#i never told her anything. i refuse to have another therapist until i find one that’s either a total bitch or wants to have sex with me

[sorchathered]

I can love you through the dark

Pairing- Jake Seresin x OC (Savannah Monroe-Seresin)

Warnings- language, angst, mentions of death, pregnancy, ptsd

Summary- sometimes the past keeps Jake up at night, but she is always there to bring him back from the dark.

A/N- an old WIP I found deep in my Google docs that I thought could use some love. Not beta read.

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Jake Seresin had a short fuse. He’d been working on that.

He kept his composure as Rooster threw that cheap shot at him, brushing it off despite the shock all over everyone’s faces by the pool table. “The only place you’ll lead someone is an early grave.” It rang in his ears later that night, Coyote was too damn perceptive as he watched his friend from across the shitty barracks room they were assigned to.

“I’m fine” Jake grunted as he stared at the ceiling, trying to will the thoughts away.

Two years. It’d been two years since his former wingman Torch had lost his life in a field exercise gone wrong. Jake had been cleared of any wrongdoing but he knew; if he’d watched his teammate’s back like he should have Torch would still be alive.

He’d worked his ass off to prove he was the best ever since, and refused to let anyone else in again after that day. Maybe that’s why he was so frustrated with Rooster, he cared too much where Jake refused to care at all. The mission was what mattered now; not making friends. All getting close to someone guaranteed was that you had more to lose, and Jake couldn’t bear to lose anything or anyone else.

“How are things going?” The soft voice filtered through the speaker of his phone as he paced the halls, another night full of nightmares and no sleep.

“It’s going. This is a big one, everyone who’s anyone is here and I worry that they aren’t taking it as serious as they should.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face, he shouldn’t be on the phone with her right now, one of them at least needed to get some rest.

“You need to take care of yourself, and try to be a team player-“

He barked out a laugh at that and he could just see her shaking her head and sighing, she knew he couldn’t afford to get close to someone like that again, no one knew better than she did.

“Jake. I need your head in the game. I can’t do this without you, I- I need you to come home ok?” She was crying, he’d promised he’d do everything he could to never make her cry and here she was getting upset over him again.

“Sweetheart I’m not going anywhere, but you need to rest ok? I’ll be good, I’ll be the very best. Take care of yourself and our little angel. I love you Savvy, fuck- I love you so much.”

They said their goodbyes and Jake slept for the first time since he’d gotten back to Miramar.

Savannah “Savvy” Monroe had been Torch’s high school sweetheart, she’d followed him wherever the navy took him until that fateful day when his plane had gone down. She’d always seemed like an unstoppable force until then, and Jake watched one of his best friend’s crumble and turn into a shell of the woman she’d been. It seemed obvious to everyone but him that they would seek solace in each other, no one blamed them for how they chose to stitch themselves back together, and while they started a new life together Jake couldn’t help but struggle with the guilt.

She’d dragged him to therapy after a big fight, he’d walked out her early in their relationship; determined to prove to her that he didn’t deserve her love and push her to hate him as much as he hated himself. 6 months later he’d finally found himself again, only to find out that Savvy was pregnant. He couldn’t help but wish Torch was here, and his therapist told him it was not only normal but expected. He’d made an honest woman out of her quickly after that, life had proven to be too short and they wanted to start their new life with all the bows tied up nice and neat.

When the call came up to head back to top gun they were nearing the 7th month and he wanted her to stay in Texas with his mom where he knew she’d be safe and taken care of. Now he was here and all he wanted was to hold her, especially after Rooster managed to get under his skin. No one really knew that he and Sav were married, except for Javy and his wife and he wanted to keep it that way. Rooster knew Torch would always be a sore spot, and he’d pressed just the right buttons to bring Hangman to the surface. He filed that rage away for the right moment and when the time came he was ruthless, he knew it was wrong to cut Bradshaw down like that but Rooster had thrown the first punch.

When he got reduced to spare and Rooster got promoted to wingman he was almost relieved, he had too much to lose and it was easy to get caught up in the competition. He wanted to be the best, but he had to think of his family.

Mission accomplished and successful, everyone had survived and made it back to Fightertown safely. As he stepped off the carrier he heard her shouting his name and shook his head in disbelief, he should’ve known better than to think her stubborn ass wouldn’t be here waiting for him to return. She couldn’t run bless her heart but she waddled across the lot as fast as she could with a giggle as he scooped her up in his arms, kissing her deeply and then dropping to his knees to talk to his baby boy.

Rooster watched from a distance, realization striking him as he took the scene in. He’d met Torch’s wife before, years ago when they were in flight school. Heat burned his cheeks as he realized that maybe- just maybe he was just as much of an ass as Jake Seresin, and maybe his judgement had been too harsh. Coyote clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, nodding his head in their direction as he watched Jake pepper kisses to her cheeks, he treated her like she were made of glass as he escorted her across the lot to his truck.

“Now you know a little something about Hangman, he wants you to think he’s a pompous ass; but the man couldn’t be more of a marshmallow. I hope to God we never have to live through what they did, don’t you agree?” Javy Machado didn’t wait for an answer, just left Rooster to ponder that thought.

He thought of his mother, broken over the loss of his father and felt a cold chill, he’d find a way to thank Hangman someday, he had saved his life after all.

———————————————————————————-

Tagging- @roosterforme @attapullman @bobgasm @seitmai @sebsxphia @mynameismckenziemae @sailor-aviator

[shining-apollo]

I’ve spent my entire life in therapy. When I say that, it isn’t an exaggeration. Due to abuse I suffered I was put in therapy from the age of 4 and that continued through my life.

I suffered so much at the hand of psychiatrists and psychologists who refused to believe a young girl about her experiences. For ten years I went to therapy, and despite having depression at 8 I wasn’t diagnosed with anything until I was 14.

At 14 I was put in a mental hospital due to self harm. I spent over a week there, I try not to remember most of it. I was given almost no agency or respect while there, and definitely no privacy. In the end I was diagnosed with bipolar and sent on my way.

For ten more years I told doctors about how my bipolar medication didn’t seem to help. How I didn’t seem to have mania, but I sure had a lot of depression. I was put in therapy that did years worth of damage to me. I had therapist listen to stories of my abuser and make me write down how actually I’m the one that was too angry, too emotional, too dangerous. They would believe me when I told them my fears of being used, my trauma, my abuse. They insisted I was imagining things because I was bipolar, that my mood swings were making me volatile. Whenever I brought up that no matter how many meds I took I still wanted to die, they upped my meds. I spent years feeling sick, and lethargic, and still very much depressed.

At 22 I found another therapist. I brought up I might have BPD because all the symptoms were so familiar. It made so much sense. When I told her she said I couldn’t have BPD because if I did there was no way I could be in a happy marriage. Who cares about all the work I’d done to make it work.

At 24 I finally found a new psych and was diagnosed with depression, BPD, and CPTSD. For the first time in my life I was put on antidepressants. I found a therapist who worked with people with BPD and trauma. I have healed more in the few years since my proper diagnosis than I have in my entire life. And you know what it took? It took finding a queer therapist who themselves had mental health issues. Because that’s the only person who would take me, a queer traumatized person, seriously.

Since then I’ve also realized I’m autistic, something that took me years to come to terms with. And I will never get a diagnosis. Why? Because the only person in my state that diagnoses adults is a 6 hour drive away and would cost $2k a session. In the end, I don’t trust most psychs at this point, so why would I rely on one to tell me about myself.

a while ago i attended this lecture on autism. guy in the audience said he had many of the symptoms that were presented and asked what should he do to get treatment and possibly a diagnosis. instead of answering his question the psychologist went on a tangent about how “the clinic reigns all powerful over guesswork”, and how actually it has become a trend amongst little children on the internet to claim that they are autistic for cool points, and that this hurts real autistic people. no she didn’t tell him how to get his symptoms looked into, she just made it very clear that to her, aknowledging your own symptoms is bad and evil and hurts the poor real mentally ill people.

an ex-friend of mine, then a psychology major and by now probably a full psychologist, once lectured me on how horrible and bad it was that i told her “i probably have some sort of neurodivergency”, and that if i were her patient she would never give me a diagnosis because “you aren’t like this now, but i know that if you get a diagnosis you’ll use it as an excuse to start treating people badly. that’s just how mentally ill people are.”

same ex-friend was extremely disgusted when she found out that fans sometimes make neurodivergency headcanons for characters that have the same symptoms as they do, and that authors sometimes write books with neurodivergent protagonists in stories that don’t focus on that (ex: she seemed horrified that percy jackson has adhd?)

multiple psychologists i’ve seen on facebook agree that they should refuse to treat patients that say “i’m here because i have symptoms of a disorder and wonder if i have it”, and that a patient should arrive to a psychologist as a blank slate.

school psychologist asked me how i was feeling about my trauma situation and i told him i thought my friends would leave me. instead of addressing the issue he said that that no i didn’t, that i was lying, that i had searched “bpd symptoms” online and now i was faking symptoms because i wanted to have bpd, that he shouldn’t have told me he suspected i had a personality disorder because now look what was happening. no, i didn’t search bpd symptoms online. yes, my friends left me, it was a completely founded belief and not a symptom, let alone a faked symptom.

so the next time you hear someone saying they’re “anti self-diagnosis” i want you to understand what they’re saying. what they’re saying is:

- i don’t want people to be aware of their own symptoms

- i don’t think my patients should have access to any information that doesn’t come from me

- i don’t think neurodivergent people should learn how to cope with their symptoms and live “normal” lives

- i think neurodivergent people should be denied a diagnosis because the moment they get one they will become evil and dangerous

- i don’t think people who don’t look like a stereotype could possibly be neurodivergent, even if they have all the symptoms, so i think they are faking it for attention and should be denied treatment

[oncetherenowhere]

We have new insurance info now, so I'm going to start the process of looking for a therapist again. The past few therapists were either not helpful, or actively set me back...especially the last one. H has a fantastic therapist that he's been seeing for a couple years now, and I'm hoping I can find someone with that sort of connection. There's a lot I want to work on...I want to work on my avoidance behaviors, my ruminating thoughts, my self-advocacy skills...I want to develop a personality that's my own, not something created for Everyone Else.

Fair warning- this post talks about bad experiences I've had in therapy. My intention is not to discourage anyone from therapy. They are a few of my experiences that I have been struggling to process.

This is a big vent about a lot of random stuff, I'm just emotional this morning. I'll make some more cheerful posts later, because it's good to balance things out, and there are some good things I've been trying to do recently, too.

It's a bit frustrating. I don't know why I've been so unlucky with therapists. I've been trying for three years to find someone who can help me. One therapist I had refused to make anything but small talk for the entire hour...whenever I tried to talk about things bothering me, she would turn the conversation back around to "So what are you doing this weekend?" and wouldn't address it. It was absolutely bizarre.

Another therapist specialized in mental health for autistic people, so I thought I had lucked out, but when my cousin died in a horribly tragic and sudden way, she didn't want to help me. She stared at me while I cried, but she didn't say anything at all. She seemed annoyed, but I couldn't tell, because, again, she wouldn't say anything. I was in so much pain, and felt so alone. It still crushes me.

My last therapist...thinking about her makes me panic. I was able to tell her straight up what I was looking for, what boundaries I had, and she was so sweet and accepting at first. Then she started forgetting everything about me, session by session. Not small stuff either, I'm talking huge things, the reasons I was there in the first place. Her sweetness turned into frustration when she couldn't understand why I was upset.

When I talked about teachers who had been cruel to me, she was on the teachers side, since she used to be one, and tried to tell me I had misunderstood them. When I insisted this wasn't a matter of perception, she got short with me, and moved on.

She wasn't good with queer issues, couldn't use they/them pronouns, and when I told her a story about being bullied for dating another girl in high school and how I was a closeted back then, she turned the conversation into how I was a liar for not being honest about my sexuality.

Our last session, she exploded at me about how the world wasn't a good place, and how everyone sucked, and nobody was kind- looking back, I think it was some form of angry sarcasm where she was trying to "repeat" what she believed I was saying. It terrified me though.

But, I was able to say, "I would like to end the session early."

When I did, her attitude changed. She suddenly started asking if I was safe, or if I would hurt myself. That terrified me more. I'd never even SPOKEN to her about self harm or suicidal ideation. I had to convince her I wasn't in danger. Then...

She started asking if I was mad at her. For five minutes, I had to reassure her that I wasn't mad. I did it because I felt I had to. I was scared that if I just up and left, she would call the police and claim I was a danger to myself and lie. So I had to sit there and reassure her until it was okay for me to leave with her permission.

It was so scary. Even thinking about it, I'm shaking. I'm so angry at her for putting me through that. She called me on my cell phone later to apologize...but then made me reassure her AGAIN. I ended up sending her a text that stated "I am not a danger to myself, I am safe and secure, I am canceling our future sessions."

I need a good therapist. I know they exist. I even had one, once, but she moved to a practice that would have cost me 200 dollars a session.

It just feels SO BAD to do all the steps society says to take to care for your mental health and better yourself, only to get shut down at every turn.

I need help! This mental pain is too much on my own! I am suffering! I just want one professional to believe me and help me. I don't want to be like this. I can't live like this! I have been touching it out myself for so long, and I just want help. I'm so desperate. I feel like I can't exist in society without someone either pointing and laughing, or getting angry with me. Do you know what that's like? To be treated badly every day by strangers? Even if the incidents are small, they're constant.

I do all the things. I journal, I meditate, I try to exercise, I do gratefulness exercises, I treat myself like a pet, but nothing is fixing the problem. Everything is a band-aid solution to get me through another difficult day. It helps, because if I don't do it, I break down, but I'm so tired of doing this alone. I'm trying to hard. I just need one professional to believe me.

I wish I had a better head. I wish I didn't have these mental health problems. I know this isn't good to say, but I wish I wasn't autistic either sometimes. I'm in so much pain. I just want to have a normal life. I want to get brunch with friends, and have dinner parties, and go to fun events...I want to do everything without getting stressed and panicked and EXHAUSTED.

H and I saw a movie last night, and I almost broke down in front of the soda fountain because they were out of the lids for the size of drink we got, and the people behind us got jokingly annoyed, but I was so panicked that I couldn't process the joke aspect until after, so I almost cried. Crying over lids! I can't do this! I want to work on this! I don't want to be like this. It hurts. I want to be charming, and joke back, and laugh, because it was so low stakes, it didn't matter, but my body processes everything as a threat.

I'm crying as I'm writing this. I just want help. I don't know how to not be like this. I feel like I'm in survival mode constantly and I'm tired. This blog is the only place where I can talk about these things in a candid, personal way, where I don't have to worry about being judged or seen as less than. I can talk to H, but I can't...I just CAN'T put ALL of this on him. He already helps me so much, and he has his own problems, and I love him so much. I can't do that to him. So I have this blog.

But I want a therapist. I want friends. I feel like I'm less than a human being every single day, and nobody seems to believe me when I try to say I'm struggling.

But I'm thankful I can write here. Even if nobody ever read this, it's so helpful to write here. Traditional journaling hasn't clicked the same way for whatever reason. Sometimes I even write big long posts and just stick them in my drafts. It feels good. It feels good to say all of this. I'm thankful I live in the age of the internet.

[hello-nichya-here]

How NOT to write romance - How I Met Your Mother edition

Warning: long-ass post and lots of bitterness over a TV show that ended nearly eight years ago.

Basics for story-telling

If the romance you want to write is dysfunctional, fucking embrace it and have fun with the concept instead of pretending the bad shit the characters do is okay because “it’s true love”

Acknowledgde that your main character has flaws instead of acting like he is a saint who can do no wrong for no reason other than “he is the main character. Definitively don’t make him do, of his own free will, the exact exact same things the supposedly “selfish and cruel” womanizer does and then excuse it as him having “succumbed to/been tricked by a bad influece” like he’s child who doesn’t know any better instead of being a grown ass adult.

Don’t make your characters be annoying, entitled fuckers who think they have the right to judge others for wanting different things out of a relationship/not wanting a relationship at all. Don’t act like monogamy, double dates with other couples, marriage and children are something EVERYONE secretly wants deep down.

Don’t demonize the “evil” character of the group and act like the “heroes” being appalled by the shit he does is anything other than hypocricy. There’s literally nothing forcing them to be friends with him, so they’re obviously not as horrified at bad shit he does as they say they are, otherwise they would have ditched him a long time ago.

Don’t have the “heartless womanizer”,  who we later find out is the ex-husband of the girl the lead wanted for himself, be shown to us exclusively through the eyes of the an unreliable narrator who had motivation to make him see worse than he is likely to be (get his kids to want him to get the girl instead of the “douchebag”). Also, don’t make his schemes to trick women into sleeping with them so completely absurd and ridiculous that the audience is pretty sure that 70% of the women he banged were completely aware he just wanted a quick fuck and went along with it anyway because they wanted some dick (and because the character is played by Neil Patric Harris, who is incapable of not being charismatic)

Fucking let you characters (especially the supposed hero we’re supposed to think is the best boyfriend ever) grow instead of making them constantly repeat the same mistakes

Lily and Marshall

Don’t make one of the characters hide something very important from their partner, and then have the audacity to be mad at them for “just not understanding” as if they were given any reason to understand what the problem even is

Don’t act like someone being heartbroken that their partner lied to them and practically made a plan to “escape” being married to them means they’re not being “supportive” of said partners dream - you should especially not do that after we were shown that they took a job they didn’t like just to make sure they’d have a secure future that would allow said partner to follow their dream.

Don’t have the character who was obviously in the wrong need to be convinced to get their shit together and apologize to their ex.

If a character forgave the ex who wronged them and even got back together with them, don’t have them constantly hold their past mistakes over their head like it that problem has not already been solved - you especially not make them do that on what was supposed to be their wedding day. They can either forgive their partner or not, they can’t keep going back and forth.

Don’t have them constantly hide important shit from each other (having a huge financial debt, getting a job, etc)

DO NOT have the character who fucked up years prior suddenly be willing to do the same shit again for the EXACT same reason (”I think our relationship is in the way of my dreams and I’m now completely isolated because I refuse to talk things out with you”) and then expect the audience to sympathize with them.

Ted and Robin 

Unless you’re writing a Disney/Disney-esque romance, don’t have your lead just look at someone across the room, decide they’re “The one”, imagine their life together and full on say “I’m love with you” AND “I love you” on the first goddamn date.

Don’t have the lead stalk his love interest, and throw three parties in a row just to have an excuse to get close to her now that she made it clear she is not interested in having a relationship with him.

Don’t have the “hero” lie about having broken up with his girlfriend so the girl he wants to be with will sleep with him, and then have him blame his actions on time. “Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” Grow a pair of balls, Ted!

If one of the characters says “You’re going too fast on the whole ‘love’ thing. Can’t we just go on a few dates and see what happens instead of already starting to plan our lives together?” and the others throws a fit, that is called “being incompatible” and “damn, this dude doesn’t respect boundaries”, not “Wow, she’s so afraid of commitment”

If you want the audience to believe the main character’s feelings are not one-sided, don’t make the fact that said feelings ARE unrequited a running joke, and don’t have the girl only accept giving him a chance after having to deal with the fucker whining “But I love you” for months and/or after going through bad break ups. Also, if you have to retcon half the fucking show to “proove” that “she DOES love him”, that pairing fucking sucks.

Don’t compare the couple you want the audience to root for to the main character’s divorced, dysfunctional parents, and don’t have flashbacks showing that the lead had no clue what his girlfriend actually liked in bed AND that she literally covered up his face so she could pretend she was fucking someone else.

DON’T MAKE HER GET RID OF HER DOGS, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!

If your lead character is still jealous/possessive of his ex, thinks he still has a chance even after she told him to his face that she didn’t love him, and acts like she and her fiance (who he says is his friend) being happy is somehow them being selfish and cruel, your lead character is a loser AND an asshole.

Don’t throw away the entire premise of the show (Ted finding the REAL love of his life) just to force a bad pairing down the audience’s throat

Ted Mosby in general

Don’t have your “romantic, sensitive hero” break up with a girl on her birthday through an answering machine, come back into her life without warning years later because he’s afraid he’ll die alone, and find out that she never heard the message but was actually told about it by her friends and family who were at her apartment preparing a surprise party for her. You should especially not make his first reaction to this new be being mad that he was not invited to the party, and for the love of God, don’t make him break up with her on her birthday AGAIN.

Don’t have the “hero” cheat on his girlfriend and excuse it with bullshit like “Nothing good happens 2 a.m.” and “But I genuinely love Robin so it’s okay that I’m lying to both of them”. Do not, I repeat, do NOT have him blame it on his girlfriend being distant when she didn’t pick up the phone one night and then called back the second she was free to do so, while he was enjoying the gifts she sent him and LIED to her about having sent her some as well.

Don’t fucking make an entire episode with the premise of him turning a no into a yes - and telling that story to his children like it’s romantic.

Don’t have his fiance, who he knows has a rocky relationship with the father of her daughter, tell him she is uncomfortable with him inviting his ex to their wedding and then have him decide “This means I should invite her ex as well”. Also don’t expect me to feel bad for him when she runs off with said ex.

Don’t have him spend YEARS waiting for one of the hundreds of girls he thinks is “the one” to be single and even ask her neighbour to spy on her and let him know when/if she breaks up with her boyfriend - again, for YEARS.

Don’t have the lead say he’s gonna tell their kids about his love story with their DECEASED mother, only for it to secretly be an excuse for him to go “By the way, I’m still in love with aunt Robin despite her having rejected me for 25 years, can I go screw her?”

Don’t act like making the characters reverse back into who they were at the beginning at the story means they’re gonna make things work this time when the whole point of their break up in the beginning on the story was the fact that they’re just not right for each other.

Robin and Kevin

A therapist who was supposed to help their patient move on after a bad break up that messed them up, dating said patient is a major red flag. It is also a bad sign that, when she cheats on him and wants to break up, he realized what she was doing to used his job as “evidence” that he knew better and that she should NOT tell her partner how she felt/what she actually wanted.

Do NOT have said therapist date yet ANOTHER patient that asked him help to move on from a bad break up. Seriously, Kevin was a creep, stop acting like he was some angel who “deserved better than Robin.”

BONUS: How NOT to break up a couple - Barney and Robin edition

Don’t act like their relationship falling appart after their friends kept meddling, and even kept them locked in a room against their will until they labeled their relationship as something they aproved of, is somehow “proof” that they’re not good for each other.

Don’t retcon their relationship to force a break up (seriously, Barney was super supportive of Robin long before he even fell in love with her, but I’m supposed to believe he’d be a bad boyfriend who is never there for her? And he loved advantures and always said “challenge accepted”, but was suddenly miserable travelling the world with her and couldn’t deal with not having wi-fi at the hotel? Fuck off)

Don’t spend an entire season focusing on their wedding, have them get married and then divorce THE NEXT FUCKING EPISODE! Why do you hate your audience? Even people who don’t want them together can see this a terrible idea.

And most important of all, when people question what the fuck were you thinking, don’t have a meltdown on twitter and say that people who think Barney can change are responsible for Donald Trump being elected, you fucking weirdo, go see a therapist (that isn’t like Kevin)

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[byunmyeon]

Metanoia

↳ pairing: lee suho x reader

↳ synopsis: this is the sequel to philophobia. the world of red strings is one you haven’t been able to see for a long time, and now that you’ve found your unwilling soulmate, you have no interest in regaining that sight.

↳ warnings: language, angst, angst, and more angst, mentions of depression, mentions of death

— note: due to popular demand, here’s part two!

Something was wrong.

There wasn’t some pivotal event or action that made Suho conscious of the shift, he just knew. This premonition could’ve been assessed as an erroneous inkling that emanated from the vast rift between you two, but you hadn’t given any indication that the lack of recognition from your soulmate was the cause. In fact, you seemed perfectly content with disregarding Suho’s existence.

An entire month had gone by since you confronted him, and the entire situation had passed without further incident. Neither one of you had spoken since that ill-fated day.

However, it was impossible not to notice the drastic change in your character. The way you smiled was different in a way that seemed off, and there was also a certain enervation constantly embracing you. But the biggest difference was your lack of interest in just about anything. Suho might’ve thought it had everything to do with him, but again, there was no clear indication of that.

Nonetheless, ignoring you didn’t make him unaware of the unnamed sensation that had latched itself onto him since then.

It’s not like Suho wanted to notice the contrast in your behavior, but it was something he couldn’t help. Every time you came within a ten meter radius, his eyes would compulsively find their way over to you. Suho was always careful to not get caught staring, although it hardly mattered. It’s not like you looked in his general direction anymore. And even when you did happen to meet his gaze, it was for a fleeting moment that passed by so quickly that it couldn’t even be considered a full second.

