#which could have been left at those five words! but instead I did quite an involved drawing! so it goes :]

[chiropteracupola]

...been thinking of this for some time now.

[mochii0park]

Don't speak; pjm - Memories; 02

Title: Don't speak

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: angst I fluff

Pairing: doctor!reader x businessman!jimin

Word count: 15.7k

Author's note: Initially it was supposed to be written in 2 parts but I decided to make it a 3 part story because I feel like the built up would make more sense. I hope you like it ^^

Taglist: @haru-jimiin, @maruuchann, @graydolan12, @fancypeacepersona, @jiminismine4ever, @talgiminmin, @ukndtwme, @purplebeebs, @wobblewobble822, @jjkluver7, @polnaraffsrack, @santhimariyanbu, @bangtan4lifetypeshit, @lanyia @granataepfelchen @sassy-snassy @thelilbutifulthings @mochi-mochhh @strawberryujamm @ownthesunshine @mar-lo-pap @nbjch05 @chimmy-licious @kajsksnsjsnns @beotkkotlover @ennvfv

Chapter list: ONE - TWO - THREE

You unlock the door and push it open, stepping aside so Jimin can enter first. He hesitates, eyes immediately looking around, searching for familiarity. With a small exhale, he steps inside drinking in the differences, confusion present in his irises, his eyes ever the mirror to his soul.

You take your time watching him carefully. His movements are slow, not just because of his healing ribs, but because he’s taking in every detail of the apartment. His gaze moves like someone expecting everything to be the same, like a man returning home after a long absence. You instinctively reach for his arm as he shifts forward, steadying him without a word. 

He glances at you, his lips curving just slightly. “Y/N, I can walk.”

“I know.” You don’t let go immediately.

He exhales, but he doesn’t pull away either. His brows knit together as he stares at the window. His gaze settles on the curtains. Thick, heavy material now, drawn shut, swallowing the room in a muted shade of dusk. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if something doesn’t quite sit right.

“What happened to the see-through ones?”

You stand still, the emotions turning inside of you.  It’s such a simple question, but it knocks the air from your lungs. He remembers that those curtains were his choice, ones he picked specifically because you loved sunsets. Because he knew how much you liked the way the colors bled into the sky at the end of the day. 

He turns to look at you then, waiting for an answer, but all you can do is stare at him.  Of all the things time could have erased, all the memories that could have faded into nothing he remembers that. Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his sleeve. You wet your lips, trying to compose your features into something neutral but you can’t stop the way your throat constricts, the way sorrow swells inside your chest like an ache you can’t soothe.

“We changed them a while ago,” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. The lie pierces through your heart but you felt like the truth would be open too many questions you weren’t sure how to answer.

“But you love sunsets.”

You did, but he decided to change that. He hated the light, the sunsets. Or perhaps he hated the curtains that reminded him of you. Of the warm love which had been replaced by bitterness that awoke emotions of resentment, grief. All the reminders of you irked him. The way he harshly yanked at them still rests in the back of your mind, a memory embedded with your own grief. The first piece you put together and the last you saw being destroyed as you left this apartment.

Jimin studies them for a moment longer before his lips press together. “Do you like them?”

 “The curtains?”

He nods.

You hesitate. “In a weird way I do.”

His head tilts slightly at that, like something about your answer doesn’t sit right with him but instead of pushing, he lets his fingers drop from the fabric and turns away.

“This place feels different,” he murmurs.

You step away from him as you lean against the wall. “Different how?”

“Some things are the same. Some aren’t. It’s like stepping into a memory that doesn’t fit right.”

You nod slightly, even if you wanted to you couldn’t replicate the apartment from five years ago. “Maybe that’s what happens when years go missing.”

Jimin’s lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t fully form. Instead, his gaze shifts to the bookshelves. His fingers trail along the spines, pausing on familiar titles. “We kept all my books?”

You hum in conformation, following his hand movements as he debates which one to pull out.  Jimin decides on one of his old collage micro economy textbook, flipping through the pages. “I thought you might’ve gotten rid of them.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m not that cruel.”

His lips curve. “Debatable.”

You narrow your eyes. “I literally carried you to the elevator then towards the front door so you wouldn’t strain your ribs, and you’re calling me cruel?”

Jimin laughs, warm and light. “I said debatable.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath as you move toward the kitchen. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still smiling but just as easily as the teasing settles in, the weight of the past creeps back in. Jimin places the textbook back on the shelf.

“When we got this apartment,” he says, “I made sure it had everything you loved. So that when you were gone for long shifts, I’d be surrounded by things that reminded me of you.”

Your hands begin to tremble, so you tighten your grip around the edge of the counter to mask it. Namjoon prepared you for the emotional rollercoaster that this task might carry, and you truly thought you were prepared for any obstacle that might be thrown at you but the second Jimin began to reminisce, causing him to unconsciously peel all the emotions you securely cocooned, you felt like you bit off more than you can chew.

“Did you get better at chopping onions?”

You blink, lost in manging your emotions that you hardly register his question. “What?”

His grin returns. “Because last time I saw you in this kitchen, you were butchering them.”

The shift in the atmosphere was another proof of how perceptive he could be, sensing your change and proceeding to lighten the mood. Your mouth falls open in mock offense. “I was not!”

“You were! I had to take the knife from you before you lost a finger.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re misremembering.”

Jimin raises a brow. “Am I?”

“Maybe.”

He takes a small step, fingers brushing over the shelf once more, then the couch, then the photo frames. Jimin speaks again, his tone subdued. ‘I think I expected everything to be exactly the same.’” 

Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say and Jimin glances at you, his gaze gentle but steady. “Nothing stays the same forever, huh?”

You swallow. “No. It doesn’t.”

Another silence. “So… what’s for dinner?”

You bite your lips as Jimin throws his head back laughing at your embarrassed expression. “I might have forgotten about that?”

He swats his hands, gesturing that it’s fine. “We can cook, right? Unless you want to order. I can, you know cook for us. It’s one of the many impressive skills you’ve forgotten about me.”

You scoff. “If I let you cook, you’ll hurt yourself and somehow make it my fault.”

Jimin gasps. “Y/N, how dare you?”

You roll your eyes but turn toward the fridge as his laughter follows you. The clinking of the knife against the cutting board echoes softly in the kitchen as you start chopping the onions.  Jimin leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s far too amused for your liking.

“So, you lied to me.”

You pause, glaring at him. “Lied about what?”

He gestures lazily toward the uneven slices of onion scattered across the board. “You still don’t know how to chop onions, yobo.” His voice is warm, teasing, laced with the kind of intimacy that makes your chest tighten. “And here I thought five years would have been enough for you to improve.”

You try to ignore the way your heart skipped at the nickname as you roll your eyes, nudging a piece of onion aside with the blade. “I didn’t lie. I just never promised I got better.”

Jimin laughs, stepping closer. “It’s quite a shame, really.” His voice drops, playful but feigning deep disappointment. “A cardiothoracic surgeon who can handle a human heart but can’t handle an onion? That’s embarrassing.”

You repeat his words in a mocking manner, sending him a sharp look. “I don’t see how they’re even remotely related.”

Jimin hums, closing the distance between you. “Both require precision. Technique. Control.” He dips his head slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “But I see you still lack all three when it comes to this.”

Before you can retort, he glides his hands around your wrists, his touch featherlight, but firm enough to still your movements. Your fingers twitch, your breath catching as his palms mold against yours.

“Here.” His voice is softer now, guiding. “Relax your grip.”

You hesitate, but your body betrays you and your fingers instinctively loosen under the warmth of his hands. He adjusts your grip on the knife, his chest just barely brushing against your back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his chin almost resting against the curve of your shoulder. “Now, let the blade do the work. No unnecessary force.”

You swallow, nodding. He guides your wrist smoothly, showing you how to make precise, even slices. “Better,” he praises. And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he tilts his head and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

You freeze.

His lips linger for just a second, a whisper of warmth against your skin, before he pulls back with a smirk. “You’re still lacking a lot, though,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. “But at least you’re slightly better than last time.”

You try to steady yourself, though the sudden tightness in your chest refuses to ease. This isn’t new. This isn’t foreign. Jimin has always been like this. Always lingering close, always touching without thinking, always kissing your temple as if he has the right to. For him, it’s just another evening. Another moment with his wife. For you, it’s a relic of something lost.

You clear your throat. “If you’re so good at this, why am I the one cooking?”

“Because you wanted to prove you could do it.”

“I never said that.”

He hums. “No, but I know you.” His fingers drift along your wrist before finally letting go, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he steps back. “You’re too stubborn to let me take over.”

Refusing to meet his gaze as you focus on the onions again. “Then maybe you should leave me to it.”

Jimin chuckles, but he doesn’t move away completely. Instead, he once again leans against the counter beside you, his presence unwavering.

“Alright, alright. I’ll just watch,” he says, though the mischief in his voice suggests otherwise. “But don’t blame me when you start crying.”

You frown. “Why would I—”

Then it hits. The sting. The unmistakable burn creeping into your eyes.

Jimin bursts out laughing. “Oh no. Oh no. The mighty surgeon is about to be taken down by onions.”

You glare at him through watery eyes. “Shut up, Jimin.”

He gasps dramatically. “Yobo. Such harsh words.”

You groan, wiping at your eyes. “This is your fault. You distracted me.”

“I barely did anything.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Exactly.”

Jimin laughs again, reaching for your wrist and pulling you toward him slightly. “Come here,” he murmurs, thumb brushing under your eye. His touch is so unthinkingly gentle, so painfully familiar, that your breath stutters. For a moment, his amusement fades. His eyes trace your face, the laughter softening into something quieter.

You don’t move and neither doesn’t he. Just as quickly as the shift happened, he pulls back with a teasing smirk. “You’re such a mess, Y/N.”

You blink, the moment slipping through your fingers before you can grasp it. “You’re the mess.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “I am a very refined man.”

Focusing back on the cutting board you mutter. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Jimin watches you for a second longer, then reaches out removing a lash that rested on your cheek. In his ever-silly habit he looks at the lash before he blows at it. Something like a good luck omen, he used to say.

Dinner pass by quickly. Jimin again teases you over how you cut the onions (despite his expert guidance), complains dramatically about the lack of meat in the dish, and makes a show of sighing in exaggerated bliss after each bite, telling you he always knew you’d make a good housewife one day.

You again roll your eyes, swatting at him with a dish towel, and he just laughs in that way that makes your stomach clench. By the time you clear the plates and remind him about his medication, Jimin was in such a joking mode you were sure you’d kill him.

“Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s take care of your wounds before bed.”

Jimin groans while standing up, forgetting for a minute that he indeed had surgery but that didn't flatten the teasing mood he was in. “Ah, nurse Y/N is back on duty.”

As you walk toward the bedroom, Jimin hums thoughtfully behind you. “Didn’t realize surgeons did minor injuries too. Should I be worried you’re overqualified for this?”

You push the door open without looking back. “Don’t worry. If I get bored, I’ll find something to operate on.”

He chuckles, following you inside. The room is dimly lit, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow against the walls. You kneel on the edge of the bed, the first-aid kit open beside you, its contents neatly arranged.

With a casual ease, Jimin pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He moves like it’s nothing, because to him, it is nothing. His bare skin, the familiar curve of his back, the old scar near his ribs that you once traced absentmindedly in bed these are things he doesn’t think twice about. You’re his wife. There’s no hesitation in the way he reveals himself to you.

He sits in front of you, legs slightly spread, his arms resting lazily on his thighs. He watches as you peel away the old gauze from the wound just below his ribs, the dried edges sticking to his skin. A sharp intake of breath leaves him as you work, but he doesn’t complain.

The stitch has pulled open slightly not deep enough to be serious, but enough to need redressing. You’re about to reach for the antiseptic when you notice the bruising around it. A deep, ugly shade of purple spreads across his side, blooming outward like ink in water. It wasn’t just a minor fall. This was a hard, blunt impact, something that rattled through his body. Your fingers press lightly against the skin around the bruising. Jimin hisses softly, his stomach tensing under your touch.

“This wasn’t just from the stitches pulling,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Jimin exhales through his nose. “Guess I took more of a hit than I thought.”

Your jaw tightens, but you say nothing, focusing instead on cleaning the wound. Your hands move with practiced ease, pressing fresh gauze into place, taping it down securely. You glance up, adjusting the bandage on his forehead next, making sure it sits properly.

As you do, your eyes trace the tattoos along his arms and collarbone.

The script curling over his ribs, half-covered by bruising. The delicate crescent moon near his wrist. The constellation mapped over his forearm, faint scars peeking through the ink. The phrase Nevermind etched onto his ribs, stark against the bruises, as if the words are mocking his current state. You don’t realize you’re staring until Jimin muses. “Didn’t take you for the staring type.”

You ignore him as you finish securing the last bandage. “I was checking for more injuries.”

Jimin hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

You start to pull away, but your fingers graze against something unexpected. A shift in his posture, a glimpse of ink just beneath his ribcage. You still, nudging the fabric of his pants slightly downward to see it fully.

A lily.

The sight of the lily tattoo carves into you like a blade. Your birth flower. A symbol of hope. Something Jimin once considered you to be. Your breath falters. He never had this before. If he had, you would have noticed you would have known.

The weight of that realization slams into you all at once. Jimin got this after the divorce. Somewhere in the life he can’t remember, he marked his body with a piece of you..

Jimin, oblivious to the storm raging inside you, notices you stopped. His grip around your waist tightens and his warmth seeps through your clothes, anchoring you when you feel like you might collapse under the weight of it all.

He's watching you carefully. “What is it?”

You force yourself to swallow, to breathe, to keep your expression neutral but you fail spectacularly. Jimin’s gaze flickers downward, following yours. He frowns, as if trying to figure out what’s holding your attention. He looks at the tattoo, his own tattoo, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

A deep crease forms between his brows. “Did I… always have this?”

His voice is soft, uncertain. Your throat is too tight to speak. Jimin studies it like it’s foreign, something detached from him. His fingers twitch slightly against your back before smoothing over your waist again, his hold instinctive. “It’s a lily,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely.

His gaze moves back to yours, searching. “That means something to you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember why he has it. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the emotion from rising too fast, too visibly. But Jimin isn’t stupid. Even without the memories, he knows you.

His voice dips. “Did I get this… for you?”

You can’t answer. You should but you can’t.

The truth sits heavy on your tongue, an unbearable weight pressing against your ribs. Jimin watches you, his confusion growing, his hands unmoving around your waist as if anchoring himself through you.

Seconds stretch between you. You feel his breathing slow, controlled measured, like he’s trying to make sense of all of this. The way your fingers hesitate. The way your gaze lingers on the ink like it holds something devastating.

Then, finally, softly and tentatively he speaks up.

“I got this for you, didn’t I?” It’s not really a question.

His voice carries no certainty, only quiet realization. You nod. Just once. Hi fingers flexing slightly before slipping away from your waist. He leans back a little, studying the tattoo again, trailing his fingers over the inked petals as if the touch alone might unlock something. But his expression remains blank. Empty.

“I don’t remember,” he murmurs, his brows drawing together.

You knew he wouldn’t. But hearing it out loud still feels like a sharp crack down your chest. He’s quiet for a moment, turning his hand to get a better look at the other tattoos marking his skin the ones he does remember, the ones tied to memories he still owns.

“Did I get it because you liked lilies?” he asks. “Or was it something else?”

Something else.

You force a breath past your lips, trying to keep your voice steady. “You always said lilies were a sign of hope.”

Jimin blinks. “I did?”

“You said they survive through seasons, no matter what.” A pause, “That’s what you thought I was.”

“I don’t remember that either,” he says quietly.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the ache in your ribs, the way his fingers keep brushing over the ink like he’s trying to will the memory back into existence. So, you do the only thing you know how to do, you ease the moment.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat, reaching for the antiseptic again, “it would’ve been nice if you got it somewhere that didn’t make dressing your wounds a nightmare.”

Jimin's caught off guard but manages to show a ghost of a smile. “Seriously?”

You shrug, pressing a clean bandage over his ribs, careful with your touch. “I’m just saying. Of all the places.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

You know he won’t push, won’t ask the questions that might make your hands shake again. But something about the way he looks at you tells you this isn’t over. Eventually, he’ll remember. Or maybe, he’ll ask again but for now, you tape down the bandage, press your hands against your lap.

Jimin moves to the side, his gaze landing on the closet behind you. The door is slightly open, revealing his neatly arranged clothes the same ones he left behind. Everything of his is still here, untouched, exactly as it always was but something is missing.

“Where are your clothes?”

“Clothes? “ You freeze for half a second before glancing around, only now realizing that you never moved them back from the guest room. 

“Your clothes. Your books. Your skincare stuff that usually clutters up the counter.” He frowns. “Did you move them?”

“I’ve been… rearranging stuff.” It’s a weak excuse, and Jimin sees right through it.

 “You always do that. Used to drive me crazy.” A flicker of amusement dances across his face before his gaze softens in memory. “Remember when you moved in?” , he says, “You were so organized. Didn’t even let me touch a single box. I think I gave up after the first hour.”

The memory filters in like warm light through old curtains. The first night in your shared apartment-boxes stacked high, exhaustion weighing on you both, a failed attempt at getting the bed set up.

“You were so insistent that everything had to be in its place,” he continues, grinning. “And then we ended up sleeping on the mattress in the living room because you couldn’t finish unpacking.”

A small laugh escapes before you can stop it. You remember. Jimin catches the sound. “See? Not all my memories are gone.”

You force a small smile back, but it feels thin, fragile.  As you move through the room, still shaken from the moment before, his voice breaks the silence. “Turn off the lights before you go to bed.”

You reach for the switch, but as you take a step toward the door, Jimin’s voice stops you. “Did you forget something?”

“What do you mean?”

Whenever someone would describe you the first adjective they'd use was precise-aware, however the more you time you spent with Jimin the more you felt like you're everything but that. You would stumble over words, repeat questions in hopes that the outcome would be different.

Jimin points to you then to the doors as if the answer was obvious. “Well… you’re leaving.”

You begin to feel small, unsure how to respond so you go with the option you thought was solid. “Yeah. To sleep in the guest room.”

Boy were you wrong.

 “Come on,” he murmurs, eyes already half-lidded. “You’re going to lecture me about getting proper rest, right? So just sleep here What? You need an official invitation?” he sighs dramatically, patting the empty space beside him, “Y/N, just get in bed already.”

You shift awkwardly on your feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jimin lifts his head slightly, his eyes telling you how much you're bullshiting. “Why not?”

You scramble for an excuse. “Your injuries. I don’t want to accidentally hit you while you’re sleeping.”

Jimin snorts, already having an arsenal of situations where you obviously didn't care about his comfort. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous.” He props himself up on one elbow, looking entirely unconvinced. “Even on your worst nights when you tossed and turned like a possessed human tornado, you never hurt me.”

“Still, I don’t want to risk it. Your ribs are healing, and I—”

“Even when I broke my hand, you still slept beside me,” Jimin interrupts, tilting his head. “And when I got that horrible flu and was burning up? You didn’t leave my side for three nights straight.” He shakes his head, feigning offense. “Now suddenly, you’re acting like I’m made of glass?”

You try to deflect, the situation feeling like a boxing match where one waits for the knock-out . “I guess I just became more considerate over the years.”

Jimin narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You try again. “Besides, I’ve been sleeping in the guest room. The bed is already set up for me, and I don’t want to—”

“If you don’t get in bed right now,” Jimin warns, “I’m going to pick you up and toss you in myself.”

Your eyes widen in alarm. “Jimin—your ribs—”

“Then hurry up,” he sing-songs, smirking as he shifts slightly, patting the mattress once more.

You linger in the doorway for a moment before exhaling. Maybe it is better to just join him. You sigh, realizing there’s no way out of this. “Fine.”

Moving slowly, you sit on the edge of the bed before cautiously laying down. Every muscle in your body is tense, keeping a careful distance from him.

Jimin stares at you, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

You blink. “What?”

He reaches over and tugs you toward him, his arm slipping comfortably around your waist. Your body stiffens. “Jimin—”

“Shh.” His breath brushes against your temple, warm and familiar. “Relax.”

