny Baker so carefree. Whenever he joined in on one of her postseason workouts, which were carefully monitored by a team of physical therapists and sometimes the coaching staff, she was all business. Focused. Intense.

Out on the dance floor, though, her fluttery skirt swirling around her thighs, she was lit up. Dark curls bounced with her movement, whipping into her face and catching on her ears. Her head tilted back and Mike could hear the echoes of her laugh rattle through his mind even if there was no way he could actually hear it over the music.

Then, from clear across the room, Ginny’s sparkling eyes connected with his.

Time (and Mike) froze, as he stood, unable to look away from this woman who was his teammate and so much more.

Too startled to do much more, Mike nodded to her, a simple chin up of acknowledgement.

Her chin tipped up in response, but his rookie’s smile was reserved for the man twirling back into his arms.

Mike shook himself as Rachel’s hand tucked into his elbow. He looked down at her and smiled, ignoring the fact that, much as wanted this to work, someone else had just made his heart leap.

And that someone else was currently so fucking off limits—not just because she had a boyfriend and Mike had Rachel.

So, Mike did the smart thing. He smiled down at his ex-wife/current girlfriend and steered her away from the dance floor and away from anything like temptation.

Unfortunately, Ginny hadn’t properly weighed the pros and cons of bringing Noah to this party. All she’d really thought about was how much she didn’t want to be an awkward third wheel, hanging out with Blip and Ev because she hated mingling on her own. But she was starting to think that being the odd one out would have been better than this.

This, being constantly reminded of just how much she and Noah were not the Sanders and probably never would be.

(It wasn’t that she didn’t like Noah. He was sweet and a little goofy and very cute. They had fun together and she liked him just fine. But Ginny didn’t think she’d ever like him enough. Certainly not in the way Evelyn and Blip liked—loved—each other.

And, of course, there was also the fact that she happened to like someone else more. Much, much more.)

Maybe if everyone else weren’t quite so happy, it would be easier.

Which was probably a terrible thing to think, Ginny scolded herself as she and Noah waited for their drinks at the bar.

It was a good thing that Blip and Evelyn had worked out whatever issues they’d been having at the end of the season. They were Ginny’s closest friends; of course she was thrilled they were so solid.

Of their own volition, Ginny’s eyes slid over to the real problem.

Mike and Rachel cut through the crowd, Mike’s hand resting protectively in the small of Rachel’s back. He crowded against her as they snuck out onto the balcony, no doubt looking for a little privacy. Not that the lack of it had kept them apart. It seemed like every time Ginny looked (and maybe she was looking a little too often) her captain and his (ex?) wife were intertwined. Mike’s arm around Rachel’s waist, Rachel’s head against Mike’s shoulder as they talked to Oscar, the way he brushed her hair away from her face. Every bit Ginny saw made her stomach twist unpleasantly.

And now, shrouded in the dark of the balcony, Ginny had no idea what they were doing.

Whoever first said Out of sight, out of mind, was full of it.

“What do you think?”

Ginny shook herself, wondering what she’d missed. She cocked her ear towards Noah, like she hadn’t been able to hear. Which was close enough to the truth.

Grinning, he snaked an arm around her back to pull her closer. His lips dropped to her ear, and Ginny wished that she felt, well, anything from the flirtation. There was a faint sense of fondness—Noah and she probably could’ve been pretty good friends if things had worked out differently—but not much else.

“How about we get out of here? I’ve got a helicopter and pilot on retainer. We could ring in the New Year in real style.”

The bright burble of laughter popped out of her all on its own, but when Noah didn’t join in in, Ginny had to rein it in. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, head cocked to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because this might be the only New Year’s I get to spend as a Padre?”

Waving her off, he replied, “You’re gonna be on this team for a long time, Ginny.”

“You don’t know that,” she argued, trying not to think how much more comforting the sentiment had been coming from someone else. Hey, Baker, you’re not going anywhere. “Anything could happen. I could get traded or sent back down or my arm—”

“I thought your arm was feeling better.”

It was. But it had been feeling fine before it ended her season, too, and Ginny wasn’t willing to take anything for granted. Not anymore.