Your uncharacteristic disposition made him worry. Not for you, but for him. Suho was deeply concerned that you might expose your shared secret in an abrupt moment of anger and hurt. That’s all it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

To his relief, that moment never came.

Even in the face of all the hurtful things he had said and done, you didn’t mention to Jugyeong that Suho was your soulmate. It was a development he hadn’t expected. Sure, you had told him, no, promised him that you would keep silent about the string that bounded you two together, but he was convinced that you could easily change your mind whenever you felt like it. You hadn’t.

Truthfully, your selfless act made him develop a fondness for you. Suho hadn’t expected you to be so understanding and considerate since it seemed like you were genuinely hurt that he didn’t care to acknowledge the bond between you two. That was the part he still couldn’t wrap his head around. You ignored the red string that tied you two together since the day you transferred without any qualm. Your actions convinced him that you wanted nothing to do with the soulmate bond, with him.

“What’s up with Y/N?” Taehoon wondered one day as he set his lunch tray beside Suho’s. “She isn’t looking so good these days.”

The rest of the group agreed.

“Maybe we did something to upset her.” Jugyeong said with a worried frown. Her pretty eyes drifted over to the lonely girl who was currently picking at her food. “She hasn’t wanted to hang out with us since we finished our exams.”

Suho let his own gaze fall over to you. It was true that you had kept your distance since before he officially asked Jugyeong out, but he didn’t think his girlfriend would care too much since you two weren’t that close to begin with. Seeing her so upset didn’t sit well with him.

Maybe he could convince you to start hanging out with Jugyeong and the rest of the group more often. Yes, that’s exactly what he would do. After all, doing him one more favor wouldn’t kill you.

Most people would say that you made a mistake for letting Suho go. Among those people would be your very own mother. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if she came to find out that you gave up your soulmate without putting up a fight. It wasn’t something you were necessarily proud of, but you weren’t ashamed of your decision. Okay, so maybe refusing to acknowledge your other half wasn’t right or even sane, but you felt comfortable with your decision.

Well, that wasn’t exactly right.

The reality of your soulmate easily ignoring the string he could see was heart-wrenching. More often than not, seeing him and Jugyeong together would cause a stabbing pain in your chest. It would last no more than a second, but it was agonizing enough to have you regretting your righteous choice.

As time when on, the pain worsened and would prolong itself to the point where it became difficult to breathe. There were even instances where black dots would cloud your vision and had you feeling extremely lightheaded. Those times, however, were nothing compared to the occasions when you came close to fainting. Deep down you knew it was because there was a severe imbalance weaved in the depths of your bond.

But you couldn’t be bothered to truly acknowledge it.

Who needed a soulmate anyway?

There had always been an indescribable tension when you were around Suho. Before, you had wrote it off as nerves from being around someone who was as prickly as he was attractive. That was before you knew the truth, of course. You two had never been close, and after finding out that he was the one on the other end of your red string, you were sure you never would be.

Which is exactly why you couldn’t figure out the reason he suddenly came up to you while you were sitting outside on one of the lone benches. He didn’t hesitate to sit next to you, the action coming naturally like it was something he did everyday.

“Jugyeong says you haven’t hung out with her in a while.” Suho said in a slow drawl. “Is it because of me?”

You wished you could’ve scoffed and told him that the world didn’t revolve around him, but you couldn’t. Because even if the world didn’t, yours did.

“I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

It was the truth. Your chest pains were only getting worse as the days went on. It was hard enough to hide it from your mother, you didn’t need the pressure of also hiding it from your classmates.

Suho didn’t seem the least bit concerned for your not-so-well-being, and it had a familiar ache nipping at your heart. You longed to see his face change with even the tiniest bit of emotion. Just so you could feel, even for a fleeting moment, that the bond wasn’t one-sided. After seeing the indifference he looked at you with, you decided to look straight ahead to spare yourself any further heartache.

“Being alone won’t make you feel any better.”

It couldn’t make you feel any worse.

Suho frowned when he saw your unchanging expression. He could never get used to the blank nothingness of it. Not when your joyful expressions had once lit up an entire room.

“I thought you’d be happy that I’m staying away from Jugyeong.” You finally said, still unwilling to look at him.

It made him happier than he cared to admit, but it didn’t make her happy. The entire point of talking to you was to bring Jugyeong the same amount of happiness she’d brought him. If it meant having to swallow his pride and ask you for yet another favor, then so be it.

“She thinks she did something to upset you.” Suho explained. “So I came to ask you to start talking to her again—as a favor.”

His impassive attitude made you feel crestfallen. You knew he couldn’t care less about the bond, about you, but it still hurt to see that he didn’t care to spare your feelings at all. It took everything in you to respond in a strong, calm tone.

“And you’re okay with me talking to her again?”

“I’m fine as long as you stick to our agreement.”

You nodded slowly, pensively. If it would make Suho happy, then you would do it.

“Okay.”

That was his cue to leave, but he found himself unwilling to do so. Immediately, Suho assumed it was because your souls were intertwined with one another which, in turn, fueled the natural instinct to be close to you. That had to be it.

Suho cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll see you around.”

Sitting across a psychiatrist was something you never thought you would have to do again. And yet, you found yourself sitting across from the infamous Dr. Kwon. The aforementioned doctor was known worldwide for his trailblazing research on the enigmatic soulmate bond. His fame soared when he revealed that he had successfully treated people who were rejected by their soulmates. For an entire year, it was all anyone could talk about.

And like a moth to a flame, your mother was quick to reach out to his office and make an appointment for a consultation. There was a five month waiting list for this, and now it was finally your turn to meet with the prestigious psychiatrist, much to your dismay.

“There’s no need to feel nervous,” he said kindly when he noticed your uncomfortable posture. “Anything you tell me will stay between the two of us.”

You had heard the same thing countless times, but the words always seemed disingenuous no matter who they came from. Even if Dr. Kwon had treated people who had soulmate problems, you were sure that he’d never met someone like you. His eyes were kind, but you didn’t know whether you could trust him. Plenty of the other specialists had also been kind at first until they realized that treating you like a lab rat would lead to a life of fame and fortune.

“Your mother tells me that you were unofficially diagnosed with philophobia. She believes the cause of your condition is due to the fact that you are unable to see your string of fate.”

You weren’t surprised that your mom had told him everything about you already. She had made the same mistake with all the other doctors and therapists. You could deny it, but you figured if you were to become a lab rat, you couldn’t be in better hands.

“She also mentioned that you haven’t been yourself lately.”

Shit. You hadn’t thought that your mom had caught onto your behavior. The simple thought of her finding out the secret you were desperately trying to keep hidden made your stomach twist with panic.

Your shrug was uncommitted as you fought to control your expression. “She’s thought that since I told her I couldn’t see my string anymore.”

Dr. Kwon hummed. “Your mother is convinced that a severe trauma led you to lose the sight of your string. Would you mind telling me about that?”

You clutched the sleeves of your uniform as a way of comfort. Talking about that was something you never wanted to do. Somehow, spending an entire year repeating the story to countless specialists never helped you get over it. Despite that, you knew your mother wouldn’t forgive you if you didn’t make the effort to “get better.”

“Around the time I turned eleven, I found out that my parents were getting a divorce.” You began. There was a harsh edge to your words that you couldn’t control. “They were soulmates, but my dad said that he didn’t love my mom anymore.”

Dr. Kwon nodded, encouraging you to go on.

“This one day, he decided to drive me to school instead of letting me take the bus. On the way there he told me about this woman he’d met like I’d actually be happy for him or something. I got so angry that I just– I just snapped.”

It was silent for a moment before you continued.

“I told him that I hated him. That I would never forgive him for hurting my mom.” You swallowed thickly. “That was the last thing I said to him before we got into a car accident. He died on the way to the hospital.”

You didn’t realize that the moisture in your eyes was dripping down your face until Dr. Kwon handed you a tissue. He didn’t say anything for a while, and it surprised you. Most of the specialists you had seen couldn’t keep their thoughts to themselves after hearing your story.

“It’s not your fault.” Dr. Kwon said. “You feel an extreme guilt, but you shouldn’t. We all say things we don’t mean, and parents know that better than anyone.”

His words were comforting, but his kind expression was marred when he started speaking like a doctor. You only half-listened to Dr. Kwon, not interested in his spiel about how making an attempt to picture your string might help. If only he knew that over the better part of your early adolescence, visualizing that stupid red string was all you did.

You hadn’t realized that your time with him was nearly over until he started writing on his clipboard. It made you feel relieved, in a way. But there was still one thing you needed. You couldn’t leave without asking him about the one thing that had been weighing on your mind.

“Doctor,” your voice was hesitant. “You’ve treated patients whose soulmates rejected the bond, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Has… Has anyone ever died from being rejected?”

Dr. Kwon shook his head. “Most of them complained about chronic chest pains, but they faded over time after they got used to being away from their soulmate.”

You swallowed thickly. That’s not what you were hoping to hear.

“So, if someone were to constantly be around the person who rejected them… it could be fatal?”

This time, you caught the subtle narrowing of his eyes. Shit. He was onto you. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

“I’m just curious. You’re the only doctor who’s come close to figuring out the real effects of rejecting the bond.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but answered you anyway. “It’s possible, but I can’t be certain since I haven’t had a patient who was willing to be around their soulmate after being rejected.”

You nodded, not liking the ugly feeling in your chest.

“I’m willing to keep working with you.” He said, seemingly not interested in the motives behind your questions. “Hopefully, we can reverse your condition.”

“I have no intention of seeing the string again.”

Dr. Kwon was taken aback. “Y-You don’t? Why?”

Because I already found my soulmate and he loves someone else. The truth was on the tip of your tongue, but you knew you couldn’t tell him.

“I just don’t.”

The first time you went an entire day without experiencing the chest pains was the same day you spent an entire lunch period with Suho.

Since the back of the school was now tainted with horrible memories, you could no longer go back there to find solace. Now your new designated safe space was the school’s rooftop. You were content with listening to music and feeling the warm breeze on your skin. It was also extremely private, which meant that if you did experience the chest pains, no one would see.

Your eyes were closed in blissful peace when you suddenly felt a presence beside you. Unaccustomed to the sudden company, you jumped with shocked fear. Once you saw that it was Suho who was sitting next to you, your heart was racing for an entirely different reason. He hadn’t said much. Unexpectedly, he asked you what you were listening to.

That’s how you found out you shared the same taste in music.

The second time you went an entire day without feeling the chest pains was the day you stumbled on a crying Suho.

He was completely overcome with grief that he didn’t seem to care that he was in the middle of the hallway. You quietly took him to the roof where he collapsed on you. The way he clutched onto you reminded you of an inconsolable child—fearful and in need of comfort. You listened to him as he told you about his late friend and his battle with depression.

Your heart ached with every word he told you, but if countless hours of therapy had taught you anything it was that venting could do wonders for the soul. Eventually, his sobs turned into sniffles. He hadn’t let go of you and vice versa.

After that, Suho didn’t say anything and neither did you. Unbeknownst to the either of you, the connection between you two had gotten stronger. There was an inexplicable congruity between you now, one that allowed you to understand and empathize with each other’s feelings.

You two never mentioned it again, but something shifted after that day.

It had been a month since you last felt the scathing pain. Now it was only a tolerable discomfort that you grew used to. You and Suho weren’t close, he still had his girlfriend, but now there were these moments that you experienced every so often. Ones that seemed more intimate than any relationship you could ever have. Those times were the happiest you’d felt in years.

“Things are pretty serious between Suho and Jugyeong.” Soo-ah said when you two entered the lunch room. “He wants her to study abroad with him after graduation.”

This was news to you, and that familiar discomfort soon settled on the left side of your chest. In spite of knowing that nothing had changed, you still felt like a complete fool. How could you be so delusional? Suho had only been kind to you a handful of times, and you were sure it had only been out of pure instinct. It had been because the link between you two had pushed him to do it.

Suddenly, the discomfort grew into that familiar, unwelcome stabbing pain, one greater than all the others you had felt so far. You let out a loud cry, the high-pitched noise sounding horrifying even to your own ears. The dizziness never came this quickly, but now it was clouding your senses within seconds. It had you stumbling into Soo-ah, and you grabbed ahold of her sleeve to try to steady yourself. You could see her mouth moving, but her words were muted. Oh no.

The pounding in your head and the sharp pains in your chest came in waves. It didn’t take long for the dark spots to appear. Fuck.

The last thing you remembered was seeing Soo-ah and a gathering crowd above you before darkness overcame you.

“Y/N.”

The distant sound of your name being called was enough to have you slowly opening your eyes. Your vision was blurry and unfocused. All you could make out was being in a brightly lit place that had you wincing. Where were you?

In the next second, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. The familiar scent of your mom’s perfume made you relax.

“How are you feeling?”

It was a man’s voice who asked the question, and you nearly choked on your own spit when you saw Dr. Kwon standing beside the hospital bed. His presence shocked you since you had only met him once and weren’t officially his patient. However, you managed to assure him that you felt fine.

For a second, you thought everything would be fine. After all, there was no technology that was capable of determining that your collapse was related to your fractured soulmate bond. That is, until Dr. Kwon decided to speak up.

“You’ve met your soulmate, haven’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. Your panicked eyes fell over to your mom. The look she gave you had you wincing. Fuck.

“What!? Y/N—”

“Mom,” you said, panicked. “It’s not– I don’t—”

“I’ve spoken with the doctor who treated you. She said that there’s been an enormous strain on your heart.” His voice had an underlying hardness that tipped you off on the anger he was feeling. “That’s why you asked me about my patients the other day, isn’t it?”

You remained silent, and it gave him his answer.

“You know who your soulmate is. They rejected the bond, but you haven’t. That’s why your chest pains have gotten worse.”

Before you could try to refute any of his claims, your mother went crazy.

“Who is it!?” She yelled. “Tell me right now so I can tell him to stop hurting my daughter!”

You attempted to calm her down, but your attempt was in vain. There was no possible way to settle her emotions. Not when her worst fear had been realized. You tried to ease her mind by reassuring her that you would go away in order to receive treatment from Dr. Kwon, not realizing that Suho was standing outside the room and heard everything.

Dr. Kwon managed to calm your mother down and convinced her to take a walk with him. It was late in the evening now, and you felt extremely relieved to finally be left alone with your thoughts. You got all of two seconds of contemplation because in the next second, Suho pulled the door open and walked into your room.

He didn’t say anything at first, but his face was the picture of tortured. You furrowed your eyebrows, unable to understand why he seemed so distraught.

“You’re dying.” Suho’s voice trembled. “Because of me.”

The fact that he somehow found out went over your head. You wished you could say no. No it’s not because of you. But you couldn’t. Trying to reassure him would’ve been futile. He knew. You both did. The urge to cling onto the severed bond would be fatal if you didn’t get help. Despite knowing all that, you wished to ease his pain. You could’ve laughed at your own foolishness because right now it was you who was laying in the hospital bed.

“I won’t die.” You told him feebly. “I’ll leave. Once I get used to being away from you, I’ll be okay. We can both live normal lives.”

Suho wanted to tell you that he didn’t want you to leave. That his life hadn’t ever been normal, and he was fine with that as long as you could be part of it.

“You didn’t reject the bond. Why?”

You looked up at the white ceiling. The tears were pooling in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. There was no point in hiding it anymore. Not when you were hospitalized because of him.

“I can’t see my string.”

Your confession hung in the air like a dark cloud. It was silent before you decided to continue with your revelation.

“I haven’t been able to see it since I was thirteen.” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “That’s why I didn’t acknowledge you when we first saw each other. I didn’t know.”

The candor of your words had Suho staggering back. It felt like someone shoved a blade straight through his heart. Finally, everything made sense. It’s not that you weren’t interested in your soulmate, it’s that you hadn’t known he was right in front of you. He couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in his eyes. What had he done?

“I’ve always wanted to meet my soulmate.” You confessed, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Even after I found out that it was you and you didn’t feel the same way, I never wished that I hadn’t met you. I never wished that the bond didn’t exist.”

You knew he couldn’t say the same since the evidence of just how much he didn’t want the bond was displayed in your current physical state.

“You should leave,” you told him even though the words pained you greatly. “My mom will get suspicious if she sees you.”

Only a small piece of your heart broke when he listened to you.

When Jugyeong and Suho broke up, it was the talk of the entire school. You yourself couldn’t make sense of the sudden separation, but you told yourself that it didn’t matter because it wasn’t any of your business.

You only said goodbye to a handful of people when the last day at Saebom High came around. Your short stay at the school didn’t give you an opportunity to make many friends, and it’s not like you truly wanted to remember your experience at the school.

Before you could walk through the front gates toward your new life, you were stopped by the sound of your name being called.

“Y/N!”

You turned, feeling your eyes widen when you were suddenly wrapped up in your soulmate’s warm embrace. His sudden change in attitude shocked you so much that you weren’t sure how to react.

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

For the first time since you’d met Suho, you felt no need to placate him. After everything that happened, you couldn’t go back on the promise you made to your mother. You needed to get better. Not for Suho, but for yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You were sincere. “This time, I’m leaving you behind.”

He pulled back. The pain in his eyes was another strike to your chest, but you knew you couldn’t give in.

“Goodbye, Lee Suho.”

[vintagedaydreams]

Hey guys- not a TLNRS update, I know. But not something I’ve been writing instead either! I actually found this on my phone.

It’s not complete- more of a scene. And it won’t ever be completed. But if you want to run with it- go for it.

Sorry it’s so long without a page break.

Warnings: some strong language, talk of suicide. Not as dark as it sounds.

You work at MI6 in the Admin/Research dept. working on cover stories and recon work for locations/marks/etc.

You work with a handful of other people in the dept and you have a good pal in your desk mate: Katelyn.

All of the agents-Double Ohs included - go into the Research Dept frequently to get folders on their missions and their marks. Everybody knows you-everybody likes you. You’re competent and your peers usually have you look over their work as well when dealing with difficult marks or missions.

You jumped on the couch as the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall. Scrambling to your feet, you looked over to see James Bond filling the doorway, blue eyes spitting sparks. You took a moment to admire him, his aura of danger and confidence dark and practically pulsing around him, before you realized with a start that he was glaring at you.

“…Bond?” you asked hesitantly and, apparently taking that as permission, he stalked into your small apartment in the heart of London. The door was shut in much the same way as it was opened and you gave a wince for your poor neighbors.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, voice pitched low and dangerous. You shivered at the tone, though it wasn’t in fear. Oh dear. You were in trouble.

“Um,” you looked around in confusion at the half eaten tub of ice cream and the movie playing quietly in the background, “no?” It was stated more than asked. Especially since he seemed to have an answer to his question already.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you,” he almost snarled, making his way over to you. Your eyes, about the size of dinner plates by now, widened even more.

“What?” you squeaked out. Bond, the James Bond was all but foaming at the mouth and he was going to stay?

“Going to interrupt any plans of yours?” he bit out and you blinked.

“Plans? Um, no…” A low rumbling sounded through the apartment .

“Are you….are you growling at me?” you gaped in disbelief. Suddenly, you found yourself gripped by strong hands, Bond an inch away from you.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” he ground out and the anger that had been slowly building at all his growls and snarls finally sprung forth.

“What are you talking about, Bond?” you growled right back. He blinked for a moment before his face darkened even further than before.

The man stepped closer, if that was possible until you were flush against each other. You felt your stomach flip and you gulped, looking up into his eyes.

Blue eyes stared down at you and the hands gripping your shoulders loosened ever so slightly before he gave you a small shake.

“Katelyn told me about your conversation,” he intoned darkly, an eyebrow rising in a challenge to deny it. Your brow furrowed.

“Conversation? What conversation?” Katelyn and you had had many conversations, the most recent of them centering around the man in your apartment, but you had no idea what topic could have Bond so…well, upset was a bit tame for his current mood….

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out?” he growled out, effectively bringing your thoughts back to him. Find out….? Find out!

Your eyes widened. Katelyn wouldn’t…she wouldn’t have told him about your conversation yesterday when you’d said that you were pretty sure you were attracted to 007! No, she wouldn’t have thought that was a big enough deal to tell the Double-Oh in question. Everyone thought that man was attractive.

Then what…?

“You should know by now, that when I claim people as mine, I take an interest in their lives,” Bond continued, eyes glaring down at you. Apparently your silence had already condemned you.

You fought the major blush that threatened to make itself known at his wording. Claimed you as his? Oh, if only!

“Bond,” you started, voice mellow and as soothing as you could make it.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, low and dangerous. You sighed.

“What are you so worked up about? I’m sure everyone’s thought it at least once!” you defended yourself. Really, the only possible answer to his mood was that Katelyn had told him, for whatever reason, that you found him attractive. And apparently, he didn’t like that.

Ouch. There went your pride and self esteem.

“That’s your excuse?” he demanded, voice sounding almost incredulous. “So because everyone else has thought it, you can too?”

“Not quite what I meant,” you muttered as his grip tightened once again. “I just meant that it shouldn’t be a big deal to you! I’m not the first!”

The room went deadly silent and you hesitantly gazed into the glacier eyes above you. You didn’t understand what was so terrible about you finding him attractive, (were you that repulsive?), but he really was making too big a deal out of it. You were shy! It’s not like you would’ve ever said or done anything to him!

“Never say it shouldn’t be a big deal to me,” Bond suddenly hissed and you felt a bit uneasy at the look on his face. You weren’t afraid of him, but you knew what he could do and you also knew that he had a reputation for being unpredictable and out of control. You were in hot water and just starting to realize it.

“Really, Bond,” you murmured, trying to salvage the situation before somebody, most likely you, got hurt, “it’s really not that big of a deal. Can we just…forget I ever said it and you ever heard it?”

His hands tightened on your arms even further and you knew there’d be bruises there tomorrow.

“No,” he answered, voice deadly soft, “I will not forget it.” Suddenly he ripped himself away from you and started pacing the floor furiously.

“Damn it, Y/N! Why can’t you take this seriously?! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what was going through my head when Katelyn told me? No, of course you don’t. Well, let me tell you something, Y/L/N,” he snarled, “if you want to commit suicide and ‘end it all’ then I suggest you find yourself another job. Because if you stay at MI6, you’re mine and I am not going to let anybody, least of all you, take you away from me!”

Once again, silence rang out in your apartment and you stood there, gaping at Bond.

“Commit…..what?” you asked, mentally going over all your conversations with Katelyn. You telling her that you were going to ‘end it all’ was never part of any of them. YOu were actually quite happy with life where you were, thank you very much. Granted, it’d be better if you had a certain someone to share it with, but suicide? Yeah, never touched on that topic.

“I know your vocabulary is better than that,” Bond spat, finally stopping his pacing. You flinched at the acid in his tone.

“Bond, I never—“

“Expected her to squeal? No kidding. I figured that you didn’t want her to, if our little conversation a minute ago was any indication.”

“No, Bond, I was under the impression—“

“That I didn’t care? Yeah, got that one too. Well here’s a news flash for you, I do. And I will. So I suggest that you take up some counseling because you’re not going to die on my watch.”

“Bond,” you sighed, “honestly, can I get a word in? I’m not going to commit suicide.”

“Damn right you’re not,” the agent in front of you growled. He was suddenly right in your space again. “I’m going to stay here tonight with you and tomorrow, you’re going to a therapist.”

You backed up a step, feeling a bit…flustered, not to mention frustrated, with his close proximity.

“Will you just listen to me?!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in the air in ill repressed ire. “I am not going to commit suicide because I don’t want to! I never planned to and I never talked about it with Katelyn!”

The silence that descended on you was thick and you crossed your arms against your chest, glaring at the agent in front of you. He looked torn between not believing you and wanting to.

“You never mentioned suicide to Katelyn?” he asked finally, voice lower and not quite so angry this time around.

“No,” you said quietly, relief coloring your voice that he finally seemed to be listening to you.

Blue eyes bored into your own, but you stared back at him, refusing to show anything that could be taken as guilt or uneasiness. You’d finally gotten the man to listen to you. You didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt you word.

You were not going to a freakin’ therapist.

“And you’ve never thought about committing suicide?” he pressed, once again stepping forward until he was in your space.

“No,” you repeated, with only a hint of impatience. Really. Why did he believe Katelyn so readily but not you?

“Then you won’t mind if I stay here tonight,” he suddenly said, eyes once again daring you to challenge him. Which, normally, you wouldn’t. But tonight, he’d broken in, interrupted your coveted “alone with a movie and ice cream” time, yelled at and accused you of shit you didn’t actually do and now demanded you house him for the night.

Yeah…not in this lifetime.

“I do mind, actually,” you shot back, eyes narrowing at the agent. “I don’t need a babysitter and now that I’ve told you that I’m not suicidal, there’s no reason for you to stay.”

You turned to the couch and went to sit back down. “Especially with that attitude of yours,” you muttered under your breath. Really, there were days it was like dealing with a five year old. Pretty sure he was supposed to be acting older than you.