You don’t. Not immediately. Softly, Jimin speaks up. “Did we have an argument before my accident?”

Your fingers curl into the blanket. “Why do you think that?”

He hums. “You moved your stuff, you’re tense around me, and you were obviously sleeping in the guest room.”

Your throat tightens, but you force a small sigh. “I told you. I’ve just been rearranging things.”

Jimin hums again, but this time, his hand finds yours in the dark, fingers intertwining. His lips press gently to the back of your hand, the warmth lingering even after he pulls away.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good night.”

You turn onto your side, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Jimin’s breathing is steady beside you, deep and even completely unaware. The sedatives you gave him are working, keeping him locked in a dreamless sleep while you lie awake, drowning in the silence.

Your fingers press against your lips, desperate to muffle the sound as the first sob escapes. It’s quiet, nearly swallowed by the stillness of the room, but it shakes through you nonetheless.

Your shoulders tremble as you bury your face into the pillow, breath stuttering against the fabric. You don’t mean to fall apart not here, not now, not beside him. But the ache in your chest is relentless, clawing its way to the surface no matter how tightly you try to hold it down.

He doesn’t remember losing you and yet, he still holds pieces of you. In his body, in his skin, in the lily inked beneath his ribs a mark of something he can’t recall but must have meant everything once.

Your breath breaks again, a silent, gasping sob that you try to swallow.

Jimin stirs slightly beside you, shifting in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake. He doesn’t notice the way you clutch at your own arms, the way you tremble beneath the weight of a grief that doesn’t belong in the present but lives here anyway.

You press your face deeper into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut.

Tomorrow, you’ll pull yourself together. You’ll find the right words, the careful lies, the quiet deflections that keep the truth buried but tonight, you let yourself break in silence.

And Jimin oblivious, untouched sleeps on.

_________

The next day is lighter or at least compared to yesterday.

The scent of fresh coffee is warm and inviting, mixing with the morning air seeping through the window cracks. Jimin follows it, adjusting to the unfamiliarity of movement, his feet pressing against the hardwood floor with quiet steps, careful but curious.

When he reaches the doorway, he stops. You’re sitting at the dining table, one hand curled around a mug, the other scrolling through your phone.

The steam from the coffee rises in lazy swirls, dissipating into the soft morning glow. He stays there, watching you, feeling at home in a way that doesn’t feel earned. 

You sense him before you see him, but you don’t look up immediately, taking another slow sip of your drink.

."Did Scarlett Johansson do anything new?"

You exhale a soft sound of amusement. Not startled. Not surprised. Just… expecting. “She’s still acting.” Your voice is even as turn your screen toward him. “A few indie films, some bigger projects. Emma Watson took a break but focused on activism.”

Jimin hums, stepping further inside. “Good for them.”

He moves to pour himself coffee, his fingers wrapping around the familiar handle of the mug. His hand moves automatically toward the sugar jar, fingers resting against the lid. Without thinking, he looks at you. “You still take two spoons, right?”

“Not anymore,”

Jimin’s frown deepens slightly, and his grip on the sugar jar loosens. That doesn’t make sense. His eyes dart to you, searching for something in your expression, but you remain impassive. Before he could question the answer, you turn back toward the sink, rinsing out your mug as if the conversation never happened.

When he reaches opens a drawer, he swore was where you place the utensils only for it to be filled with spatulas does he realize how much the apartment changed. The bones of the space are familiar the layout, but then there are the differences.

The arrangement of the kitchen utensils is different. The couch isn’t the same one he remembers it’s darker, newer, missing the faint tear in the cushion he swore he’d fix. The picture frames on the bookshelf are different, some missing entirely.

He pushes off the counter continuing yesterday’s exploration of the living room He hesitates in front of the framed photographs. Some of them are the same your wedding photo, a candid from your honeymoon, a snapshot of a festival you once attended together.

However, there are gaps. Spaces where photos used to be, now replaced with generic prints of landscapes or nothing at all. He lifts a hand, touching the frame of a photo he doesn’t recognize, you with a few people he doesn’t immediately recall.

It's a photo from your first day of fellowship, standing beside Hannah and Yoongi. The three of you are smiling, arms slung around each other, a moment captured in the midst of new beginnings. 

It’s a frozen piece of time Jimin was never a part of, one of many gaps he has yet to fill. He doesn’t know their faces, doesn’t recognize the context, but something about the image unsettles him, a subtle reminder of the years that exist beyond his reach.

You debated whether to include it, but you thought it would feel natural for you to have a memory of the beginning fellowship and friends you hang out with. 

He calls out for you, and once he grabs your attention he points at the photo. "I don’t know them."

"You never really got the chance to," you say walking towards him. "That’s Hannah, my best friend and Yoongi, co-worker. We started our fellowship together."

Jimin absorbs the information. "You should introduce me to them when we go to the hospital. I still need to see who’s new on the staff."

"They work at another hospital." 

Jimin, as extroverted as he might seem, he liked to have an inner circle of friends who he rarely expanded. Therefore, you never thought he’d ask to meet them. Sure, inquire who your new friends were, but to meet them? Not really.  

Perhaps you should’ve lied or never included the photography, but it eased your heart to have portions of your life after the divorce displayed for him to see. After the memories come back maybe he’ll resent you less if he knows not everything was a lie.

"Oh? Then how’d you meet them?"

"A conference," you smile as you remember the time your hospital provided a hall which was filled with future fellows who were finding seats.

They explained it as sort of a meeting conference where you could network with people. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi or Hannah your paths intertwined way before you started working together.

Hannah ever the clumsy one slipped as she tried to maneuverer herself onto the seat next to, the sudden commotion making Yoongi spill his coffee all over you. "One of those long, drawn-out events where everyone fights to stay awake."

Jimin chuckles. "Sounds about right. Let me guess, you were the type to take actual notes?"

"And you would’ve been the one doodling on the pamphlet."

He laughs. "Hey, don’t underestimate the art of conference doodling. It kept me awake."

As if a thought had just sprung to his mind, his eyes widen as he claps his hands together. "What about Kaya? You guys still tight?"

"No," you say, snorting at the mention of her name. "We lost touch."

Jimin frowns. "Wait. What? You two were attached at the hip. What happened?"

You exhale briefly as pictures of her teareyed face flash in front of you. "She hurt someone we both care about."

Jimin watches you for a beat before realization flickers across his face. "Wait. No. Don’t tell me—Jungkook?"

You nod. "They broke up. Three years ago."

Jimin’s lips part slightly, eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. “Kaya and Jungkook broke up? I thought they were basically glued together. When did that happen?"

"Three years ago," you say, watching his reaction. You brace for his response, knowing that disbelief is about to hit.

Jimin waves his hands for a second, gesturing for you to reverse. "Okay, hold on. Kaya and Jungkook, the couple that made us all nauseous with their cutesy texts and matching outfits, broke up? I need details."

You press your lips together, debating how to soften the blow before deciding there's no point sugarcoating it. "She cheated on him."

Jimin stares at you for a long moment before he whistles. "Damn. And here I thought she was ride-or-die for him. Turns out she was just ride-for-someone-else."

He rubs his temples as if he has a headache. "I mean, I know relationships aren’t perfect, but they were basically the blueprint of a long-term couple. What, did she wake up one day and decide to self-destruct?"

You offer a small shrug. "Yeah. We all thought they were solid. Guess not."

You loved Kaya, after all she was someone with whom you grew up with. From high school to university and a small portion of your adult life but by the end of her relationship with Jungkook she changed. Never responded to any texts, always making excuses when you invite her for drinks and after a while you just let it be. 

Jimin runs a hand through his hair, still trying to process. "Man, I wish I could’ve been there when Jungkook found out. Did he flip a table? Punch a wall? Write a whole album about it?"

You shake your head with a light chuckle. "No table flipping, but I’d say his gym membership got put to very good use. And as for the album? Well, you should check his discography when you get the chance."

He moves towards the couch, finding a comfortable spot in the middle of it. He touches the soft fabric as if he’s contemplating something. You half expecting him to fish out his phone and blast Jungkook’s I hate you as a form of belated support for the chaotic breakup however, he glances at you, lips curving into something more mischievous. 

"You know this couch has seen a lot. Heard a lot, too."

You curse under your breath forgetting how Jimin tends to drop bombshell sentences here and there just to gloat at your reaction. Your cheeks warm instantly, and you shake your head, already regretting giving him any reaction. "Jimin—"

He winks, stretching out lazily as he settles into the cushions. "No need to get shy now. We practically lived here half the time. Spent majority of it watching k-drama."

Your lips part in protest, but no real words come out. He’s not wrong. The couch had been your shared sanctuary; movie nights turning into tangled limbs, lazy Sundays melting into laughter and stolen kisses. 

"While you pretended to hate them, but actually got really into the plot?"

Jimin drops his head onto the cushions. "I stand by my criticism. But yeah, maybe I got a little invested."

Before you counter back stating how it was more then little invested, he made charts of different characters to keep up with the plot, his stomach growls.

"Hungry?" you ask, needing something to do with your hands.

Jimin nods, placing a hand over his stomach. "You still make breakfast, or did you become one of those coffee-only morning people?"

You roll your eyes. "I still eat, Jimin."

He grins, standing up. "Good. Then let me help."

You stop him with a light push against his chest. "You should rest."

"I’m not an invalid," he counters, passing by you and moving toward the fridge. "Come on, I can still crack an egg."

You watch him, debating whether to argue before sighing. "Fine. But no lifting anything heavy."

Jimin smirks. "Relax, I’m just here for moral support."

The kitchen fills with the soft sound of movement, the clinking of plates, the sizzle of butter in a pan. Jimin listens to you hum a melody he can't pinpoint but it feels nice. "You still hum when you cook," he notes.

You pause, becoming increasingly aware of the melody dropping from your lips. "Maybe."

"No maybe," he teases. "You used to do it all the time. Even when you didn’t realize."

You focus on the food, flipping an egg carefully. "Muscle memory, I guess."

Jimin hums. "Seems to be a theme this morning."

You pull the food onto the plate pushing it towards him. "Eat. Before you start analysing me like one of your case studies."

Jimin picks up his fork. "Too late."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you both settle into the moment.

Jimin takes a bite, humming in appreciation. "Still good at this. I was half-expecting you to have turned into a takeout-only kind of person."

You stab at your food with a fork. "Just because you lived off convenience stores and ramen doesn’t mean I do."

Jimin nudges your foot under the table. "Hey, those were dark times. And I survived."

He takes his final bite pushing the plate away as he wipes his mouth. "So, what’s the plan for today? Or am I just supposed to lounge around and bask in your hospitality?"

You snort. "That depends. Think you can handle a short walk without me calling Namjoon for backup?"

"I’ll have you know, I am fully capable of walking without medical supervision."

"We’ll see about that. Get dressed, then."

Jimin stands up with exaggerated effort. "Fine, fine. But only because I’m curious where you’re planning to drag me."

You don’t answer as you clear the plates. He watches you for a moment before heading toward the bedroom, leaving you standing in the quiet hum of the kitchen, collecting yourself before what comes next.

___________

The days pass by in a blink of an eye.

One of the days Jimin spends most of it resting in the room, exhaustion pressing heavy against his bones. Sleep comes in short bursts, light, restless. The remnants of a headache cling to him, dull but persistent, and though his body craves rest, his mind refuses to settle.

When he finally wakes up, the apartment is cast in the soft glow of the evening. He checks his phone before stepping out of the bedroom, his feet moving without thought. As he comes closer to the living room, he hears it. 

Your voice.

Soft, delicate, threading through the apartment like silk. The melody is unfamiliar, but the moment he steps into the living room, the words settle into his chest.

“Be my only love”

You’re sitting near the window, the gentle city lights casting a warm glow on your skin. Your eyes focused on charts, lost in the music as you sing Only by Lee Hi, your voice wrapping around each note with quiet ease. The sound is hauntingly beautiful and pure woven into it.

He stills. His vision impairs with black and blue dots, a pain pierces through him as he slowly lowers himself to sit on the stair.

A memory flashes in bits and pieces. He sees you, but not here. Not now.

You at the Han River. The night sky stretched endlessly above, the lights reflecting on the rippling water like scattered stars. The laughter of a small crowd fills the air, a speaker crackling as music hums from it.

He watches as Jungkook pulls you forward by the wrist, a grin playing on his lips.

“Come on, you have to sing at least one song,” Jungkook teases, pushing you toward the makeshift stage where a small audience has gathered. “You can’t just sit there and enjoy everyone else—you’re the best singer here.”

You resist slightly, but Jungkook is relentless, playful yet firm as he pushes you closer. Hoseok and Namjoon clap from the sidelines, their cheers blending with the laughter of strangers encouraging you.

Jimin sees himself there too, standing just behind them, watching.

You turn, shooting Jungkook a mock glare before agreeing, not like you could ever refuse the younger friend. You take the microphone, adjusting it slightly, your fingers brushing against the metal and you sing. Body do you sing.

“The words I sincerely wanted to say”

Jimin’s breath catches as the memory sharpens, the lyrics spilling effortlessly from your lips. Your voice carries over the gentle hush of the river, weaving through the night like a whispered secret. Your eyes find him in the crowd, as you smile from ear to ear. All goes still, for a moment. 

His heartbeat. The murmur of the crowd. The distant cityscape blinking like fireflies against the dark. The only thing that exists in that moment is you.

“I say, ‘I love you'”

You close your eyes, letting the song carry you, and Jimin swears he can feel the love he has for you grow deeper and deeper, to a point where it hurt. The way your voice reaches him even through time. The way the lyrics guide him back to you.

Each word makes the memory clearer, each note threading through the haze of his mind, pulling him deeper, deeper—

Until he can almost feel it.

“Be my only love”

Jimin exhales sharply, the present rushing back in, slamming into him with quiet force. He manages to get up, his fingers curled around the handrail, his chest tight.

Two days later, he helps you rearrange the bedroom - more like annoys to oblivion - watching as you fold clothes and straighten up the space, your movements fluid, practiced. A part of him wants to ask if you could postpone this and just lazily spread on the couch as you watch a movie, but he knew you. Knew you well enough to already see you rolling your eyes and dismissing him.

As you smooth down the last bedsheet, something catches his eye. A door. It’s one he barely noticed before, but now it stands out, pulling at something in the back of his mind. A faint recollection.

“When we moved in, you didn’t know what to do with this room.” The memory comes in fragments, your voice, thoughtful and uncertain, as you had stood in the empty space, debating its purpose. He remembers suggesting a study. You had considered a reading nook. But beyond that, nothing. The rest of the memory remains blank.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches for the handle and pushes the door open. The room is bathed in soft afternoon light. And in the middle of it a piano. A grand, glossy black piano.

Music sheets are scattered over the floor, some stacked haphazardly on a nearby shelf. The sight is so out of place, so unexpected, that Jimin feels the air leave his lungs because this isn’t just any piano. This is his. However, that doesn’t make sense.

The last time he touched it, he was eighteen. Still finishing musical academy, still pretending that playing could be more than just a fleeting dream before stepping into the real world. He had walked away from it, from the late-night compositions, from the melodies that once poured so naturally from his fingers. His parents made sure of that.

Jimin swallows, stepping further inside, his hand brushing the cool surface of the instrument.

“Why is this here?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His gaze drifts to the doorway and you’re still standing there, frozen. Your fingers grip the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes locked onto the piano as if you’re staring at something impossible. It takes a moment, but he sees it the raw emotion flickering across your face, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your lips part but no words come out.

“You—” His voice is hesitant. “You look just as surprised as I am.”

You blink, snapping out of your trance. “I… I thought you got rid of it.”

Jimin’s chest tightens at that because that means he didn’t just forget this piano, he also forgot a choice he made about it and that realization unsettles him in ways he can’t quite explain.

“When did I buy this?”

 “You didn’t.”

Jimin steps closer, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. “Then who—”

“It was my wedding gift to you,” you say quietly.

Jimin stills, waiting for an explanation he’s not sure he’s ready for. “You loved playing. More than anything.” 

Because before he was anything else, Jimin was music.

Before his name meant something, before he was pulled into the rigid path his parents set for him, he was a boy who livedthrough sound. He didn’t just play the piano; he became it. The keys were an extension of his hands, his soul translated into notes that hung in the air like poetry. He could hear the emotions in a song before reading the sheet, could compose melodies before he could properly explain them.

But talent meant nothing to the people who raised him.

“Music is not a career,” his father had told him, dismissive and firm. “It’s a hobby. And hobbies don’t pay the bills.”

So, he studied economics instead. Sat in lecture halls with textbooks too heavy in his hands, numbers running together in front of his tired eyes. He went to meetings and luncheons with men who saw creativity as nothing more than a child’s whim. All while his piano sat untouched in his childhood home, the lid gathering dust.

When you bought him this one, when you placed the key in his palm on your anniversary day and told him, “If no one else lets you play, at least let yourself”, he had just stared at you, silent, breathless. That night he played for you, no sheet music, no rehearsed melody, jut him and the piano, filling the quiet of your new home with something raw and unspoken. That night, you sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder as he played. That night, you had closed your eyes, listening to the way his soul bled through the music.

A gift.

A love letter in the form of sound.

And now he stands in front of the same piano, staring at it like it’s a stranger in his own home. You see the way his breathing hitches, how his hands shake, fingers itching to reach out for something, but he doesn’t know what. His frustration isn’t just from the missing years it’s from knowing that he left music behind, made amends with never touching the piano, then coming back years later only to not remember it.

And he wishes he could.

He wishes he could step into that old symphony, into the late nights spent at the keys, into the silent love confessions stuck in every note. He wants to remember the weight of them, the way music once felt like home. Before he can break apart in front of you, you take a step forward. “Make a new memory.” 

His eyes snap to yours.

“Not to replace the old one,” you say softly, “but you can make another.”

Jimin doesn’t speak, but you can see the battle, the hesitation in his stance.  “Play the first thing that comes to your mind.”

For a moment, nothing happens then, slowly, hesitantly, his fingers settle over the keys. A pause. A sound followed soon after. The first few notes are tentative, uncertain, but as the melody takes shape, something shifts in him.

Chopin’s Spring Waltz.

Your favourite.

Your eyes sting because you know what this means. Even if his memories are fragmented, even if the past is slipping through his fingers like sand somewhere deep inside, his love for you still lingers.

As the notes spill into the quiet apartment, something inside Jimin unravels. His movements grow more fluid, more certain, like he’s slipping into something familiar and safe. And for the first time since he walked through your door, he doesn’t feel lost.

You’re unaware of holding your breath until a gentle exhale escapes you. As Jimin diligently searches for something in the music, you’re gradually losing something precious because while Jimin is finding something in the music, you are losing something.

You remember watching him like this before his eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable yet open in a way only music could make him. He used to play for you late into the night, the piano’s voice an extension of his own, speaking in ways he never could.

Back then, you thought you understood every unspoken thing between you. Now, you wonder if understanding ever mattered when fate was so cruel. The melody shifts, swelling into something delicate yet achingly powerful. You’re curious if he notices that his fingers press a little harder during certain passages, as if there’s something lingering in his chest that he can’t voice.

Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t but you notice.

Jimin’s hands remain on the keys, unmoving. His shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you. You don’t realize your own eyes are glassy until you blink, and a tear that you weren’t even aware of slips down your cheek.

You wipe it away quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That was beautiful.” 

Jimin's expression is unreadable, but there’s something fragile in his gaze. “I don’t remember playing this for you before,” he murmurs

“You did,” you whisper, forcing a small smile. “Many times.”

“I want to remember.”

It’s not a demand. It’s not spoken in frustration or anger. It’s quiet. Almost pleading. You open your mouth, then close it as you step closer, hesitating for only a moment before gently placing a hand over his on the keys.

“Then let’s keep playing,” you say, voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

Jimin doesn’t move for a moment. “Okay.”

So, you sit beside him and just like that night, years ago, he plays for you. 