Which was why, looking at the man standing next to her, Ginny realized what was going to happen.

They weren’t even fighting. She was sure that if she said she wanted to stay, Noah wouldn’t mind. And she did want to stay. Just not with him as her date.

“Noah,” she sighed.

His eyebrows drew together, but a slight smile still played across his mouth. “Ginny,” he drawled back.

“I think you should go.”

There was no pretend misunderstanding, no cute miscommunication or attempts to change her mind. Noah’s eyes roamed her face, a little confused and hurt, but he didn’t give voice to those feelings. Instead, he just studied her for a long moment before apparently reaching some conclusion of his own.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” she replied firmly.

Noah’s eyes searched her one last time before he sighed and nodded his acceptance. He leaned in and brushed her cheek with a kiss, parting with, “You know where to find me if you change your mind,” and a half smile.

As she watched him go, suddenly feeling lighter than she had in months, Ginny was certain that she wouldn’t.

When Rachel turned away from a conversation they were having with Oscar and Charlie with a polite smile to answer her phone, Mike should have known what would happen.

Honestly, though, a lot of his attention was taken up with the way Ginny was picking food off her—ugh—date’s plate. This, in spite of her own plate sitting unattended before her. Specifically, though, Mike was distracted by the stupid, fond little smile on the guy’s face, totally unnoticed by the pitcher currently stealing another crab puff.

Mike’s attention was pulled back to his immediate surroundings by Rachel’s voice, an undercurrent of excitement that he knew all too well coloring her words.

“Sorry about that,” she gushed, her hand sneaking into the crook of his elbow as she prepared to pull him away.

“I hope it wasn’t an emergency,” Charlie replied, pleasant enough.

“Actually, it was my producer. It sounds like there’s some kind of story out of the Big Ten that’s going to break tonight. I need to get into the studio.”

Rachel looked up at him expectantly. Mike blinked.

“Oh, do you want the valet ticket?”

“Do you want me to get the car while you get our coats?” she asked, tone a little frostier than he felt he deserved.

“You want me to come with you?”

Rachel’s smile froze on her face and Mike didn’t have to look at his GM or Charlie to know that they’d just winced in sympathy.

“We’ll just let you discuss this in private,” Oscar murmured, pulling his boss away from the suddenly tense situation.

Privacy actually sounded pretty ideal right now.

With his hand at the small of her back, he steered Rachel through the throng and out onto the unoccupied balcony. No one would bother coming out here until it was time for fireworks, and those were still more than an hour away. He could tell from the set of her shoulders that she did not appreciate being led around, but figured the discretion was worth her annoyance.

Once they were outside, away from prying eyes and ears, Rachel stepped away from his hand, turning back to him with crossed arms. Either against the breeze off the bay or in annoyance. Her chin tipped up, jaw squared and Mike sighed. He knew the signs, a fight was practically inevitable now.

Didn’t mean he wouldn’t do his best to cut it off before it could really get going, though.

“Rach, this is important to me, I can’t just leave.”

“A party is important to you? More important than my job?”

He huffed, trying to rein in his frustration. “You know what I meant. I’m not trying to keep you here if you need to go. Which was why I asked if you wanted the valet ticket.”

His wife’s eyes narrowed. Which, in the long and varied history of their relationship, had never been a good thing.

“Yet when i told you I didn’t want to come tonight, you still just had to convince me!”

“Because I thought it would be nice to come to a team party with you again!” he exclaimed, wincing a little at how loud he’d gotten.

Rachel didn’t flinch. She regarded him steadily, arms still crossed. “You put in your appearance, Mike. Why can’t we just go?”

“Why would I go with you? What would I do? Sit in your office and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for you to finish?”

“You could talk to my producer. Or even the network execs.”

“About what?” he demanded, thrown for a loop.

Rachel stared at him like he was an idiot. “You’re not going to play forever, Mike.”