“Y/N,” came the warning growl from behind you and you rolled your eyes.

“Seriously, Bond, you can relax, okay? I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to ‘end it all’ and I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” You finally turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Unless you’re going on another mission…?”

The Double-Oh stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “No mission yet.”

You nodded once, “Good. Then I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” You turned your attention back to the movie that had made quite a bit of progress since you’d been so rudely interrupted and pretended to not hear the soft cursing behind you or feel the glare being shot to the back of your head.

There was blissful silence in the apartment for a few minutes, (aside from the movie), before Bond finally piped up, “Really, Y/N? Harry Potter?”

You shot your own glare at him over your shoulder. “For your information, I happen to like Harry Potter. And you’re not even supposed to still be here, so no dissing the movie that’s playing.”

To your surprise, annoyance, disbelief and, you admit, slight pleasure, Bond moved around the couch arm and sat down not two inches from you, grabbing your tub of ice cream off the coffee table and spooning some into his mouth.

“At least you have good taste in this,” he muttered, blue eyes locking onto yours. It took you a second, but you realized he was teasing you. You weren’t aware the man had a playful bone in his body!

Once you got over your shock you managed to answer back, “It’s been known to happen.” You plucked the spoon out of his hand and took your own bite of the chocolate ice cream. “But this is mine. Go grab your own.”

“Now, now, Y/N. I think you should share.”

“Ha!” You barked a laugh, “Whatever for? You broke in here, remember? I didn’t bust into your house!”

“I would advise you never trying that,” he said, suddenly serious. “Good way to get shot.”

“Bond,” you said back just as serious, “I don’t know where you live and I don’t want to know.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I’d probably be tempted to come over and try to shank you in your sleep,” you said with an angelic smile.

Bond met your smile with a dastardly smirk of his own.

“Are you sure it’d be to shank me?”

You gave him a shove with your shoulder as you spooned more ice cream out of the tub still in his hands.

“Yup. Perv.”

His chuckle made a shiver run up your spine and you realized he needed to leave. Like, now.

Putting the spoon in the tub, you leaned back onto the couch and turned back to the movie. “When you leave, would you put that in the freezer and lock the door on your way out?”

He leaned back as well, putting one arm on the back of the couch behind you before he answered. “I’ll put it in the freezer and lock the door, Y/N, but I’m not leaving.”

You turned your head, unintentionally pressing your cheek against his forearm. You had to physically stop yourself from jerking away as if burned. With Bond, showing any kind of weakness wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

And he was definitely a weakness of yours.

“Whaddya mean you’re not leaving? I thought we decided that I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“You mean you decided you didn’t need a babysitter.”

“Bond,” you growled and he shrugged. Shrugged! As if you were discussing the weather!

“Don’t call me a babysitter then. Call me something else.”

“Oh, believe me, Bond, there are several things I’d like to call you,” you muttered hotly, “and none of them are particularly flattering.”

The grin he gave made you almost give in and do pretty much whatever he wanted you to. Someday, this thing you had over Bond was going to get you into so much trouble.

“How about we just say that we’re two friends hanging out, alright? You don’t have to call me anything.”

Since moving to England, you didn’t have a whole lot of friends you hung out with, but you were still pretty sure that it only qualified as ‘friends hanging out’ if both parties were willing. But, you’d already missed about a third of the movie and could feel a headache coming on so you just nodded.

“Fine. Whatever you say, friend.”

Bond gave a small grunt of triumph and relaxed further into the couch after depositing the ice cream on the table once again. Your head was still in contact with his arm, but he was warm and solid next to you, so you decided to just enjoy the rare closeness you had with the man and focused on the rest of Harry Potter.

It wasn’t until the movie was over and Bond was putting the ice cream away that the shit hit the fan. Again.

You were in the middle of stretching when Bond came back into the living room, barefoot and no tie.

“Hey, Y/N, you want—“ he cut off abruptly and you stopped stretching to look at him expectantly.

“Do I want what, Bond?” you asked after a few moments of silence, but the man wasn’t paying attention to you but rather looking at your arms.

Looking down, you saw why.

“Wow,” you murmured to yourself, “I thought I had until at least tomorrow before those showed up.”

“What happened?” Bond demanded, narrowed blue eyes never leaving the dark bruises around your upper arms.

You’d never been good with taking things very seriously, especially if you didn’t find them to be a big deal, but even you had to admit that saying, “Considering the work you’re in, I’m surprised you don’t recognize your own handy work,” was a bit too…crass.

But, it’d already been said so you just gave a small rueful smile and apologized.

Figures, the apology would be what set him off.

“You’re apologizing to me for hurting you?” he demanded, voice loud once again. And here you’d thought you had met your quota for yelling today.

You groaned. “Oh for the love of…. Really, Bond? My neighbors are going to think I’m in some kind of domestic situation if you keep yelling. So, shush and help me get the house ready for sleeping.”

The super secret spy agent looked at you for a long moment while you patiently, (or as patient as you could be), waited for him to come to his senses already so you could get some shut eye.

“I should go,” Bond said after a moment. You crossed your arms.

“James,” you said softly, taking a step towards him, “I really would appreciate it if you stayed.”

The man in front of you scoffed, though blue eyes didn’t leave your own.

“A few minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

You scoffed yourself. “That’s because you were going to babysit me and thought I was suicidal of all things. Which I’m not. But I would like you to stay if you’re willing.”

Bond regarded you for a moment before stepping forward until he was directly in front of you. Warm fingers gently trailed over the darkening bruises on your arms.

“You’re sure you’d like me to stay?” he asked quietly, eyes boring into yours.

You gave a gentle smile. “I really would like nothing better.”

[vtforpedro]

health update TW in tags

I had to find my last update to see where I left off. Oofta. Things have progressed in both a good and bad way! I’d love to say only good lol dear god I wish I could say everything is just g o o d for once. I’m currently going through an emotional upheaval because of how badly my home life is and coming to realize I’m in an abusive situation with the last person on earth I thought that could happen. I’ve lost the last safe person ‘in real life’ that I have because of this. My mom. She is my solid rock and 100% full time supporter and this situation of becoming my nearly full time caregiver and the stresses it has put on her (let alone me) have, uh. Well, brought out the worst. It’s devastating honestly. My therapist has been a little too pushy for my liking trying to get me to hire home health help but 1. money 2. insurance would need a diagnosis if we went through them and idk if ‘hey we sliced up her nerves in her back during an LP and didn’t find out until five months in’ would cut it 3. I don’t really need it anymore. But yeah emotionally I am wrecked. My mom refuses therapy or family therapy so I have to keep surviving this kind of horrific situation I’m in lol it’s been bad the entire time but I finally snapped months into it and started laying down hard boundaries and for those of you familiar with abusers, you’ve probably experienced the joy of their reactions to boundaries. :) It’s situational because my mom has never been this way with me in my life but I feel like 31 years went down the drain in *months* and the things she’s said and done can’t be completely recovered from. I don’t know what to do. Once I’m out of this situation I can tell her that the only way I will ever feel comfortable being open with her again is to do family therapy but 🤷‍♀️ can’t make her do anything, so we’ll see. Physical health wise re: the LP horror show? BETTER! I’m getting better. I started physical therapy a month ago and I think I’ve had 6 sessions? Maybe 7? Idk. Leaps and bounds. I can sit on a toilet by myself. I can sit and stand everywhere but one place by myself and it’s only because my couch is wasted lmao and I need help up for the same reason. Otherwise? All me. We’re practicing getting up by myself from my recliner (can do just fine) and getting down and comfortable with everything I need (still a work in progress) so my mom can go to her home more and work more and we both get independence!!!!! I am going to sit at my computer chair and see how long I last before it hurts but I need my body to get used to sitting up again. Otherwise, the two guys I work with (one, mostly, as the other is v quiet) is THRILLED with how well I’m doing and that even if I’m tired/in pain I get through PT every time. I’m super psyched actually. Legit PUMPED every time I step into this place. It feels fantastic. I can’t wait to see where I am in another month. Maybe out of this recliner except when I willingly want to be in it 😂 but still gonna pace myself and listen to my body. I saw my pain specialist yesterday (who ordered the PT) and I told her and she said she had literal goosebumps and she was so happy for me. It felt really good to hear ;3; Unfortunately, head pressure is getting bad but hey at least I got the LP done 🙄 need to lose weight and adjust meds and hopefully get the rest of my normal life back someday. Gonna needs lots of trauma therapy to get there too. So that’s far off. I’ve not been feeling too well lately generally tho and I’m nervous b/c I have labs for my hematologist on Monday and she wants to check for ‘other leukemias and lymphomas’ so hhhhhh. I’ll see her a couple weeks after that and I’m afraid she’s gonna order the bone marrow biopsy but u_u what can I do Anyway. Hope you’re all doing okay. Love you all and thanks for always listening and supporting me. It means the world. 💜

[usaigi]

Daniela & Matt Murdock

Lunar sys au character cards | Read all chapters on ao3

A/N: Takes place in the year that Marc was dormant and Jake was acting as host in NYC

“So what are your mommy issues?” Daniela leans in, resting her chin on her hand, fluttering her eyes. 

“That obvious?” Matt chuckles, giving her his signature striking Murdock smile. “Never knew her. Left before I was a year old.”

“Daddy issues too?”

“Yeah, he was killed. I was nine,” he says casually, taking another sip of his beer. 

“Damn. Double abandonment issues. Was that before or after you lost your vision?” 

“Bit after. Guess I really couldn’t see a world without my dad,” Daniela snorts in response, shaking her head at the terrible joke. “You know most people say they’re sorry right about now,” Matt adds on in a teasing tone. 

“Haven’t you been pitied enough? Orphan, blind, and catholic,” Daniela says, sliding in a little closer on the booth. Sitting side by side, with the only person who in the whole bar that matters.   

“So what about you? What are your mommy and daddy issues?”

“Yeah you know, my mom liked to drink. I don’t really remember my dad, always working or praying. Typically family crap, just swap the gender roles,” she shrugs. 

“I’m sor–” Matt's tone changes, the light teasing turns heavy, sincerely sympathizing for her homelife despite him coming from nothing. Nice guys are a buzzkill.   

“Don’t be. I don’t need your pity,” she answers bitterly, finishing off her drink. Despite her comment, Matt brings her in, guiding her head to his shoulder. He rests his head on her, and the booze on his breath gives her an uneasy sense of comfort and familiarity.   

“Are you angry?” Matt asks softly. 

“Yes.”

“At your parents?” 

“No. At myself. Well, parts of myself.” The bad parts of herself. The parts that won’t listen.

“I understand that.” No, he doesn’t. But still, he takes her hand, and feels nice between his fingers. Everything with Matt felt nice. The way the pulls her in for a kiss, how he holds her face, how he makes her head spin, how despite everything she knows she has all the control.  

“My friend told me I need to stop doing this,” he breaks off, still smiling.  

“Doing what?” Daniela asks innocently. 

“Oversharing and bonding over trauma with people I just met,” he laughs. 

“Technically, we’ve known each other for a couple of weeks. Not total strangers. But how come?”

“False perception of closeness. Make you think you have a deeper bond than in reality.” 

“That’s probably smart. You should keep that in mind for your next relationship. You in therapy?”

“I was after the accident. Now… does confession count?”

“Pssh no. You should look into it again. Find a healthy outlet for your anger instead of punching sandbags until your knuckles bleed.” Even with the bar's dim lighting, the bruises on his skin glow, radiating the rage he so clearly felt behind the charming smile.  

“Can’t really look into anything, can I? How about you?”

“Nah, that’s for white people,” she says, thinking back to the one someone told their therapist that their mom spanked them and he asked them if it was a cultural practice. They all collectively refused to say another word to them afterward. “Joking, mostly. I got medical trauma now, not doing that again. Anyways, wanna get out of here?”

“Lead the way.” So Daniela takes his hand. Even if it's just for the night, it almost doesn't feel like a lie. 

A/N

Daniela, joking about trauma: is this flirting?? 🤭

Matt, later: Hey I had a really good time last night Jake, oblivious to Matt/Dani thing, thinking they’re just pals: yeah, me too :D

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Booster

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Han and Fem!Reader x Bang Chan

Warnings: language, explicit smut, cheating, indecent affairs, very rich Bang Chan who can be exceedingly arrogant, mentions of alcohol and smoking; aged up characters (especially Chan)

Word Count: 11K

Genre: Marriage AU; Romance AU; Indecent Proposal AU

Summary: You love your husband more than anything else in the world, but the two of you have been arguing lately about your struggling financial situation. Things seem bleak until one night when your husband’s new boss makes you both an offer that you can’t afford to refuse.

A/N: If you’ve seen the movie “Indecent Proposal,” then you know how this goes, but I put my own little spin on the classic! Please enjoy!!

“Are you happy, Y/N?”

It was a deceiving question, basic in its premise and expectation, but you couldn’t help but falter at the unexpected doubt coloring your vision.

“I guess,” you said.

But why shouldn’t you be? You were in your prime, employed as a freelance writer, and married to your high school sweetheart,

Oh, wait...How could you forget?

You were also preparing to turn thirty-years-old in less than a week, your job wasn’t delivering stable work, and you and your husband had been arguing about the single-digit amount of savings in your join account since last year.

“That’s good to hear,” your therapist said, and you nodded even though it felt misplaced.

You both knew that it was bullshit, but since this was the last session you could afford together, your therapist was clearly trying to use up the rest of your time to her advantage. Maybe it was for the best since you hated seeing her face every Sunday afternoon. 

“Jisung and I are going to Vegas with his company,” you said, startling yourself with the unexpected confession.

“That’s interesting,” your therapist said, leaving the “considering how bad off the two of you are” to fill the empty silence. “I hope you have fun. Take some time to reconnect with him.”

Because surely she had heard enough of you complaining about how your husband could turn into the world’s biggest asshole sometimes when things weren’t going his way. Or when the easy parts of your personal life were feeling far too stressful to be considered healthy. “It’s nice to get away,” you decided to say in place of anything less amiable.

“Feel free to reach out if you ever need me,” your therapist continued, offering you her business card.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from her with a sigh. “I guess that’s it then.”

“For now,” your therapist agreed, and you left the sterile-white building feeling more burdened than when you had arrived.

It was late when you got home, and you were even more exhausted than usual, laying next to Jisung in bed as soon as you had changed into comfortable night clothes.

“Do you want to fuck?” Jisung asked later on, taking off his reading glasses to look over at you as you concentrated hard on balancing next month’s budget, including all the money you had put aside for Jisung’s company retreat.

“Not right now,” you said.

“Whatever,” Jisung grumbled, and you ignored the pain in your heart as he turned around to face away from you, turning off his lamp to bathe half of the room in darkness.

“This is too important,” you tried to argue, but Jisung wasn’t listening, and it didn’t take long for him to start snoring.

But he never understood.

“Asshole,” you whispered, gathering your things to settle down in the living room instead. Where you continued working through the night, eyes glossing over from focusing on the numbers for too long, and you were drained the next morning, barely even comprehending Jisung leaving the house for work until you heard the car’s ignition from outside.

It was somewhat of a routine at this point, and you could feel the strain in your marriage, the distance between you and Jisung increasing the longer things continued to grow worse.

Your therapist would tell you to talk things out with him, but you really didn’t feel like arguing with your husband anymore. Instead, you pushed him out of your head and slept for a few more hours before getting up to start your freelance projects. It wasn’t anything difficult, and you finished most of the work by noon, leaving you to clean the house and wait by the phone in case a potential client called you with an assignment.

But the problem was the phone never rang, and you were hardly getting any work to support your shared household income.

It was a frequent point of contention, and Jisung had been begging you to take on a full-time position for months.

Maybe you should. 

Maybe it would make him happier.

But why did it feel like his happiness was always prioritized over your own?

Damn, you were starting to sound just like your former therapist.

“I made dinner,” you told him when he got home that evening, and even though it was obvious that he was wore-out, Jisung met you in the kitchen with a forced smile.

“It smells good,” he said, and there was a longing in his eyes, one that you also shared but could never fulfill.

And no amount of sex ever made it any better, but that sure as hell didn’t stop the two of you from trying to use it as an excuse to pretend that the problem didn’t exist elsewhere. “Shit, Sungie,” you gasped, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back as he fucked you on top of the counter, legs spread wide around his waist as he pummeled his hips into yours.

“Yes!” Jisung moaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as your tight walls constricted around his length - pure, velvet warmth. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Harder!” you cried, trying to meet each of his thrusts, but finding it impossible to touch his animalistic pace, brutally stretching your pussy around him. The good kind of stretch that left you gaping long after you both came, lingering throughout the night and well into the morning as you limped around the house.

It ached and hurt, persistent and demanding, but there was always a desire for more, even when it was impossible to fulfill those empty places. But that didn’t stop you from trying, winding your fingers through Jisung’s hair to pull him closer, smashing your mouths together for a brutal kiss that only served to stoke the flames of passion sparking between the two of you. Something hot and raunchy, delicious in the exchanges of precious oxygen and the thin cord of saliva that remained when Jisung pulled back to look at you. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, parting your thighs around his hips as he studied the place where he was driving his cock between the delicate folds of your swollen labia. “Look at how well you take me.”

“Please,” you whimpered, unsure as to what you wanted from him, but it was always too much and never enough. 

“I want you to come first,” Jisung said, sucking the pad of his thumb into his mouth before bringing it down against your clit. 

“Oh!” you gasped because the secondary stimulation was proving to be the necessary catalyst to unwind you from the inside, and you could feel your orgasm growing stronger by the second. 

“That’s it, baby,” Jisung groaned, throwing back his head as he worked on moving his hips faster, thrusting his erection with as much power as he could manage while focusing on digging harsh circles against the tight little bud between your legs.

“Coming!” you cried, closing your eyes against the first wave of pleasure, moaning when Jisung lifted your legs higher around his waist, slamming his cock between your pulsating walls. 

It was a divine high, the kind that left a deep impression, riding the euphoria of your orgasm until you could feel your heart practically vibrating against your chest, leaving you breathless and throbbing in the place where Jisung continued to grind his cock. “I’m close,” he said, grunting as his hips stuttered in place, and you watched him fall over you as a familiar warmth escaped from where his cock was softening.

“S’ good,” you managed around a deep breath, trying to bring yourself back to Earth.

“You’re always so good for me,” Jisung said, eyes glossy with lust as he parted your lips around his fingers.

You puckered your lips, sucking hard and leaving him groaning. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I know, Y/N, and I love you,” Jisung said, holding himself up while panting over you, eyes dark and devoted.

“I love you too,” you replied on instinct, keeping him close while the two of you basked in the afterglow of your passionate lovemaking.

One Week Later

It was raining at the airport, but you were in a good mood while following Jisung through the crowded terminal. “Are you excited?” he asked you once you stood in line to board the plane.

“Of course,” you replied, accepting his gentle kiss before he held out your tickets for the flight attendant.

But why shouldn’t you be? You had never been to Vegas before, and you were beyond excited for the trip, even if it had been painful to budget with your lousy combined incomes. 

“I’m gonna treat you so good, baby,” Jisung whispered to you on the plane, finalizing his promise with another heart-stopping kiss.

“I love you,” you said, smiling when you heard the words in return.

It was always a promise that you could both keep, no matter how hard things got in your lives, and you could always rely on Jisung even when your own mind turned against you. Sure, it would be nice to have more financial stability, but the two of you would eventually achieve that goal, just as long as you kept working hard.

The idea of being happy all the time seemed impossible, and you were grateful for what you had, holding tightly to Jisung’s hand as he hailed down a taxi cab to take you to your hotel upon your arrival in Vegas.

“A couple’s retreat?” the driver asked when you were both settled inside.

“Something like that,” Jisung agreed, and it was half-way true, even if Jisung’s company was the main reason you were both enjoying the unfamiliar sights of the Vegas strip - blinding lights, crowded streets, and loud music. Everything was organized chaos, and you could see why so many people loved it.

“It’s beautiful,” you said to Jisung when your taxi cab arrived at your hotel.

“What do you want to do first?” Jisung asked, taking both of your suitcases as you led the way to check-in.

“Do you have to meet with your co-workers?” you asked, reminding yourself that this trip had a larger reason behind it.

“Not until the morning,” Jisung laughed, and he signed the copy of the room notice before dragging you to the elevators. “It’s you and me tonight, baby. Wanna check out the poker tables?”

You rolled your eyes because you both knew that Jisung had no idea how to play cards. “Looking around sounds nice.”

“Whatever you want,” Jisung promised, and after your things were settled in your lavish suite, he made good on escorting you around the impressive gambling floor - nothing but slot machines with bright color sequences and a vast expanse of tables with every kind of game you could want. 

It was almost too much to look at, and you were grateful to focus on one thing when Jisung paused next to the craps table. “Do you want to try?” you asked, smirking at the curious look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before exchanging a twenty for some chips. “I’ll put it all on Pass.”

“Pass!” the dealer said, dragging Jisung’s chips closer. “Your roll.”

Jisung grabbed the dice from the table, bringing them closer to you with a smirk. “Kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes, but entertained his request, brushing your lips against his knuckles before pulling back and watching him flick his wrist as the dice bounced across the table. “Seven!” the dealer announced, and you and Jisung were both surprised to win, watching as two piles of chips were pushed in your direction. 

“Holy shit!” you gasped, and Jisung nodded his agreement, taking all the chips before bidding the dealer a good night. “Did you see that?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from giggling as Jisung pocketed the chips. 

“I guess I have enough to treat you to a drink,” he said, and you followed him to the bar where he ordered you both something strong.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you asked him, feeling far more jubilant than before as you downed most of the contents, wincing at the sting.

“You need to loosen up,” Jisung said. “I know you’ve been planning for the trip, so I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Cheers to that!” you said, tapping your glass against Jisung’s and enjoying the rest of your drink.

And for a while, you actually found yourself letting go of all the worries leading up to the vacation, drinking and laughing with your husband as you played on some of the slot machines and observed some of the more serious poker games. 

The alcohol sat pleasantly on your stomach, and you were losing yourself to the buzz dulling most of your anxieties. “Jisung,” you said at one point, leaning closer to him as you sat together outside by the pool. “You look really good tonight.”

Jisung smiled, bringing you in for a kiss that turned heated despite the people surrounding you. “Slow down, baby,” Jisung said, breaking your exchange and ignoring your pout.

“Let’s go to the room,” you said, lowering your tone as you trailed one finger down his toned arm.

“Maybe later,” Jisung said, but he dangled the key in front of you. “If you want, then you can go upstairs.”

“You don’t want to come?” you asked with a pout.

“I’ve been watching,” Jisung admitted with a shrug. “I know we’ve been having a lot of problems with money, but I think I can take what we brought and turn it into enough to end most of our debt.”

“Jisung,” you said, sobering up in an instant. “What if you lose?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and you could tell that he had already made up his mind. “I know when to stop.”

“Okay,” you agreed, but it was a reluctant acquiescence because you wanted nothing more than to have him in your arms. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, baby,” Jisung said, and you frowned when he slid you his credit card. “Call room service and take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” you agreed, pocketing the card since you had no intention of using it. “Call me if you need anything.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off as he rose from his chair, and you watched with an overhanging sense of dread as he rejoined the crowded gambling room.

You waited for as long as you could, but midnight trickled by with no sign of your husband returning to the room.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep from the excitement, and you only woke-up again the next morning when you attempted to reach out for Jisung in bed next to you, only to discover empty space.

“Sungie?” you said, filling the empty room with your voice.

But you could’ve sworn you had heard the door open at one point, so you dressed yourself and ventured out of the bedroom.

Your Vegas suite was fairly large, and the bedroom was connected to the main room by a narrow hallway with another room on the opposite end. Maybe Jisung had slept in the wrong room on accident?

It seemed plausible, until you heard the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, and you quickly followed the noises to find your husband bent over the counter, head hanging low.

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” you asked, approaching your husband to soothe a hand down his back.

But you were completely unprepared for the way he began to lash out.

“I lost it, okay?” he snapped, jerking himself into an upright stance. “All the money we brought, I blew it on the slot machines.”

“Jisung-”

“Fuck, I can’t believe it!” Jisung shouted, interrupting your attempt to speak. “I was doing so well, and I didn’t even realize things were going bad until I almost used our bank card to pull out more money.”

You exhaled harshly, realizing that if Jisung had spent all of your money, then he also accessed some of your savings since you had brought extra cash in case of an emergency. “Oh my god.”

You stumbled back against the wall, holding your chest because you could feel the start of a panic attack taking root. But how else were you supposed to react to Jisung’s confession? He had spent all the money you would both need to pay rent and buy important necessities.

“This is so screwed up,” Jisung growled, rubbing a rough hand across his disheveled face. 