A week later, you needed new books specifically, ones on medical advancements and cardiovascular research. Jimin hadn’t planned on coming along, but when you grabbed your coat, he instinctively reached for his own. Now, you’re wandering through the aisles of a quiet bookstore.

He trails behind you, watching as your fingers glide over the spines of books, pausing now and then to pull one free. There’s something peaceful about it, the way you move with familiarity, completely at ease in this space.

Jimin looks around. His interest lands on a display of fiction novels near the window, and for a moment, his eyes blur again like last time, the edges of his vision softening—

A different bookstore. A different time.

He sees himself walking down a narrow aisle, fingers intertwined with someone’s. The warmth of a hand in his own. A voice, light, teasing. “You always go for the same kind of books.”

He turns his head, catching a glimpse of blonde hair, tucked behind a delicate ear. The memory shifts, a quiet laugh, the press of a shoulder against his. He watches as she reaches for a book, flipping through the pages lazily before passing it to him.

“You should read this one.”

His chest tightens. It’s you. It has to be. The warmth, the familiarity—it’s you.

Except…

Except something is wrong.

The memory begins to fray at the edges. His grip on the past wavers as he tries to focus on the details. The blonde hair. The voice—so familiar yet… not quite right.

He blinks, the memory slipping away, and suddenly, he’s back in the present, standing in the middle of the bookstore. His pulse feels uneven, his palms slightly clammy. His eyes land on you again, standing a few feet away, flipping through a textbook.

“Did you ever dye your hair blonde?” The question leaves his lips before he even realizes he’s asked it.

You stand few feet away startled. “What?”

“Your hair.” Confusion is threading into his tone. “Was it ever blonde?”

“No. Why?”

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately. His mind reels, replaying the memory again, trying to make sense of it. He could have sworn it was you. The way she held his hand, the way she smiled up at him, the way she felt so…

Familiar.

But it wasn’t you. A strange sensation creeps into his chest an unsettling mix of doubt and unease. If the memory wasn’t of you, then who?

His breath catches. Did he cheat on you?

The thought is a punch to the gut. His stomach twists, nausea creeping up his throat. Why was he holding another woman’s hand? Why did the memory feel so natural, so intimate? His heart pounds in his chest, the walls of the bookstore suddenly feeling too close, too suffocating.

“No reason,” he finally says. “I just thought I remembered something.”

You sense something is wrong but you don’t ask. Instead, you turn back to the book in your hands, flipping a page absently.

For the rest of the afternoon, he’s distant. He barely speaks as you walk back home, his responses clipped, his thoughts elsewhere. His mind replays the memory over and over, searching for an answer that won’t come.

That night, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The warmth of a hand in his. The soft murmur of a voice. A memory that doesn’t belong to you. Jimin turns onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut.

And for the first time since waking up, he’s afraid to remember.

The day you go back to work finally arrives. More than a week has passed since you two came home, and Jimin’s wounds are healed enough for him to move around without you having to micromanage every move of his. You walk through the apartment with quiet efficiency, pulling on your coat and gathering your things, preparing for your first day back at work.

Jimin watches from the couch, one arm resting on the back of the cushions, his gaze following your every movement. There’s something comforting about the routine the way you check your bag twice, the way you tie your hair up only to take it down again, second-guessing the style.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until you glance at him.

“What?” you ask, adjusting your watch.

“Nothing,” he says then after a beat, he sits up. “I’ll come with you.”

You pause, your fingers stilling on the buttons of your coat. “What?”

“I need to see Namjoon.” His voice is calm, but there’s something in his expression something unreadable. “The headaches… they aren’t going away, and it’s time for my check-up anyway.”

You study him for a moment, then nod. “That’s a good idea.”

Jimin stands, walking to the hallway and about to reach for his coat when he notices a dark bomber jacket that is hanging next it. His fingers automatically move to graze over the material before tugging at the sleeve.

"This is mine, right?" he asks, holding it up.

"Yeah. Namjoon was with you when you bought it," you say, "You saw it in a shop window and tried it on immediately."

Jimin’s fingers pause slightly before resuming their slow glide over the material. "Did I say something dramatic about it?"

"You went on about how it was 'the perfect balance between street style and functionality.'"

Jimin cringes. "Did I really say that?"

"According to Namjoon, you did. You even threw in the phrase timeless design. Namjoon was waiting for the sales rep to give you a sponsorship deal."

You weren’t there to notice this scene firsthand, but when Namjoon dropped by with Jimin’s clothes he saw the jacket and started laughing. You didn’t think too much of it, perhaps the absurdity of the situation got to him.

Or having to ask Jimin’s mother to collect his friend’s clothes at the current girlfriend’s apartment and then have him drop it, at his friend’s shared apartment with the ex-wife’s who is currently again playing the role of his wife, was top notch comedy material.

However, he pulled the jacket out of the box and told you this fond memory and the way he spoke about it left an impression that besides funny interaction at the store there was something else that made him so happy, something he wanted to keep to himself.

Jimin makes a grimace, second hand embarrassment settling in. "God, I sound pretentious. Poor guy probably had to listen to me overanalyse it the whole way home. “

"You sound like a man who owns way too much Marvel merch."

He pinches your shoulder, offended by your words. "Excuse you. My collection is a work of art. And it’s well-rounded, okay? I didn’t just collect one hero; I was fair to all of them."

You clutch your bag, one leg out of the door. "Right. Because you totally didn’t have one shelf dedicated to Spider-Man alone."

Jimin leaves the jacket, switching it with his coat as he grabs the keys. "That was for aesthetic purposes."

"Sure, it was."

“To resume the paused conversation,” he adds, locking the apartment, “it’s not fair if you get to go back to saving lives while I just sit around doing nothing.”

You're already near the lift pressing the button for downstairs. “You’ve been resting, not doing nothing.”

“Feels the same to me.”

The city moves past in a blur, a mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar. The skyline stands like an old friend, unchanged, but everything beneath it has shifted in ways that make Jimin feel like a visitor in his own life. The streets are alive with the same energy, people weaving between each other, the distant wail of a siren swallowed by the hum of traffic, but the specifics betray time’s quiet betrayal. 

The ramen shop that once sat on the corner is gone, replaced by something sleeker, newer, detached. A boutique has taken over where a bookstore used to stand, its window displays full of things he wouldn’t know how to describe. He narrows his eyes slightly, as if looking hard enough might bring the past into sharper focus.

"That used to be a bookstore," he muses, nodding toward a sleek boutique with minimalist signage. His voice is casual, but there’s a slight tilt to his head, like his brain is struggling to process the change. "What happened to it?"

"Closed a while ago. Rent prices went up," you say, keeping your tone light.

"That ramen place is gone too and what's that? A boba shop?"

You don't need to follow his finger to know that he's talking about the colourful new signage that replaced the old family-run restaurant. "Boba became a trend nowadays, teenagers usually sit there after school. “

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line. "I feel old.”

“You are.”

Jimin lets out an offended huff. “Thirty-three is not old Y/N. If I am old so, are you.”

You take a turn to the left, eyes focused on the road. “I never said I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you can tell it unsettles him. The city he thought he knew has shifted without him, leaving him slightly out of step with reality. 

The radio interrupts the silences that nested itself between you before Jimin turns to you, brows slightly furrowed. "I wanted to ask you yesterday, but I forgot," he says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. His gaze flickers across the dashboard before he nods toward it. "This is a jeep."

“Was it the sheer height of it, or did the universe whisper it to you?"

Jimin rolls his eyes as he repeats your question, voice an octave higher to tease you before he answers. "You never liked big cars. You always said smaller ones were more practical."

You click your tongue. "You were very persistent about it, actually."

There's a flicker of intrigue in his dark eyes and you feel like he's waiting for you to fill in the blanks of a story he can’t quite remember. "I did?"

"Yeah. You didn’t want me to get the BMW. Said the Mercedes was better. And then you convinced me to get a jeep."

He blinks, his frown deepening as if testing the words, turning them over in his head. "Why would I push for a jeep?"

You hesitate before answering with a small shrug opting for a half-truth. "You always complained that my old car could never fit our suitcases when we went on trips. And you knew I never wanted to drive your car."

But the truth is heavier than that. The truth is, one evening over dinner, Jimin had dropped the kind of bomb that reshapes futures. 'If we ever have kids, your car wouldn’t be ideal,' he had said, so casually, so certain. His words had lingered in the air between you, not a suggestion, but a decision already made. 

And you, wanting to meet him in that imagined future, had adhered to his wishes without question. Your car had been replaced, the jeep had arrived, and in some small way, it had felt like preparing for something that never came. But now, looking at Jimin’s confused expression, that future feels further away than ever, like a dream you had once but forgot upon waking.

"Well, I can’t say the decision was bad, the car is spacious."

Beyond the windshield, the hospital comes into view, its reflective glass catching the morning sun. Jimin shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders slightly as if bracing himself.

"This one I remember," he mutters, voice quieter now, almost to himself.

The car slows as you pull into the parking lot. The hospital looms ahead, all reflective glass and sterile walls, a place that should feel clinical and detached but instead carries the weight of something more personal.

When you step out of the car, Jimin follows suit, and you both barely have time to exchange a word before a familiar voice calls out.

"You made it," Namjoon says, standing near the entrance, his gaze flickers between you and Jimin, assessing without making it obvious.

"Of course," you say, locking your car. "Thanks for meeting us."

Namjoon's face holds one too many question to answer with a raise of your brow you gesture for him to move on. "How are you feeling?"

Jimin thinks for a second as if it was a million dollar question. "Like I should be remembering more than I do. But physically, I think I'm alright."

Namjoon offers him a smile with laced with pity. "That’s a start. Let’s get you checked in."

Before you can respond, a voice calls your name from behind. One of the residents, dressed in scrubs, approaches quickly. "Dr. Y/L, sorry to interrupt, but could you consult on a case? It’s a post-op patient with some complications."

You shift between Jimin and Namjoon which catches the latter's attenion and steps in easily. "Go ahead," he says. "I’ll stay with him."

Jimin lifts a brow. "You’re babysitting me now?"

Namjoon smirks. "Something like that."

You press a light touch to Jimin’s forearm before following the intern. "I’ll find you after." 

Jimin watches you disappear down the hall with the resident before Namjoon motions for him to follow inside. "Come on," Namjoon says. "Let’s get this over with."

Jimin's point of view

Inside an exam room, Namjoon moves methodically, checking Jimin’s reflexes, eye movement, and responses to simple neurological tests. Jimin ever the one to be awkward with a longer pause or silence, decides to break it by asking more questions to fill in the gaps. 

"So, how’s everyone been? Jungkook, Hoseok, the guys?"

Namjoon steps away, writing something on a pad before he continues the exam. "Hoseok’s doing well. Your company is still thriving, no surprises there. Jungkook’s finally gone global, and Seokjin opened a restaurant last year."

Jimin's leg bounces against the floor. "Seokjin in a kitchen for real? Feels illegal."

Namjoon presses two fingers against Jimin’s wrist, checking his pulse. "It was a shock to everyone, but he’s been killing it. Opened this fancy restaurant last year. Exclusive but not pretentious. Classic Seokjin. He’s hands-on with everything, too, always yelling at his chefs but somehow still their favourite person."

Jimin recalls the memory of Seokjin insisting he had 'natural chef instincts' flickering somewhere in the back of his mind. "He always did say he could outcook half the restaurants in Seoul. Guess he wasn’t bluffing."

Namjoon makes Jimin track his finger with his eyes. "It’s weird, isn’t it? Catching up on years you lived but don’t remember."

Jimin’s jaw tightens slightly. "Yeah. Feels like I’ve been given a highlight reel instead of the full thing."

Namjoon hums in response before switching gears. "Jungkook’s still traveling, by the way. Spends more time overseas than in Korea these days."

"Yeah? What’s he been up to?"

By the way Namjoon's feature soften, Jimin can conclude that whatever Jungkook is doing, Namjoon supports it. "What hasn’t he been up to? World tour, a couple of magazine covers, some random adventure sports phase where he started skydiving because of course, he did."

"Let me guess. He tried to get you to go with him."

"Tried and failed. You, on the other hand, would’ve been on that plane in a heartbeat." Namjoon, pinches his nose.

Jimin smiles at that, but it’s brief. "I can’t tell if I miss it or if I just miss remembering it."

Namjoon watches him carefully, giving a slow nod. "Reflexes are good. You’re healing well. No sign of complications."

Jimin's hand comes up absently, touching his ribs, and he stills for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, a memory flickers to life.

"Wait… the guys��� trip. We went away for a few weeks, right? Somewhere in the winter?"

Namjoon pauses mid-motion. "Yeah. A cabin trip. Jungkook dragged us all snowboarding. You nearly broke your ankle."

Jimin glances sideways, image sharp and fresh. "Hoseok kept yelling at me to stop being reckless. He was freaking out."

"Yeah, because you were trying to do a backflip off a jump that Jungkook barely landed."

The memory makes Jimin laugh, eyes crinkling into half-moons. "Taehyung was there too. He kept trying to record us, saying he wanted ‘cinematic footage’. He always acted like he was shooting a film, making us redo things just to get a better shot."

Namjoon's posture remains neutral, but there's a subtle flicker in his eyes brief but telling. It’s slight just a second of hesitation, the tiniest pause in his movements. Jimin catches it.  However, Namjoon recovers quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, he was. He always got the best shots."

The warmth in Jimin's smile fades as he studies him with newfound scrutiny. "How is he? I feel like I should've talked to him more recently than that trip, but I can't remember anything after that."

Namjoon schools his expression, but the hesitation is there, enough for Jimin’s stomach to begin flipping as he feels that there is more than meets the eye.

"He’s… in Switzerland. Getting treatment." He says it carefully, as if weighing how much to reveal.

Jimin straightens slightly, a crease forming between his brows. "Treatment? For what? He was fine before, wasn’t he?"

Namjoon presses his lips together before speaking. "He needed time away, so he went to Switzerland to recover. It was the best option. “

Jimin’s gaze sharpens, tension creeping into his voice. "Why didn’t I go see him? Did I even know?"

Namjoon meets his eyes. "You knew. You had a lot going on, work, your personal life. It wasn’t intentional, just how things unfolded."

Jimin absorbs the information, but something about the way Namjoon is answering feels too structured. Like he’s picking his words carefully, making sure they fit together in a way that keeps Jimin from looking too closely. Not lying, but definitely not telling the whole truth either.

Jimin leans back. "So, he’s still in Switzerland? Is he okay now?"

Namjoon licks his lips, feeling like he’s losing the secure grip he had over the situation. "Yes, he’s still in Switzerland. He stayed longer than expected, focusing on treatment. “

Jimin nods slowly, the way his friend slowly begins to close up, divert the conversation leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "It feels weird, like I should remember more. Like I was supposed to check in on him. Was I?"

Namjoon’s arms folding over his chest. "It’ll come back in pieces. Sometimes memories just need the right trigger."

Before Jimin can press further, Namjoon moves on, gesturing toward Jimin’s bandages. "Take your shirt off. Let’s see how you’re healing."

Jimin obliges, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it onto the bed. The bandages covering his bruises stand out starkly against his skin, and for the first time, he truly looks at them.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through his thoughts. "She did these, didn’t she?" His tone is knowing, more of a statement than a question. He gestures at the neatly secured bandages, tilting his head slightly. "It’s stupid, but you can always tell when she’s the one who patched someone up. It’s a little too careful. Too precise. Like she’s making sure it holds even when it doesn’t have to."

Jimin feels like he should be serious, but he lived by the proverb asking stupid questions get stupid answer. " No I did them myself. With my impeccable one-handed skills and a tutorial video on how to make my injuries worse."

Namjoon rolling his eyes, steps away allowing Jimin to get dressed. "Right. Because that’s exactly what you’d do."

"Namjoon." His voice is quieter now. "When exactly did I get this?"

Namjoon turns around, following where Jimin’s finger was pointing. "Japan. About a year and a half ago.”

"Why, though? Why would I get this? Did I ever tell you?"

Namjoon shrugs, shoulders relaxing, for the first time he felt like he didn’t have to adjust the truth. "You never gave a straight answer. At first, you avoided talking about it completely. Then, one night after a few drinks you said it pained you. I thought you meant the tattoo itself, but you just shook your head and said, ‘Not the ink. The thought.’" He says rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You kept giving these cryptic answers, like it was something only you were supposed to understand. Hoseok and I were with you that night, but we couldn’t piece it together. It didn’t seem like something you wanted to explain."

"I call Y/N lily, you know. So, when I first saw this, I thought it had to be for her. But then…" He trails off. "Then I saw her reaction. She wasn’t just surprised, she looked hurt. Sad. It didn’t make sense. If this was for her, shouldn’t she have been - I don’t know, happy?"

Namjoon feels the guilt seep in, biting at his consciousness for he knew why her reaction was like that. "Jimin, sometimes things don’t fit into neat little boxes. Maybe you got the tattoo with one meaning in mind, but by the time you did, maybe things had already changed. Maybe it wasn’t about her the way you thought it was.“

Jimin stays quiet but his consciences doesn't let him rest. "It’s strange, though. How didn’t she know about it? If I got it for her, wouldn’t she have seen it before? Wouldn’t I have told her?"

Russian roulette, that’s how Namjoon feels like this conversation is going. One wrong move and he could be opening a pandora’s box with a bullet. "Maybe it just never came up or maybe you never showed her."

Jimin’s hands hit the table, irritation clear on his face. "Come on, hyung. You really think that makes sense? We lived together. There’s no way she wouldn’t have noticed."

Namjoon hesitates, already on the brink of slipping up. "You weren’t in the best place back then. Maybe you meant to tell her, but you never got around to it. Or maybe… you didn’t want to."

At this point Jimin was desperate, he felt like there was much to unbox but no matter how hard he tries it doesn’t budge. "That still doesn’t explain her reaction. She wasn’t just surprised, she looked..." he searches for the right word. "Like it hurt. Like it was something she never wanted to see."

Namjoon’s already sitting behind the desk, writing away his assessment, the conversation long finished in his mind and now he’s giving crumbles that could satisfy Jimin. "Then maybe it meant something different to her than it did to you."

"Hoseok was there too?"

Namjoon nods, silently apologizes to Hoseok hoping that he will find a better way to deal with Jimin. "Yeah. He might remember more, if you ask him. Maybe he caught something I missed."

Namjoon clears his throat. "Physically, you’re healing well. Reflexes are good, no sign of complications. Just keep taking it easy."

"You busy?" Jimin asks casually, though his tone is anything but.

"Depends. Why?"

Jimin shrugs, slipping his shirt back on. "Coffee. Or lunch. Something."

Namjoon understandes the underlying request. A moment to breathe. A moment to process outside of sterile walls and medical evaluations. "Alright. There’s a café a couple of blocks away. Let’s go."

Soon, Jimin finds himself sitting across from Namjoon at a quiet café near the hospital. Namjoon stirs sugar into his drink, his spoon tracing slow circles along the rim of the cup before he finally sets it down with a quiet clink.

“I’m glad you finally came in for your check-up,” Namjoon says, breaking the quiet first. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Jimin shifts his grip on the warm ceramic of his mug. “I’d never hear the end of it if I did.”

Namjoon exhales something between a chuckle and a sigh, taking a sip of his coffee before tilting his head slightly, studying Jimin. “How are you feeling? Any improvement?”

Jimin rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, considering. “The headaches come and go. Not as bad as before, but they still hit randomly.”

Namjoon runs his thumb over the edge of his cup. “That’s expected. Your brain is still trying to reconnect everything. The smallest things can act as triggers, scents, places, even a passing phrase.” He pauses. “Have you remembered anything new?”

Jimin drums his fingers once against the side of his cup before stopping himself. “Some things.” He keeps his tone light, casual, as if it isn’t keeping him awake at night. “Some are sharp, others feel… disjointed.”

“I remembered being in a bookstore,” Jimin draws circles on the table as he tries to remember more. “Walking through the aisles, holding Y/N’s hand.” He keeps his eyes on his coffee as he speaks. “She was laughing at something, me, maybe? She picked up a book and handed it to me like she already knew I’d like it.”