“So?” he demanded, defensively crossing his arms over his chest and scanning the crowd through the massive windows to see if they’d attracted any attention. They hadn’t, but just before his gaze returned to Rachel, it caught on Baker and her date looking cozy at the bar, though maybe that was just the low, warm lighting inside. That hope was blown out of the water as he watched the tech geek lay his hand low on her hip, angling Ginny into him. Her head cocked to the side as he murmured in her ear, her long neck perfectly displayed.

“So,” she said, like her next words were so obvious, she couldn’t believe she had to spell it out for him, “I thought you might want to get a head start on phase two.”

Phase two. They’d talked a lot about it when they’d been married. What Mike would do when he finally hung up his cleats.

But a lot had changed since he and Rachel had been married.

“Look, Rach,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his beard. “I know that you love what you do, but it’s just not for me.”

“And you’ve decided this after just one try?”

Mike shrugged. It wasn’t as if he’d been all that good as a talking head, anyway. Not that he was afraid of hard work—the amount of effort it took just to stay game ready was a testament to that. Just, he didn’t see much point in working so hard for something he didn’t love enough.

Which was a hell of a thought to have, arguing with his wife even as the image of another woman swam through his brain.

“You told me you would pack it in, Mike,” she continued, mercifully unaware of that loose thought. “That you’d retire if I—”

“And when I offered, you told me you were gonna marry that guy,” he shot back. “Let’s not hold each other to what we said then.”

Her mouth pursed. “Does that mean you’re not thinking about retiring?”

“I’m always thinking about retiring,” he replied honestly enough. It was true. There weren’t many days where retirement was far from Mike’s mind. Mostly, though, it was viewed with a sense of faint horror and unending praise that his life had yet to come to that.

“But not seriously,” she frowned because Rachel did still know him. Better than almost anyone else.

Mike stared back at her in wordless confirmation.

“I thought it was going to be different this time, Mike,” she confessed, shoulders slumping. “But it won’t, will it?”

There were lots of things that he could have said in response, and while they all swirled through his mind, all that came out of his mouth was, “I guess not.”

Rachel’s eyes slid shut and stayed that way for a long moment. When she opened them, her jaw was set, but this time it wasn’t in anger. Mike tried to dredge up the same depth of feeling, but he was coming up dry.

Much as he’d loved Rachel, there was part of him that’d always known that this second chance wasn’t going to lead anywhere good. Mostly because he hadn’t really been running to her, but from something else.

“Don’t bother with the valet ticket. I’ll call for a car. And have your things set back down here,” she finally said, voice steady and head high.

Mike nodded his acceptance. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t. We’ve both apologized to each other enough for one lifetime.” With one last wan smile, Rachel turned and left the balcony, leaving Mike alone.

He just wished it wasn’t such a familiar feeling.

Ginny lingered at the door of the balcony, the sight of Mike’s hunched, shadowy form leaning against the railing, beckoning her out. Still, her hand lay on the handle and she hadn’t yet convinced herself to push and cross that line.

It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t seen Rachel leave the balcony alone and watched, hawk-eyed, for Mike to make an appearance, too. But time ticked on, closer and closer to midnight, and her captain didn’t return to the party.

Over the course of the next few minutes and two drinks, Ginny drifted closer and closer to the wall of windows, hoping she’d be able to make out his form through the glass. Even though the party was dimly lit, it was even darker outside, leaving the balcony swathed in shadows.

Which had led her to this, peering through the glass door at Mike, wondering if she should really intrude on his privacy.

Her body made her decision for her, pushing open the door and slipping out into the quiet night.

At the burst of sound, Mike startled, checking over his shoulder to see who’d come to drag him back inside and preparing a gruff, “Go away.” The sight of Ginny, though, unaccompanied and standing on the threshold, goosebumps breaking over her skin from the chill wind, had him feeling slightly more charitable. He liked to think that was just the effect Ginny had on him, but it was probably as much about the fact that her tall, dorky shadow wasn’t around.

“Where’d the computer geek go?” he asked, turning back out to the bay.

“Is that what y'all are calling him?” she responded, leaning against the rail next to him, a slight frown on her face.

Well, no. That was just what Mike called him because it was better than what the guys had come up with: “Ginny’s boyfriend.”