“That was everything,” you said, swallowing hard as your detail-oriented brain attempted to come up with an alternative, but you saw no light on the other end.

“Y/N,” Jisung said, and his voice was calmer as he looked at you. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could make things better.”

“But you made them worse,” you said, closing your eyes against an onslaught of tears, feeling as if your entire world was crashing down around you.

“Baby, no,” Jisung said, hurrying over to catch you before your body crumbled to the floor. “We’ll be okay, you know? I can always take out a loan.”

“To pay for the other loans?” you asked in a much harsher tone that you usually reserved for your husband.

“I promise I’ll make it better,” Jisung said, and he groaned when his phone started ringing. “It’s my boss again. He wanted to meet me in his room this morning.”

Jisung silenced the call, holding your face between his hands. “I promise nothing bad will happen to us, and maybe I can ask my boss for an advance on my next paycheck to help cover expenses.”

Your brain knew better than that, understanding that one paycheck wouldn’t cover those lost savings, but this was Jisung. Your sweet and kind husband, and you didn’t feel like arguing. “Okay,” you said, accepting the gentle kisses he pecked along your wet lashes.

“We’ll figure this out,” Jisung said. “But let’s not worry about it until we get back home. Can you put some clothes on for me, baby? I want you to come meet my boss with me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding your head as you allowed Jisung to lead you both back into the bedroom.

“Everything will be fine,” Jisung said, and you allowed him to delude your mind even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Jisung’s boss was a powerful man named Mr. Bang, and his net-worth made Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk pale in comparison.

You were nervous to meet him, and it didn’t help that you were still upset from earlier.

“Deep breaths,” Jisung instructed you when he knocked on Mr. Bang’s door. “Don’t worry about anything.”

It was easy for him to say since everything was his fault, but you swallowed down your anger and pasted on your best smile when the door opened - revealing an older gentleman with dark brown hair and eyes, wrinkles edging some of the corners of his features, exposing the effects of age.

But he was still undeniably handsome, and his eyes took a long moment to gloss over you. “Mr. Han,” Mr. Bang said, finally looking away from you. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Of course, sir,” Jisung said, placing his hand on your lower back as you were both invited inside. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“Oh?” Mr. Bang questioned, following you both into the main room. “Why is that?”

You held your breath when Jisung hesitated. “Just some money stuff.”

“Ah,” Mr. Bang acknowledged. “It’s personal.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Jisung insisted, and Mr. Bang shrugged off his coat as he accepted the reassurance, reaching for a pack of cigars.

“Well, I’m excited to talk with you this morning. Would you both like to join me in the other room? I heard that Jisung enjoys playing pool.”

“Absolutely,” Jisung agreed with a smile - one that managed to disguise all the horrible realities that existed outside of this impeccable suite.

You took another deep breath, fixing a smile in place when Mr. Bang turned to look at you. “This must be your wife.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand for him, and trying not to feel disconcerted by the obvious interest in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking back ahead of himself as he brought you both into a far simpler room - sparsely furnished with the exception of the pool table in the middle of the area. “Do either of you mind if I smoke? It’s a bad habit.”

He chuckled at the end, waiting for your combined approval before lighting one of the cigars and bringing it to his lips.

“You’re welcome to go first,” Mr. Bang said, selecting one of the pool sticks against the wall. “I’d love to be informal with you.”

“That sounds great,” Jisung said, and you watched him bend over the table as he broke the balls at the center, sending them flying in all directions. “I was really honored to receive your invitation.”

“Were you?” Mr. Bang asked with a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re a bit of an enigma around the office, Mr. Bang,” Jisung said, and his boss chuckled in response.

“Please, call me Chan,” he continued, taking his turn at the table after Jisung missed his shot, cigar dangling from his lips. “How are you both enjoying Vegas?”

“I think we’re having a lot of fun,” Jisung said, and the response irritated you a little as you cleared your throat, nose wrinkling as some of the cigar smoke reached you.

“It’s quite beautiful,” you said, and Chan found your eyes after landing his first shot.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “You know, Jisung, you talk about me being an enigma around the office. Why is that?”

You flinched at the sound of the balls smashing together, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you focused on your husband. “Well,” Jisung shrugged. “I think it’s because you have so much more than the rest of us. Not that it’s a bad thing.” 

“Really?” Chan asked, standing up straight as he shot you a knowing look. “You do have something that I don’t have.”

You found yourself blushing at the comment, and Jisung studied his boss with narrowed eyes. “I guess there’s a limit to what money can buy.”

“Not mine,” Chan said, putting out the cigar with a satisfied smirk. “I can afford anything.”

You didn’t like his attitude, finding yourself jumping into the conversation without being provoked. “Some things aren’t for sale,” you said, watching as Chan bent over the pool table once again.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well, you can’t buy people,” you said, and he stood tall again with a sigh.

“That’s naïve of you, Y/N,” he said. “I buy people everyday.”

“I don’t mean in business,” you argued. “I meant something more like...when your emotions are involved.”

“So, you can’t buy someone’s love?” Chan questioned, and you didn’t like the way he was laughing. “Jisung, I hope you don’t feel the same way.”

“Of course,” Jisung said, shaking his head. “I agree with Y/N.”

“Really?” Chan smiled. “Then, maybe we should put that to the test.”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked, and he exchanged a quick look with you - one filled with uncertainty.

“How much?” Mr. Bang asked.

“How much?” Jisung repeated, and he studied his boss with a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Bang chuckled, and you frowned at the obvious condescension. “I mean, how much for one night with your wife?”

“Oh...” Jisung trailed off, and the room quickly filled with silence - awkward and heavy.

“Why so tense?” Chan eventually asked, and you shook your head because he knew exactly why the two of you were suddenly less than enthusiastic.

“You can’t be serious,” Jisung eventually said, reaction surprisingly neutral.

“I’m completely serious,” Chan continued, never breaking a sweat as he continued to take his turn at the pool table. “I’ll give you $1,000,000 dollars,” Chan said. “That would be enough to keep you in a life of luxury.”

“Sir,” Jisung said, and you could tell that he was caught off-guard, trying to find the right words to prevent offense to his boss, but you didn’t have to extend the same courtesy.

“No,” you said, keeping your tone firm. “He would tell you to go to hell.”

“I didn’t hear that from him,” Chan said, and you fixed Jisung with the sternest glare you could manage.

“Yeah,” Jisung said. “I’d tell you to go to hell.”

Chan sighed, pocketing the coveted eight ball with a quick motion. “I guess that proves me wrong, then,” Chan said. “But I’ll at least say this: $1,000,000 dollars is a lifetime of security. Think about it, talk it over first, and then you can forget all about this conversation.”

It should’ve been over after that without any further consideration, but you were disappointed to see that Jisung was still distracted as you sat together in your room later that night - long after leaving Chan’s suite.

“You’re still thinking about it,” you said, drawing his attention.

“Of course not, baby,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Would you seriously be okay with me spending the night with some pompous billionaire? you huffed. “He would obviously want to fuck me.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Jisung tried to joke, but the situation was far too serious.

“Sungie...”

“Look, I get it, Y/N. Marriage is sacred, and I respect you for that, but we both can’t ignore how much this would change our lives! It’s a million fucking dollars.”

“He’s an old perv,” you growled. “Would you seriously sell me out?”

“That’s not what this is,” Jisung argued. “I’m not selling you out.”

“Sleeping with a stranger for a million dollars is selling me out,” you said. “I don’t even like him...”

“It’s fine,” Jisung interrupted. “It was just a made-up scenario, and I would never force you to do anything.”

“Good,” you said, turning on your side to switch off the lamp. “He can’t just expect that from someone. It’s crazy!”

“I know, baby,” Jisung whispered quietly to you, and you knew that you were both exhausted from the chaos of your day together.

Sleep was what you needed, but it wasn’t coming. 

Instead, you were loathe to admit that your mind had returned to that indecent proposal from Jisung’s boss, thinking about the last thing he said.

One lifetime of security.

You would never have to worry about money again...but what about your relationship? Would it suffer because of such an illicit affair?

You tossed and turned all night, feeling Jisung do the same thing.

Think about it.

God, that’s all you were doing, and when the sun was starting to rise again from the coverage of your blinds, you rolled over to look at Jisung, unsurprised to see him wide-awake. “If we do this,” you said, “it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not,” Jisung said. “It would still be the two of us against the rest of the world.”

You nodded, studying the gentle brown of Jisung’s eyes. The weight of such a consequential decision hung over both of your heads, and you sucked up every last ounce of pride you had when you came to a conclusion: “Call him,” you said, and Jisung’s eyes widened. “Tell him we’ll take the money.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” Jisung asked, and he was cautiously reaching out for his cellphone.

“I’m sure,” you said, although you didn’t feel as confident as you would like, turning onto your back to study the ceiling overhead.

The date and time were arranged for the following evening, and you could barely meet Chan’s gaze when he met you outside his suite.

“Just relax,” he whispered to you, inviting you outside onto the extended balcony attached to his penthouse where he proceeded to pour two glasses of champagne.

The cold air of the night hit you in the face like a firm slap, forcing you from the haze you had surrendered to when you first walked into the room. A wake-up call that this was happening, and the man next to you was not your husband.

You nearly drained your first glass of champagne, feeling the alcohol give you some much-needed courage. “Y/N,” Chan said, standing next to you in a suit that likely cost more than your and Jisung’s last paychecks combined. “I want to ask you what your expectations are of this evening.”

You shrugged, staring out over the bannister. “I thought we were just gonna fuck,” you replied, even if the words were a little crude.

Chan laughed at your comment. “Is that so?”

“I don’t see what’s funny,” you said. “You’re the one who has to buy women.”

“You think I have to buy women?” Chan asked. “Because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

You hesitated, sensing him growing closer. “Why me, then?”

“I bought you because you said you couldn’t be bought,” Chan replied, stepping closer to drop his hand on top of yours.

“I can’t be bought,” you argued, even though everything leading up to this moment was proving the contrary.

“Really?” he asked, and you begrudgingly shook your head.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“You might enjoy yourself,” Chan said with a seductive smirk. “This isn’t meant to be a punishment.”

“I know that,” you said, holding your breath when his lips touched the shell of your ear.

“Damn, you’re unbelievably gorgeous,” Chan said, and his free hand was trailing down your spine. “Come with me into the bedroom.”

You gave him a shaky nod, following him back inside while taking in several deep breaths as you greeted the darkness of the room, discarding your champagne on the side table. “What now?”

“Take off your dress,” Chan said, and you squinted your eyes to see him falling down into one of the chairs.

Despite the cold air of the night, everything inside was heating up again.

“Okay,” you whispered, reaching back for your zipper, and holding it between trembling fingers as you unhitched the material, allowing it to fall down your body like an avalanche of blue as it pooled around your ankles.

You heard Chan’s sharp intake of breath, feeling his eyes trail over every inch of your lingerie-clad form. “Get on the bed,” he said, and you obeyed at once, trying to make yourself comfortable on top of the mattress.

But it was hard when you noticed Chan approaching the bedside, removing his jacket and shirt to reveal a lean, muscular torso - one that had undoubtedly been built after long hours in the gym. “This is my favorite part,” Chan said, shoving down his jeans and boxers without shame, and his cock sprang up against his abdomen with an impressive girth. “I like to see the way a woman’s eyes look at me. How their breath hitches when I touch them for the first time.”

He followed through on his promise, sliding his fingers down the smooth skin of your stomach with a feather-like touch before they paused at the waistband of your panties. “Take these off,” he said, and you did your best to wrangle off the flimsy fabric, pushing it aside with your toes as Chan’s eyes zeroed in on your delicate mound. “When I fuck a woman, I make sure she comes...several times.”

You shivered at that, hearing his tone grow huskier as he instructed you to open your thighs, giving himself enough room to crawl on the bed and settle down between your open legs. It was already so revealing, and you couldn’t believe you were in this position, exposing everything to him. “Do you use protection?” he asked, and you nodded. “I’d like to fuck you raw, but only with your consent.”

You nodded again, gasping when his long, thin fingers started to carefully penetrate you, scissoring around your entrance - teasing curls that did nothing but trigger your body’s instinctual arousal. Especially as the room around you continued to grow warmer, almost as hot as Chan’s lips as they scalded your skin, lifting one of your legs higher against his arm.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” Chan whispered against your thigh. “If I had a woman like you, I’d do my best to make you happy.”

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but curse, feeling him use his other hand to start moving his fingers even faster, gliding them against the greedy walls of your pussy as your body demanded you for more of the sweet addiction.

There was already a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin, and your heart was beating faster and faster, matching the pace of his fingers. Eventually, he leaned down to take your clit between his lips, dropping your thigh back onto the mattress before sucking hard and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. 

You gasped, hips arching without your approval, grinding closer to the source of that immeasurable pleasure. It was wet and sensual, creating the gentlest of sensations that traveled all the way to your toes.

You could feel Chan smirking, lips barely touching your clit before he properly opened his mouth wide to lave his tongue across the throbbing area. It felt so good, and you were practically humping his face to gain more of his delicious mouth.

He was learning your signs, hands holding your waist as he listened to every hitch of your breath, knowing when to speed up and slow down. It was like a well-rehearsed dance, swipes of his tongue across your folds, pressing firmly against your clit when he returned to the delicate organ. 

It felt like pure heaven, bringing you higher and higher to a much-needed release, and it had been a long time since a man had made you experience such white hot lust from just his tongue.

“Cum for me,” Chan whispered, and he nipped at your clit, and the tinge of pain was enough to send you spiraling into your first orgasm of the night.

“Oh!” you groaned, grabbing his hair to pull him back when his sucking was starting to feel too painful right after coming so hard.

“What a good girl,” Chan said, looking down at you with a sheen of arousal coating his lips. 

It was obscene, forcing you to close your eyes against the image, but you cried out when he pinched one of your nipples, causing you to open them again. 

“Do me a favor and look at me while I’m fucking you, Y/N,” Chan murmured, hooded gaze meeting your struggling one - trying not to succumb to his advances, even though he was making it incredibly hard, wrist almost imperceptible with the way he was stretching you open again, pussy gaping as you felt yourself leaking uncontrollably.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, heart thundering against your chest as Chan removed his fingers only to align his cock with your entrance, dipping just the tip into your eager heat.

“Moan for me as much as you want,” Chan said, and he was bottoming out without hesitation, moving slow to prevent any pain while you got used to the stretch.

It was different from how Jisung fucked you, thrusting into you impossibly fast from the very first moment he impaled you on his cock. 

There was something caring about it, and you adjusted quickly to Chan’s girth, grinding your hips subtly just to feel very inch of his generous erection. “Good girl,” Chan cooed, and he brought his cock to a deeper roll, moving back to leave only the head before forcing himself inside once again, picking up speed as your moans continued to grow louder in volume, signaling your approach to a second release.

It was beyond amazing, and you swallowed down your embarrassment from the noises he was punching from your lungs, opening your eyes as he started to move even faster, thrusting his cock between your legs at a rhythmic pace.

He was hitting your g-spot on every deep penetration, granulating in and out at a steady pace that was so unbelievably fulfilling.

You never expected it feel this good, slick from your pussy gushing at an embarrassing rate, creating an even smoother slide. But the squelching sounds were incredibly loud, filling your ears just like his cock was filling your cunt...the best kind of fullness.

You were being stroked just right, moaning when Chan shifted his hips to thrust into you at a new angle, holding your legs over his shoulders as he practically bent you in half.

His lips were warm when they connected with yours, and there was a strange desire to sink into the kiss and lose yourself there forever. But your pussy was throbbing with need - an impossible want for the man reaching all the way to your cervix.

It felt amazing when his fingers brushed across your sensitive clit, rubbing generous circles against the tight nub. He started snapping his hips at a faster rate, slapping against your hips with every thrust, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip that would leave reminders of him for days. 

But maybe that was his intention.

Chan growled, plunging into your sore cunt time and time again. He was practically pounding you with how hard he was going, like he was trying to prove a point, and maybe he wanted to since nothing could have ever prepared you for how euphoric his cock was making you feel.

“Are you gonna cum again?” Chan whispered, gazing so fondly into your eyes.

You couldn’t speak, only managing a nod when he started to rub even faster at your clit, and you let out the loudest moan of the night when you were unraveling yet again, sinking into a third orgasm that left you drained.

It was a rollercoaster of overstimulation, and Chan realized this and gave a few stuttered kicks of his hips before he was filling you up with his cum, groaning and grunting as he leaned over you.

Your legs were numb from being spread wide for so long, and you weren’t sure that you would ever catch your breath, listening to the sound of Chan whispering sweet endearments from next to you as you realized that nothing would ever be same after this.

The next morning, you woke-up alone, but there was a note waiting for you on the nightstand.

Y/N,

Join us in the kitchen when you’re ready.

- Chan

“Us?” you repeated aloud, feeling a sense of dread as you stumbled on weak legs to gather your clothes.

You were incredibly sore between your legs, a reminder that last night actually happened, and you had slept with your husband’s boss for a big paycheck.

“It’s worth it,” you tried to reassure yourself, walking from the bedroom and into the kitchen with a subtle limp. “Nothing will change.”

But hindsight is 20/20, and you can’t predict the future. Still, your first sign should’ve been the strange image of Chan and Jisung sitting together in the kitchen, like they were having a casual breakfast together,

“There you are!” Chan greeted you upon your arrival, but you barely paid him any attention, eyes immediately finding Jisung’s.

Your husband was sitting next to Chan at the table, and there was a buffet of food displayed on elegant kitchenware. “What’s going on?”

“Breakfast,” Chan said, indicating towards the empty chair next to Jisung. “Please join us.”

You nodded, finally breaking your intense stare-down with Jisung to carefully sit down next to him.

Suddenly, it was difficult to acknowledge his presence, memories of last night resurfacing and causing you to blush at the obscene images. “I hope you slept well,” Chan said, and his plate was completely covered as he ate without a single care in the world. “Last night...it was amazing, Y/N.”

You could feel Jisung shift from next to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to look at him. “Chan-”

“As promised,” Chan interrupted as he reached into the pocket of his expensive suite jacket, producing a thin slip of paper, and he slid the check in Jisung’s direction. “Thank you both for everything.”

“Sure,” Jisung said, and his tone was short as he grabbed the check and immediately stood from the table. “We should get going.”

“So soon?” Chan questioned, mouth stuffed impossibly full. “You’re more than welcome to anything you want.”

“We’re fine,” Jisung insisted, and he took your hand with a firm grip. “I know you’ll understand, Mr. Bang.”

“Ah!” Chan grinned. “Formalities again?”

But Jisung ignored him, turning to look at you with a gleam in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher. “Let’s go home,” Jisung said, and he tried for a smile which you couldn’t match as he led the two of you as far from Bang Chan as you could manage.

Tragically, your return home was nothing triumphant, and it should’ve felt so good to finally pay off so many bills and debts.

But it didn’t.

Everything felt hollow inside.

You also couldn’t help but notice that it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to Jisung. Because every time you looked into his eyes, you were reminded of your impassioned affair in Vegas. It wasn’t fair to either of you, but you had no idea how to fix your relationship.

How could this be fair? You no longer had money problems forcing that divide between the two of you? In fact, you had no problems at all, and you were both entertaining the idea of moving into a bigger place and quitting your jobs.

So, what was missing? What was wrong with the way things were now that your joint account was filled to the maximum?

The answer was obvious, but you both refused to talk about it, and every second spent in each other’s company only served to carve an even deeper rift. Something so painful that you could barely share the same bed as your husband.

You couldn’t believe that things were so bad, even a month after your night with Chan, and nothing was going right. But what could you do? There was no easy solution, and it certainly didn’t help when you received a phone call from an unknown number one morning, accepting it with hesitation, only to be greeted with a strikingly familiar tone: “Hello, Y/N,” Chan said from the other end, and you immediately sat down on the edge of your bed.

“Chan?”

“How are you?” Chan asked with a pleasant tone. “I thought I might check in on my favorite couple.”

You frowned at his mocking tone. “Thanks, but we’re fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that! And I hope the money goes a long way for you and Jisung,” Chan said, and you clenched the phone tighter between your hands.

“It’s been helpful,” you said, even though the words didn’t seem to match the life you were currently living.

“Well, I’m in town for lunch this afternoon,” Chan continued. “I thought it might be nice just to catch up with you. Would you care to join me?”

You hesitated, looking around your empty bedroom with desperate eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea...”

“Oh, please it’s just one lunch,” Chan said, and it was almost impossible to resist him. But that must be why he was such a good businessman. “One lunch.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself giving in to him. “One lunch,” you agreed, parroting back the response because it felt like your body was moving on auto-pilot, having lost the familiar spark ever since you came back from Vegas.

Chan’s chosen location was a gorgeous downtown restaurant that had more Michelin stars than the places you sometimes watched on TV.

It was beyond elegant, and you found Chan waiting for you at the door after having a car bring you to him. “Good morning,” he said with a cheeky tone, meeting you halfway as he offered his arm to you - the perfect gentleman.

“This was unexpected,” you said, allowing him to escort you inside, greeting the man at the front who seemed to instantly recognize Chan, leading you both to a private room away from the others.

“I wanted to do this,” Chan said. “I thought we could talk a little.”

“Is that it?” you asked, taking the menu and gaping at the immense prices.

Chan seemed to notice, smiling at your awed expression. “Have anything you want,” Chan said. “I’m buying.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly let you do that...” you said because then it would feel like a date, and that was as far from what you wanted as possible.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Chan said. “Everything is good here, and you deserve it.”

You weren’t sure that you liked the sound of that, but you didn’t complain as you requested that he order something for both of you instead of trying to interpret the gauche-sounding entrees. 

“Now,” Chan said once your waiter left the room. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?” you questioned, sipping gingerly at your water glass. “What about me?”

“I want to know everything,” Chan said. “All of it.”

“Everything?” you repeated, shrugging as you blushed. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I can hardly believe that,” Chan said. “What about your job?”

“I’m a freelance writer,” you said, nodding when you realized that he was genuine. “Kinda hard in the city though.”

“But you’re doing what you love?” Chan asked, and he grinned at your confirmation. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Could it be so simple? you wondered, remembering all the countless arguments you and Jisung had shared because, according to him, your job was hardly considered career-worthy. “I love writing.”

“Then you must be a big reader,” Chan remarked. “All the best writers are.”

You swooned at his smooth conversation. “I have shelves full of the classics.”

“What’s your favorite?” Chan asked.

“Jane Eyre,” you admitted, and Chan raised a brow.

“I like that about you,” he said. “It fits: the idea of a bright young woman falling in love with the enigmatic billionaire.”

You met his gaze, recalling how Jisung had aligned the term “enigmatic” with Chan on the night you made your unholy deal. Was there a deeper meaning, then? “I love the prose,” you replied instead, thinking the subject might return to Chan. 

But it never did. In fact, Chan kept all the questions about you, engaging you in a way that you had never experienced with another man. Like he cared so much about the person underneath, and his probing gaze was seeing past the outside in a way that spoke to your very soul.

And you couldn’t help but compare him to Jisung: a very dangerous thing to do.

“That was nice,” you said after you had both eaten. “It was good to see you again.”

“I agree,” Chan said, ever the businessman as his hand fell low around your waist, taking you back outside the restaurant. “Should we make plans for tomorrow?”

You almost laughed, until you read his expression and realized that he was serious. “What?”

“Y/N,” Chan said, and his tone was intense. “I can’t stop thinking about Vegas.”

“Chan,” you whined, trying to pull away, but his hold was firm. 

“If you were with me,” Chan purred, and it was a lethal sound that was as smooth as the hand traveling up and down your back. “I could give you everything you wanted and more.”

“I can’t,” you insisted, and there was an image of Jisung in your head when you managed to escape him. “That was only one time.”

“I think you and I both know that it meant more than that,” Chan said, and you could deny it all you wanted, but there was an insistent throbbing at the back of your skull.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, ignoring the scoff that escaped him while calling for the valet to bring the car Chan had organized for you.

“At least take my business card,” Chan said, and he was holding the small piece of printed paper out for you, but you knew that going down that path would only make things worse.

“I can’t accept it,” you said, returning your attention to the valet as he opened the back door.

“That’s a shame,” Chan said, but he was as persistent as ever, leaning close to press a kiss across your cheek. “You can always call me. If you ever need anything.”

You nodded, feeling somewhat disoriented as you sat down against the leather seat, swallowing hard when you could still see Chan from the rearview mirror.

By the time you returned home, it was already late, and you were glad to see Jisung when you sat your purse down onto the counter. “Hey,” you said, and Jisung glanced up from where he was reading the newspaper.

“Hey,” he replied. “How was lunch?”

You swallowed hard because you hadn’t told Jisung who you ate lunch with. “It was good.”