Namjoon is listening intently, trying to make something of what he is being told. “That sounds about right. Your memories might be resurfacing in pieces—details before context.”

Jimin leans back slightly, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “When did Y/N dye her hair blonde?”

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. It was about a year ago, I think? She went lighter for a while but changed it back not long after.”

Jimin doesn’t react. He just lifts his coffee and takes a slow sip, letting the heat settle in his chest as his mind works through the information.

A year ago.

That’s not what you said. A strange sensation unravels inside him, curling its way into his ribs, squeezing just enough to make his breath feel shorter than before. Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, continuing on, something about how the brain prioritizes emotional memories, but Jimin barely hears it. He keeps his expression neutral, nodding as though Namjoon’s words don’t shift the very foundation beneath him.

It could be nothing. A miscommunication, a lapse in memory. But it doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like proof.

One of you is lying.

And he needs to find out why.

By the time Jimin steps back into the apartment, the evening light has softened into gold, stretching long shadows across the floor. He toes off his shoes without thought, his mind elsewhere, tangled in the weight of the conversation he just had.

A year ago.

Namjoon’s words sit heavy in his chest, pressing against the space already thick with doubt. His body moves before his mind fully catches up, carrying him toward the bedroom with a quiet urgency.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for only that he needs to find something. He pulls open the first drawer of the nightstand, fingers sifting through neatly stacked belongings. A watch he hasn’t worn in months, a stray receipt, a set of wireless earphones. Nothing. He shuts it with a quiet thud and moves to the next.

Papers. Old notebooks with hastily scribbled lyrics, corners folded from use. He flips through them on instinct, his own handwriting staring back at him, filled with half-finished verses, melodies he no longer remembers composing. Nothing.

The tension in his chest tightens, winding itself around his ribs like a slow, deliberate vice. His movements become more hurried, dresser drawers pulled open with less care, hands pushing past neatly folded clothes, rifling through stacks of old letters, envelopes, anything that might—

His fingers still.

A small box, tucked toward the back of the drawer. Plain, unmarked. Something about it feels familiar.

He pulls it free, heart hammering against his ribs as he lifts the lid. Inside, photographs. Some of them stacked haphazardly, others in envelopes, edges slightly worn. He reaches for the first one and it’s you.

A candid shot standing near a window, sunlight spilling over your shoulder as you laugh at something outside of the frame. His fingers tighten around the photo. He flips through the others, a silent reel of moments captured on film. The two of you at a café, leaning close. You mid-sentence, gesturing animatedly. A blurry shot of you in his hoodie, sock-clad feet curled beneath you on the couch. And then a photo that makes his stomach drop.

Blonde hair.

The same bookstore aisle from his memory. His own hand in hers. A book between them, her smile barely visible at the edge of the frame. The air in the room feels suddenly too thick.

Jimin swallows hard, his fingers pressing into the photo as his pulse pounds against his temple. The memory had felt so sure like it belonged to you. But here, in his hands, is proof that it doesn’t. That it never did.

The photograph burns in Jimin’s hands.

Blonde hair. A memory that doesn’t belong to you.

The truth slams into him with unrelenting force he’s been remembering the wrong person. Or worse, he’s been remembering someone else entirely.

A sharp breath leaves his lungs, his fingers shaking as he tosses the photograph onto the bed like it’s something toxic. His head feels light, spinning, thoughts colliding too fast for him to make sense of. Who is she? Why does he remember her? Why? Why did it feel so real?

His vision blurs at the edges, his breathing uneven as he starts tearing through the room, like a man possessed. Drawers fly open, clothes shoved aside.

His hands push past shirts, socks, old receipts, searching for anything, anything that will make this make sense. Bills, takeout menus, hospital documents with his name on them, your old notes, faded receipts from restaurants he doesn’t remember visiting.

His elbow knocks against the vanity. Glass shatters.

The sharp, unmistakable sound of something breaking against the floor rips through the air. He stills, staring down at the mess your serum, the one you always used, the one that sat in the same place on your dresser for as long as he can remember. A drop of liquid slides across the tile. The scent light, floral, unmistakably you, fills the room curling in the air around him.

And then a memory slams into him.

His voice is sharp, unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?”

You flinch, standing in the center of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself, shaking. You won’t meet his eyes. Your breath comes uneven, raw, as if you’re barely holding yourself together.

“Jimin, stop—”

Glass shatters.

He’s thrown something. A frame. A photograph. It hits the floor with a sickening crack, the splintered glass scattering across the wood, reflecting fractured pieces of the two of you.

Jimin watches himself, watches the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breath ragged, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Watches the way you sink onto the edge of the bed, shoulders trembling, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes like you can push back the tears.

“You don’t get to cry,” he snaps. “Not when you did this.”

The memory fractures.

Jimin jerks back to the present, gasping, his fingers pressing against the edge of the vanity like it might ground him. His head throbs, his pulse hammering in his ears, but something clicks—

The blonde woman in the photo. The blonde woman who was sitting beside his parents when he woke up in the hospital. The one who was there when you walked in. The one who looked at you with something too familiar, too knowing.

Rosé.

His stomach drops. That was her. That was the woman in his memories. The pieces snap together with brutal clarity, forcing him to face what he’s been too disoriented to see. She wasn’t just there when he woke up. She was part of his life before he lost his memories.

But how? What was she to him? Why does he remember her hand in his at the bookstore, the softness in her voice, the way it felt like something that belonged to him?

And why, why did it feel more certain than anything else?

His knees feel weak. His hands tremble as he slowly crouches, picking up the broken shards of glass, setting them aside like it will somehow undo the destruction, like he can put back what’s already been broken.

By the time the floor is clear, and the vanity looks untouched again, Jimin walks to the living room. He sits on the couch, fingers pressed against his temples, his mind still racing.

Jimin doesn’t sleep. Not really.

When morning comes, he steps out of the apartment before you wake, his mind moving faster than his feet. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, only that he has to keep searching.

The hospital feels like the logical place to start, but walking through those halls won’t give him anything new. Not yet. Instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts, his finger hovering over a name he hasn’t thought about in years—

Hoseok.

He doesn’t second-guess himself before pressing the call button. It rings twice before a familiar voice filters through the speaker.

“Jimin?” Hoseok sounds surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “How are you? I wanted to reach out sooner but man these kids are killing me”

“Are you busy?” Jimin asks, “I need to talk.”

A pause. Hoseok sighs. “No, meet me at Office.”

Jimin arrives at their office building, the glass doors reflecting the city skyline behind him. If anyone will give him a real answer, it’s Hoseok. His old friend is waiting inside, leaning back in his chair, flipping through reports. His desk is cluttered, stock reports, investment portfolios, documents requiring signatures. Things Jimin should be familiar with. Things he isn’t.

“You look like hell,” Hoseok says, setting a pen down and meeting Jimin’s gaze.

Jimin smirks faintly, lowering himself into the chair opposite. “You’re not the first to say that.”

Hoseok lets out a quiet snort, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “Guess I’ll hold back the lecture then.”

Jimin studies him, keeping his posture relaxed. Casual. Familiar. That’s the key. He can’t be too direct. Not yet. 

“So,” he skims through the papers spread across the desk. “How’s everything been? Business still holding up?”

Hoseok crossing his arms. “Yeah. You left a mess, though. Some accounts need approval, and a few big investors are waiting for your confirmation on projects.”

Jimin rests his hands on his lap, fiddling his fingers a habit he picked up whenever he felt nervous. “Guess I really made my absence known.”

“You did.” Hoseok answer before throwing one of the papers in to a shredder bin “People were nervous. Stocks dipped a little after the accident. Some of our investors thought you might not come back.”

Jimin angles his chin slightly. “Did you think that?”

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Nah. Figured you’d drag yourself back eventually.”

Hoseok’s always been good at playing the game. Always two steps ahead. “Have you remembered anything new?”

Jimin presses nails into the palm of his hand to easen the anxiety that he felt was seeping out of him. “Here and there.”

Hoseok waits for a second, thinking Jimin might explain further. “Anything important?”

Jimin diverts his attention to the window. Push. Just a little. And that he does, eyes looking directly into Hoseok's. “Must’ve been nice having people around,” he muses, voice light. My parents, familiar faces.”

Hoseok’s expression doesn’t waver. “Of course. They had a lot of support.”

Jimin shifts in his seat. Nothing. Hoseok won’t budge. He’s too careful. He lets it go for now, letting the conversation drift. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Jimin gestures toward the framed photo on Hoseok’s desk. His wife and two kids smile back at him, their faces bright and full of life. A family Jimin should know well.

“Still dealing with two gremlins at home?” Jimin asks, resting his elbow on the chair’s armrest.

Hoseok although grateful for his family, the undeniable exhaustion eats him alive. “They’ve gotten worse. I swear, the younger twin is an evil mastermind.”

“Takes after you, then.”

“You’re damn right.” Hoseok’s eyes soften. “Somin’s growing too fast. Wants to start dance classes. Can’t believe she’s already six.”

Somin. The name rings in his ears, familiar yet distant, like something just out of reach. “I used to babysit, didn’t I?”

Hoseok nods. “Yeah. You and —” He stops, just briefly, before clearing his throat. “You helped out a lot.”

Jimin stills. Whose name was he going to say?  Hoseok catches himself fast, covering the slip smoothly. But it’s too late. Jimin heard it.

He has to restrain himself from digging up more, it would raising suspicion. Instead, he pretends he didn’t notice. “Guess I need to catch up on everything, huh?”

“Yeah. But take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“You sound like Namjoon.” Jimin says as he reaches out for Hoseok's visit card, slowly playing with it.

Hoseok fixes a strand of hair that fell out of its place before answering. “Namjoon’s the smart one.”

Jimin quickly disagrees before rising to his feet. Enough for today.

“Good seeing you, hyung.” He pats Hoseok’s shoulder as he walks past.

Hoseok stands up as if jolted awake. “Jimin—”

“I’ll be fine,” Jimin cuts in, flashing an easy smile. Lying effortlessly. “I always am.”

And then, without another word, he walks out, the weight of everything he still doesn’t know pressing against his chest like a vice. Now, he knows exactly where to look next. Jimin doesn’t hesitate.

He calls Jungkook the moment he steps outside.

“HYUNG?!” Jungkook practically shrieks. “OH MY GOD. ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU REMEMBER ME? WHAT YEAR IS IT? IS THIS A PRANK? WAIT, ARE YOU AN AI CLONE—”

“Jungkook,” Jimin interrupts, already wheezing from laughter. “Calm down.”

“I CANNOT BE CALM!” Jungkook yells. “I—OH MY GOD—OKAY—DO YOU REMEMBER ME?”

Jimin exhales dramatically. “Yes, Jungkook, I remember you.”

“WHO WAS MY FIRST CELEBRITY CRUSH?”

Jimin bites his tongue, even at the age of thirty Jungkook is behaving like a child. “IU.”

A half cry is heard from the other side followed by a minut elong silence. Jimin moves the phone away from his ear to check if the call is still on.

Just as he was about to call out his friend's name, Jungkook gasps as if he was fighting to catch air. “OKAY GOOD. YOU’RE REAL.”

Jimin rubs his temple, at least one person is the same as they were five years ago. Dramatic. “Can we meet?”

Jungkook pauses. “Serious talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Spain hyung,” Jungkook groans. “I’m in Spain, but I’ll be back in four days.”

Jimin looks around before he speaks, for some reason paranoia getting the best of him. “Keep this between us.”

“Hyung, do I look like a snitch?” something in the background breaks and Jungkook curses.

Jimin debates whether to ask what happened, but decides against it knowing that whatever happened Jungkook wouldn't explain it in three sentences. He would have to give a full report, all or nothing.

“Yes.”

Jungkook hisses, another thud sound. “Rude. Four days then.”

“Four days.”

[kn-1013]

Sal Headcannons

I've done headcannons and Larry and Travis, so now it's time for my Sal headcannons. CW for mentions of suicide.

His Jersey accent used to be a lot thicker, but faded over time as he lived in Nockfell. He still calls it 'wutter' instead of 'water' though, and Larry makes fun of him for it (S: Can I get some wutter? L: No, I can get you some water though).

Henry and Sal are pretty isolated from the rest of their family. Diane's family don't like Henry because they think he had something to do with Diane's death, and they've tried to influence Sal to believe that he did, but it didn't work. They aren't in contact with Henry's parents because quite frankly they're just awful people, and Henry hasn't spoken to them since Sal was very young.

Sal takes bugs outside with a cup and is unnerved by squishing them.

He can't drive because his depth perception has been pretty badly damaged from both losing one eye, and the mild brain damage he received after the shooting. He still feels comfortable enough to ride his bike most of the time, though.

Yeah, he got a bit of brain damage after the shooting, and experiences mild issues with balance, vertigo, depth perception, swallowing, occasionally with speech, and reading/reading comprehension.

He was born with a cleft lip and palette, and that coupled with the missing cheek and the brain damage makes it so that he has a mild speech impediment most noticeable with P's (they can sound more like B's), and S's (slight lisp), and he often slurs his speech slightly, especially when he's tired. He also has tendencies to skip over words when speaking, say them out of order, or conjoin words.

He has ADHD.

Despite his lack of a license, he has been driving a couple of times before, though it's usually because Larry convinced him to. Larry would drive his truck down to an isolated location and have Sal drive around for fun, and it was mostly just donuts because as soon as Sal learned how to do those, that was all he wanted to do.

After the shooting, Henry started drinking heavily and began neglecting his son's posttraumatic needs, and most other needs. He also got bullied for his face and his feminine nature very heavily, getting worse as he got older and the teens got meaner. His friends mostly defended him, but they could be just as mean at times, and it never really felt like he was a part of the group as much as he was their pet freak. This all caused Sal to become extremely bitter and mean for a long time, which comes as a surprise to his friends, having only known him as a very kind person.

He attempted suicide once, when he was around fifteen or sixteen, as a result of the mounting stress and mental health problems. This is what caused Henry to really wake up about his alcoholism, realizing that if he couldn't better, then he'll lose his son, too.

In the aftermath of this attempt, after having to deal with patronizing doctors for weeks, Sal managed to express his bitterness and hatred and anger properly for the first time in years by yelling at his father about it until he broke down. This was the beginning of their relationship beginning to heal. Still, Sal said a lot of things he regrets now during that breakdown. (S: If you took five minutes to stop pickling your frontal love in Miller Lite, you'd have enough brain cells left to realize what was going on with me a lot sooner.)

Sal hates doctors more than anything, having had some very negative experiences with them over the years. He finds them extremely patronizing and often feels gaslit after talking to one professionally, because they're often extremely homophobic to him, assuming that his gender non-conformity is somehow the result of an Ed Gein-like pathology. If they're not being homophobic, they see his face, his disabilities, and his psychiatric issues, and they start treating him like a toddler, (it gets worse in psychiatric hospitals).

With how I write him, Sal definitely has quite a bit of BPD, but with the original storyline, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to get diagnosed. In AUs, he probably gets diagnosed sometime in his early to mid twenties, as that's when his symptoms really become apparent as relationships in his life start getting more serious and his old coping mechanisms start becoming much more pathological.

I've given some of my weird bullshit to Travis (autism) and Ash (mystery, because I haven't made her post yet lol), so I've also been giving Sal some too: He has POTS, but Henry explained it to Sal as 'your mom's heart thing'. It started when he was around 14, and got progressively worse over the years, but he didn't know it was a problem until Lisa pointed out that he wasn't experiencing a normal fatigue when she took his blood pressure with her at-home monitor one time, and he displayed tachycardia and low blood pressure. He often wears compression gear underneath his clothes to help, and can often be seen drinking pickle juice, because it's cheaper than pedialyte.

Due to the everything that's wrong with him, he's very passionate about disability justice.

His favorite horror movie is Texas Chainsaw Massacre, because it was the first one he watched with Larry. To this day, he maintains that Bubba Sawyer did nothing wrong, that it was the fault of those stupid teenagers, and that the sequels take away what made the first movie so good by making them so over the top.

He watched Carrie once and it made him cry. In retrospect, it reminds him somewhat of Travis.

Considers Nightmare on Elm Street a kid's movie.

His favorite actor is Michael Berryman, as he is a successful and well-liked person with facial/body differences, and that makes him feel a bit more confident in himself.

Sal has a lot of gender-differences, but I don't know if he would ever label it officially. I do think he should try Estrogen though. It's a recreational drug, he'll like it.

With sexuality, I think Sal is bisexual. As far as types go, I think he's most into people with more dominant personalities than his; people who like to talk more, people who are very passionate, people who know what they want, people who can take the lead in a relationship because he's definitely too nervous for that, etc. I think Ash falls into this category, which is what draws him to her.

Larry also falls into this category as well, if we wanna talk Sal/Larry. He has more experience and stands on a more solid ground identity-wise than Sal does, which makes him a great rock and dominant character in the relationship.

Travis does not fall into this category, at least not at first, because he simply doesn't feel very comfortable with himself or in a relationship with another guy at first. Especially with Sal, I think this would probably be his, like, first or second relationship, so he's not very experienced at all, and has trouble knowing what he wants. But, this changes a lot as he grows into himself and eventually becomes the more dominant one of the relationship.

No matter what the end-goal ship is for the story i'm writing, I always picture Sal and Ash having dated for a bout a year or so during or after high school, then breaking up, usually either for Ash's college reasons, or general mutual reasons, such as Sal not being stable enough for a relationship mentally, or realizing they do better as friends.

Upon reflecting on the relationship, Ash describes dating Sal as more like dating a girl than a guy. All things considered, she holds Sal in high esteem as a partner, as he was very attentive to her needs and generally eager to communicate. Though, his biggest issue was that he could be cagey and didn't like it when she focused on him too much, due to his insecurities and fears around intimacy.

Sal has always been feminine and faggy, which is why it was somewhat of a surprise to Henry when it turned out he DID like girls, just in addition to boys. Not that that's a bad thing, he just wasn't expecting it.

Henry's parents are pretty homophobic, and instilled a lot of that into him, but a lot of that started changing when he had his own son, who seemed so pleased to wear fairy princess dresses that Henry couldn't bring himself to do to Sal what was done to him in the name of an increasingly arbitrary masculinity. He ended up having to argue with a lot of doctors to leave Sal's expression alone, because they kept claiming that it was some kind of pathological issue that needed to be fixed, and not just who he was. (H: The problem isn't that he's a fag, he's always been that way! The problem is that his mother was killed right in front of him, and his face was disfigured! Why don't you focus on that?)

This is getting a bit long now, lol. I'll need to make a part two at some point because I think about Sal way too much. It's very easy for me to write for him, because we have a lot of very similar experiences with 'random tragedies'. He's probably my favorite to write for, aside from Todd.

[malewifelhhrry]

Going Against The Rules — Niall Horan

Summary — You were determined to get into trouble, determined to break the rules Niall had set into place for you. You were left needy and aching for him all day. Niall didn’t have anytime for you this morning, as he was late to work. You sent Niall very explicit photos of yourself, knowing the punishment that was waiting for you. But you were in deeper than you thought.

Author Note — Hello this is actually my first ever smut oneshot. This is the first piece of smut I have ever finished and published, and I genuinely hope you find it good. @annahoran66 helped me write a little bit of it, I was struggling in the beginning. But I hope you enjoy this oneshot!

Tags / Warnings — Smut (naturally), fingering, dom!niall, spanking, daddy kink, & MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!

Word Count — 1281

You knew you would be in trouble by the time he got home. You knew you’d be in trouble even when you sent those explicit photos to him, and yet you were ready for the punishment you’d get when he arrived home. He hated it when you tried to rile him up while he was at work, but you couldn’t help it.

You had been needy all day, since Niall had left for work. Niall hadn’t had any time this morning. His alarm didn’t go when it was supposed to, and so he was in a rush trying to get ready and get to work on time. But that meant, no sloppy lazy morning sex for you.

You desperately needed to feel something, but you weren’t allowed to touch yourself without Niall’s approval. However, you didn’t care. You wanted to rebel, to go against Niall’s rules, to disobey him. And you did just that today.