He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but replied, “He went home.”

“And left you here?”

It was Ginny’s turn to shrug. “I told him to.”

She could feel Mike’s attention shift off the not-so distant waves to her face. A quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye wasn’t enough, so she turned to face him, too. His head was tilted in consideration and Ginny couldn’t help but want to smile at his unnecessarily adorable face. Especially when he started to grin.

“You kick him to the curb?”

Ginny huffed, crossing her arms and shaking her head at him. She turned, leaning her hip against the railing to better study Mike’s gloating face. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“No, but I saw Rachel march out of here like the place was on fire,” she challenged, brow raised.

Mike nodded, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek. “She had to go cover some story.” When Ginny continued to study him, he added, “And, apparently, pack up my stuff so she could ship it back here.”

That challenging look melted away, leaving her beautiful face so open, so full of feeling. For him.

“Mike, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

He shook her off. “It’s fine. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

One of the things he loved most about Ginny—because Christ were there a lot of them—was the fact that she understood. Without being told or asking a thousand questions that all boiled down to the same thing, she understood. She nodded and frowned, but didn’t push him to say anything else because she didn’t need to. She just knew.

Instead, they both turned back to the crashing water and the clear sky.

The feather-light brush of Mike’s jacket against her arm as much as the dark, intimate atmosphere and cool breeze had Ginny breaking out in goosebumps anew. Next to her, Mike was such a solid, warm presence, and it took all of her willpower not to sway into him, laying her head against his shoulder.

His wife had just left him. Again. There had to be better times to confront this thing between them.

But Ginny couldn’t bring herself to do it. Wait. She couldn’t bring herself to play this cautiously. Not when she didn’t know what this next year would bring.

“You know,” she said, biting her lip before deciding to hell with it all. “They say what you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s sets the tone for the rest of the year.”

“So you’re gonna be shivering in the dark a lot?” he snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds real—”

“With you.”

Mike didn’t tease her the way he usually did when she interrupted him. His jaw hung slack, but no sounds came out of his mouth.

Ginny shifted nervously.

“Maybe I will be in the dark, ‘cause God knows I have no clue what’ll happen with my arm or my contract or—” she cut herself off, though she was pretty sure the way her cheeks heated up and she couldn’t quite look Mike in the eye filled in most of the blanks. Still, she swallowed and began again, “And I don’t know what you mean by shivering because it’s not even that cold, but none of that will matter. Because hopefully, I’ll have you. Exactly where you are right now.”

When she finally brought herself to look up at Mike, after a long silence, he was staring back, jaw still a little slack. That, even more than the silence, had her heart beating double time.

“Ginny,” he murmured, his hand coming out to guide her to face him head on. He didn’t let go of her when she did, fingers skating up and down her arm. “What happened to not talking about this?”

“How happy did not talking make us?”

Mike knew she meant this, their feelings, when she said that, but the thought of not talking to her at all made him physically ache. He nodded his agreement, swallowing down the swell of emotions.

“You think I can make you happy?”

Slowly, Ginny nodded. “I’m sure you can.”

The look that came over Mike’s face was indescribable. Ginny had seen him smile and grin and laugh, but this was somehow even better. Maybe because it was all for her, without any kind of audience. It wasn’t often they were like this. The last time, they’d nearly kissed.

Mike licked his lips and Ginny was sure that there would be no nearly about tonight.

She swayed into him, chin tilting up just enough that when Mike leaned in, too, their mouths slotted together perfectly.

Ginny sighed against him, her arms looping easily around his neck as she closed the distance. Mike groaned in response, his broad forearms banding across her back and lifting, just enough that he didn’t have to bend so much to keep kissing her.

They lost track of time in the push and pull of lips, a quieter echo of the ocean breaking against the beach beyond.

It wasn’t until fireworks overhead burst their dark, private bubble, signaling an end to their privacy and an end to the year, that they pulled away. Through the glass, raucous cheers filtered into the night as Padres celebrated the arrival of midnight. In no time, the balcony would be flooded with their teammates and bosses, but neither Ginny nor Mike could bring themselves to pull away completely, trading soft, easy caresses until they’d gotten their fill.