He nodded - a short dismissal, and it you decided to freshen up in the bathroom, taking a quick shower just to wash off the lingering traces of Chan.

But maybe it was foolish to think that water could wash away everything that had happened - those traces would never simply vanish.

When you walked back out into the main room, you were stunned to see Jisung putting on his coat. “Jisung,” you said, watching your husband rush around the living room. “Are you busy?”

“Just gong to meet some friends,” Jisung replied. 

Distracted. Uninterested in you.

“Oh,” you said. “I thought we could spend some time together?”

“Yeah?” Jisung snorted, and you were shocked to hear him sound so abrasive...at least until he marched up to you waving around a business card. “And what the fuck is this, huh? I found it in your bag.”

He flung the card at you, and you sighed when you saw Chan’s name at the top - he must’ve snuck the card into your purse when you weren’t looking. “It’s nothing,” you said, but Jisung only laughed - a sound devoid of all humor. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“Does it matter?” he huffed. “You can’t get enough of him, can you?” he asked, and you were like a tea kettle that had been sitting on the burner for way too long - practically erupting from the top.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?” Jisung smarted back. “You’re obviously still seeing him, spreading your legs for his cock like a bitch in heat. I guess one night wasn’t enough for you.”

“How dare you!” you yelled, getting right in Jisung’s face. “You want to know what happened? He slipped the card into my purse when I met him for lunch today, but I had never even spoken to him until then.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Jisung spat, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a fucking whore, Y/N. Throwing yourself at a rich man like Bang Chan just because he can buy you nice stuff.”

“What’s money got to do with anything?”

“It obviously means everything!” Jisung shouted. “It’s what got us into this fucking mess into the first place.”

“You mean, the mess you made when you gambled all our money away?” 

“Are you really going to throw that back in my face?” Jisung seethed. “I was trying to make things better for us!”

“Good job,” you snickered. “Since we’re so fucking happy together.”

“What do you want from me?” Jisung asked, throwing up his arms. “I’m obviously the biggest asshole in the world.”

“I’m glad you can admit it,” you said. “Did you ever stop to think that all that I’ve done up to this point has been for you?”

Jisung paused, opening his mouth to retaliate, but then wisely deciding to let you continue. “Did I want to go to Vegas?” you asked. “No, but I went because you wanted to impress your company, and I know you wanted to do things right, but we should’ve both known better than to bet against the house. We lost everything, and in that moment of desperation, you pressured me into sleeping with another man, and I can’t think about anything else but him whenever I look at you.”

Jisung was stunned at the admission, all traces of anger gone from his expression. “Y/N,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah?” you said, voice quivering as you wiped away your tears. “Well, now you do.”

Jisung bowed his head, and you decided that you were done waiting for something to change, marching into your bedroom to grab your phone and dialing the first number you remembered.

“Chan,” you whispered when he greeted you on the other end. “Can I come over?”

There was only a split second of silence before Chan’s voice was soothing the raging storm inside of you. “I’ll send a car.”

It was almost midnight when your driver pulled up outside of a lavish home in the suburbs: huge, towering columns and Greco-Roman architecture making the place seem more like a mausoleum.

But it wasn’t the home itself that brought you comfort; rather, the people living within it who always made things seem safe and welcoming, and Chan was sure to greet you at the door, opening his arms wide to accept your embrace. “Was it a bad fight?” he asked, and you nodded while wondering how he could’ve possibly picked up on the fact that you and Jisung had been arguing again.

Maybe he just had good intuition when it came to you, and you appreciated the understanding, allowing him to bring you into an enormous den, settling you against the couch next to him while a fire blazed in the background. “I made tea,” Chan said, reaching for the two cups waiting on the ornamental table filling the empty space at the center of the room.

“Thanks,” you said, finding your eyes drawn to the neat stack of papers that had been sitting next to the cups.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asked, relaxing one arm around your shoulders, bringing you against his much-needed warmth.

“We just don’t get along anymore,” you said. “I thought having money would fix things, but everything is worse.”

“Really?” Chan asked, and he seemed to consider your words. “It might seem like a good thing, and from the standpoint of a businessman, money is a very powerful motivator.” He smiled, looking down at you with eyes glowing from the flames. “But money isn’t the solution when it comes to the people you love.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, but you had also started picking up on that yourself. “Were you busy with something?”

Chan followed your gaze, reaching out for the papers that had drawn your attention from the very first moment you sat down. “These?” Chan chuckled, and he slid them to the edge, allowing you to read the fine print across the cover. “Divorces are complicated, aren’t they?” Chan asked, and you hesitated when you realized what he was implying. “But if you have enough money, then anything is possible.”

“Chan...” you trailed off, vision blurring at the edges and making the letters bleed together - a cacophony of meaningless jargon. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’re unhappy,” Chan said, and it was an observation that wasn’t difficult to make after all that had happened. “I guess I just don’t want you to be associated with the person causing that unhappiness.”

“You want me to leave Jisung?” you said, breathing in and out because it wasn’t a simple decision that one could make on the spot - not after years of living with someone who had become a central part of your existence.

It was too much to bear, and Chan’s presence was almost suffocating, breaths heavy against the side of your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.”

You trembled at his closeness, choking around a sob even though the atmosphere between the two of you was suddenly charged with something electric. “And then what?”

“Well, after Jisung signs them,” Chan said, and his tongue traced the lobe of your ear. “I’d love to have you for myself.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, closing your eyes as he took you into his arms, doing nothing more than holding you, but the feelings bubbling below the surface of your skin told you more than actions or words ever could.

The next morning, Chan had his driver take you back to the apartment you shared with Jisung.

The apartment was strangely quiet, and you left the divorce papers on the table in the kitchen while you went to shower, wanting nothing more than the scalding water to provide a temporary numbness to the confusion you felt in every fiber of your being.

It was a much-needed reprieve, and when you walked back into the kitchen, you were surprised to see your husband at the table, eyes downcast. “Come sit with me, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard when you realized he was searching through the divorce papers, but you weren’t met with his anger; instead, Jisung just seemed really sad, and that was much worse. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you said, but your husband just smiled and shook his head. 

“I knew you wouldn’t come back home for nothing,” he said, sliding out the chair next to him as an invitation. “Why should you? I treated you like shit the other night.”

“We both said some really cruel things,” you said, joining him with a sigh. “Things spiraled out of control.”

“I can see that,” Jisung said, tapping his fingers against the papers. “Let’s talk about what happened.”

You shivered at the thought. “I don’t think we should-”

“No,” Jisung interrupted, but it was a gentle chide. “It’s important, so hear me out.”

It would be so hard, but you still agreed. “Okay.”

“The whole mistake in Vegas wasn’t the money,” Jisung said. “No, money might’ve caused our problems, but the mistake wasn’t wanting something to make our lives better. The real mistake was me thinking that I could just forget about it after we left. That I could easily forgive us both...What’s that old saying? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” Jisung laughed, but it was bitter sounding. “Bullshit, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Bullshit.”

Jisung smiled. “People in love stay with each other, not because they try to forget the wrong parts, but because they’re capable of forgiving the bad. And I couldn’t do that because I thought you would want Chan after that night...that you would be right to want him. He’s so much better in every way, the better man for someone wonderful like you. But by the time I realized that it wasn’t true, that he was only better because he had more money, everything had spiraled.”

He was quiet after his confession, struggling to hold back his tears as he clicked open one of our pens and brought the papers closer. “If you really want the divorce, then I’ll give it to you,” Jisung said. “I just want you to be happy.”

Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.

“Jisung...” you trailed off, unsure if there was anything you could do to change the look in his eyes.

“I’ll always love you,” Jisung said, and it was the same promise as always, but you watched with a heavy heart as he signed his name in cursive as the bottom of the form.

The divorce papers felt like an added weight in your bag as you marched into the office building of SKZ Enterprises.

It was ridiculous, really. They were just papers, made in a factory and mass-produced to be sold in stores.

But it was the symbolism they carried, the significance of Jisung’s name scribbled at the bottom of the final page that had you faltering.

Your heart was hurting, and you forced a smile when you greeted Chan’s secretary at the corner next to his big, corporate office. “I’m here to see, Mr. Bang,” you told the secretary. “Tell him my name is Y/N.”

“Of course,” she said, and you watched her disappear into the office, giving you a few critical moments to collect your thoughts.

Until you heard his voice again:

“Y/N?” 

You startled at the sound of Chan’s voice, seeing him standing in front of you with a million-dollar smile on his weathered face. “Come inside?”

“Yes,” you agreed, following him into the office with the door shutting firmly behind you.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Chan said, grabbing you hand and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk,” you said, and Chan’s smile disappeared.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said, chuckling as he invited you to sit down in one of the expensive chairs next to his desk. “Do you need anything? I can call for some tea.”

“No,” you said, deciding it was better to get straight to the point as you reached into your bag to bring out the divorce papers stapled together.

“This could either be good or bad,” Chan remarked, accepting them from you and quickly turning to the last page, expression falling. “I see.”

“I can’t sign them,” you said, and there was something powerful in your tone that had even Chan admitting defeat.

“Damn,” Chan sighed, eyes boring a hole into the pages. “This is the worst news I’ve gotten.”

“I talked to Jisung,” you explained. “Just looking at him and entertaining the idea of leaving forever...I couldn’t do it.”

Chan finally tore his gaze from the papers, meeting yours with disappointment. “I take it he said something to change your mind.”

“I don’t know if he changed my mind,” you admitted. “Rather, I think his love and forgiveness made me see reason with what I was doing.”

“Ah,” Chan said. “I think we’ve come full circle, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me that all the money in the world couldn’t buy your love,” Chan said, and there was something that resembled respect reflected in his eyes. “You were right all along.”

You ducked your head, unable to maintain such intensity. “I’d like to give you that money back, Mr. Bang. My husband and I can manage on our own.”

“Oh, please, I’d be insulted if you did that,” Chan said, and he held out his hand for you to shake. “You know I’m a good businessman, so consider this an opportune long-term investment in something I’m supporting.”

You were full of gratitude, swallowing back tears as you nodded. “Thank you.”

“”There’s no need for that,” he said. “I’ll always be here for you.” The sentiment was matched by the gentle brushing of his lips across your cheek, and you could feel the last reminder of Chan even after leaving his office for the first and final time.

You were carrying takeout up the stairs, feeling lighter on your feet than you had in months.

The weight of your burdensome worries was gone, and you knocked with a little too much enthusiasm on the front door to your apartment.

“Y/N?” Jisung questioned, and there was an obvious look of surprise on his face when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reminded him with a cheeky smile. “I brought food.”

Jisung’s eyes moved to the bag in your hand, nodding once before allowing you inside. “I thought you were going to see Chan.”

“I did,” you said, leading him into the kitchen. “There were some things to discuss.”

“I see,” Jisung said, watching you with a wary expression as you presented him with his favorite Italian special.

The suspense was killing you, and you desperately wanted to see the frown leave his lips. “I didn’t sign the papers,” you said, sitting down at the table with a wearied sigh. “I couldn’t.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, clearing his throat at the hitch in his voice, but you were just trying to hide your smile at his boyish charms.

“Have I told you that I love you recently?” you asked, looking at him with way too much fondness.

Jisung paused, chopsticks poised in hand. “You do?”

“Always,” you affirmed, and you were unprepared for the first of Jisung’s tears to fall, endearing him even more to you if that was possible. “I’m happiest with you,” you told him, reaching out to wipe away those rebellious tears.

“I’ve always felt that way,” Jisung said, getting himself back under control as he pushed away his food and patted his lap. “Come here.”

You were more than happy to oblige, climbing into his lap to wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while searing your lips together in a kiss that promised so much more from the one true love of your life.

[boldlyvoid]

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x MINDHUNTER AU

Spencer Reid x Margaret Carr (OC)

Part 1: Ed Kemper.

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: graphic details of a real rape and murder case, like every trigger in the book, applies to this fic so read with caution (if you watch either show you're used to it, however), it's all real and did actually happen and I don't support any of it. strangers to lovers, mutual pining, flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr's daughter, her bio father is Jason Gideon

word count: 3.9K

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't having fun teaching.

He started with guest speaking, moving to special seminars a few times a year. But he wanted something more, settling for a 7-week criminal justice elective of his choosing.

Intro to Criminal Minds: why they did it. Giving Spencer an excuse to share the most intimate facts about serial offenders in a setting where no one could tell him to shut up.

14 students total signed up for the two-hour Seminar, taking place every Thursday at 11 am from September until Halloween. Over the 7 weeks, he would explain the fascinating insights of the most successful killers in the United States. Only asking that his students write about a prolific crime they find interesting by the end of term, for their full grade.

All he wanted was to read about obscure killers from around the world, from the perspective of aspiring profilers.

The first Thursday, he came prepared with his coffee a half hour before the class. He wanted to write the main points on the whiteboard in advance, nice and neatly.

To his surprise, a student was already there waiting for him. "Oh, hello,” he smiled softly.

She was sitting with a book in her hands, she pushed her glasses up her nose to look at him as he walked in. She was older than his typical student, around 35. Probably finishing up a degree or adding something to what she already had.

"Hi," she smiled at him. “Sorry, I’m early, I was visiting my mom at Quantico earlier.” She explained. "I'm not a teacher's pet or anything. Promise, I’m not even a student.”

It made him laugh slightly, correcting him like she read his mind. "It's okay, I'm Doctor Reid," he introduced himself softly.

“Margaret Carr, Peggy is also fine.”

"Pleasure to meet you," he said quickly before focusing his attention on the whiteboard.

He could feel her eyes on him the whole time he wrote, not wanting to turn around and catch her. "That's so interesting," he heard her mumble under her breath.

"Hmm?" He turned around.

"It's just that, everyday occurrences that never phase the regular person somehow cause psychopaths to kill," she read the board back to him.

"I was reading a study a while back about how psycho killers medulla oblongata is approximately 19% smaller than the average human’s. Based on the way they're nurtured as children affects if they grow up to kill. The ones that don't often end up in law enforcement and other positions of power where their psychopathic tendencies can come to play."

He was taken aback for a moment. He had never experienced a student who was like him before. Someone who just pulled facts into conversations like it was nothing.

"I read that as well," he smiled. "It is fascinating. The smallest amount of bullying and abuse from a mother or disappearance of a father figure can set them off."

"Or, on the other hand, there are people like Ted Bundy," she added. "He was well-loved and taken care of, but it went to his head. His god complex and affinity for lying led him to be incredibly charismatic and enabled his killing."

"You're very educated on this already; are you just interested in hearing me speak today?" He asked, not wanting her to leave, finding it interesting that she was there.

"Oh," she blushed. "I was going to talk to you more about it after the seminar actually."

“Okay, I’ll be waiting for you,” he felt a little giddy at the prospect.

"Thanks," she laughed. "Seriously though, I'm a big fan of your teaching style, I saw a few of your classes when my dad was teaching at the academy in 2005. It's a lot easier to remember facts if the lecturer genuinely loves what they're talking about."

"You're going to like this Seminar then. It’s basically just a way for me to get paid while unloading all the random facts I have,” he warned her with a smile.

"I know." She smiled back at him.

The rest of his students filed in slowly. By 11 am, 14 faces were staring back at him.

"Hello," he waved awkwardly. "I'm dr. Spencer Reid. For the last 12 years, I've worked with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. Catching serial offenders across the country."

He took a deep breath, letting the nerves find their way out of him. "I've been asked time and time again who my favourite serial killer is, which is a peculiar way to phrase the question. It feels morally wrong to have a favourite in the way people do with baseball players.

"I am, however, fascinated with several serial offenders' reasoning and explanation for why they did what they did. Every single killer is different, but it all comes back to 1 thing. Do you know what that is?"

They all shook their heads. “What is your relationship with your parents like?" He asked. 

Everyone in the room reacted; some students sighed, some rolled their eyes as they recalled their parents and childhoods to memory.

"When a person decides to kill, it's often never in the moment. It's in childhood. The majority of serial offender's stories start the same; their mother didn't love them, their father left. Someone at home abused them or put them down repeatedly."

"Thus, causing a hatred so primal to bubble. No matter how hard they try and fight it, the bubble always bursts. They go from fantasizing to killing in retaliation for their abuse, taking the anger out in stages."

He referred to the board. "Every killer has a stressor and a trigger—something that causes the urge to bubble and the event that causes the bubble to rupture.”

"Edmund Kemper is a fascinating example of this. He grew up with a family for the first few years of his life before his father fully abandoned them. His mother handled the situation by turning her anger onto her son; it was his fault his father left, he looked just like him, Ed was just another useless man who would never amount to anything," he emphasized the words. Hoping the class sees the effects words have on children.

"He started by cutting up dolls, stealing his sister's barbies and cutting their heads off. In his mind, he was getting out his anger and hatred for how his mother saw him. She hated men, causing him to mature with a warped idea of what women are truly like."

"His attraction to killing worsened his mother's hatred; she could tell something was wrong with him, that he didn't react to everyday situations the way he should. By the time he was ten, she was locking him in the basement for days on end, telling him he was a monster and her biggest regret."

"The change in her rage amplified his own. He hated hearing her speak. He hated the way she walked around, thinking she was better than him. That just because she was a mother and a working woman, she deserved respect and submissive’s. All he could see was a woman with a big head who needed to be humbled. This is the moment when the psychotic side of his brain blended his hatred of his mother with how good it felt to kill."

"Is that why he, you know?" Peggy cut in, running her finger along her neck as she pretended to cut her head off.

He pressed his lips together in an awkward smile, nodding. "His signature, as it's called, was decapitation. But more specifically necrophiling the severed head of his victims."

The whole class let out a disgusted noise, Peggy and Spencer making eye contact while they shrugged, it wasn't news to them.

"At age ten, he moved from barbies to cats and dogs, never leaving them around for his mother to see. While he hated her, he was also absolutely terrified of her. Breading a special type of killer. When you think of school shooters or preferential predators, what do they have in common?" He asked.

He pointed at a student in the back. "They have a specific type of victim they’re after?"

"Exactly. Most serial offenders want to go after the cause of their pain or attraction. However, Ed wasn't able to kill the source of his rage for a long time. His mother mentally abused him so intensely that he believed she was in control of him and that her opinion of him mattered. He saw her as his God, he loved her, but he also knew that he disappointed her.

"He ran away soon after to find his father. Travelling to California, only to be told he was unwanted there as well. It wasn't just his mother that his father was escaping; it was the fundamental aspect of family that he didn't want. Ed defiantly didn't want to go back to his mother after that, so he moved in with his paternal grandparents."

He kept catching the looks on Peggy's face. She knew the story already, waiting patiently to hear the words he chose to make the horrific acts seem a little more conversational.

"His grandmother was exactly like his mother. If I had to guess, his father most likely had a distaste for his own mother and thus divorced Ed's mom. Only he never grew up to be a killer, just an absent father—his absence doing to Ed what never happened to him."

"Ed killed his grandparents when he was 15. Telling the police and his therapists that they had beaten him constantly, they refused to feed him and called him names. He said he snapped from the trauma; it was self-defence."

Peggy laughed to herself, making him smile softly. "Sending him to a mental hospital instead of a juvenile facility was the worst thing they could've done for him," Spencer added.

"Why?" A student asked.

"Ed is a psychopath." He reminded them. "He doesn't feel empathy the way we do. You can admit that you feel bad for him, yes? If you understand why he killed people, it doesn't make you sick, like him, it makes you human. You see a hurt person hurting others; Ed Kemper sees himself as a new sort of God, choosing who dies, how and when."

"He was brilliant, having the exact IQ as I do," just a humblebrag, "the staff trusted him. He looked like an innocent boy, smart enough to take matters into his own hands for the betterment of his life. They gave him computer privileges, they let him work the front desk and file patient information. Giving him all the resources to learn about who he was inside and how to get away with it perfectly."

"Damn," another kid added. "When did he get out?"

"At 21.” He answered the student quickly. “Ed was interviewed by my mentor Jason Gideon, in the 70s. Where he explained that being locked up during his sexual prime, as well as the access to information, is what truly set him off more than his mother.

"He moved back in with her and his sister when he came out of the institution, immediately returning to the constant ridicule. He went from being told all the time that he was a smart and charming young man, capable of rehabilitation to a useless, no-good son, who would have been better off collecting in a condom or running down her leg."

The whole class laughed, shocked at his repetition of Ed's mother's words.

"He got his licence when he was released. And remember, this was prime time for hitchhiking in California; everyone and their mother walked the roads with a thumb in the air. It was the birth of free love and recreational marijuana usage. It was also the best hunting ground for a learning serial killer."

"He was able to pick women up, but like I said, missing his sexual prime while in an institution made him almost impotent. He didn't know how to speak to women; he had to create a fantasy in his mind every time, one that involved killing, before he could look at a woman."

"How did he get them in his car then?" A voice asked from the back.

"He was 6'9, 300lbs; he looked like a big teddy bear. And his mother was the local college administrative assistant, so the whole town knew him anyway. If Ed offered to give them a ride, it wouldn't be that bad, right?" Peggy turned around to face the class as she explained for Spencer, who just shook his head.

"He only wanted to rape the victims, originally," Spencer added. "But he couldn't. There was no release of the tension. The bubble that had been growing inside him was at its breaking point; he needed to just do it. Get it over with and move on."

"He killed 6 women in succession after that. Gaining the name "The Co-Ed Killer," well before anyone even suspected Ed Kemper," Spencer took a sip of coffee, feeling his throat start to dry as they reached the insane part.

"He was overly friendly with the cops; he wanted to get his record expunged and join the force.” Spencer finally continued. “Being told, "don't worry about your record, worry about your weight.""

"Most killers enjoy wearing a uniform for the power and talking to the police about their cases, in the hopes of gauging how smart they really are—taking pride in the fact that they are getting away with it for so long."

"He watched all the cop shows, and he read all the books. He knew that in order to get away with it, he had to do it where no one could trace it back to him. He knew he had to keep his cool and avoid looking obsessed with the case, but just curious enough to gain insight into how they thought he was doing it. It went on for years, and they had absolutely zero leads, finding headless bodies every few months before they finally received a call." He left them hanging, walking over to his sheet of paper and pretending to read it while they anticipated the catch.

"Ed always knew that he wanted to kill his mother. He just never knew when,” Spencer teased the story along. Noticing as the students fidgeted in their seats as they wondered what happened next.

“In his interview with Gideon, Ed said that he knew she would die 7 days before he killed her. He walked into her room that night to find her reading, with the audacity to ask if he wanted to come in and chat all night. Teasing him for the way he rambled to her. It was the last time she ever did that."

"It's hard to imagine his signature with the fact his second last victim was his mother," Peggy added, cringing at the thought.

"Wait," another student interjected. "Who was his last kill then if he only really wanted to kill her?"

"Remember how I said he lacked empathy?" Spencer asked. "He loved his mother in the same way a prisoner can end up loving their captor."

Peggy nods at the comparison, looking like she's never thought of it that way before, then smiling at him.

"You grow a bond through the trauma and when the only thing you've ever known is violence and hate, you don't know what to do when that's gone, it's hard to cope."

"He said he killed his mother so that she never had to know what he did. She'd never have to sit at his court hearings or be able to tell the media that she always knew he was a killer."

"His last kill was his mother's best friend," He finally answered the question.

"He didn't want his mother to be even more disappointed in him, but he also didn't want his mother's best friend to find her like that and be upset. So the obvious answer to him was to kill her too."

"What the fuck?" He heard a couple of kids say under their breath.

"Yeah," he agreed with an almost chuckle. "This is what I mean by their answers are fascinating. It makes so much sense to them; clearly, if I kill my mother, her friend will be upset, so the best answer would be to put her out of her misery as well. He sees them as objects, like a matching set. One would lose value without the other."

Everyone was silent then. The students took in all the information they had just received, staring up at him with a look of disgust mixed with wonder.

"Any questions?"

Peggy raised her hand for a change; he pointed towards her in approval. "You missed the part where he specifically took the heads from the three women before his mother and brought them back home with him. He buried them in the yard outside her bedroom window, making sure they were always looking up to her."

Spencer was amazed that she knew the details. "Yes, I guess I did."

"I always found that part particularly interesting in this case," Peggy added. "Her opinion mattered so much to him. He knew how much she loved her co-ed's and how they looked up to her so much. They'd be exactly like her. He felt trapped in a town of women who were exactly like his nightmare, and his response was to make them physically look up to her for the rest of her life."

"Exactly." Spencer smiled. "understanding how he sees the situation and how the events played out in his mind is the key in figuring out who he is."

"If you were on the case in '72 when the first victims were discovered, how would you have handled it, Dr. Reid?" A male student in the back asked in the silence between answers, taking his shot before Peggy and Spencer went any further in their discussion.