You were in the bedroom, sitting in the middle of the bed, when you heard the front door open and close. You were waiting for Niall to get home, so you could receive your punishment. You always waited for him, that was a part of the rules he had for you.

You were expecting him to come straight into the bedroom, but you never heard his footsteps come up the stairs. Instead you heard the living room tv turn on, the loud sound blaring throughout the house.

That was odd.

Niall always came upstairs to punish you, he was never one to wait to punish you for disobeying. He always wanted to know how badly you disobeyed him and his rules, so it was quite odd that he didn't come up the stairs to punish you.

You pushed yourself up off the bed, slipped on your bedroom slippers and headed downstairs to your living room. As you walked down the stairs, you could hear the golf channel on the tv. Was he really watching golf instead of punishing you?

“ Ni?” You spoke softly, as you made your way into the living room towards Niall on the couch. “ What are you–”

Before you were able to speak any further, you felt Niall’s hand grab your wrist and pull your body across his lap.“ I’m not happy with you, Angel. Not happy at all.”

“ Ni-”

“ I was in a meeting with all my employees when you sent those photos. I had my computer connected to the big tv in the meeting room, because I was giving a presentation about what to expect for our next quarter. Your text came through and showed on the screen. Almost all of my employees saw your pretty little pussy.”

“ I didn’t mean to.” You spoke, wanting to explain yourself. He sounded really mad and you didn’t like when he got angry with you.

“ You did mean to though. I know you’ve been needy all day. I know I didn’t really have time for you this morning, but that doesn’t give you the right to disobey my rules, angel. They are set for a reason. So what I’m going to do is spank you five times for each photo you sent me, which was four. You’ll get ten spanks to each cheek, and then you’re gonna go make dinner. I’ll then determine if you deserve to be fucked tonight, angel. Got it.”

You nod, obeying him because you really wanted him to please you tonight.

“ Words, angel.”

“ Yes.”

“ Yes, what, baby?”

“ Yes, daddy.”

“ Now, look at the couch, and I want you to count each time.”

You didn’t flinch when his hand came in contact with your left cheek, you had anticipated him to start after he was done speaking.. “O-one.”

Another smack. “Two.”

“Three.”

And this continued until he had given you twenty spanks in total. By the time his hand smacked down your right cheek for the last time, you were a whimpery and babbling mess. You had tears running down your cheeks, already staining them.

“ Daddy, please, feel so e-empty.” You whispered out, but Niall could barely hear you.

“ What was that, angel?” He had pulled you up, straddling his lap. He wiped away the tears and the baby hairs that were framing your hairs.

“ Feel so empty, daddy.” You whined and looked into his blue eyes, which were dilated more than normal.

“ I don't know baby, you really disobeyed daddy today.”

“ Please, please, daddy. I missed you today, really bad.” You placed your hands on his chest, and looked at him with puppy dog eyes. “ That's why I sent you those photos. I really want to feel you, daddy.”

“ Well since you asked so nicely, baby. Just don’t disobey daddy next time, okay?”

“ Okay, daddy.”

You moan into the kiss, as he connects your lips with his. It felt so good to finally be able to kiss him today, you didn’t get one this morning. You really did miss him today.

You felt his hands travel down your body and make their way under your slip dress, hovering over where you need him the most. You felt Niall’s fingers start to rub over your clit over top of your panties, feeling how wet you made your panties.

“ Oh poor baby, you’re so wet. I bet my fingers could just slip right in.” Niall pulled your panties to the side, and pushed his ring and middle finger right into you. Your breath hitched at the sensation and Niall knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. “What do you need baby?” He asked pausing his movements and staring into your eyes awaiting a needy response.

“You.”

“I need more than that, angel. Be a good girl and use your words,” his words melted you, sending shivers across your whole body.

“I need you to touch me, daddy, please,” you say, placing your hand on his forearm and squeezing, silently begging.

“Well since you asked so nicely, angel,” Niall says, sinking his two of his fingers in your nice warm cunt. He started to slowly pump his fingers in and out of you, in a rhythm that was too slow for your liking. You wanted more, you needed more.

You whimper slightly, wordlessly begging for more.

“What’s wrong, angel? Is this not fast enough for you?”

You nod desperately, hoping he’d give in quickly. “No baby, you know the rules. If you want something you have to ask.”

“Please daddy, w-want it faster, please. I need it.”

“Since you asked so nice for daddy.”

And before you can even say thank you, he’s pumping his pointer and middle finger in and out of you harder, hitting your g-spot. You throw your head against his shoulder, your moan echoing through the living room.

Niall gently places his thumb on your already swollen clit, and begins to circle it, sending you over the edge.

“Daddy- im so close-“

“Cum for me angel,” Niall interrupts you, “Let go angel, I’ve got you. Just be a good girl and cum on daddy’s hand like I know you’ve been begging to, and thinking about doing all day.”

And you let go, feeling your orgasm wash through your entire body. Niall worked you through it, letting the euphoric feeling ride out.

“There you go angel, so good for daddy. You’re such a good girl aren’t you?”

You nod your head against his shoulder. “‘m sorry for disobeying you today, daddy. I just really missed you, didn’t get to spend time with you really today.”

“It’s okay, angel. I know I didn’t give you any attention this morning. Just next time don’t disobey the rules, baby okay?”

“Okay daddy, I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

[bangtanfanfiction]

love at first squat? → k. sunwoo

Listen I'm a whore for Sunwoo this comeback. I will use every opportunity to praise that beautiful man.

♢ Pairing: Sunwoo x Gym rat!Reader → Idol AU

♢ Word count: 2.2k

♢ Genre: Fluff, suggestive, established relationship

⌲ Description: Inviting you to join him at the gym with his members was supposed to be a cute outing. Instead Sunwoo is left speechless and probably more in love than he thought possible. ↳ Warnings: Cursing, horny thoughts, mentions of sex, Sunwoo is ready to call you mommy (jk. maybe not. idk)

Listen.

Sunwoo wasn’t stupid, okay. 

Besides his obvious talent for being annoyingly witty, he considered himself to be fairly intelligent.

Which is why he was quite certain there were very few situations these days that would make him feel like an idiot. 

But here he was. Feeling like a complete, flustered idiot. 

All because of you. 

Okay fair enough, it was his fault this situation happened at all. But still. 

Being a twenty-three-year-old man, Sunwoo doubted there was much in the world that could turn him back into a speechless, bubbling idiot after being in the entertainment industry as long as he had. 

He’s seen it all. Over-the-top performances, beautiful idols, arenas filled to the brim as well as anything negative to follow those specific areas. 

And so Sunwoo had the brilliant idea of wanting to spend some time with you today that didn’t just include laying around and eating a bunch of snacks. 

Something cute, y’know. Wholesome. Instagram worthy without the posting etc, etc. You get the idea.

Since it’s only been six months since the two of you started dating officially, after all. He had to keep the fun going somehow.

He was also confident that he knew most of your likes and dislikes at this point. 

For instance, Sunwoo knew you loved the gym. You were 110% a gym girl with nearly all stereotypes to follow. 

He rarely saw you outside of comfy hoodies and sweats. He knew about your strict five-day workout routine you kept to almost religiously. He knew you struggled with fulfilling your needed protein count every day because you always complained to him about it. 

In all honesty, Sunwoo shouldn’t have been as surprised to actually see you in a gym environment. He knew you were fit and healthy - Of course he did. He‘s seen your naked body more times than he could count at this point. 

But all those times had also been in a private relaxed space. Often after eating takeout with a bloated stomach each.

So when some of his very avid gym-going members asked if he wanted to join them, he further stretched that invitation to you. Hoping to get a day spent together out of it. 

He had never seen you reply to something as quick as that.

You had met him in front of the private gym their personal trainer owned a walking distance away from the company. Dressed in a comfortable loose set of white sweats and matching hoodie, a black gym bag swung over your shoulder as you skipped the last distance towards him, launching into a tight hug.

“Hi.” Sunwoo smiled down at you, brushed away some stray hair falling into your face.

“Hi.” You returned it with a wide grin, leaning up on your toes to press a series of pecks on his irresistible lips, like an overbearing mother without the maternal instinct obviously.

“Missed me?” It had been a little over a week since you last managed to meet up in the midst of their recent comeback. 

And God, what a comeback that was.

“I always do.” You were never shy of your affection towards him, even to the point of making him shy in front of his members. “It’s unfair how perfect this comeback fits you.”

Your fingers flicked his parted hair with a wink.

Sunwoo only kept grinning - you had already shared your very enthusiastic opinion of him five minutes after the MV had dropped, texting a whole paragraph on how beautiful he looked and how your possessive nature might just turn deadly. (Jokingly, that is)

You had been in his shared dorm with Chanhee, Changmin and Younghoon spread throughout the living room and kitchen, tucked into the corner of their L-formed couch as you watched their most recent live performance - Sunwoo right beside you, waiting for your reaction.

He had paid careful attention, especially when his part had come on. You had watched the entire video silently with a completely straight face.

Chanhee would forever hold his trauma over your heads having been a witness to see you dragging Sunwoo to his room by the front of his shirt, locking the door audibly with a click before the sounds of thumping music came on to hide the sounds of your very obvious antics.

They didn't need to listen to know what the two of you were up to. Not with how Sunwoo seemed to be on cloud nine the rest of the week.

("Best fucking blowjob ever.")

Your screen saver was later a picture of his iconic part in 'Watch it'.

His hand slid a little lower at the memory, against the visible dip of your lower back and perky ass. One of his favourite physical traits on you, and Sunwoo would never be ashamed of being an ass man.

Shaking his head, he gave your butt a fond tap as you both made your way inside the building. The other members were already inside; Sangyeon, Jaehyun, Kevin, and Eric were in various positions stretching their bodies. 

You greeted them all cheerily with a wave and grin, before thanking their PT for allowing you to use the gym. 

Sunwoo was half listening to their workouts planned out while also glancing at you through his peripheral vision - curiosity driving him to see you for the first time in a gym together. 

You were obviously in the zone, within a corner of the private gym, not wanting to get in their way. 

He saw you tipping back a dry scoop of pre-workout and washing it down, before stretching just like them. You were still patiently at it as he began his first workout, falling into the same concentration with his members scattered around him doing their own things; their PT walking around and fixing any details. 

Sunwoo had just finished all his sets of a lat pulldown when the praise came from Sangyeon in a disbelieving mutter, stopping in his DB shoulder presses. 

“Whoa, that’s insane.”

Turning around, Sunwoo’s cough mid-water sip was not subtle. 

You were on whatever set of your hip thrusts, 200kg worth of plates on the bar as you breathed in concentration, not even aware of how much attention you had drawn. Your soundproof headphones made sure of it. 

You had shed the hoodie and sweats, only a pair of navy blue shorts and an oversized t-shirt he recognized as his, tucked into the band of your sports bra behind as you pushed through. The bar clattered slightly as you dropped back down. With a relieved sigh, you stood up only to flinch in shock to see him and his members still staring. 

Pushing back the headphones, you gave an awkward smile. “Hi?”

Sangyeon walked forward with an admiring grin. “Y/N that’s crazy! How long did it take you to get you that weight?” The two of you easily fell into conversation with Sunwoo still on mute. 

You had always clicked quickly with his oldest member, being such big gym goers to the point of obsession. Where Sunwoo also enjoyed going to the gym, he didn’t see it as his priority besides aesthetic pleasure. 

Not that he didn’t appreciate those who did. 

Speaking of...His eyes started to trail down your body. 

How the shorts were clinging to your quads, muscles shifting as your feet moved on the spot while talking, to your damn impressive round ass - frankly looking huge with the pump it had just gone through. He could see a sliver of skin from where your t-shirt was tucked up, showing off the lean lines of your strong back. 

God, Sunwoo was certain your quads were bigger than his head (They were).

Despite your makeup-free face, flushed skin, and sweat coating it - you had never looked hotter to him. 

“Give us a warning if you’re planning to go crazy.” Kevin’s voice snickering next to him snapped Sunwoo out of his stupor.

“Huh?” 

His hyung didn’t stop smirking knowingly. “You’re drooling. So if you’re planning to drag her away, at least warn us of the trauma of witnessing something we don’t want to.”

A blush spread across his face and the tip of his ears as Sunwoo complained. “Ah, hyung! I’m not going to do that.”

He had more decency than that. (Not really.)

Glancing over again, he watched as Sangyeon was helping you rerack the weights and moving the bar to a squat position -your next workout - the two of you moving with surety in every move around the equipment. 

You gave him a perfect view of your ass again as you bent to pick up the last plate, the muscles of your hamstrings tightening impressively, his head tilting to follow the movement.

Sunwoo wondered how he had never noticed that detail before. 

He would have to appreciate your body again (very) carefully once he got the chance. 

If it weren’t for the rough push Kevin put on his shoulder to continue with his workout, Sunwoo would have probably just stood there staring to his own embarrassment. 

“Baby, can you spot me?” 

You waited in patient amusement for his double take at the weights resting on the squat rack before his brows furrowed.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll have to save me if anything happens.”

You snorted out a laugh, his deadpan sense of humour was always a weakness of yours. Making you laugh with a simple sentence even if said in complete seriousness. 

“I’m not hitting over my max today, so you’re good.” You only chuckled, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards you slowly, as if coaxing a frightened animal. Only this one kept his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Nothing is gonna happen, I just need a little bit of support on the last rep.”

“What support am I supposed to give?” Sunwoo eyed the plates carefully, voice flat. “That’s more than my body weight.”

Giving him a quick look up and down; dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants with a fitting tank top, you gave the vision of absolute innocence. “Visual support.” 

Kevin, who was quick to get your innuendo from the bench next to you, laughed out loud. Before Sunwoo could comprehend what you meant, you had already moved into position for the squat. 

Sunwoo could only shake his head as he carefully shifted into a supporting position behind you, knees bending alongside your form but never touching.

"Fine, but if I break something you're taking my place in promotions."

"I'm sure Deobi's will love me more than you anyways." You stuck out your tongue in retort before starting with a huff.

He could see your strain by the seventh rep, thighs shaking and face scrunching up in concentration. 

But he saw the determination. And despite the risk of his demise, Sunwoo moved closer.

“You got it, come on.” He encouraged you, gently tapping your hip as you let out a large breath and pushed up, succeeding without him having to risk his life. 

“Okay, you two, enough of the lovey-dovey, back to work Sunwoo.” Their PT called out lightly. 

About an hour later, you were resting after finishing stretching, casually leaning against the wall with a hip popped out and scrolling through your phone when Sunwoo snuck up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your body flush against his chest. 

“Hi.” You only smiled up over your shoulder. “All finished?”

“You’re being unfair,” Was all he said, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and shoulder, tickling you as you squirmed. 

“About what?” You laughed. 

“Distracting me…” He mumbled with a pout. “I could hardly concentrate this entire session. I think I fell in love all over again."

"If I knew my legs were so powerful I would have squatted in front of you on our first meeting."

Sunwoo bit his lower lip to hide a smile. "Love at first squat, you say?"

“Unless you're just jealous of my thighs, that is.” Despite the flutter of your heart, you continued to tease him lightly, stretching out a leg and tightening your muscles still pumped out from your session. “I’ll teach you how to get them.”

Sunwoo hummed lowly against your ear, and you knew he was plotting something.

“I’d rather be buried between them.”

Your scandalous gasp was loud as you whirled around to slap his chest, catching the attention of the rest of the guys who were cleaning up. 

“Kim Sunwoo, we are in public!” You whisper-shouted in mortification. It was his turn to smirk at you in satisfaction, only giving an innocent shrug. 

“Ugh, Sunwoo is being indecent, hyung. Scold him.” Eric called out with an exaggerated shudder, turning to Sangyeon. The leader only sighed exasperated. Already far too used to you and Sunwoo's shows of PDA.

“You didn’t even hear what I said,” Sunwoo called out. 

“I didn’t have to! Y/N proved it.”

“Well maybe I offered her ice scream and she got overjoyed.” He retorted, their usual bickering starting up again. 

“Suuuure, if ice cream meant fu-”

“OKAY!” Sangyeon exclaimed loudly before Eric could finish that sentence, causing a fit of snickers from the others watching, as well as your furious blush spreading as you hid behind the palm of your hand. “Let’s not finish that, Youngjae-ah.”

Eric sucked in his lips with a mischievous glint, shoulders shaking in muted laughter. 

Just as everyone finished cleaning up and you put your outer layers back on - Kevin sidled up to you casually, slinging a friendly arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the building and down the street. 

You both watched Sunwoo take a running start before jumping on Eric’s unsuspecting back as they both stumbled with the maknae’s dramatic complaint of his sore legs echoing.

“You should probably cross out working out together.” Kevin had a shit-eating grin on his face. “You know, for public decency.”

“Oh shut up.”

Thank you for reading!

[inawickedlittletown]

All I Want For Christmas Is You (BuckTommy) - 6/8

Summary: When Buck and Tommy pick each other for the 118's Secret Santa, they both realize they know nothing about each other. That changes very quickly. Words: 3.1k Rating: M Read on Ao3 Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

-

Chapter Six

The next week was different. Buck wasn’t sure if anyone even noticed, because Tommy had just reverted back to just kind of ignoring Buck unless it was work related. They were never alone despite Buck trying to catch him on his own. When Buck had tried sending him a text it sat unread for days and then when Tommy did respond it was just to decline Buck asking if he’d want to go see a movie together. 

Buck knew when he wasn’t wanted. He knew when it was better to just cut his losses and move on. It happened to him often enough. There was just something about him that made people think they could do better, or that he just wasn’t worth all the trouble after a romp in the sheets. Tommy had come to that conclusion and Buck couldn’t fault him. So, he stayed away. There were more fishes in the sea and all that. 

At the very least, the time they’d spent together had given Buck a few options when it came to Secret Santa. Although, a part of him — a petty part — wanted to just go out of his way to make the present as mundane and useless as anything. 

He couldn’t quite convince himself to go that route. But, it wasn’t like Buck knew what he would get him. The one thing he was certain of was that once Christmas had come and gone that would be the end of it and he would stop letting his mind drift to thinking about Tommy yet again. Buck would go out and find someone else and just move on. It was what he did and it was what he was good at. 

When the week was over, Buck gave in to the impulse to just go out to a bar and see if he could do something to get Tommy out of his mind. He was barely there a few minutes before he left and wound up at the mall instead. 

Buck had a little over a week left and at least being as alone as he was did mean that Buck really only had to worry about getting something for Tommy. The worst of it was walking into a store and pinpointing things that would have worked perfectly to give to Chim or Hen or Bobby. Not so much for Tommy. 

Eventually, Buck wound up just going into a cafe to pick up some coffee and a snack. It reminded him of Tommy’s excitement for the cookies the other day. He had a feeling he was going to wind up just getting one of those chocolate gift sets as impersonal as it felt. At least Tommy would like that for sure which was something.

When he pushed the door to the cafe open on his way out, he almost ran right into Karen. 

“Oh. Karen, sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “Fancy seeing you out and about.” 

“Secret Santa,” Buck said. “I still haven’t even figured out what to get so I’ve been browsing the mall.” 

Karen chuckled. “That’s right. Hen already has hers ready to go. Actually, I’m pretty sure she finished all her shopping. Clearly, I’m not done. I was thinking of going into the bookstore to see if I could find something for Hen. Want to join me?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe something will pop out for me there,” Buck said. 

He ate the muffin he’d picked up at the cafe on the way, but was still holding his coffee when they arrived at the bookstore. 

The whole place had been decorated for the holidays. The window had a display with a small ceramic village complete with a tree and a train that went around the whole thing on a track. Lights and garland covered the shelves and on the door was a wreath made out of tiny felt books. 

At first he and Karen perused together. The store was not just books. They had a stationary area and a shelf full of travel mugs with quotes that probably came from books and next to that a rack that held tote bags. 

The shelves were arranged with signs and Buck wound up heading in the direction of the nonfiction. His first thought was to see if there was anything on art. Or, flying. He pulled out his phone to look at the picture he’d taken of Tommy’s bookshelf. No books on art, but a lot about flying. On closer inspection it looked like they were flight manuals rather than books on planes or helicopters. 