For now. Each was sure they’d never get enough of kissing the other.

It was Mike who murmured, “We’ll figure it out,” as silver sparks rained across the sky. His thumb swept just below her ear, making Ginny sigh.

“We will,” she promised, her nose nudging against Mike’s. The apples of his cheeks rounded as he smiled, Ginny so close she could feel them.

By the time the balcony door opened and their tipsy teammates joined them to watch the rest of the fireworks, Mike and Ginny were back to standing side by side at the rail. Maybe they were a bit closer than anyone else would stand, but no one questioned it. That was just Lawson and Baker.

Still, the two couldn’t keep from trading secret smiles, every brush against one another a reminder of how they’d begun the new year and how they intended to spend it.

#Bawson #Bawson fic #Pitch #pitch fic #i wrote something #idk this would maybe work better #in some kind of visual medium?#ginny and mike each #catching glimpses of the other with their dates #over the course of the evening #before finally crossing paths themselves #i can see it so clearly

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pcyxiukai · 7 years

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Undo {Epilogue}

Description: “Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millenia, I will find you.”

Warnings: age gap, mentions of death

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader (Lowkey also thinking of writing a prequel. Anyone game?)

Songs for this part: Time Lapse - Taeyeon Miss You - Monsta X I Blame On You - Taeyeon

Mobile Masterlist | Twitter

To my dear wife,

I will make a promise to you right now, my love, as I finish this letter. I promise that even if my life is taken from me, it is yours. Every single thing of mine is yours. Since day one, that has been the truth. But the real promise? The real promise is that I’ll meet you again. Whether it’s in the afterlife, a few days from now, a few months, years, decades, or even millenia, I will find you and I will remember you, and most of all, I’ll still love you. Please never forget about me, (Y/N). I love you.

- Your husband, Park Chanyeol

It was a few months after Chanmi’s first birthday that you were able to take her back in. You had a hard time still, because Chanyeol had been right. She was a constant reminder of him and every day she grew to be more like him. From her laugh to the way her eyes gleamed, she was Chanyeol.

“This is so hard, Chan.” You already felt the tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t know if you’re still here, waiting to hear from me but I can’t take it anymore. Every day it’s worse and worse, all I think about it you.” You sniffled, wiping away a tear quickly. “Did you really have to leave? God damn it, Park Chanyeol, how could you leave us like this?” Your voice shook as you got louder.

Park Chanyeol

It is not length of life, but depth of life.

He jumped into life and never touched bottom.

1992.11.27 - 2017.12.04

“I just -” You scoffed, wiping away your tears, shaking your head as you looked at the gravestone. “I guess I hit the bottom for you.”

“He was a great man, Chanmi. I grew up with him, he was my brother’s best friend. It’s a cliche story, really, the girl falling in love with her older brother’s best friend. Maybe I was foolish back then, falling in love with a man so out of my reach. It really didn’t help that he was attractive, Chanmi, I’m serious. He was dangerous since day one.

I remember the night he died like it was yesterday. I’ll never forget what he looked like when he was trying to hold on to his life just for us…

So maybe this was fate, or a destiny of some sort, I don’t know, but all of this led me to you. And you? You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I don’t want you to think for one second that that isn’t the truth.”

And for the first time in years, you broke down into tears over Park Chanyeol, except this time, Park Chanmi was there to comfort you.

#chanyeol #exo chanyeol #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol series #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fic #chanyeol drabble #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol smut #exo #exo imagine #exo series #exo scenario #exo fic #exo drabble #exo fluff #exo angst #exo smut

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warsbled · 5 years

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under the read more are headcanons for melinda halliwell !!

under read more are melinda’s halliwells headcanons!!

honestly melinda has a really bad habit of just…. speaking out her ass. she doesn’t think and just blurts everything out. truly not her finest quality yikes!!!

melinda talks a lot with her hands especially when she’s angry. that’s it. thnxs for coming to my ted talk.

#* ✦ ╰ melinda halliwell — dossier !

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