“That's a hard thing to answer, connecting evidence back then was a lot harder than it is today, if it wasn’t for men like Ed there wouldn’t really be this many answers,” Spencer said honestly.

Another student put her hand up, “what’s the worst thing he did in your opinion?”

That racked his brain, there was a handful of horrific things he did that were particularly horrific, “probably his mother's entire murder.”

“What did he do?”

Before Spencer could answer he saw Peggy open her mouth and start explaining. “He not only cut off her head and fucked her neck, but he also took her vocal cords out and shoved them down the garbage disposal. And before he called the cops, he cleaned everything up and made her look presentable because he said his mother wouldn’t want guests to see the mess.”

The class all cringed, sinking into their seats with disgust. But that didn’t stop Peggy from explaining it all further.

“He used to go to a bar all the cops went to and he would talk about his case. They would always one-up themselves and say they were close which gave him this false idea that they were on his tail and they’d find his mother soon. But when they didn’t, he called it in from a payphone and said he’d come over and explain it all. And boy did he ever, the cops said he wouldn’t shut up. And then when they put him in the cop car finally, a woman walked past him and he threw up.”

Spencer watched her with awe, the way she could call information to memory like that was beautiful. He listened to her like he’s never heard a fact before, she was so intriguing.

“Thank you for the detail,” he teased her lightly. “Sometimes I get so caught up that the really gross parts get swept aside.”

The class smiled at him, he had gained their trust and attention within only 1 hour of class.

“I know you said you don’t have a favourite,” another student asked from the back. “I agree it’s weird, but who is the one you gravitate towards the most?”

“I’ve met hundreds of serial killers, I’ve read about thousands,” he explained. “I think Ed Kemper is the one I gravitate the most around because he was so willing and open to explaining why he is the way he is. Going as far as to say that the only way they could keep women safe is to give him a lobotomy. He didn’t believe there was any correcting to be done, only removal of the evil within him.”

He heard slight mumbles as everyone took in what he said. “Does anyone here have a killer or a case that interested them in learning more, or just introduced you to the chase of justice?”

Peggy put her hand up, “I personally think BTK is the scariest, most tactical, and just downright evil man to ever exist. He scares me to no end but he’s so interesting to learn about.”

“Ahh,” Spencer agreed. “Too bad you won't be here for week 3. But with that I think I’ll end the class, next week we’ll be discussing the difference between Ted Bundy and Richard Speck.” He nodded lightly, watching the majority of them close their books and had on out.

“I really enjoyed the class,” she said softly. Holding her purse in one hand, a collection of files in the other.

Spencer turned to look at her then, smiling right back. “It was a pleasure to teach alongside you.”

“What do you mean?” She teased, “it’s not like my mom and dad were the ones who did all the interviews."

“Carr,” he repeats her last name. The gears turning in his mind as he brings all the information forth.

“Your mother is Wendy Carr, she was recruited after the BTK case with Bill Tench, she’s who was behind that study you mentioned.”

“I know,” she smiled.

“Who’s your father?”

“Guess,” she looked at him with an unimpressed look on her face, pushing her glasses up slightly.

“You’re kidding? Gideon never said he had a daughter let alone a,” he stops himself before he can embarrass himself any further.

She smiled at the implication of his words, “but he’s told me all about you Dr. Reid, that’s why I'm here.”

“You need help with a case and I’m the only agent in Virginia currently,” he pressed his lips together awkwardly. Knowing it was too good to be true that she would have any interest in him in the slightest.

“No actually, I have a case I’ve been working on privately and I need some help. I asked my dad but he said you’d be able to help me the best. I agree,” she corrected him softly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a big fan of yours. When I would sit in and watch his lectures, before he knew I was his kid, you would always step in at the best parts, adding the smallest details to the story that the average person would forget. It’s magnificent.”

He laughed slightly, tugging at his collar as she complimented him. “Thank you, you’re quite magnificent as well,” he replied with a blush and a smile

She didn’t look like Gideon, probably because she smiled so much. Like sunshine on legs, she beamed, all but blinding him with her smile as she stared at him, “do you want to get lunch and go over this case with me?”

“I’d love to.”

taglist: (message me if you want to be added or removed)

@shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[kissypoets]

Liability (Reprise)

In which Harry panics about getting mobbed while out for dinner with you and tries to make up for his mistake. 

a/n: hihihi omg... this is my first time posting my work on here [ or anywhere, actually ] so please be kind. this was inspired by the song liability (reprise) by lorde!!! was listening to it and this idea just came to me and I really loved how it turned out and really wanted to share. I hope you enjoy :] !!

Word Count: 6, 543

Harry unbuttons his sheer dress shirt, blowing out a puff of air as his chest and stomach relaxes due to being released from the tight space. He folds the sleeves up to his forearms, inked skin being exposed to the cool air in his quiet bedroom, the dimmed iridescent light making his tattoos vivid and clearer than ever before on his tan skin. All the jogging Harry has done at the beach has certainly paid off. His skin was glowing in golden hue, highlighted parts burnt and sunkissed to perfection, leaving a darkened red tone that made him even more captivating. This has always managed to strengthen Harry’s external confidence, finding extra comfort in his tattoos becoming more visible knowing that they covered a part of him he couldn’t imagine exposing bare and blank. 

Silence surrounds him as he tears his eyes away from his arm, sitting down on the edge of his bed and letting out another large exhale. 

It hasn’t been a great night for him and the fact that he has to come home in a massive space that was filled with nothing but eerie silence certainly makes it worse. He was hoping to stay out all night with you but the moment people got a hold of his whereabouts, he knew better than to sit still and wait for the chaos to slap him in the face. Instead, he rushed both of you outside the restaurant and worry has taken over him completely to the point where taking you home seemed like the best idea to keep you away from the hysteria. You had hoped he was thinking of a more secluded place to bring you to, but when he said you should go, you swallowed the thickening lump in your throat and just nodded your head, trying your best to be understanding of the situation. 

He felt beyond stupid thinking about it now. Enraged, dismay and dejected doesn’t even cover the feeling in his gut. Harry was disappointed in himself more than anything, feeling like he’d let you down just within months of being together. 

Settling his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, his fingers rubbed his temples due to the pain that was starting to flourish in his dome. He could have done so many things in order to prolong the night and make an effort in your guys' relationship, yet he let the intense fret win him over, causing panic in his brain and feeling like he had no choice but to take you home. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters under his breath as he clasps his hands and pressed it hard against his forehead, “you could have taken her here and cooked a lovely dinner, you dimwit.” 

Harry also knew he could’ve been the one to keep you safe tonight. If he was going to cause mayhem in your life, the least he could do was bring you some sort of consolation and protect you from all of it. 

He feels so beyond disappointed in himself that the ache in his head has started to squeeze his cranium, agonizing pain rushing through every vein in his body. He was so tired of this continuously happening to everyone important in his life. Even though he loves what he does and feels such vigorous happiness and triumph from it, he still looks at it as a miniscule disadvantage for all his friends, family and partner. If Harry kept tabs on how many times the media and a large crowd has hurt the most important people in his life, then he’ll have an endless stack of it collecting dust in a separate room in his large residence. 

Harry takes a few more deep breaths until his shaking ceases, doing what he was instructed by his therapist when needing to calm his anxiety and getting rid of the trepidation forming in the pit of his stomach and on the deep end of his throat. He swallows thickly and straightens his back, inhaling and exhaling one last time. 

Calling you to explain himself and checking in on how you were doing was the right thing to do right now. He reaches in his pockets, pulling out his phone and instantly putting you on dial. He has your number memorized and favorited in his contacts, the bold font of his nickname for you listed first on the section. 

The phone rang once, twice, then four more times before it went straight to voicemail. It didn’t even vex him, he just stayed on the line and listened to your sweet voice echo through his ear drums, savoring every syllable that left your mouth. You sounded like how it felt to touch velvet, or the feeling of bliss that rushes through him whenever he finishes a song. You felt good, you sounded good. 

A wave of calmness hits his body, the frustration and disappointment in him halting for a second as he focuses on your saccharine voice, “hey! So sorry for not being able to pick up your call. Chances are I’m sleeping or completely engulfed by a book. I promise to get back to you as soon as possible. Hope you’re well, bye!’

When the line cuts off, Harry looks at his phone screen, enthralled by the brief message. He wasted no time dialing your number again, standing up to pace around the room when worry creeps back in his abdomen. Hands settled on his hip, he bites his lip as he waits in vehement anticipation for you to greet him through the phone. But after several rings, it leads to your voicemail again and he’s left even more concerned. 

“Fuck,” he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, shoving one of his hand inside his pants to bring some comfort in his physique, “one more call.”

The airconditioning in the room roared loudly, coming to life and blowing soft, cool air from the ceiling. Harry’s forgotten that he still had his dress shirt on, opened wide on the center and exposing his abdominal muscles and the large butterfly inked on the center of it looking glorious and fresh. The ventilation blew air right on his skin and he can feel the hair rising due to the coldness, not helping the nervousness that was already swallowing the entirety of his stomach.

He continued pacing as the line rings, his breathing in sync with each pause. He wasn’t entirely sure anymore if you’d pick up at all, but when the ringing stopped and there were seconds of silence, he looked at his screen and noticed the time stamp going. 

He stopped in the middle of his bedroom and pressed the phone back to his ears, certain you’ve picked up. The knot on his stomach tightened and his chest started beating rapidly, palms sweating inside the pockets of his slacks. He wanted you to pick up but after already failing to hear from you twice, he wasn’t expecting it on the third call.

“Baby?” Harry calls. There was some groaning.

“No idea who the fuck this is, but some of us are trying to sleep, mate,” a deep voice rings through his drums, tiredness and sleepiness evident. Harry’s stomach drops as he stares at the wall in front of him. A male? 

Harry’s head starts racing and he swallows a thick ball of swelling anxiety in his throat. He can feel his breathing becoming uneven. He checks the screen of his phone again, making sure that he called the right person. After seeing your nickname still typed out neatly and boldly on the front, he feels a quarter of relief. He shouldn’t think the absolute worst because it could be anyone. Harry has earned multiple different titles under the category of being overly jealous and he admits that it turns him into an arrogant son of a bitch, but he just really couldn’t help it. He wants to be the only one. 

“Hellooooo?” the voice on the other end startles him out of his thoughts and he focuses back on the call. The man sighs when Harry doesn't answer. “Look, you’ve called three times on her phone while she was passed out on the couch. She’s in the shower now and I’ll let her know that a--hang on--” he looks at his screen, “that a Harry rang, cool?”

Whoever answered your phone didn’t even bother to wait for Harry to agree, he just hung up and did as he said. 

The grip on Harry’s phone tightened without control, his eyes starting to water due to the intense stare he gave his wall. Shower? Why were you so tired beforehand? Who was that? Why, why, why… Multiple questions raced through his brain and he rushed to sit at the end of his bed. You’re too good and you’d never do anything to hurt him like this, he knows that. Or does he? His jealousy is getting the best of him and he senses it. He does his breathing exercises again as he waits patiently to hear from you this time. 

The airconditioning starts to die down, the noise it was making starting to decrease and heat starts to radiate throughout Harry’s body. He wasted no time ripping his dress shirt off, fully exposing his toned thorax, muscles flexing due to his nervous breathing and brood. 

You’ve mentioned Effy to him multiple times before, considering the amount of interesting stories you’ve told him about your drunken nights together and spontaneous trips; stories he’s certainly loved hearing and continues to anticipate whenever you’re together. He knew that she was your only roommate, that she’s enthralled by women and that you haven’t mentioned any guy friends yet. He even remembers correctly that you’re the only child, your family living across the globe and that the closest thing you have to a relative here in Los Angeles is Effy, no brother and no cousins. 

Harry tries not to continue overthinking but he’s really shit in that department. It’s one of the many traits that he despises the most in himself, knowing that his past relationships had gone wrong because of it and he refuses to let that happen again. 

Thank god his thoughts were cut off when his phone starts to ring and vibrate on his hand, the same nickname you’ve become accustomed to shining brightly on his phone screen. He stands up from his bed and quickly answers, “hello? Hi. I’m--”

“Harry,” you sigh in relief at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t know that you’ve been expecting a call for over two hours now since he dropped you home, “hi, baby. Are you okay? Finn said--”

“Finn. Is he-- who is he, exactly?” You notice a tint of vulnerability in his voice. 

Harry looks down at his feet that were covered in baby pink socks, a hand on his hip while he waits for you to answer. He hopes he didn’t sound pathetic asking that. He felt ridiculous enough as it is and absolutely stupid for not asking about your wellbeing first. He was about to retract and take it back but you’ve managed to chuckle through the phone before answering and Harry bites his lip.

“Effy’s brother. He’s got a research trip down in San Diego so he’s here for a visit. Sorry for however he acted over the phone. I promise he’s a great guy,” you say, “how are you? I so badly wanted to call but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk especially because of what happened at Perch.”

You were always so honest and straightforward with your thoughts. Harry loves that so much about you. Somehow, it boosts his confidence even more whenever he’s around you and he’s never afraid to speak his mind and act however he wants. What he lacks in being able to communicate properly with his partners you make up for in the relationship and he was more than grateful. 

“I’m fine. I’m,” Harry pauses for a second before exhaling and changing his words, “I’m not fine actually. I miss you and I’m so terribly sorry for dismissing you. It wasn’t your fault, I swear, I’m just an arse.” 

He continues before you can disagree, “I got nervous. That was the first time that’s ever happened while I was with you and I didn’t want it to change anything between us. I didn’t want you to feel differently. I want you now. I mean… I want you to come over now. I want to cook dinner for you and make up for what happened.”

Harry’s heart starts to beat even faster against his chest as he admits his feelings in accurate words. He’s aware how late it is already and you probably have classes tomorrow but he’s hoping you’ll agree anyway so he can fix a wasted and ravaged night. He also thinks he can persuade you into wanting to stay, the need to hold and kiss you intensifying the more he thinks about it. He wants to show you just how sorry he is. He wants you to forgive him and let him show you just how important you are to him. He wants to make you his favorite homemade meal and demonstrate his outrageous skills in bed, which you have been pining for and missing so much. 

You were about to answer but he cuts you off once more. You smile slightly as you listen to him speak, “fuck. How are you? How are you feeling? Sorry.”

“Deep breaths, please? You sound really nervous and you have no reason to be, it’s just me,” you have no idea how nervous you make him and how much he worries about you, but he refrains from saying it out loud, not wanting to speak over you again. “I’m bummed about what happened because I really wanted to have a lovely dinner with you but I also understand. I understand and I feel better now that I’m hearing your voice. You have nothing to apologize for, Harry.”

“I do,” he mutters and toys with his belt, eyes still on the floor, “if it weren’t for me, no crowd would have showed up and we would still be sitting on that rooftop with a nice glass of extremely expensive wine. They’ll have no choice but to kick us out.”

You giggle and the sound makes Harry’s anxiety melt away. The tension in his muscles starts to soften and his heart starts to slow down, instantly feeling healed. 

Harry looks up and his lips finally curl on its sides, dimples popping out on both of his cheeks and he feels more than relieved. He had no doubts about you understanding the unfortunate circumstance but he was one to always need validation and he feels undeniably reassured by your simple words, and even just the sound of your laugh.

At times, strange happenings like that would commence an argument with his exes. Looking back at it now, it was very odd to him considering he had no control over it. Plus he trusts his fans enough and knows that they wouldn’t do anything to put him and his loved ones in danger. Though mobs happen, he’s aware that they will never cross a line that damages his respect for them. 

But you discepher and accept it, without him having to beg you to or explain to you. Another reason why he’s so enamored by you. You just know. 

“Yeah, that would have been lovely. But we can always go another time. I saw you today and it was enough for me,” you replied. Harry’s cheeks tightens as he smiles wider, dimples deepening and crinklers appearing beside his eyes. He feels himself flush because of your words and he crunches his nose to calm himself. 

“We can try again tonight,” he brings his suggestion back into the conversation, “so, will you come? I can pick you up, I don’t mind.”

You frown. “I’d love to but, it’s almost eleven, classes tomorrow and Effy--”

“Please, darling?” Harry begs, sitting down on his bed again. He hears you inhale upon hearing the sudden word of endearment and he grins. He knows how much you love it when he calls you random pet names, but mostly the sweetest ones that will have you turning into goo. 

“God, you’re good,” you admit and tilt your head back, laughing quietly. Harry’s grin grows, “fine. But I can drive myself.”

“No,” he butts in. “I can pick you up. It’s just a twenty minute drive.”

It was a tactic. Harry figured that if you didn’t have your vehicle with you then you will be more likely to stay. But he knows that he’ll cave in on driving you back anyway if you really wanted to go home for the night.

“Harry,”

“Honey,” he throws in another nickname. You inhale. He smiles.

“Fine,” you say in defeat. 

Harry’s heart almost leaps out of his chest in triumph and excitement; the fact that he’s seeing you again tonight lit up something in him. He’s grateful that you can’t see the  idiotic smile he’s sporting right now, otherwise his body will flush in humiliation and you’ll tease him about it all night. Little does he know, you’ve got the same look on your beautiful face, also thankful that he couldn’t see you. You’re both a mirrorball to each other’s life, lighting one another up in a way that you’ve both always craved. 

“See you then, baby,” he says.

___

Due to the lack of traffic, Harry was able to make it in your apartment complex in just under 15 minutes. Mulholland Drive was packed as usual but it still didn’t prevent him from arriving too late. Dressed in black joggers and a black hoodie, curls tied up in a black scrunchie and pushed back in a red bandana, he looked absolutely cozy and at ease. 

The brief conversation between the two of you over the phone has brought him slight serenity. He’s still hoping to somehow bring it up tonight and apologize once more knowing what he said through the phone wouldn’t be enough. And he also wants to put his compelling abilities in bed to good use as a way to show you how sorry he was, if you’ll let him. 

He adjusts the cool air that left his car’s ventilation, making sure it wasn’t too warm nor too cold once you get in the car. He stares at the open space of your building, waiting for you to come down through the stairs while exhilaration rushes through every vein in his body. 

Harry feels absolutely nonsensical because of how much he misses you despite seeing you hours ago. A minute, hour, day or weeks even, will never be enough time and he’s fully aware of that. But thinking about everything he wants to do with you just brings back the same intolerable thoughts; getting mobbed, harassed and surrounded by hundreds of people even if you’re just having dinner in a public restaurant together. He suddenly starts to feel unsettled, desperately needing you to show up within his sight already so he can forget about everything and just focus on you and taking care of you, which is what he has started to love doing most.

Just in time, before Harry’s thoughts can get darker and deeper, he catches you walking carefully down the stairs looking irresistible as always. Your hair was in a low bun, bits of hair falling loose around your face while you sported a lovely white frock dress and matching fluffy slippers. 

His whole face lights up in jubilation, mouth almost hurting due to how big his smile was and the wild elation in him sharpens. Harry chuckles as soon as you get in the car, more than delighted to see you. Your scent engulfs him in a wild wave, the air conditioning circulating it throughout his car and he didn’t mind it one bit. He hopes that it would stay in there forever, surrounding him to bring a sense of tranquility. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” he greets you, wasting no time and leaning forward to catch your soft lips with his. He feels you take a deep breath and you can feel his smile against you, his hands coming up to stroke your cheeks. Your shock is evident when you laugh quietly while his lips continue to tackle yours, cupping his jaw as you kiss him back and Harry slowly melts due to the feeling. His body slumps from where he sat, savoring your taste and marking you with his. 

You pull back, pecking him lightly once more before greeting him back, “hi, handsome.”

His body heats up as he leans back in his seat and starts driving, “cool enough in here for you?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you answer, putting your seatbelt on. “How was the drive?”

“It was fine, no traffic so we’ll be home in no time,” he says, catching a quick glance at you while you fixate your eyes on the road, “you look beautiful, by the way. Love the dress.”

Your breathing changed for a second upon hearing the word home, but you chose to ignore it. Instead, you smile lovingly at him, your hands reaching out to lightly massage the back of his head. He hums at the soothing feeling. 

“Thank you, baby,” you reply, a tint of blush creeping up your cheeks. “I missed you.”

Harry feels his body heat up at your confession. He has no idea why you have this much of an effect on him but he loves it. He feels utterly loved and happy, which is something he hasn’t felt in awhile and always wanted to have. Instead of saying it back, he teases you, “sod off, you just saw me hours ago. Clingy much?” 

You look over at him in slight surprise, not missing the humor behind his words. He glances at you sideways, lips tilted up in a smirk and his eyebrow lifted jokingly. You pull your hand away and cross your arms over your chest, “you know what, yes, absolutely. I can’t get enough of you.”

Harry didn’t expect you to say that so when you notice his face getting flushed and serious, you couldn’t help but giggle. His whole body went rigid for a couple of seconds, eyes still focused on the road. Instead of answering, his hand reaches towards your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze to show his appreciation. His thumb brushes against your skin a couple of times and he feels it get bumpy, hairs rising because of how good it was making you feel. Harry grins to himself, perceiving the effect he had on you and completely enjoying it. 

You put your hands on top of his, feeling the warm veins against your palm and you look out the window, watching the bright lights pass by. 

Harry loves going on drives with you as much as you do with him. He hates it that his radio was old and wouldn’t work, but he also refuses to get it fixed. He finds comfort in the silence within the confined space and also enjoys the way the noise outside surrounds him. He loves it even more when you’re on the passenger seat experiencing the therapeutic moment with him. Knowing that he can be with you in comfortable silence gave him a lot of hope in your relationship. 

Minutes pass by and only a couple of miles are left until you reach his beautiful Malibu home. Harry remembers the elephant in the room, his chest tightening upon the thoughts of what brought you two in this situation in the first place. Should he address it now or wait until you both get to his house? There’s never really a right time and he knows that. He wasn’t even sure if it was something you want to talk about or if you wanted to ignore the whole thing and instead continue on to have a peaceful time together. 

But, you were just patiently waiting for him to address it. You knew that if you brought it up, it’ll make him uncomfortable and he’ll start blaming himself. It was an admission in his part that you certainly want to avoid. The thought of him feeling like he puts you in a dangerous environment squeezes your heart so disturbingly that you can feel it all the way up your brain. You’ll get upset and he might assume the worst; when really, you just want him to understand that you know he can’t control it and that despite everything, you adore him and will never leave, unless, for unbeknown reasons and god forbid, he wants you to. 

“Almost there, love,” he cuts his own thoughts off, including yours, clueless about how in sync they were. You look over at him the same time he took a quick glance at you. He looks back at the road and whispers something about how pretty you are but it was so quiet you could barely hear it. 

Instead of acknowledging it, you put your hand back where it was on his hair and softly massage his scalp. You feel him lean back a tad, clearly finding peace in your touch. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying those three words you didn’t know he wanted to say too, both of you too scared to admit and profess it out loud. 

_____

“Is there anything I should be doing?” you ask Harry from where you sat in his kitchen, a glass of extremely expensive red wine in your hand. He wanted to open a bottle of Ichiro’s Malt, hoping that it’ll make up for the ones you both could’ve had at Perch. 

He twists his body slightly to look at you, answering in the sweetest tone, “nope. Sit there and look pretty, that’s all. I’m making this for you.” 

Harry looks absolutely handsome, striking and sexy from where he stood, chopping a bunch of vegetables like it was his professionalism. He’s changed to a plain black shirt, the material hugging his toned body perfectly and emphasizing the muscles on his arm, back and stomach. He even had a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, adding to the whole look. You sipped your wine as you continued to stare, noticing the way his body is flexing as he moves and his tattoos moving along on his skin. You sighed, feeling so lucky. 

You decided to walk over to him to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. Harry has certainly mastered the art of cooking; having been able to experience life in Italy, he had acquired the new skill flawlessly. It’s something he’s always wanted to be better at, considering the only thing he knew how to make was his grandfather’s special sandwich recipe and god only knows how tired people are of eating it. 

Harry feels your presence beside him as you lean back against the smooth counter, sipping your wine. He looks over at you as he cuts the food, holding an admirable smile on his face. He loves having you here. He loves being this close to you, knowing that you’re within his sight and he was able to be unapologetically affectionate without the judgemental eyes and words of the public. 

He speaks when you look back at him with a shine in your eyes, “how’s the wine?”

“Hm, tastes like money,” you say jokingly. He laughs at your answer and you smiled so wide at the sight of his head slightly thrown back, white and perfectly aligned teeth showing with his nose scrunched up. 

“I have no doubt about that,” he says, looking back down at the cutting board.

The bottle costs roughly around twenty thousand dollars, more if you count it in pounds. But he chooses not to say it. Instead he asks about your day, as he usually would every single time he sees you or talks to you over the phone, “how was your day? Any progress in your thesis?” 

Your ears perk up at the question about your dissertation. Harry has always been interested in it and you fail to understand the fascination. You’ve asked why before and he always admits that it was something that matters to him too, but you feel like that isn’t a good enough reason to be rapted in a boring essay by a grad student. 