The bookstore did have a few books on different famous artists. DaVinci. Van Gogh. Picasso. Monet. Khalo. Buck couldn’t have been able to say much about any of them and he didn’t think that Tommy would actually have any use for biographies. So, Buck wandered the shelves. A LGBTQ+ section caught his eye. 

Buck had always considered himself an ally. He’d gone to LA Pride the year before. He never had a problem with anyone that identified differently be it their gender or sexual preferences, he just had never looked at himself and thought he could be more than the default. 

On the LGBTQ+ shelf there were plenty of novels, but some non-fiction as well. Self-help and essays and history. 

“Hey,” Karen said suddenly at his elbow. “Find anything?” 

“Oh. No. I don’t think a book is the right way to go.”

“But these caught your eye?” Karen asked. “Wait, did you get Hen as your Secret Santa? No, don’t tell me. I can’t know.” 

“I don’t have Hen,” Buck said. “I just—”

Buck had told Connor. Tommy knew, obviously. He hadn’t told anyone else. Karen though...she seemed like a safe bet to tell and yeah it might make it back to Hen, but Buck didn’t even really care about that. It might mean he didn’t have to say anything to Hen outright. 

“I’m bi, Karen,” Buck said. “It’s…um, it’s new.” 

Karen’s smile didn’t falter. “Wow. Thank you for telling me.” 

Buck took a breath. “I kissed a guy and it was like…like I realized I hadn’t been whole my entire life until then. I’ve always been an ally and now it’s…I guess I’m more. I’m bi.” 

“You certainly are, Buck,” Karen said. “Does that mean you’re seeing someone, then?” 

Tommy flashed in his mind. After that date and the glorious afternoon spent in Tommy’s bed they hadn’t spoken outside of work and Buck knew it was over before anything had even begun. Buck felt dumb for thinking that it could be more and that Tommy might give them a chance. He should have known better. 

“No,” Buck said and then grabbed a book at random. 

The cover was pink and it was apparently a romance novel. He put it back. He could feel Karen watching him. 

“I kissed a guy and we had sex a few times and I never told him that he was the first guy I was with and he basically ghosted me after that,” Buck said. 

It was mostly the truth. 

“Oh, you jumped right on in, then. Hen’s told me stories, but most people don’t do things at your pace.”

Buck hummed. “I guess not. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s over and I don’t think I’ll find anything in here for him.” 

Karen made a noise, but she started coughing. 

“I’ll pay for these,” she said.

Karen paid for the four books she’d picked up and Buck waited for her. 

“Hey, Buck, this does get easier and less confusing.” 

“I hope so.” 

-

He’d sketched Evan into the better half of a sketchbook. His hands. His face. A very rough one of his body while Tommy had been riding him. Other things too, Evan’s smile. His birthmark. Abstract things that were a reminder of Evan. He was clearly well rooted in Tommy in a way that would be hard to shake. Shake him, he would. 

The days following their date had been a little awkward. Tommy had even seen Chim and Hen sharing glances because Tommy had gone from talking to Evan a bit more and including him more to ignoring him again. 

“Did Buck do something to you?” Hen had asked one afternoon between calls. 

“No. He’s still the same impulsive kid.” 

“He’s definitely grown a bit,” Hen said. 

Tommy was glad when they had a call to get to. He wound up sitting next to Evan and was stiff the whole ride there. When they arrived on the scene Bobby paired them together he didn’t even blink. Evan had caught on by that point, at least, that Tommy wouldn’t talk to him. So, he didn’t try though his baleful glances struck Tommy to the heart. 

He and Evan went up the ladder that was extended out to the roof of the house, neither said a word and it felt like a blanket of tension had been laid atop them both. The man they were helping had injured his leg while putting lights on his roof. Even he seemed to sense the tension in the air as they helped to get him on a backboard to transport him down. 

Maybe it was unfair to freeze Evan out, but Tommy didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t get attached to Evan. He couldn’t be what Evan needed and there were already too many complications that would arise most because they worked side by side. It was better this way. He did hate the kicked puppy look that Evan got when Tommy pointedly ignored him, but Evan would get over it. Evan would go out and find himself some younger guy to get his rocks off with. That or some girl. Maybe a whole plethora of them if that was what he wanted. Tommy would always be the guy that helped him realize that he wasn’t straight, but that was about it. 

One day, they might even laugh and talk about it. Not any time soon though. 

Tommy did still call the guy with the wood carvings and asked about seeing his pieces again. Apparently the Christmas Market was still going, so Tommy drove over on his next day off. 

“Hey, I’m Tommy. We spoke on the phone.” 

“Right. Right. You were interested in something for a friend?” 

Tommy nodded and took a look around. A lot of the bigger pieces were way past the $50 limit but he did find a carving of a dog with a firefighter’s helmet. It was perfect. 

“This one,” Tommy said. 

It wouldn’t be enough, but Tommy had the start of a plan for the rest of Evan’s present. It might even serve as a way to break the ice between them again and put them on a path to being friends. He hoped. Otherwise, it might be awkward at work forever. 

“Thank you,” Tommy said when he was handed the wrapped package. 

“No problem. Hope your friend likes it.” 

He took a quick walk around the rest of the market, found himself buying cookies and this time a hot chocolate at that booth and then he found a tent that he and Evan hadn’t gotten to the last time or that hadn’t been there at all. A rainbow flag stuck out and Tommy found himself smiling a little. 

At one point in his life, he’d abhorred rainbows and everything they represented for him. He’d never wanted to be attached to it, to claim it for his own. Had believed for the longest time that he didn’t deserve the community it provided. Hell, Tommy had never even gone to a pride parade. It happened sometime when he started painting again, where a rainbow had snuck into a painting and then he was adding them where they worked, especially in a painting that was devoid of other color. It felt like finally allowing himself to be more open about himself, a way to accept that he was gay and nothing and no one could change that. 

He approached the tent and found a smiling man behind a small table that served as a counter. There was a display of different colored flags that Tommy couldn’t begin to assign, books on a small bookshelf and novelty t-shirts and tote bags and mugs. 

“Hello,” the man on the other side of the table said. “Looking for anything specific?” 

“Huh, not really. I’m buying for a Secret Santa. The guy I got just recently realized he’s bi.”

“Oh,” the man said. “Well we don’t have a welcome to being queer pack or anything, but you could give him one of our mugs or a book on queer history. There’s some informative ones, some funny ones. But, you know, just because he’s bi doesn’t mean his gift has to be about that.” 

Tommy could tell that there was a level of condescension in the tone and Tommy got it. He got what he looked like and how he passed for straight easily, that he’d leaned on that for a while, maybe so much that he never could be perceived otherwise. 

He picked up one of the mugs. It was cute and a quote he’d seen in a few places, “Harold, they’re lesbians”. Tommy chuckled and put it down again. A few just had a big rainbow going around them, some with gay or lesbian or bi or queer or trans written on them. Then, he saw one with each line in pink, purple, and blue: “Both. Both Is. Good”. On the other side it said: “Chaotic Bisexual”

“This is perfect for him,” Tommy said with a smile. 

Then, he spotted one with a cartoonish rainbow and “Yup, woke up GAY again”. 

“I’ll take this too,” Tommy said. 

The guy raised an eyebrow. 

“For myself,” Tommy said. 

He saw the man behind the counter nod, lips pressed tight. He was the type of guy that fit the stereotype. Someone that could never have hid his sexuality unless he was really trying and maybe he never had found himself in an environment where hiding was the best option. Some people were that lucky. 

He went to the books next. Several of the titles caught his eye including the flashy looking The LGBTQ+ History that told him Evan would have a kick reading. Then, he saw Bi The Way. He wound up picking both. Over the time he’d known Evan, he knew that Evan liked to deep dive into research about pretty random topics. He mostly did that online. The likelihood was that he’d already gone through every possible site on the internet, but these books would be quirky and fun.

“These too,” Tommy said. 

The man nodded. The mugs he’d put in individual boxes. He added everything into a small bag, but didn’t hand it over. 

“What?” Tommy asked. 

“I’m sorry. I just…I assumed you were just—”

“Just some cis straight guy,” Tommy said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I forget sometimes that the queer experience looks different for everyone. I hope your friend who just came out is glad he has you to help him along the way.” 

Except that Evan hadn’t actually needed that much help from him when it came to the discovery of his sexuality. He hadn’t asked Tommy a single question about being queer or about Tommy’s own history. It was a little unusual, that was for sure.  

He bought a gift bag at another tent and then when he got back home put every component of Evan’s gift inside. He left it right by his tree and he was almost sad to be done with it. His own mug he took into the kitchen. He placed it inside his cabinet and it looked out of place, but Tommy loved it. Maybe one day he would have another mug in there that belonged to someone that fit into Tommy’s life. He didn’t think it would happen, but it was possible. Maybe. 

He tried hard not to picture the mug he’d gotten Evan. That was definitely not going to happen. 

-

“Looks like someone was up all night,” Chim said. 

Buck didn’t even realize Chim was talking to him, but of course he was. And Buck had been up all night. He’d gone down a research spiral. It had started with him looking a little bit further into bisexuality and what it meant for him, but he’d started thinking about Tommy and then that had led straight into Buck just researching art supplies. 

Apparently there was a lot to learn. Not all paints and colored pencils were created equal. That went for brushes and pigments and clay and so many other things. Buck had seen Tommy’s art room twice and he’d noticed that Tommy had a lot of acrylic paint, brushes, and a cup that held pencils. Considering his sketches were all done in pencil, he didn’t think it’d be a bad idea to get him a set of good colored pencils. And so, Buck had gone on a research spiral, but he’d also managed to order some colored pencils and a few different sketchbooks. 

It didn’t seem like enough, but Buck figured with Christmas drawing closer it was better to have something ready to go than not. 

“You do have bags under your eyes, Buck,” Hen said. “Did you get any sleep?” 

“Some,” Buck said. “I’ll get a nap later.” 

Chim nudged his shoulder. “How hot was she to keep you up all night?” 

Buck felt his cheeks go warm. “There was no girl.” 

“Sure,” Chim said. 

“There wasn’t,” Buck said again. 

Tommy walked into the locker room. “What’s happening?” He asked and didn’t look in Buck’s direction. 

Buck felt the avoidance down to his bones. The worst of it was that Buck had never gotten stuck on someone the way he’d gotten stuck on Tommy and they hadn’t even gone on more than a single date. For a second Buck had thought maybe it was that it was a guy and new, but he knew deep down that it was Tommy. 

“Buck is being surprisingly mum about what he got up to last night,” Chim said. 

“Oh,” Tommy said. 

“Nothing. I got up to nothing but shopping for my Secret Santa,” Buck said and he turned so he could look directly at Tommy. “That and a bit of research. That’s all.” 

Tommy turned away. “We all know we would know all the details if Buck did hook up with anyone, wouldn’t we.”

“I did hook up with someone last week. Really hot,” Buck offered. 

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear about that,” Hen said. 

Buck caught Tommy’s eye and he saw Tommy roll his eyes. Buck turned away and finished getting dressed. He didn’t say anything to any of them as he left the locker room and made his way up the stairs hoping that he could actually get a nap on the couch before a call came in. 

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 35

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 5,280

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: BOILING POINT

The room's relatively quiet, which has pretty much been the case ever since your latest fiasco of a mission. It isn't exactly a 'peaceful' silence, but you're willing to take what you can get while dealing with this annoying throbbing throughout your entire body and the stinging pain that’s focused around your center.

"At least I can cross breaking a rib off the bucket list."

"Not a fun feeling, huh?"

"God no," You groan, leaning back only to instantly regret doing so as shown through a sharp flinch. Sam's smile shows a mix of sympathy and amusement before he passes you a couple of pain pills as well as a glass of water. You're quick to set down your ice pack in exchange for these items, gratefully swallowing the pills in hopes that they’ll offer some relief…Unfortunately, there's no immediate effect.

You’re left with no other choice than to miserably do your best getting comfy against the stiff pillows of Zemo’s incredibly uncomfortable couch, your only other option for a distraction being to simply let your thoughts roam to topics unrelated to your searing injuries. There’s lots to review regarding the last hour anyway.

Talking to Karli was a total bust thanks to Captain Cosplay who couldn’t even help prevent her escape afterwards. By now, she’s undoubtedly gone to regroup with her terrorist buddies, bringing along even more reason for them to hate Avengers and even less reason to spare any of you an ear again.

To top off such a failure of a mission, while that section of your plans was going to shit, Zemo apparently took it upon himself to destroy the super soldier serum Karli had been carrying on her person. You suppose that might as well be a good thing considering no more stray vials means no more unwarranted superhumans running amok, however it doesn't quite sit right with you knowing how easily your rent-a-felon had slipped away from watch. He could've made a run for it, and or caused greater harm to the mission as a whole by taking matters further into his own hands which wouldn't have been too out of character given his track record with super soldiers so far.

That's precisely why you told Bucky to keep an eye on him! You were already going after John, and someone needed to stay with Zemo, so it should’ve been him. If he had just listened, you guys would've been able to maintain control of at least that variable - one less idiot to check over your shoulder for. Instead, he insisted on following you then concerned himself with your wellbeing, worried for your sake as if you're a glass doll who took a tumble off a shelf.

…Granted, in the eyes of a superhuman, that’s probably a fitting comparison for what actually happened. Karli succeeded in really knocking the air from your lungs (and most of the sense right out of your head). By the time you finally came to again, the world was spinning in muddled colors orchestrated by constant ringing in your ears, yet you were still somehow aware enough to recall Bucky scooping you up into his arms.

Between those long blinks where your eyes struggled to remain open, you could see the stunned fear woven into his expression. It’s not quite like anything you’ve seen on him before - similar, but not exactly a match even to his troubled stare during the war or his distressed cries in Romania.

You wish you could say he’s relaxed since reaching the safehouse, however his head continues to hang low. Muscles tense and breath jagged, he stands at the bar counter with a glass of vodka in hand - an empty one, since he had just chugged his third round as if a mere shot of pure H2O…He’s still having a hard time snapping out of whatever trance your injury inflicted upon him, failing to steady his nerves no matter how much alcohol he tries to drown himself in; you aren’t the only one to notice.

“Why not try some peppermint tea? It’s an excellent choice for calming anxi -”

“- Fuck off…” Bucky growls in swift response to Zemo’s suggestion, his metal grip constricting against the glass resulting in a sharp ‘squeak’. Any tighter and it’ll shatter into starry shards.

“It’s only a couple of broken ribs and some bruising. Nothing that won’t heal -” That’s the third time Sam has said this. Once when he first assessed you, a second as you finally became coherent again…although both evaluations were less for your sake and more for Bucky’s.

Your little injury seems to have really bothered him, that much is obvious. Strange, for someone who sure hasn’t wanted to address your existence lately - who has taken almost every possible chance to push you away and make you feel unwanted - but hey, maybe it should be taken as a good sign since it must mean he still cares about you to at least some extent.

So - the question remains - why keep playing these stupid games then? What motivation could Bucky possibly have? Is he trying to be angry with you? Have you upset him to the point that he’d rather force himself to hate you than forgive you? …Hopefully that isn’t the case.

‘This whole situation is a mess…’ You think, sighing as you throw your arm over your eyes to block out the light and echo out the hostile energy practically flooding this room.

Something about Steve’s shield; an ongoing source of tension between all involved, yet you have no interest in picking sides right now. Instead, you’d much rather try sleeping, the exhaustion of today weighing heavy on your bones (not to mention your patience wearing extremely thin). You might’ve actually been able to drift off, too, if not for the loud ‘SLAM’ that startles nearly all of you.

The heavy doors are thrown open, leaving way for your least favorite cosplayer to march into the room while on a clear mission to make matters even worse than he already has, "Alright, let's go! I'm ordering you to hand him over!”

"...Fantastic..." You can't help rolling your eyes. There goes your chance at recovering in peace and quiet. What has it been? An hour since you've gotten back here? Probably less. Your medicine was just beginning to kick in, too! Now, you’re forced to bear through the numb ache of both your broken rib and incoming headache as you lazily watch Sam stand to 'greet' John Walker's presence.

"Hey slow your roll. Let's be clear: shield or no shield, the only thing you're running around here is your mouth," Clearly losing his own patience with the current situation, Sam packs some bite to his words, not caring if they don't sit right with John who fails to suppress a scowl, "I had Karli - She was willing to listen until you overstepped. As for Zemo, he's actually proven himself useful today and we're going to need all hands on deck for what's coming next -"

"- How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam? Huh?" John wears a cocky smirk, apparently mistaking Sam's silence as being stunned astonishment, not dumbstruck bemusement, "Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?"

He's doing his best to appear big and strong behind his threat, but he's the only one to take it seriously. Even Sam - who's usually the better of your group when it comes to maintaining peace by deescalating high tensions - scoffs at John's ridiculous assessment of himself being a 'challenge' for anyone.

Oh, what you'd give for Steve to be here so that he could show this guy how a real captain throws a punch, even if just to put the truth into perspective. If only John would realize how different he is from the real thing. Steve knew he didn't have to prove himself to anyone, he simply had to stand up for what's right. Even before he was a super soldier, that kid from Brooklyn knew the real meaning behind the shield, something you doubt John will ever understand, at least not at this rate, which is exactly why he shouldn't be carrying it.

Honestly, you had no real intentions of getting involved in this either. You weren't even going to roll yourself off the couch. You would've been perfectly content watching Sam kick Fraud's ass while casually draped across it like a professional cat, but almost the second that shield gets set down, a spear is wedged into the pillar mere inches away from John's face, causing all eyes to dart over to the dora milaje warrior standing at the other end of the room where she had previously gone unnoticed.

Before anyone can address her properly, two more dora milaje warriors march into the room from the hall. They speak in Wakandian, the content of their conversation being unknown to you, however you can assume it's nothing pleasant based on their stoney expressions and fierce tones, both fixated on Zemo and Bucky who appear less than thrilled. If anything, they look scared.

"Release him to us now," confirms the obvious regarding what this is all about.

"Hi,John Walker, Captain America,” Blind to the atmosphere around him, John all too casually approaches the women who meet his introduction with some pretty bombastic side eyes in return, “Tell you what, let’s go ahead and put down the pointy sticks and talk this through, huh? We're kinda in the middle of -"

"- John," Sam interjects, at first with an amused smile, except it’s quick to turn serious, probably after he realizes where this crossroad is likely to head, “Listen, you might want to fight Bucky before you test your luck with the dora milaje.”

John simply turns his back on Sam’s advice, giving a smug sneer towards the women in question, “The dora milaje don’t have jurisdiction here -”

“- The dora milaje have jurisdiction wherever the dora milaje find. themselves. to be…” One warrior bites back almost instantly, drawing out those last few words with venomous intent, although her expression hardly changes as she skillfully keeps her cool better than any of you would if John ever dared to step so close.

For a moment there - however short - it seems that a threat has actually put him in check for once, forcing him to shut his mouth as he appears to do some sort of double-take. A quick, almost embarrassed glance back at the rest of you, followed by an equally awkward laugh, divides that temporary silence with John’s next response which he pairs with an outstretched hand that lands on the dora milaje’s shoulder, “...Look, I think we got off on the wrong -”

Showing much less patience towards John’s audacity than the rest of you, the women attack in an instant, knocking him off his feet face first onto the floor. The three dora milaje then surrounded him and Lemar, the latter of whom’s only mistake was taking a step towards the fight which sealed his fate of being choked back with a spear.

“We should do something,” You hear Sam say, forever the kind and considerate spirit. That’s much more than you can say about yourself. Rather than stand up to at least mock concern over the situation happening mere feet in front of you, you simply rest your head lazily against the back of the couch while watching everything unfold with no more interest shown than you would towards a lackluster movie.

“They’ll figure it out…” You decide stubbornly, nonchalantly shifting your legs to avoid any contact with Lemar when he’s thrown into the seat just adjacent to you.

“Looking strong, John!” Even Bucky seems to indirectly agree with you that this situation isn’t yours to fix up, that is initially, at least, until Sam gives you both looks of disapproval.

While it’s nothing that fazes yourself - after all Sam must realize you’d be little help in a battle of physical strength - it’s apparently enough to convince Bucky to join the chaos, too, probably less so to ‘help’ the other boys and more so to prevent this show from turning into an actual blood bath.

Unfortunately for them, they don’t fare much better than the other gentleman involved. If anything, they merely split the dora milaje’s wrath, each taking a half for themselves in the form of swung spears and stinging blows which makes you all the more sure of your decision to sit this one out.

Could you have simply sat here watching things unfold with an imaginary bag of popcorn? Of course, but a grumbled roll of your eyes just happened to land your attention on the opposite side of the room and, more importantly, on Zemo. For a moment, you were so entertained by watching John Walker be slammed against a table that you nearly forgot about your other nuisance. Such a shame.

Zemo takes full advantage of the unplanned distraction tearing apart his fancy parlor, slipping past the fight through the shadows with an unbothered stride that gains no urgency even when you show your notice of him:

“HEY!” Sitting up all too quickly, you wince at the sharp pain that stabs throughout your body, yet do your best to power through it while rushing to your feet and chasing Zemo’s direction.

Eitherhe doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care enough to give you any concern - you’re willing to bet it’s the latter as he steps into the bathroom and pulls the twins doors shut behind himself, far nicer than when you toss them back open again.

Empty. The bathroom is empty by the time you step fully inside, furiously looking around for the escapee who vanished like some kind of annoying magician. There’s no way he got so lucky as to find his golden ticket and cash it that quickly. That bastard was planning his getaway for god knows how long. All he needed was a moment like this when his guards were distracted.

“Damn it!” You curse aloud, wanting to use much more vulgar words, however they’re caught upon your tongue when you turn just in time to see one of the dora milaje warriors approaching.

Flinching, you’ll admit you half expect to experience her anger for yourself. One glance behind her leads way to your defeated comrades - Sam against the floor and couch rubbing his face while Bucky stands dumbfounded with his metal arm dropped from its socket - yet the Wakandan only passes you by calmly, peering into the bathroom to see the bad news for herself.

“He’s gone,” Although she refrains from losing her tongue, the venom in her tone shows she’s about as impressed as you are with Zemo’s absences. Marching past with no regard to you nor the way you back away, she casually leaves the room as if she and her friends hadn’t just kicked the sense out of almost everyone inside, her only word of departure being directed towards one of her fellow warriors who holds John’s shield in triumph, “Leave it.”

The other woman looks disappointed, but voices no argument as they leave together.

As soon as they're gone, you make your way over to the result of their fury, your first stop being to help Sam up off the floor which he gives a quick ‘thanks’ for, however your attention is hardly on him. Instead, your eyes remain concerned with Bucky across the way.

“What happened?” You ask, not dismissing the way his hand trembles slightly while reaching to pick up his metal arm from the ground. How it became detached so cleanly in battle…Well, it must’ve taken some skill. You’ve only ever seen him remove it once or twice for cleaning, something he struggled with both times. Then again, you suppose it would make sense for the Wakandans to know the work-arounds of their own creation.

Clearly, there’s a storm of thoughts brewing in Bucky’s mind, that much being certain based on his distant stare as he reconnects his arm back into its socket. Nevertheless, he fails to answer your question, leaving that task to Sam who apparently misses the implied context.

“We got our asses handed to us, that’s what,” He grumbles bitterly, still sourly rubbing the mark upon his cheek. It probably stings and is likely to bruise.

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of further bad news, but Zemo got away.”

He scoffs, “I heard. Of course he did…”

“‘Can’t imagine he’ll get far with the dora milaje on his tail. Either way, I doubt we’ll be seeing him again anytime soon - not that I’ll lose sleep over that tonight…Are you both okay at least? In a ‘recoverable’ sense, that is?” Once again, your eyes give away who you’re truly worried about and, once again, you receive no answer from who you wish to hear it from most.

“I think you should probably ask that to John,” Sam sighs. Initially, you aren’t too sure if he’s joking or serious. Going off his words, it’s a joke. Expression? He might really mean it. …And John’s expression?

The defeated soldier looks to be in a similar boat to Bucky in terms of internal dilemma. Even as Lemar offers a hand, John continues to kneel against the ground in dazed silence only interrupted by a quashed mumble, “They weren’t even super soldiers…”

He stalls for a moment before finally snapping out of it enough to take Lemar’s hand, lifting himself off the ground then swiftly masking his shock with a glare aimed towards the rest of you. No more words are said on his end - nothing verbal, that is. His eyes say everything they need to, expressing all that they need to about his embarrassment and anger…Maybe that battle wasn’t the reality check you thought he needed after all. Maybe just the opposite…

Running a hand through your hair, you glance around the room in total loss. Wakanda’s pissed. Zemo’s gone. John’s unstable. And to think your day couldn’t have gotten any worse…If you were on your own, this would be about the point where you’d be screaming into a pillow to release all your pent up anger, but now isn’t the time to lose your cool. You have to keep it together.

Sam mentions something else about the Zemo part of this situation, yet you fail to hear out his thought process. Your focus is solely stuck to Bucky who doesn’t stick around himself, having turned his back almost as soon as he could probably sense you were about to address him again.

Dragging a hand over his face, he marches off to destination you originally assumed would be the bathroom Zemo disappeared in, perhaps to begin tracing the baron’s path to recapture him - which might’ve been what Sam was trying to suggest you all do next - however Bucky walks directly past the bathroom and down the hall instead.

Carelessly smacking open the guest room door, he wanders inside where his limited belongings await mostly untouched upon the bed, never unpacked from his duffle bag. Taking a deep, labored breath, he tries to cease any thoughts about today as a whole, desperately pushing them back behind the dam that’s barely holding his sanity together…but the pressure is building.

First he let you get injured and now Ayo hates him? Is he just destined to keep hurting everyone around him, no matter what he does to avoid it? Even without the Winter Soldier to haunt his mind, his life is still cursed with conflict and danger. HYDRA, Thanos, the Flag Smashers…Will it never stop? Will he ever be able to rest without worry or blame?

“- James…?” The door was already practically open, yet you still peek out from around it, ever so gently pushing it outwards as you step into the room with a frown upon your face, "...What about you? Are you okay?"

"...Fine..."

Despite that being his answer, you still hesitate there in the doorway. You can’t just walk away - doing so wouldn’t feel right. Sure, he’s been an asshole lately and you’d have every right to disregard him, but…Well, today’s been rough for everyone, especially him. You’ve already seen how your injury bothered him on a level he refuses to admit, then for the dora milaje to show up - more importantly, for Ayo, someone he admires and considers himself to be in great debt to…

“It’s only natural for Wakanda to be upset with what we’re doing here. Zemo killed their King, after all,” You speak up against the silence, trying to sound neutral as if you’re simply stating a fact and not trying to offer any comfort, “Of course they’re not going to like that we’re working with him for any reason, much less that we broke him out of prison to do so, but it’s not like you -”

“- What part of ‘fine’ don’t you get?”

You’re left gaping at his snapped tone, frozen for a split second or two after he turns over his shoulder to glare at you…Then your own anger starts to swell faster than you can bite it back, “Maybe the part where you still look pissy as all hell. Seriously, what’s your problem? I’m only trying to make sure you’re okay. You -”

- You take a deep breath, even closing your eyes for a second to gather your thoughts. This isn’t the time to lose patience. You must keep it together. Distance - If you have any hope in your relationship getting better, you need to give him distance, and you will, but you also can’t just turn a blind eye to him while he’s struggling. Dancing around the issue isn’t helping anyone at this rate. You want to talk things out first - You need to address the problem then go from there, wherever it may lead.

Letting go of your breath, you don’t mask your concern this time, “...You’re clearly not okay, James. These last few months have been a shit-show, I get that. Thanos, losing Steve, this whole mess with the Flag Smashers…Me…”

He flinches and swiftly looks away.

“It’s been too much. I’m starting to realize that. We’re all stressed and angry and - …Listen, James. I - …I was wrong to keep secrets from you, especially one as big as me being Hollie. I’ll admit that, but you have to try to understand where I was coming from. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I knew it was going to be a lot and hard to believe so I wanted to wait for a good time…It’s not like it’s exactly easy telling people I used to be someone else a half-century ago…”

You run a hand through your hair with a heavy sigh, “I realize I put it off for far too long, and I really can’t say sorry enough for that, but as wrong as it was for me to keep the truth from you, I still don’t understand why such a secret would warrant you treating me like this. We…We used to be so close. We were close, and then you cut me out just likethat…Why?”

Bucky clenches his fist, forcing himself not to so much as glance back at you. He’d be in trouble if he did that. It’s much easy to keep his back turned while willing himself to remain calm despite the bite that presents itself in his words, “I don’t want to talk about it right n -”

“- No!” You quite literally put your foot down, narrowing your eyes at him, “We need to talk about it now. You can’t keep shutting down on me, Bucky. We’ve been avoiding this conversation for too long already. I thought everything would sort itself out if I gave you some time to think, but clearly that’s only making matters worse for both of us. I…I need to know. I need you to know.

“Bucky, I have loved you ever since I could remember who I used to be. Every second we’ve spent together - Everything I’ve done and said - It was never an act, it’s always been me. I need you to understand that. I feel no different for you now than I did when I was named Hollie. I’ve only ever wanted to see you be happy and doing well - that’s my ultimate goal. While I’d like you to be that way with me - while I’d like to be happy together, if you don’t -...If you don’t see me as her then…”

You look down, uncomfortably fiddling with your hands as you fight to keep your voice steady. Still, you can’t ignore the sting of tears in your eyes, “...It’s fine, it’s whatever. We don’t have to be anything special - Hell, we don’t even have to maintain contact ever again if that’s what you truly want, but at the very least, can’t you still treat me like an actual human being whenever the world forces us to interact? Can’t we be civil? I mean, you’ve been nicer to Zemo than you have been to me lately. It’s like you hate me all of the sudden…Is that it?”

“No -” For once, an answer is delivered without any initial hesitation. It must have been impulsive - a powerful reaction caused by hearing that slight peak to your voice. It causes Bucky to finally spin around and face you, yet that single word is quickly followed by regret once he shies away with a heavy sigh, “...No, I don’t hate you…”

“Then why? Please just tell me so that I can fix things.”

This conversation is dragging on for a dangerous length of time. Even with how little he’s engaged, there’s a voice inside Bucky’s head warning him that it’s been too much. The further this extends, the faster his heart races and the heavier his thoughts weigh…The damage your words do against his shield are deadly, yet he stubbornly refuses to give in. He already made his decision long ago. He can’t become weak against it now.

“There’s nothing to fix -” Attempting to put an end to this discussion, he tries to distract himself with his belongings. It’s a hopeless game of pretend as he shifts through his bag with no real motivation beyond acting busy - an act that doesn’t fool you.

“- Clearly there is,” You huff, taking a step further, arms now crossed, “You wouldn’t be acting like this if everything was just fine and dandy.”

“Just -!” He catches himself, suffocating his growing frustration through a quick inhale, “…Drop it, alright? I already said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You never want to talk about it!” You accuse, a hand now falling to your hip, “Why are you acting like my presence is suddenly killing you?”

Slamming his hands against his bag, he spins towards you with a flare temper of his own…So much for keeping it managed, “Why? Because I never asked you to come here! I never wanted you to get involved!”

“In what?”

Shaking his head, he blatantly ignores you aside from a scoff. Tugging at his hair, he finds himself cursing your stubbornness. As bad as it had made him feel, at least you stormed off in Madripoor by this point. You gave up before he had to risk saying anything too close to the truth, however you’re more determined than ever to push for it now. Why can’t you just see that he’s trying to do what’s best for you here?

Instead of even considering something as silly as that, you use your built up anger as fuel for pursuing an answer. No longer are you willing to accept silence or gruff remarks. No longer do you care if you can see Bucky getting visibly distraught with every poke and prod. You deserve an answer this time.

“Involved in WHAT, James!? With this mission? Because believe it or not, I’m not here for you. I’m here because I consider myself responsible for the super soldier serum -”

“- IN EVERYTHING! I NEVER ASKED YOU TO BE INVOLVED IN ANYTHING!” Bucky suddenly shouts over you, his voice cracking in a way neither of you have heard before. Even through the tears, he swears all he can see when looking at your stunned silence is a reflection of Hollie frowning back at him. You don’t even look alike anymore, yet there’s something about your expression - maybe the bitten frown or heartbroken shine of your eyes - that makes you look so much like her. Too much like her…

Why did you have to come back, dammit it?! Hasn’t he been tortured with his past enough? Why be tempted with you now? You didn’t have to come find him the way you did. You could have gone on with your new life, enjoying all the wonders it has to offer for someone so bright and gifted - all the wonders he stole away from you in the past. Now he’s constantly keeping track of the seconds until he dooms you again - until the nightmare becomes another reality once you’re no longer lucky enough to push yourself back up with only a few broken ribs. He’s already killed Holiday Stark. How long until he gets (Y/n) (L/n) killed, too?

Tearfully, you shake your head. You wish you could do more than that. You want to be angrier or at the very least unfazed so that you can at least pretend none of this bothers you the way it does, but you don't have the spirit; it's been successfully crushed under the weight of Bucky's words and your own heartache.

"...Then I won't be…" You know your whispered voice cracks all the same, and you know your hand is trembling when you reach for its opposite, struggling more than it probably should to wiggle the silver ring off your finger which you then let fall to the floor as if it would've been too hot to hold. From there, you barely even wait to hear the 'clink' that it makes against the tile, already having your back turned as you practically throw the door open without any regard to how it slams against the adjacent dresser.

In a blind hurry, you brush past Sam who looks like a stunned deer caught on a highway. You echo out his fumbled attempts at calming you down because if you could give him words right now, you’d tell him that you're far past the point of 'calming down'. You're officially on autopilot mode as you hastily gather your belongings from your own room.

Tossing everything into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder, you retrace half of your last steps, this time finding both Sam and Bucky together in the hall. One looks annoyed like a parent who just wanted a nice night out, the other guilty like a kicked dog; both wary as you pass on by. Any other day, it might've fed your ego to see their fear. If you had some heart left, you'd aim a joke towards it, but not today.

"Wait - Where are you going?" Sam calls, and you think it overshadows Bucky's weak attempt at calling your name.

"Home. I'm done with this shit!”

Sam's attention is immediately whipped to Bucky with a hiss, “What did you do?!”

The question has little to no effect, not because it doesn’t matter, but because it’s already being considered, stirring the sour emotions bubbling in Bucky’s mind. The guilt was always expected, however its exact force was miscalculated. This is what he wanted, isn't it? He wanted to push you away - to keep you as far from him as possible where you’ll be safest…and yet he doesn’t feel accomplished in the slightest.

Glancing back through the open door of his room, Bucky’s eyes become watery once they land on the abandoned wedding ring that sinfully glows in the light of the window.

…He’s really done it now…

NEXT CHAPTER ->

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[seenoversundown]

Come Back For Me : Chapter Five

Danny Wagner x Melody (Fem OC)

Warnings: I'm going to be so, so honest, there really aren't any warnings this week. Fluff, teenage romance, wholesome as hell, and the Kiszka's are in it.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Middle School is a weird time for everyone but thankfully, sometimes you meet some of your favorite people in those years.

Author's Note: This is tentatively the cutest chapter I've ever written? There's something so innocent about it and it really just warmed my heart to put it on virtual paper. 🥰

Reelin' In The Years - Steely Dan (The song is purely just to capture the vibe of the chapter)

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12 Years ago

Daniel & Melody are 13 years old.

Middle school is different. For some reason, there are a bunch of elementary schools, but there is only one middle school and one high school. So, not only am I surrounded by all the kids I’ve been in school with, but now there’s a whole group of new ones that I have to meet. 

Nothing is worse than walking into homeroom and not recognizing anybody, and that’s what I’m currently facing. Scanning the room, there’s only a handful of open seats left, this is what I get for taking too long to get dressed. There’s an empty seat near the windows, so I slowly wander over to it. There’s two boys talking to each other; one of them is turned in his seat to face his friend who’s behind him. They have almost matching haircuts which is a little funny to me, but it feels like every boy our age has that same style. 

I drop my bag next to the seat and plop down into it. 

“Um, hi,” the boy next to me says nervously. I glance over, and his dark hair sits perfectly over his forehead, brushed off to the side. He gives me a little smirk as we make eye contact before saying, “I’m Danny.” 

“I’m Melody,” I smile back before hesitating, “We’re you saving this seat?” I point at the desk quickly. 

“Nope!” he pops the ‘p’, making the boy behind him laugh. I can’t help but look back at him. His hair isn’t quite as dark, and a little longer than Danny’s, but they are basically matching. 

“This is Sam,” Danny tells me, and Sam waves, showing off a toothy grin. I can’t stop the chuckle that comes out. 

The three of us sit there talking for a few minutes before the bell rings to go to first period. I grab my bag, looking over at the two of them as they do the same. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow if anything?” I say quietly, which is a stretch for how noisy the classroom is as everyone is talking and moving around. 

They both look over at me before Danny pipes up, “Definitely.” 

And that was just the beginning of something I never would have expected. 

Every day, we would sit in homeroom talking until the bell rang, but it started to change. Instead of just homeroom, we figured out that we had the same lunch period but hadn’t seen each other because of the chaos from the first few days. So it turned into the three of us sitting together for lunch, too. 

Sam and I actually had English together, so we ended up sitting next to each other after a few days, which made the class a little more fun. He’s insanely intelligent, but he hides it underneath a goofy exterior. His laugh alone would throw anybody off; it doesn’t even sound real. As it turns out, he’s the youngest in his family, and his older brothers are twins, so he’s really good with comebacks to jokes. 

It was nice having them as friends, not that I didn’t enjoy the girls I was friends with, but Sam and Danny never had stupid drama going on. They just did normal boy stuff, which I was never opposed to because at least it was fun. 

It took a few months of school for us to get kind of close, but by the time Winter break came around, we were basically inseparable. Thankfully, we agreed to make a group chat so we could still talk when we weren’t at school. We also figured out that we all lived fairly close to each other– which is proving to make winter break a little more fun.  

Everything is covered in snow, making it look like a postcard; one of the perks of living here is that it always looks pretty. The trees in the neighborhood are perfectly outlined with snow as I carefully walk to meet up with Sam and Danny, trying not to slip on black ice. 

I can see Sam coming out of his house as I slowly make my way down his street. We have all three been alternating where we go, and today was Danny’s house, so Sam offered to walk the rest of the way with me since I have to pass his house to get there anyway. He starts to walk towards me once he realizes I’m almost there. 

“Helloooo Melody!”

Waving as I approach him, “It’s so cold! Let’s go!” 

Grateful that we only had to walk a little longer, but the relief when the warm air hit us as Danny’s mom answered the door, made it all worth it.  

“Daniel!” She hollers as we walk in, making sure to kick our shoes off near the front door. The sound of him coming down the stairs at full speed like a herd of elephants. 

“Happy Birthday!” Sam and I yell in unison as he comes into view. His face lights up, smiling from ear to ear. 

Quickly hugging Sam, but not like most boys, just a normal hug, which makes me laugh. Until he turns, pulling me into him. 

It’s not the first time we’ve hugged, but it is the first time that I got nervous about it. It just started happening lately where my stomach feels weird when I’m around him. Sometimes, it’s just the way he looks at me, but it’s probably just me. I’m happy to be friends with him and get to hang out with him and Sam all the time. 

“I’m so glad you guys came over,” he lets out as he pulls away from the hug, making eye contact for a second; the smirk on his face makes the butterflies go crazy. 

“Actually,” I pipe up. Pulling the backpack off and unzipping it quickly. “I brought these for you. My mom and I baked them last night.” Handing him a ziplock bag full of little gingerbread men. “I know you probably get sick of Christmas cookies, but we had a lot of leftover ingredients and—“ 

Danny cuts me off, “I love them, actually. Thank you.” His hand barely grazes mine as he grabs the bag from me, opening it slightly. “They smell amazing.” 

We stood there quietly for a second before Sam chimed in, “So! What movie are we watching today, birthday boy?” 