He tremendously admires the fact that you’ve continued your studies to get a masters in English. He envies it and he wishes he had taken your footsteps. But Harry is so beyond proud of you and just the thought of you becoming a famous novelist like you’ve always wanted makes him feel over the moon. You deserve nothing but good things and he can’t wait until you finish uni and finally build your self publishing pursuit.

“A lot of progress which I’m so relieved about. Remember when we read Course of Love together? I annotated it in the process and a lot of the quotes really came in handy for my essay,” you tell him, “I’ve reached probably eighty-nine pages and we only needed to write a hundred, but I’m aiming for one-fifty, max.” 

“Always pushing yourself to work harder than you need to,” Harry says with a soft smile on his face. He starts to mix his ingredients together in the pan on the stove and you watch him work his magic cautiously, “but that’s really good, love. I’m proud of you. I know you’re gonna kick ass and everyone else's thesis will suck.” 

“Oh, without a doubt,” you nod teasingly. You’re actually really nervous about it and he knows that. But you’ve mentioned before that talking about it doesn’t really help calm you so Harry doesn’t take the conversation further than that, “what about you? How was your day? Wrote anything new?”

Harry shakes his head and looks over at you as he starts to shake the pan to mix whatever was on it, “you haven’t even told me how your day was, babe.”

“Crap, sorry,” you have a habit of completely disregarding certain parts of a conversation. He found it adorable most of the time but when it came to arguments or discussions between the two of you about serious topics, it vexed him to no end. He remembers you missing the whole point of your conversations sometimes and he loathed it then, “one of my professors ditched today so I only had one class. Took a lot of naps after lunch which was nice then-- then whatever happened at Perch. My day was alright.”

You try to soften a part of your answer with the last statement but it was very clear Harry didn’t miss it. He looks over at you for a quick second and you sipped your wine to avoid eye contact. 

You didn’t mean anything by it. It happened today and he was asking about today so you decided to slip it in there in honor of your promises to always be honest, free-spoken and up front with one another. It didn’t necessarily ruin your day, it was just simply dejecting and unlike anything you’ve had to deal with before. But you’re with him now and he’s cooking you something that already smelled absolutely delicious so you were willing to look past it. But Harry couldn’t and you knew that. 

He lowers the heat on the stove to keep the food sizzling but not to the point where it’ll burn. He wipes his hands with the towel on his shoulder before approaching you with an unreadable expression on his face. You lean back further against the counter as his hand guides your arms to wrap around his neck, putting his hands on your waist and squeezing affectionately. He stares deep into your eyes and you wondered how he was so good with that; how it didn’t make him look nervous despite being the shyest person that you know. 

Softly, he speaks, “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry about that. I’m a dick.”

Mirth creeps into your eyes at his last word and your lips unintentionally curls on its side.  He has no idea why you started smiling but he did too. He feels you interlock your fingers against his skin as you answer him, “the way you say dick is really amusing. But you aren’t and you have nothing to apologize for. You have no control over it.” 

You’re so humorous and he loves it so much. He loves you. “I am a dick and I will apologize because even if I can’t control it, I’m still the reason why it happens. The way I acted afterwards was very irrational too. Just admit it, I’m a dick.” 

“If I agree, will you stop apologizing and calling yourself that?”

“Yes,”

“Fine, you’re a dick,”

“I know and I’m sorry,” he smiles at you. 

You squint your eyes as his whole face beams, your hands squeezing his face and squishing his skin, “cheeky.”

He laughs and pulls you closer to him, “come here, baby.” 

Your noses touch as he leans down to get closer to your face, his lips barely touching yours. Whenever he inhales, your engrossing scent engulfs his nostrils and it brings him great comfort. Your hands cup his jaw, thumb caressing his cheeks as he opens his mouth once more, “I mean it. I regret taking you home and acting the way I did. I should’ve apologized right there and then. I should’ve taken you here and found a way to make the night better but I’m trying to make up for it now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in a really fucking long time and I don’t want things to change because you finally got a glimpse into another part of my life. I won’t let anything happen to you, please know that, but it will get worse. Mobs happen and it’s horrifying at times.” 

It’s something that really worries Harry and you see it take over his whole figure. His face shows vivid perturb and his body has become slightly tensed from his words. It’s true; it will get worse and when you witness it, you will be horrified. It’s something Harry has always had to worry about before making the decision to fully commit to someone. It’s affected his past relationships abdominably and he doesn’t want the same thing happening between the two of you. Like he said, you’re far too important to him and for something as riotous as this to come in between that will be heart shattering and utterly painful. This was his life, it will always be like this and if you can’t accept nor understand that, then who will? He only wants you. 

You have no idea what to say, eyes boring straight into his pale irises, clear brood written all over it. Your thumb continues to massage his skin which slightly soothes Harry’s tensed muscles and he’s worried about what will come out of your mouth. He leans back a little to read your face but your mind is so empty that the only thing you can utter really was, “I love you and I’m here for as long as you want me to, okay?”

Your words made Harry lean back further out of reflex, a sharp intake of air filling his lungs upon hearing your revelation. The sudden realization of what you just blurted out forced your eyes shut, hands covering your face in slight embarrassment. You weren’t ashamed that you said it, you were just scared whether or not he felt the same way. You hear Harry laugh and you peak out of your fingers, making him laugh harder. You take your hands off to playfully scold him, your skin saturated with redness, “oh god! Will you stop? I love you and I’m not scared to say it. Nothing’s funny about that.”

Harry chuckles some more, making his way forward to you again and takes your hand in his. He wraps it back around his neck, leaning down to take a good look at you. 

His heart is beating so fast in his chest and he was so happy that he didn’t even care if you could hear it. He’s been wanting to say the same three words to you every single time he’s with you; even when he’s just admiring you while you read a book or watching a movie, or when the two of you are simply hanging out and talking. He catches the obvious adoration in your bearing and always notices the twinkle in your eyes when you look at him. He hopes he’s been showing it as well because there’s no better feeling than loving you and he wants you to know that. 

You shy away from his stare and he titters. He tilts your chin up, teeth on full display on his face while his cheeks deepen into dimples, “you love me?”

“Yes,” your noses touch and you sigh. “I’ve said it like twice already and you, zero times.” You poke his chest in a light hearted manner.

“Actually, you just couldn’t take the hint before,” he teases you. “I thought it was very clear that I love you.” 

You bite your lip to keep your smile from widening and you close your eyes momentarily before locking eyes with him again. He scrunches his nose to keep himself from becoming too joyful because of the exchange between the two of you. You tease him back, “you’re just doing a shit job at showing it, that’s all.”

Harry gasps at your comeback and wraps both of his arms around you without hesitancy, squeezing you as tight as he can and lifting you gently off of the floor. You laugh so loud that his ears perked up at the sound, making his heart beat rapidly and somehow faster than it has ever done before.

He loves you. And you love him back. There wasn’t any doubt about it between the two of you, it was just a matter of finding the right moment to admit it at last to each other. And what better moment is there than this one in the kitchen, where the food on the stove is at its edge of burning without the two of you even noticing. 

Harry puts you back down on the floor and both of you catch your breath. You took the lead this time and grabbed his face, smashing your lips against his. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he grasps the back of your neck with one hand and the other softly cupping your jaw. He smiles against you and you feel it, butterflies forming in your stomach as you tangle your fingers in his soft curls. He kisses you so deep, hard, full of love and savors your taste like there was no tomorrow. You feel his hand start to crawl up to grip bits of your hair but before you can let it get further than that, you pull back and you both inhale so loud it erupted an echoing chuckle. 

“Food’s gonna burn, babe,” you tell him, breathing hard.

“I’m so in love with you,” he simply says back. 

[plaidbooks]

The R Drug part 2

A/N: I promise I still have summer bingo fics ready to go, but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is. This is a part 2 to The R Drug, and is a lot of talking and exposition, and a lot of Sonny hating himself. This will most likely get a part 3. No chapter will ever be darkfic or as dark as the first one was. It’s only up from here.

Tags: self-loathing, mentions of rape (like, one line--references first fic heavily) and therapy, otherwise none, just a lot of angst with a maybe happy ending?

Words: 4657

Taglist:  @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandblacktea @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

For the first few days, you sat on the couch in pain and exhaustion, wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing. The doctor said that you were severely dehydrated and had kept both you and Sonny overnight after the club, though separated. Olivia and Amanda interviewed you, while Fin interviewed Sonny. You were both then sent on leave until you could come back to work…if you could come back at all.

Thankfully, you weren’t pregnant. But you were sore, every movement causing aches and pains as you shuffled around your apartment. Obviously, you weren’t pressing charges, and neither was Sonny; what happened was a freak accident, something you never wanted to think about again, but knew you’d have to in order to move past it.

When you could finally walk normally again, you went to a therapist. It took a while to find a groove; therapists specializing in rape victims had trouble dealing with the fact that while yes, you were a victim, you were also a perpetrator. The other strange thing was that you weren’t angry with Sonny; you were angry with yourself. You assaulted him, just as he assaulted you. And that was the part that was eating you up inside.

It took months of therapy, going every day and working through your confused and frustrated emotions before you finally came to terms with what had happened. You were ready to put your badge and gun back on, ready to move on with your life. You missed your job, your squad. But most of all, you missed Sonny. He was your best friend before all of this happened, and you hadn’t seen nor talked to him since the club. You missed his boyish charm, his bright smile and his loud laugh. You missed the little inside jokes you had together, and the late nights spent curled on the couch, watching reality TV and sports. You missed your Sonny.

**********************

On Monday morning, four months after the club incident, you made your way into the familiar precinct. You were heading for Olivia’s office when you stopped short. Both Amanda and Fin were at their desks like normal. Even your desk was how you left it; a few photos, baskets to hold paperwork, little knick-knacks that made it yours. But Sonny’s desk, the one next to yours, was completely different. There wasn’t a single photo of any Carisi, no Mets or Islanders memorabilia, no nothing that made it his. Instead, there was a picture of two men, one you didn’t recognize posing with…Deputy Chief Dodds?

Before you could ask questions, Amanda said, “that’s Mike Dodds’s desk. He’s the new Sergeant.”

“Where’s Carisi’s desk,” you asked, turning to look at her.

But it was Fin who answered. “He doesn’t have one.” You swore you got whiplash turning to look at Fin so quickly. “He turned in his badge and gun months ago…just after the club fiasco.”

“What?” you almost yelled. You were loud enough that Olivia heard you, and she and the new guy—Mike?—came out of her office. She beckoned you to her office, and you passed by Mike, who tried to give you a smile that you did not return.

“Welcome back—” Olivia started before you cut her off.

“Carisi’s gone?!”

She closed the door behind you before taking a seat at her desk. She motioned for you to sit, and you all but collapsed into the chair. “I tried to keep him, to talk him out of quitting. But he refused, saying he needed to work through things. I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do.”

You stared in disbelief at the top of her desk. Sonny was gone. You had to talk to him, had to see him. You said as much to Liv.

“If you think you can get through to him, then by all means. Because it’s been hard around here not having two of my best detectives,” she replied. “Dodds has been a godsend, but he doesn’t replace either of you, and especially not both of you.”

You nodded. “I’ll talk to him, try and bring him back.”

“I wish you luck. I think he’ll listen to you; you were close before…all this.”

 **********************

After leaving the precinct, you tried texting and calling Sonny, but to no avail. In fact, it was going straight to voicemail, as if his phone were dead or off. So, you swung by his apartment. You buzzed his place, but a deep, gruff man answered.

“I just moved in a few months ago; the previous owner seemed to be in a hurry to move out,” he said. Clinging to the hope that this was still Sonny just trying to put on a fake accent, you buzzed a neighbor. But they confirmed that Sonny had moved out a couple months ago, and that a new tenant moved in.

Out of desperation, you tracked down a phone book, and looked up his parent’s place. Then you took the drive out to Staten Island. You shifted nervously on the porch, waiting for an answer after knocking.

A woman in her 60s, who could only be Mrs. Carisi, answered. Her eyes darted to your waistband, the badge there, then back to yours. You watched them slowly fill with tears.

“Please, don’t tell me yet,” she muttered, and you furrowed your brow. “Don’t tell me my Bambino is…is…” she hiccupped, and you understood; she thought you were here to deliver the news that Sonny was dead.

“No, no! I’m actually…I’m Carisi’s partner���or I was. I’m just…having a hell of a time tracking him down,” you quickly explained.

She sniffled, trying to compose herself. “Well, I hope you do find him.”

“You mean…you don’t know where he is?” you asked, heart sinking.

She shook her head. “He told us he needed some time, and that he’d be in touch. That was the last we saw or heard from him, and that was back in March.” It was June now, and you were realizing that this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

You nodded, muttering out an apology for bothering her as you turned away, but she grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “Please, if you find Sonny, tell him we love him. And that we want him to come home.”

“Of course,” you replied before leaving, holding back tears until you were back in your car.

 ****************

Your first real clue as to where Sonny went came through looking at his bank statements. There, you found a one-way trip to Genoa, Italy. Without too much thought behind it, you booked a flight, texted Olivia your intentions, then headed to the airport. In your hurry, you didn’t pack, didn’t even book a place to stay. You only had one thing on your mind, and it was to find Sonny Carisi.

With the clothes on your back, your phone, passport, and wallet full of bills that you converted to euros, you got on the one-way trip to Genoa.

 ***************

You barely slept on the plane, landing early in the morning. The sun was just peaking over the beautiful Italian landscape. Even in your exhaustion and worry, you had to stop and appreciate the architecture of a different country. Genoa was beautiful, and you’d be enjoying yourself if the drive to find your missing partner wasn’t so high. You had a picture of him on your phone, and you went around, asking everyone you passed by if they had seen him. At first, you were asking in English—you didn’t know Italian. But eventually, you learned the phrases you needed.

“L'hai visto?” you asked desperately.

You understood “no,” and saw the look of sadness on their faces.

“Grazie,” you replied, moving on.

You must’ve asked hundreds of people. The sun was high in the sky, and you felt a hopelessness in your fruitless search. Why did you ever think you’d find him? There was a good chance he wasn’t even in Genoa anymore; he could’ve landed and moved somewhere more isolated. You had nothing to go on, and your voice and face took on a pleading, desperate tone. You must’ve looked like an unhinged person, asking the same question over and over again while pointing frantically to your phone screen.

Another thought came to you in the form of a growling stomach. You hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had so much as a sip of water since you got off the plane. Which then led you to think about what you were going to do once the sun went down. You didn’t have a whole lot of money on you, and you didn’t know how much anything cost.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you muttered to yourself in frustrated hopelessness. You sat down hard on a bench, cursing yourself for not thinking this through better.

A woman came over to you; she looked somewhat familiar. You must’ve talked to her before. But she started speaking rapid Italian to you. You gave her a puzzled look, brow furrowed. You tried to express that you didn’t speak Italian, and she stopped, her face contorted as she thought.

“Man,” she said in slow, pronounced English. She pointed to her left. “Man...you want?”

You followed her finger and froze when you saw the tall, lanky frame of Sonny through a shop window. You jumped to your feet, shouting a “thank you!” to her as you ran on tired legs to the shop. Sonny was just paying for groceries, and was heading out of the shop when you reached him.

His eyes widened as he saw you, guilt flooding his eyes. “...[y/n]?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” you replied, grinning. “I thought I’d never find you.”

He gave you a hard look. “I wish you didn’t,” he muttered before turning to leave.

You stared in disbelief as he walked down the street, bag in his arms. Snapping yourself out of it, you hurried after him. “Carisi, what are you doing here in Italy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, not breaking in his stride. You struggled to keep up with his long legs, your body and mind exhausted. “I’m trying to start over, away from my past.”

You pushed yourself to get in front of him, cutting him off. “You can’t just—just run away.... Don’t I...don’t we mean anything to you? The squad, your family—”

“Of course you do,” he replied, eyes softening for a moment. “That’s why I left.”

You looked at him, eyes pleading. “Look, Dom, I know what happened was...traumatic. But—”

“I’m not talking about that. Not now, not ever.” And then he was walking again, easily stepping around you. “Please, just go home,” he called over his shoulder to you.

You watched him retreat for a moment before heading after him again. “Dominick, you need to talk about it, if not to me, than to someone else. But you can’t bury it down, move on like nothing ever happened.”

Sonny whipped around to glare at you, face hard. “Like nothing ever happened? You think that’s what I’m doing?” He shook his head, huffing. “I’ll never stop thinking about it! This will haunt me to my grave! And when I’m burning in Hell, I’ll know why.”

It broke your heart to see him like this. “Please, listen to me. You need to work through this. It took me months to come to terms with my actions, and I know you can do it, too.”

“I’m too disgusted with myself,” he replied, shaking his head. “I hate myself too much for what I did to you.”

He tried to turn away again, but you grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. He flinched at the contact, pulling away from your touch, and you let your hand fall. “I hated me, too. Still do sometimes. But it wasn’t our fault; we were drugged. There was nothing we could do—”

“I could’ve fought it. I could’ve controlled myself.”

“And what, I couldn’t?” you shot back. Sonny’s eyes widened at your outburst. “If you hate yourself so much, then you must hate me, too. I did the same thing you did.”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning yours. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why are you so hellbent on hating yourself, but not me?”

“Because I...” he trailed off, thinking through his words. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but instead he whispered, “I don’t know.”

You moved closer to him. “Then please, let me help you.” You didn’t make the mistake of touching him again, instead just gazing deeply into his eyes.

Sonny sighed heavily, regripping the bag in his arms. “Yeah, okay. But...let me sleep on it, first?” He saw the skeptical look you gave him, and he quickly added, “I promise I won’t run away again. I just...I need time to process things. Where are you staying? I can swing by in the morning.”

“Uhh...” you said, looking at the ground.

“...please tell me you have a place to stay.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I was going to try and find a place, soon?” you tried.

You could see the inner struggle he had as he fought himself. “I could...you could stay with me, if you want.... That is, if you feel safe with me...if you can trust me.”

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” you said softly.

His eyes widened for a moment. “Yeah...okay. Follow me.”

 ****************

Sonny lived in a small apartment. Though it was a little smaller than his place in Manhattan, it was absolutely stunning, the view from his window gorgeous. It was simply furnished, yet it still somehow felt like...Sonny. He put his grocery bag down on the little counter that acted like an island in a kitchen. In reality, it was just a piece that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as he put his things away.

You stomach grumbled loudly in response. “Uh, no,” you muttered, embarrassed.

Sonny gave you a look. “So, let me get this straight. I can tell by your no luggage or place to stay that you just flew to Genoa with absolutely no backup plan? What if you didn’t find me? What if I went to Vernazza or something?”

You smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t in the best state of mind, okay? I was worried about you; no one had heard from you, not even your parents. And your phone just went to voicemail.”

He sighed. “I left my phone in New York; I didn’t want it. Maybe I also wasn’t in the best state of mind when I left.”

You dug your phone out of your pocket; you only had 10% left on it. You unlocked it, then shoved it towards him. “You need to call your parents. Your mom is heartbroken, and asked me to tell you that she loves you. But I think it would be better coming from her directly to you.”

Tears filled his eyes as he took your phone from you. “If I do, then it’ll kill your phone battery. There’s no way the call would be less than five hours long.”

“Call them,” you urged. You could buy a phone charger in the morning. Sonny sighed, dialing the number. “I’ll give you some privacy,” you whispered, heading outside. You heard a soft, “hey ma; it’s me,” before you closed the front door behind you.

You were so relieved to have found Sonny. Sure, he was still broken and hurt, but you knew you could help him find himself, pull himself back from the darkness in his mind. You just didn’t know how long it would take, how long you’d be in Italy for. You didn’t want to rush him, couldn’t rush him if you tried. And you knew a lot of this would be an internal battle, something you knew intimately well based on your own experience. In the end, he’d have to find the strength to forgive himself on his own before he could move on. You sighed, looking up into the dark clouds above you, the muggy heat making your skin sticky.

 *********************

Sonny came and got you about an hour later. His eyes were rimmed red, but it seemed as though a weight had lifted off him as he handed back your now dead phone.

“Sorry; I can buy you a charger in the morning,” he muttered, leading you back inside.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

You both ate dinner in silence; Sonny was pensive, thinking, while you were starving and shoveling the delicious food into your mouth. Once you finished—your huge bites compared to his little nibbles had you finishing in record time—you took your dishes to the kitchen and started cleaning them.

“I can do that—” Sonny started before you cut him off.

“It’s fine; you cook, I clean.” It was your rule back in Manhattan, and Sonny smiled softly at the memories of you both in his kitchen.

“Look, Sonny, I know you said you don’t want to talk—and that’s fine! But, if you ever do want to talk, I’m here, willing to listen,” you said. You scrubbed at your plate with the sponge, forcing yourself to not turn and look at him.

He sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. You resolutely stayed facing the sink, washing a now clean dish, waiting for a response that may not come.

“I...I know it was R. I know it was. But I just...I can’t stop the self-loathing I feel,” he said so quietly, you barely heard him over the water in the sink.

Slowly, you turned the water off, then turned to face him. “I know. It took me months to not hate myself. To not blame myself.”

Sonny took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes. “I never asked; how are you?”

You knew he didn’t mean in general. “I was very sore and exhausted the first week. I was stuck in a downward spiral. But the thing about hitting rock bottom is that you can only go up.” You sighed. “I’m doing better. I doubt I’ll ever be 100% me again. But I’m working every day to get closer.”

He nodded, thinking. “See, I feel like I hit rock bottom, then grabbed a shovel. I’m still fighting to get back to rock bottom.”

“Well, just know that I do not blame you in any way. All the anger and hatred I felt was directed at myself,” you huffed out an emotionless chuckle. “In fact, you hardly came up in my therapy sessions at all. Just that I hated myself for doing that to you.”

Sonny stood then, bringing his own dishes into the kitchen. “I never blamed you, either; still don’t. I—I guess because I’m bigger and because I was...on top, I blame myself instead. I didn’t even consider the fact that you got drugged, too....”

“That’s the thing; I know you. And I know myself. Neither of us...that wouldn’t have happened without outside forces making us do it. Like I said, I trust you with my life, Sonny. And while I understand why you turned your badge in, I really would like my partner back one day,” you said, hope tinging your voice.

He reached past you to put his plate in the sink, and you gazed up at him. This was the closest you’ve been since that night in the club, his face inches from yours, bright blue eyes boring into your own. For a moment, it was like nothing had happened. You could pretend that you were in Sonny’s Manhattan apartment, having just finished dinner he made, Love Island playing on his TV. But then reality set in, and Sonny backed away from you, a look of guilt in his eyes.

“M—maybe one day. But I’m not sure I want to go back to that line of work yet,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

You nodded. “I understand—” you were cut off by a loud clap of thunder, sounding directly above you. You dropped the plate you were rinsing off into the sink, the clatter loud in the shocked silence.

Sonny looked from the ceiling to you, saw your petrified look. He knew you hated storms, would often get a call at 1am from you, asking to come over when a thunderstorm rolled in. When he saw you on the streets of Genoa, he didn’t connect that Italy had some of the most intense thunderstorms in the world.

“Hey, it’s okay; I’m here,” he murmured out of instinct; the words he would say back home to you.

You were trembling, tears in your eyes. “S-Sonny, I—”

Another loud rumbling resounded through the apartment, and he saw you shrink in on yourself, slowly dropping to the floor, curling around your legs. You tucked your face against your knees, shaking with quiet sobs. He came over to you, kneeling in front of you. Normally, he’d wrap you tightly in his arms, whispering to you that you were safe. But now, he was afraid to touch you.

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” he remembered you saying, with no hesitation. Swallowing the thoughts propelled by self-loathing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t assault you, wouldn’t do anything without your consent, so why the hell was he hesitating when you needed him?

“Come on; let’s get you into bed, okay?” Sonny whispered to you. You nodded without looking up. Gently, he unfolded your limbs, helping you to your feet. He had been planning to sleep on the couch, give you his bed. Now, though, he was leading you to his bedroom quickly, trying to make it before more thunder sounded.

He got you into his bed just as another clap of thunder shook the walls. You pulled the covers over your head, tucking down as hard as possible into the bed. Sonny climbed into bed next to you, laying on top of the covers. Gently, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back against him. He could feel you trembling, the whole bed shaking. What else could he do besides what he normally did?

“It’s okay; you’re safe. I got you,” he whispered, rubbing your arm over the blanket. You rolled over until you were facing him, and curled in against his chest. Sonny stiffened for only a moment before relaxing in the familiar position.

“I hate storms,” you choked out, tucking your face into his shirt.

He rubbed your back in comfort. “I know you do. It’ll be gone soon enough.”

But unlike Manhattan, where that may be true, thunderstorms in Genoa lasted hours. Simply because you didn’t sleep the night before, you were able to drift off in Sonny’s embrace. You’d jerk awake every time a clap of thunder was heard, though, shaking and sobbing softly as he murmured sweet words to you before succumbing to sleep again.

Sonny, however, didn’t sleep a wink. He was too lost in thought, holding you to him. You trusted him enough to sleep in the same bed, his arms around you, even after everything that happened. You didn’t blame him, felt no hatred towards him. And while most of his problem stemmed from his own self-hatred, he was always afraid that you felt the same way about him. And he couldn’t deal with that, couldn’t stand it. Not when he—

He almost said it out on the street earlier, when you asked him if he hated you. He almost told you that he loved you, had come so close. In fact, he was planning on asking you out after work that day. The day that changed his life forever, and not in the way he had been hoping. If only Liv hadn’t called you both into her office that day, then maybe there would still be a chance....

But he could never tell you, not now. How would you even begin a relationship after this? He was too afraid to even touch you, for Christ’s sake. Though, that was before the thunderstorm started. Now, you were curled against his chest, your trembling stopped for the moment, breathing deep as you slept. His arms were around you, and god he loved it, loved the feeling of you sleeping in his arms, whether from a storm or not. This wasn’t the first time he held you throughout the night, and he loved it every time, regardless of circumstances. But how could anything evolve from this? How could he kiss you? How could you be...intimate together without the memory of the club popping up in either of your minds?

A small part of him whispered that if he could get over his fear of touching you—evident by the cuddling—then he could overcome his other fears, too. But would you want that? Did he?.... Yes, yes he wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to love you without fear and/or guilt in his heart. Before the club, he had thought that his biggest obstacle would be 1PP. Oh how ignorant he had been.

He resolved that he wouldn’t tell you, not now, maybe not ever. He couldn’t, not when this darkness was still inside his head, not when his hatred for himself was so high—

Thunder rolled out, and you jumped, instantly waking. The trembling started again, and you grabbed Sonny’s shirt, pulling him closer to you.

“I got you. You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered to you.

But for the first time ever, you responded. “You make me feel safe, Dom,” you muttered back.

At first, he was filled with such a profound warmth and happiness, feeling protective and strong. But then a flash of your face, beet red, your body moving erratically underneath his while loud club music played, and he sunk in on himself. He felt like such an asshole, such a coward, holding you like this. He should’ve left you on the streets in Genoa, closed himself off. Or at least offer to put you up in a hotel or a hostile, not fucking take you home with him. He hated that side of him that couldn’t let you go, almost as much as the hatred of that night in the club.

“What’s wrong?” you asked suddenly. You were still shaking in his grasp, but you noticed he was deep in thought. He had stopped talking, and was humming slightly. Sonny only hummed when he was thinking hard. He didn’t respond right away, unsure of what he’d even say. So, you pressed on, “need me to comfort you?”

Sonny’s expression softened. Here you were, scared out of your mind, but still offering him help. This is one of the main reasons he loved you. “No, I’m fine. Just sleep, okay?” he murmured.

Without thinking about it, he brushed his lips against your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss. You smiled at the gesture, tucking your head against his chest again, quickly finding sleep once more.

But Sonny was silently cursing himself. Why the hell did you kiss her?! he thought in anguish. In truth, he didn’t think, just reacted. He often kissed your forehead in comfort, trying to coax you to sleep. It seemed as if when he turned his brain off, he could rely on instinct, doing things he normally did. But that nagging side of his brain never left him alone for long. Things he used to do that brought him joy, like holding you or kissing your soft skin, now filled him with regret. How was he supposed to move on and leave you behind in New York when he did shit like this?

He sighed, glancing at his clock and seeing that it was only a little past 1am. This was going to be a long night. And he still wasn’t sure what to say to you in the morning.

[pastorpresent]

Sam knows it isn't functional.

The dynamic him and Dean have at the minute is... beyond fucked to say the least, and he knows it's going to crash down into a pile of flames and ash at some point, probably seriously hurting them both, but he can't seem to find a way to fix it.

It's easier to just watch the flames slowly creep up the metaphorical dumpster pile that is their relationship.

It was a horrible feeling, though. Horrible because it's not one he had ever experienced before. Even when he left for Stanford, he never believed that Dean hated him for it. He knew his brother had been pissed, and maybe he had a right to be because Sam had essentially ditched him in a horrendous life with just their father, but he knew deep down that Dean didn't hate him.

He had still checked in with him, after all. Even if his brother still didn't know to this day that Sam had indeed caught him sneaking around Stanford every month or so.

Now, he genuinely believed Dean did hate him.

And that was Sam's fault too. He shacked up with a demon. Chose her over him. Got so doped up on demon blood and power that he started the damn apocalypse.

Hell, Sam hated himself for it all. He would be surprised if Dean didn't.

But it was sort of an elephant in the room. Dean didn't want to have a heart to heart, and Sam didn't want to push in fear of what would be said if he did.

So, it was all just... passive aggressive. Sometimes outright aggressive because neither of them had a great grip on their emotions.

And Sam had thought all that resentment would put a stop to the... not so brotherly moments of their relationship, but it didn't.

They still fucked. Anything soft and intimate about it was gone, though. It was all just angry sex. Dean refused to even kiss him during, and Sam would be lying if he said that one didn't sting.

They fell into this frustrating cycle of ignoring one another. Immediately after a case, Dean would head to a bar. Sam would head back to the motel and do research, more of an excuse he told himself so he could say he was absolutely not just waiting up for Dean.

His brother would come back a few hours later stinking of whiskey and Sam would make a dissaproving comment. Dean would shoot back with some hurtful remark until they were shouting in each others faces, and just as it got to be too much Sam would find himself shoved against a wall with Dean's hands working to remove his clothes, refusing to meet his lips.

Tonight, Sam really didn't want to play their stupid game. He was over it, and he wasn't going to let it happen again.

He didn't do research. He showered, got changed into something comfortable and went to bed instead.

He was woken a few hours later by Dean's voice in his ear.

"Sammy..."

It was gentle, and the use of the nickname was startling. Dean hadn't called him that in months.

Still, Sam kept his eyes shut.

The bed dipped next to him.

"Sam?" Dean gently shook him, hand clamped on his shoulder. Sam kept his eyes closed, kept his breathing even.

There was a small sigh and the hand left his shoulder, although the dip in the bed told him Dean himself hadn't left.

There was a creak and the mattress shifted slightly. Two arms wrapped hesitantly around him, and Sam felt himself being pulled back slowly until his back was flush against Dean's chest, until he was wrapped up in his big brothers arms for the first time in... God knows how long.

Too long, evidently, from the way Sam's breathing caught.

Dean must've noticed, because he went rigid and tense, ready to jump away if he thought Sam was awake, but Sam quickly got a hold of himself and forced himself to relax again. After a few seconds Dean did too.

"I love you Sammy. Fuck... I... I've been a dick, haven't I?" Dean's voice was rough with emotion, much to Sam's surprise. He didn't know how much Dean had drank. Didn't know why he could only say these things to him after midnight when he believed Sam was dead to the world and he was doped up on alcohol but...

Sam didn't know much about their relationship lately.

"I don't... I'm trying. I'm trying to... forgive you, all that crap. The apocalypse shit was on both of us, I could move past that, but..." Dean trailed off, the thought going unfinished. Sam didn't need him to finish it.

But Ruby.

How fucked were they that Dean could forgive him for jumpstsrting fucking armageddon, letting literal satan roam free, but not for choosing a girl over him?

Maybe it was time to invest in a damn family therapist.

There was a good few minutes of silence. Sam honestly thought Dean had just finally passed out, but then he spoke again.

"Night Sammy. M'sorry."

It was accompanied by a small kiss to his shoulder, and Sam had to stop himself from leaning into it.

The next morning when he woke up, Dean was in the shower, and the bed opposite looked quite purposefully unmade and messy.

Sam wouldn't have suspected a thing had he not been awake and witnessed everything last night, and he honestly wasn't certain if the previous night was a first time thing.

[solarwonux]

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst 

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan,  IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you. 

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot. 

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.” 

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter. 

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time. 

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what. 

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house. 

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family. 

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation. 

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew. 

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time. 

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes. 

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him. 

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress. 

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.” 

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands. 

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home. 

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper. 

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?”  His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close. 

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away. 

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.” 

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him. 

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips. 

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close. 

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face. 

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck,  live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?” 

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband. 

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!” 

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin. 

“We’ll see. Now behave.” 

“As you wish my lovely wife.”

[pokemoncreepypasta]

Tommy Boy

[STORY SOURCE]

It was one of those sleepovers, just me and my bestie, when we got bored and had a dumb idea. Well, she got the brilliant idea anyways.

Apparently, she thought it would be “fun” to try and perform one of those summoning rituals, even though she knew anything and everything paranormal gave me nightmares for weeks. Which is why I think she wanted to do it so bad.

Of course, I wouldn’t willingly go along with the ritual, so my friend had to persuade me by offering her Darkrai plushie which I had coveted for a few weeks now. I remember wondering if the risk of eternal damnation was worth it for just a toy...

Apparently the answer was yes, since I eventually went along with this freaking idea.

The requirement for the ritual was paper, pencil, a candle, 6 random dolls, and 60 minutes of your time.

It had to be in a dark house, or in the middle of the night. We did it around midnight, after everyone else was asleep.

The first step was to put the 6 dolls in a circle.

Then draw a summoning circle on the middle of the paper and put it in the center of the circle of dolls.

After placing it on the floor, recite, “Any entity, you may enter.”

Wait for a while, around a minute, then prick your finger and put your bloody fingerprint in the middle of the summoning circle.

Recite, “By blood we are bound.”

You then turn off all the lights, if any are still left on, then light your candle and recite, “Whomever loses may never leave.”

Afterwards, you stumble around in the dark and play hide-and-seek with whatever you just summoned, if you even successfully summoned anything.

You must switch the room you’re hiding in every 10 minutes or else you will automatically be found by default. If you candle doesn’t blow out within and hour, then you win, and allegedly whatever spirit you summoned will be bound to your eternal service.

If it does blow out, then you’ve been found and you lose. Whatever happens afterwards depends on whatever spirit, peaceful or malevolent, that you summoned.

While me and my friend were huddled in the laundry room whispering and giggling about stupid things, the candle flickered out. I promptly flipped and hid in the corner with my hands over my head waiting for the worst to happen, while my friend laughed at pathetic little me.

After about five minutes of trying to convince me I wasn’t going to die, she told me she had blown out the candle herself. That made me feel a little better, even thought I still didn’t believe it.

Though, the Darkrai plushie I received the next day helped wash my worries away.

Though it wasn’t enough to wash away everything else that was about to happen.

Later on that day after my friend left, my little sister had begged me to let her play my Pokémon Emerald. I let her, since all she did was pretty much give free training to my Pokémon.

I was watching TV, and was a bit peeved when she ran into the room and started nagging me about a green Trapinch, so I waved her off. It took me a few seconds before I realized my grave mistake, so I quickly snatched my GameBoy back.

I was pleasantly surprised to see my sis had somehow managed to find a shiny Trapinch.

I told her to back off and let me handle this, since I wasn’t about to let her try to catch it. Although, things looked bad as my Pokémon were all too strong to weaken it.

But I was feeling confident with over 40 Ultra Balls in stock along with a few backups, so I kept throwing and throwing until one of them worked.

The trouble was, this stubborn Trapinch didn’t want me as its trainer. 

I might not have been able to weaken it, but it still chewed through nearly every one of my PokéBalls.

I was awash with horror at the thought of failing my first ever shiny. That’s when my sister offered to catch it for me.

I didn’t want to hand it over to her, but then my mind rationalized it by thinking that if she failed it, losing the Trapinch would be her fault, not mine.

I was shocked again as she handed me back the GameBoy less than a minute later with a brand new shiny Trapinch in my party named Tommy Boy.

The only response I could think of at first was, “Tommy Boy? Why name it that?”

“Because, it’s a boy and I wanted to name it Tommy, so Tommy Boy!”

I didn’t even want to know what went on in my sister’s head, but I quickly stopped caring and all I could do was just stare at my newfound shiny.

I went to immediately test him out and see what he could do against a wild Sandshrew.

“Tommy Boy refuses to attack!” 

I tried to fight, but I got this refusal instead. I tried to attack the Sandshrew again, but I just kept getting the same message.

“This is a load of crap.”

“Oh, I can make him attack!” My sister stole the GameBoy back and then proceeded to defeat the Sandshrew with no further issue.

“What the... How did you do that?!” My sister gave me a stupid grin, “He listened to me because I’m his mommy!” Sure, whatever, I thought privately to myself.

I was happy to let her train this Trapinch into a Flygon for me, anyway. I was puzzled by its behavior, to say the very least, and decided not asking anything would be better for my health and just kept watching TV.

I thought she would grow bored of training the Pokémon, but no. For the rest of the day and deep into the night, she worked tirelessly to gain experience for Tommy Boy. I wondered how someone could stand training the same Pokémon for so many hours without getting bored at all.

Finally, around 11 PM, she had to go to bed. Unwillingly, she saved the game and turned it off, but not before saying good night to Tommy Boy and kissing the GameBoy goodnight.

I was still allowed to stay up longer, so as soon as she was in bed, I quietly grabbed my GameBoy out from under her bed sheets. Emerald was already in, so I simply switched the game on.

Once the game was loaded, I saw that Tommy Boy was the only one in the party, for some reason.

But he was already evolved into a Flygon, and at level 66. Too bad she only had interest in training Tommy Boy, so much that she decided to stuff all my other team members in the PC.

I started to leave the desert where my sister had last saved when I ran into a wild Baltoy. I lovingly sighed as Tommy Boy came out sparkling. Then, my expression became a bit more serious.

That freaking pixel better listen to me this time.

I clicked on “Fight”. He had new moves: Crunch, DragonBreath, Sandstorm, and Hyper Beam.

I selected Hyper Beam, and desperately hoped that he would obey. I held my breath.

“Tommy Boy refuses to attack!”

“Dang it!!” I yelled at the screen.

Tommy Boy got hit with and attack, which didn’t do too much damage. I kept cursing at the Pokémon. I couldn’t believe I had a shiny in the palm of my hands and it wouldn’t even listen to me!

I selected DragonBreath, despite knowing he wouldn’t obey anyways.

“Tommy Boy wants his mommy!”

I gawked at this line of text. I surely hadn’t seen any Pokémon do that before. I almost wanted to laugh, the way that line was written almost sounded funny, but I was off-put and confused. Tommy Boy got hit with another attack.

“Come on, can’t you at least show some pity for your aunt?!” I spoke aloud to the game, like my sister had started doing. Tommy Boy offered me no pity and kept refusing. I didn’t want to deal with him getting knocked out, so I just turned the game off and begrudgingly went to bed.

The next morning, I found my little sister leaning back in a chair contentedly playing the GameBoy. I realized she snatched it from my room while I was asleep, which I guess was an equal exchange. I asked her if anything weird was happening with the GameBoy, but she said all was fine.

Then she asked me why I was playing on the GameBoy last night.

“Uhh... because it’s my game? I should still be able to play it too.”

She eyed me. “Just don’t mess with Tommy Boy again. Just because you’re his aunt doesn’t mean he likes you.”

She immediately changed her threatening disposition by cheerily calling out, “Oh, good boy, Tommy! You showed that Sandshrew! You make mommy so proud!”

I decided to shrug it off. I wasn’t about to get into an argument with my sister about a video game.

A few days into this, I was over her shoulder watching her play.

She was in the desert, and kept battling the Pokémon there over and over again. Tommy Boy acted like a normal Pokémon, and did nothing unusal.

“Why do you only battle Pokémon in the desert?” “Because, Tommy Boy only likes to battle Pokémon here.” She kept playing, as if everything was normal. After a moment, I thought of another question, “Why will he only obey you and not me?” “I told you, he’ll only listen to his mommy.” “It’s my game he’s on, so I should be his mommy, shouldn’t I? How does he know YOU’RE his mommy?” My sister paused for a moment. After a minute she responded, “Tommy Boy says screw you.” She giggled, while I gave up and left, fuming.

However, days turned into weeks, and my sister had been spending our entire vacation so far just sitting in her room. Apparently, she had started neglecting to eat or drink anything, and would only ever fall asleep when she passed out, GameBoy still in her hands.

It started getting so bad that my mom told me at one point she threw up blood. We’d tried taking the game way from her, but she’d screech at us like she was possessed and tear the whole house apart trying to find it.

Mom said they were arranging for her to see a therapist and get an opinion on what the heck we should do, but for the meantime she was allowed to keep the game, to make things easier for everyone until getting an appointment.

But I wasn’t satisfied with that. I needed to intervene.

One night, I decided to work up the nerve to confront her about her addiction. I found her in her room, as always. She was on the bed with the covers over her head. One would think she was sleeping, but the quiet sounds of the GameBoy gave her away.

I pulled the sheets away from her and she hissed briefly at me before continuing with her eyes glued to the screen. I hardly recognized my happy-go-lucky sister. She looked half dead. I tried holding a conversation with her, but all I got were distant “Mm-hm”s and “It’s fine.” The only way I could get her to talk to me was to attempt to take the game away, to which she immediately responded.

“NO! He’s my baby!!! He NEEDS me!” My sister screeched at me. 

“IT is an inanimate object! It doesn’t NEED anything!” I yelled back at her, clutching her arm that was holding the GameBoy. I managed to rip the Emerald cartridge out of the game while it was still running, causing it to let out horrible screeching sounds. I then pretended to throw it out an open window into the darkness outside of our house, to which my sister immediately pushed me onto the floor and jumped out into the yard after it. 

Picking myself up, I noticed she had dropped my GameBoy, too, so I discreetly plopped the game back into the system and stuffed it into my pocket.

I spitefully closed the window behind my sister. She could come back inside once she realized what this game was doing to her.

What... WAS this game doing to her, I wondered?

Once my sister had collapsed from exhaustion and been carried back to bed by my confused dad (to whom I lyingly explained I had no involvement in this), I decided I would find out for myself.

When I booted up the game, I was in the middle of my secret base in Route 120.

I checked my party to find only Tommy Boy, at a whopping level 100. Since it hand only taken her a day to get him to level 66, she must’ve reached 100 long ago, but she’d still been playing this all month.

Was she seriously doing the same battles over and over, despite him not being able to go any higher...?

When I exited the party screen and was back in the base though, a circle of six Pokédolls were around me that I hadn’t noticed before, which quite frankly creeped me out.

When I tried to move, a text box popped up saying, “Any entity may enter.”

“By blood we are bound.”

A strange red circle appeared in the middle of the circle of dolls, and I quickly realized I didn’t want anything to do with whatever was about to go down.

I tried to step away again, but another text box appeared. 

“Whomever loses may never leave.”

I tried running for dear life out the exit, but I was stopped.

“You may never leave.”

A shiny Flygon appeared in the middle of the circle and let out what I assumed was its cry, albeit I was too horrified for my life at that moment to care much for details, and the game froze.

I shut the game off, stared at it for a second, then suddenly every memory of what I had done earlier in the summer came flooding back at once. I knew exactly what Tommy Boy was now, and I was absolutely terrified.

I wanted to hold myself, cry my eyes out and throw this game into the woods where no one would ever find it, but then I thought about my sister. I thought about how if I didn’t get rid of Tommy Boy now, things would probably get worse and soon I’d wake up to find my little sister stabbing herself to death, or me.

Through my tears, I turned the game back on.

“It’s just you and me now, Tommy. Rematch. Double or nothing.”

If he won, he could take us both. But if I won, he would take his sorry demon hide back to wherever it was he came from. He seemed keen on my offer, as the game started up with no problems.

Once the game was up and running, I found my character in the middle of a dark cave. 

I instinctively went to my party to make someone use Flash, but then I remembered more than likely Tommy Boy was going to be there.

I braced myself...

But I was pleasantly surprised to find there were just some random Pokémon instead.

Of course, I didn't have the HM for Flash. Or the TM for Dig. Or any Escape Rope.

...

Wonderful.

So I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find my way out of this mess.

I kept bumping into walls and rocks, climbing up and down countless ladders, but there was no exit in sight. Or any trainers in sight, for that matter.

In fact, I hadn't run into any wild encounters either, until I came to the conclusion that there was only one Pokémon I would be running into here, and that I should avoid it like the plague.

Was spamming Super Repel going to protect me from a level 100 demonic Flygon? Probably not, but I couldn't be too careful.

After some time nowhere near an hour, I found myself in a small room that had nothing in it. I tried to go back the way I came, but I was stopped. My character wouldn't move. I started to tense up again.

The light surrounding me in-game was snuffed out, and all that could be seen was darkness. I was about to turn the game off before something happened, but before I could, something happened.

“Found you.”

The text in red popped up with a Flygon cry to accompany it, and the game froze again.

"No!" I yelled desperately, flickering the game off and on again. "One chance, give me one more chance!"

Instead, when I loaded the file, I was met with a glitchy, pixelated mess of a screen flashing multicolored lights while blaring the loudest beeping noise I'd ever heard in my life that sent my ears and eyes ringing. I quickly shut off the game and stared at the empty screen in disbelief for I don't know how long.

Had I lost the game?

I couldn't accept that. I was going to play this game all night if I had to. One of us would be leaving tonight, and it wasn't going to be me. Bracing myself, I tightly closed my eyes and powered the game on again. I expected another cacophony of buggy sounds and flashing lights, but surprisingly, I was able to boot up my save file just fine.

But, unfortunately, I didn't get the Round 3 of hide-and-seek that I had vainly asked for.

Instead, I was at the bottom of Mt. Pyre.

I still had the same team as before, unable to Fly or Surf away from this nightmarish set of circumstances that I'd been put in.

I don't know what Tommy Boy was getting at, or what he wanted from me now, but I knew the only way to understand exactly what I was dealing with would be to play along, just for now.

My only option left was to climb Mt. Pyre.

I felt a mounting suspense that kept rising each floor I went to, although I didn't know why. Maybe it was because every floor, even indoors, were all unusually foggy.

However, the wild Shuppet started to make quick work of my low leveled Pokémon.

I then got the sudden idea that maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. If my entire party fainted, I could get sent back to a Pokémon Center and escape the boundaries of Tommy Boy's "game."

When they all fainted though, I didn't get sent back. Instead, I was still trapped on Mt. Pyre.

All of the Pokémon that were protecting me were gone now.

I still ran into Shuppet, except I kept sending out a large "?" where a Pokémon should've been.

I kept whiting out, only to return to the position I'd started the battle in.

After a nerve-wracking climb though the graveyard, I reached the top.

Surrounding the pedestal at the top were six PokéBalls.

As I checked each one, a picture of a Pokémon would pop up.  They seemed really familiar, and soon I realized all the Pokémon here were part of the team I was just using.

After I checked the sixth Pokémon, I found my character to be trapped in the center of the pedestal with no way out.

I frantically mashed the D-Pad in hopes of finding some way to escape.

In the midst of my panic, a glowing red circle materialized on the ground, connecting all the PokéBalls surrounding the pedestal, with me still in the center.

I remember at that moment thinking, I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die, and I wholeheartedly believed I was going to.

Then, a large text box in all red with a Flygon cry popped up...

“YOU MAY NEVER LEAVE.”

That right there sealed the deal.

I wasted no shred of time pulling out that Emerald cartridge and cutting it into an unrecognizable pile of green plastic with my scissors.

In my desperation, I brushed the remains of the cartridge into my trash can, wrapped up the trash bag, and went to the extent of escaping through my window and throwing it into the woods. Screw littering, screw the police, I didn't want that thing in my house.

And especially screw Tommy Boy. Screw his little game, screw the thought of him having any sort of control over me.

The only way to win is not to play, and I made sure no one would ever play this game again.

The next morning, my much more well-rested little sister asked where my GameBoy was, and I was about to tell her she was never allowed to touch that thing for as long as she lives, but then she asked to play Mario Party Advance on it.

I was baffled, to say the least, but found no problem in it and let her play it. She showed no signs of becoming obsessed and got bored of playing it after an hour, so I was relieved and assumed that the worst was over.

You can be sure I am not, and will never, plan on performing any more summoning rituals any time soon.

Thankfully, my little sister's gone back to being completely normal. If anything, her only sign of change is that she's getting into that "girly stage". She'll get Pokémon plushies and sit them all in a circle and play tea party with them in her room. At least, that's what I think she's doing with them.

Doesn't matter to me though, I'm busy with my own things. I'm happily content with my dear Darkrai plush that took entirely too much effort out of my life to obtain. I feel really bad for neglecting him these past few weeks, but it's okay.

I won't be giving any more of my time or attention to anyone else except my little baby.