Danny POV

Months later.. 

It’s the first full day of Summer break, and I just have a good feeling about this summer. 

Jake and Josh got their licenses a couple of months ago, but they’re finally able to drive us around, or that’s what they tell us, at least. So, they picked me and Melody up, and we’re all going to the lake for the day. 

The best part of being in middle school now is that we’re old enough and our parents trust us to go do things without them finally. Not that we’re going that far but still. It’s always fun to hang out with the twins, even if them and Sam love to pick on each other– it’s really just Josh though. 

“How are you kids doing back there?”

Sam, Mel, and I crammed into the backseat of the car; Mel graciously took the middle seat since Sam and I are both taller– and i’m definitely not going to complain about that. 

“We’re good!” her voice pipes up over the sound of the radio and wind from all the windows being down. 

It’s crazy how easily Mel fits into the group, not that we hang out with Sam’s family like that all the time, but we do end up all together often enough. She’s definitely not afraid to make jokes back to them and doesn’t seem to let them get under her skin, and I respect that about her. It can be overwhelming especially if you get all three of them going, and I’m only used to it because Sam and I have been friends for so long, you start to expect it at some point. 

It was refreshing to have a girl around in general, but Meldoy especially because she wasn’t full of the drama that a lot of girls bring. She was just happy to hang out and do whatever. She had the same sense of humor as the rest of us, which honestly made it even more fun. 

Once we make it to the lake, Jake and I grab everything from the trunk while the other three run to the “beach” part of the lake to find a spot. They all giggle and frantically wave from the edge of the beach, finding a little section that was up near the trees so we could have a little bit of shade if we wanted. It takes us all of two minutes before everyone is sprinting towards the water because if you do anything with the Kiszka’s, consider it a race. 

Sam launches himself into the water, and as quickly as he disappears into the murky water, he pops back up with a victory shriek. His fists fly up into the air as we all laugh at how ridiculous his Founding Father hairstyle is. Without warning, Josh comes up behind him and pulls him back down into the water. 

We spent a while just horsing around in the lake together– playing countless games of Chicken, where I alternated having to hold up Sam or Melody because the twins always just picked each other. Having the height on either of the twins was usually helpful but Josh was ruthless when it came to competition. 

“I think I’m gonna go sit,” Mel tells me, her hand barely touching my arm to get my attention. She giggles, “I’ve drank enough lake water for a little bit.” 

Laughing with her, I ask, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay! If you want to stay here, I’ll be fine,” she says. Mel is a pretty independent girl, so I don’t doubt that she would be okay. I was hoping she would want me to go.  

It’s pretty undeniable that I have a slight crush on Mel. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it until Sam called me out one day after she left his house. 

“Just ask her out already,” he told me. 

I laughed at his boldness but then quietly asked, “Do you think she likes me.. like that?”

“Are you dumb?” he rebutted. “She obviously likes you back.” We sat on the floor of his bedroom as he gave me every reason why he was convinced that she also had a crush on me. Some of his points were rock solid; meanwhile, some of them had absolutely nothing to back them up other than the fact that he and I are best friends. Naturally, he thinks that there is no reason for her not to like me back. 

I watch her as she makes her way up onto the blanket we brought, wrapping herself in a towel before sitting down. 

“Earth to Danny!” Jake’s voice rings in the air from behind me, making my head whip around. I can feel the heat rising in my face as I make eye contact with him and then the other two, trying to think of something to say, but Jake beats me to it with a wink and a quiet, “Welcome back.” 

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh out, splashing water at him, which causes a slew of chaos amongst the four of us because there is something about the air at the lake that makes us all feel like kids again. 

We all slowly make our way up to the blanket where Mel is lying out, just enjoying the sun. She’s so pretty. The way she has her curls tied up into a messy bun on top of her head and how her lips are always pulled up into a soft smile, even when she’s practically asleep. She’s the only girl I’ve ever kind of wanted to kiss.  

“Nice of you guys to finally join me,” she says, monotone, her hand shading her eyes from the sun to be able to see us. 

Patting his stomach, Josh chimes in, “Needed to get some laps in, obviously.”

“I don’t think you need to be shredded for theatre,” Jake mumbles as he sits opposite of me. 

The three of us giggled at their interaction while getting comfortable and grabbing some food from the cooler we brought with us. Mel moves so her ankles are propped up on my calves, and she just holds herself up on her elbows, but she’s closer to Sam. Which was probably perfect anyway; that way, they could gossip with each other. 

It was fun to watch the way they’ve become friends, because I know Sam a little too well at this point in our lives. But I think he liked having someone that didn’t know him for being the younger brother to the twins– which unfortunately happened a lot since we live in a town where there’s not the most people. 

He would lean closer to her and try to point out other girls subtly, and then they would quietly discuss things amongst themselves. Melody was definitely someone who wasn’t going to sugarcoat things for you, so if she thought that a girl wasn’t going to be worth his time, she would tell him. We’re also still teenagers, so like, I don’t know what he’s so worried about anyway.  

“If you had to pick,” Jake starts, and we all glance over to him. “Which pirate would you want to–” 

We all pretend to fall asleep mid question, fake snoring included. If there’s one thing Jake loves– it’s pirates. He could go on about them for days, and I’m almost positive he can quote all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies in his sleep at this point. 

Jake rolls his eyes dramatically, “Well, then you guys come up with a better question!” 

“I have one,” Sam pipes up. “Does anybody have a crush at the moment?” 

“Oh, I’m into this one,” Josh gently pats Sam’s leg. “Good question, Sammy.” 

I can feel my face warm at the thought of admitting that I have a crush in general, but it’s worse because she’s sitting next to me. If I could stare any harder into the side of Sam’s head, there would be a hole there.

“Does that mean you have one, Samuel?” Jake asks while sipping on his drink. The shit-eating grin of getting to tease his brother is plastered on his face. 

Sam smirks at the question, “I may.. I may not.” 

A collective “oooo” comes from all of us. 

“Well, who is she?” Josh asks, he is typically the one who knows everything, so he would be the one to ask him anyway. “Give us the details!” 

It takes a minute for the twins to badger him, but he finally caves. Admitting it’s this one girl from his history class, but it’s not shocking the type of girl he likes. She’s this blonde girl who is pretty outspoken about most things, which makes a lot of people not really like her. But I think Sam likes the chase, but that’s a stretch, because I don’t see him actually approaching her about it. I think he thinks he’s a little smoother than he is. 

“Jake always has a crush on someone, so we can just skip over him,” Sam laughs out. 

Jake just scoffs, folding his arms over his stomach. 

Sam looked at me, holding the stare for a moment, and it was like slow motion when he opened his mouth, asking, “So, Mel–” 

Thank god.

“Yes, I do,” she states matter-of-factly. “No, I’m not telling you.” 

My eyes go wide as she says it. She likes someone?  Is it..? 

“What about you, Danny?” She asks. Her eyes are so soft as she looks over at me

I can’t admit it in front of everyone. I stare at her for a second, trying to figure out how I can answer without having to say who it is, but the hesitation I feel is going to sell me out. 

“Uhh..,” I let out. Internally– I’m screaming. “Maybe.” 

Sam gasps dramatically, “And you haven’t told me!?” 

All of us laugh at how ridiculous he is, which perfectly deflects the questions about who my crush may be– which I will not remind them that they never asked. 

We spent a while just sitting around asking each other insane questions, eventually ending up back in the water. It was nice to just get to hang out and laugh with everyone; making for a great first day of summer. 

Hours later, we found ourselves at the Kiszka’s house, sitting around the makeshift fire pit that their parents put together. The cool air as the sun went down reminding me of the light sunburn I got today. Enjoying the breeze as we all listened to their Dad tell us random stories. 

Something about their family was so unique and I don’t know if it was because they were just so friendly and welcoming or if their parents have lived multiple lives. I swear in the years that I’ve been friends with Sam, I’ve never heard the same story twice from them. But they never fail to make us laugh. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mel rubbing her hands over her legs, even with the throw blanket on her. 

“Are you cold?” I ask quietly, not wanting to draw more attention to it. She just nods subtly to my question. I whisper, telling her, “Scoot closer.” 

She moves close enough that our arms are lightly brushing against each other. I take part of my blanket that I stole earlier and pull it partially over her. She looks over at me with a cheesy smile on her face, whispering, “Thank you.” Both of us let our attention fall back on their Dad as he’s still rambling on. 

I can’t deny the nerves that suddenly hit me as she got closer. Something about how comfortable she seems with me makes everything worse. Being friends has made me realize how.. fun she is. She’s also so thoughtful and kind; the number of times that she’s either given me little things or offered to help me with homework, even though I’d never tell her that I don’t actually need the help. I just liked spending time with her. 

I go to adjust how I’m sitting and accidentally brush my hand against hers under the blanket; my stomach turns with nerves. Trying to look at her casually, a little smirk pulling the corners of her lips. Should I.. It feels like slow motion as I let my hand barely touch hers. Feeling her hand carefully move over mine, resting on top of it. Oh. I timidly turn my wrist so my palm is facing hers; I swear everyone can hear my heart beating, even though I know it’s just me. 

And then it happened. 

Her hand lowered into mine, making itself comfortable as our fingers laced together; everything just felt right. It was like we were silently admitting what we didn’t want to hours ago. My mind raced with what-ifs, and I tried just to ignore them because, at the moment, the girl I had a huge crush on seemingly wanted to hold hands with me. 

All of us sat out there for a while, losing track of the time until Mel went inside for a minute. I grab my phone and realize that it’s almost ten. Yikes. 

“So, are you gonna ask her out?” Sam asks. 

Jake and Josh looked at each other and then over to me. 

Scratching the back of my head, I nervously respond, “Should I?” 

“Oh my god, please!” Josh practically yells. “It’s glaringly obvious!” 

Jake chuckled to himself and nodded. 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I tell them. “But if she says no, I swear.” 

They all laugh as I clap my hand against a closed fist, choking back a laugh of my own. 

“I need to go, or my mom will absolutely ground me,” Mel sighs. “I’ll see you boys later!” Waving to the other three and patting my shoulder before she starts to walk around the side of the house, and I’m still sitting there staring at the three of them. 

“Go!”

“Now’s your chance!”

“Do it! You got this, bud!” 

They all whisper at once, trying to cheer me on. I take a deep breath as I stand up and start to follow her. 

“Um.. Mel, before you leave..” I say, just loud enough for her to turn around. 

She spins to face me, taking a few steps to close the space between us. Looking up at me when she whispers, “Did you forget something?” 

“No, I uh–” I hesitate. “Will you..” My nerves get the best of me as she waits for me to finish the question. I spit out, as fast as I can, “bemygirlfriend?” 

“Really?!” She lets out loudly. “Yes!” Clapping her hands over her mouth for a second, as her eyes went wide, probably realizing how loud she was. Giggling quietly and whispering, “I mean- yes.” 

I laugh at the way she’s so excited, even if it’s a little relieving for me, too. We stand there awkwardly for a moment before I finally tell her, “I’ll um.. text you then.” 

“Okay,” she says, the grin plastered on her face, telling me everything I needed to know.

This summer is going to be incredible.

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Chapter Four

Chapter Six

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[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Request from the lovely @nicoline1998enilocin: "I have a short and simple request for you including our favorite super soldier: Bucky! What is he like during mirror sex? He can be the one receiving the pleasure or giving - or both, depending on your mood 😉" Shoutout to @samodivaa for the help and support as always!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Some angsty feelings on Bucky's behalf, mention of legal proceedings, oral sex

“BUCKY!” you yelled after him. He was halfway down the staircase when you were finally within ear shot. 

“Bucky,” you panted out his name this time. Cardio had never been your strong point.

He looked up at you, mirth reflected in his eyes at your need to hang over the handrail to catch your breath.

“What’s up, Sugar?”

“Get your butt back up here,” you demanded.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed into a look of concern as he marched back up the stairs to you.

“Did you even look at yourself in the mirror before you left?”

The small shrug of his shoulders told you everything you needed to know. “How did you know?” he asked. The mirth that had temporarily graced his features was replaced by his usual melancholy.

You held up the long strip of silky material in your hand. “You forgot your tie!”

“Oh.” His lips breathed out the sound as they formed a perfect little circle.

“Here, let me.” You lifted your arms to pull up the collar of his shirt and wrap the tie around his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“It’s a closed hearing. They aren’t allowing anyone inside.”

“I could wait outside," you suggested, folding his collar back down and smoothing the tie with your palm.

“It’s not worth your time.”

“You’re worth it, Bucky.” You leaned into him, the back of your fingers gently caressing his cheek. He was one step below you, meaning you were face to face rather than this usual towering posture.

“Am I?”

“Buck,” you sighed. You hated how much his past plagued him. He would suffer from fits of despondency and wistfulness which would take him away from you. His body would be yours to hold but his mind was lost in a haze of his bloody past. Today was definitely one of those days. Understandably so, he was being judged for actions he felt responsible for, despite knowing that his mind had not been his own.

His court mandated therapy would leave him a shell of himself. Gone would be the charm and snark that your boyfriend innately sported and you were left with a husk of his former self. His spells of self loathing had become more frequent and it left you filled with dread that one day you’d lose your boyfriend to his guilt ridden conscience.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked him.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone didn’t inspire confidence.

“Buck, just give me five minutes, I’ll-”

“No,” he cut you off with more force than you expected. “I don’t want you there.”

It hurt. He knew it hurt you but he couldn’t quite form the words to apologize. Instead he would let the sorrow fester in the depths of his soul, turning away, unwilling to look into your eyes, to see the new cracks he had made on your heart. He was afraid that one day he would shatter it into a thousand pieces and he would lose you forever, but he still didn’t have the strength to concoct an apology. He would lose you through his own actions. It was what he deserved.

“Okay.” 

Your acceptance of him made him angry, he clenched his teeth, a rage building up inside of him in the same way it had when he had been him. It was still inside him, the creature they had forced out of him, had leashed and used. Why didn’t you see the monster inside?

“I’ll be here when you get home,” you said softly as he left you at the top of the staircase.

***

Bucky crept back into the apartment. A pardon. They had given him a full pardon. He had complied with their demands, jumped through their hoops and saved the world to boot. His actions told the tales of redemption but his soul still burned in flames of an eternal torment.

He heard you humming in the kitchen, probably preparing something delicious for him. You were the only light in his life, he couldn't think of anything he had done in his overextended lifetime to deserve the compassion you showed him.

Shame engulfed him, he couldn't face you after the words he had spoken that morning. He couldn’t look into your beautiful eyes without an apology that was worthy of you. Maybe the scalding temperature of a hot shower would help wash away the fog that clouded his brain and steeped him further into his anguish.

You may not have caught the sound of his footsteps, but there was no mistaking the creaking of the ancient pipes in the building.

“Bucky?” you muttered under your breath. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, except a super soldier who was not currently in the act of drowning his sorrows under a showerhead. You turned off the stove and padded into his bedroom. After retrieving the suit that he had so carelessly dropped on the floor, you sat down on the bed to wait for your boyfriend to come out of the bathroom. 

He didn’t emerge for almost an hour, but you were patient. Forgiving. Almost too forgiving.

Bucky froze in the doorway with only a towel hanging around his waist, seeing you sitting on the bed watching him, concern etched across your face. He watched your lips open and close slightly, fighting the urge to get up and rush to wrap your arms around him. He craved your touch, but he stayed, frozen, out of reach. He could see your fear, not for your safety, but of his response. But it was your sadness which finally ignited some movement from him.

He sat down beside you, drops of water dripping off his hair down onto his shoulders. The scent of his geranium and orange shower gel wafted into your nostrils, giving you the comfort of his presence, his proximity, as well as the courage to ask your question.

“What happened, Bucky?”

“Pardoned.” His reply was flat.

You gasped, flooded by a sense of relief. It was a reflex, you grabbed his flesh hand between yours and looked at his face, searching for his reaction. “That’s great! Right, Buck?”

He turned his head, not quite able to look at your face. Instead he stared ahead, only to catch your eyes in the reflection of the full length mirror which hung on the wall in front of you. You deserved an answer, so he nodded stiffly.

“Bucky.” The way you breathed his name betrayed everything you were feeling. Heartache, apprehension, anxiety and most importantly, affection.

He squeezed your fingers, trying to convey everything he hadn't said with this one action.

"We need to talk, Bucky."

And here it was. You had reached your limit.

"I'm worried about you."

The breath that had caught in his throat escaped in a short hiss.

"You can't carry on like this."

You weren't looking at his reflection anymore, you were looking directly at him, eyes filled with expectation.

"I-" Bucky grappled to find the right words. "I don't deserve this."

"Because of what you see, right? You look into that mirror," you pointed at his reflection, "and you still see yourself as the Winter Soldier. But Bucky, that's not who I see."

"No?"

"No," you shook your head. "I see a man who's the survivor of the most heinous acts that another human can inflict on them."

Your fingers hovered over the scars on his left shoulder, gently caressing his skin. "Someone who resisted their torture for twenty years."

"You have so much strength and resilience, you fought against it and you're still doing it. You don't give up. And that makes me so proud." Gently you rested your chin on his right shoulder and pressed your temple against his stubbled cheek. 

You folded one knee under you and moved closer  to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his waist. "I know I can't take away the sadness in your heart… as much as I wish I could. And I know you carry that weight with you every day. But if you'll let me, I'd like to help you with it. Especially on those days when it gets to be too much."

Bucky's jaw worked hard to mumble his next words. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're the most important person in my life. I choose you."

You kissed his cheek, a sweet peck. The first of many. The next was firmer, your lips on his skin longer. Another to the angle of his jaw. It left a buzzing sensation where you'd made contact. But you didn't stop there, you left a trail of blazing kisses down his neck and along his shoulder, not once taking your eyes off Bucky's reflection. You wanted to make sure he was watching you.

"I want you to see how special you are."

You snaked your hands up from his waist so that they landed on his chest, over his heart.

"I want you to know that I see the good man that's in here. I see you, Bucky."

Your eyes didn't leave his in the mirror. Together you both watched your movements as you showed Bucky what he meant to you.

A few more chaste kisses landed across his broad shoulders before you decided to change the focus of your attention. His vibranium arm. The advanced prosthetic was usually a source of pride and achievement and told the story of how far he had come from the nightmare he lived for decades. But in moments of madness, the maelstrom inside him would sweep him into the past and Bucky would view his gift as a curse.

You pushed on his elbow from behind, guiding his arm up in a cradled position across his chest. With your other hand you interlocked your fingers with his, your thumb caressing the smooth hard metal. Your free fingertips now traced the golden veins which stood out against the midnight colors, every second watching.

Closer, you pulled him closer. You drew his cool fingers into your mouth. One digit at a time, your tongue swirled around each one, licking, sucking, admiring their taste. He hadn't taken his eyes off you. Your other hand stroked this muscular back, working its way around the edges of the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Sugar…"

"Yeah, Buck?" you asked, taking his fingers out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you this morning." He was looking directly at you rather than the mirror as he apologized, you could see the sincerity in the glimmer of his cerulean blue orbs.

"Thank you."

"I shouldn't have."

"No, but I think I understand what you were feeling."

"Forgive me?"

"I forgive you, Bucky."

This time he initiated the kiss. Lips covering yours. Tongues dancing together. Longing and love exchanged in the act of passion. Bucky wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his lap. 

"I want you to see what I see," you whispered as you finally came up for air.

You turned to look over your shoulder at your reflections before facing Bucky with a smile. There was enough action under his towel for you to work with. You climbed off his lap and started to kneel down in front of him. But Bucky grabbed your arms just as your first knee touched the floor.

"Sugar-"

"Let me show you, show you how much I love you." You slipped your fingers into the small space where the towel was tucked in on itself.

"Just hang on-"

"Buck, it's okay, really!"

You tried to stop him leaning backwards, but he was intent on his action. Bucky grabbed a pillow and handed it to you. "The floor's pretty hard. I know, I sleep on it."

You accepted his offering gratefully, dropping it to the floor, you felt immediate relief as the hard wooden floorboards were no longer pressing your knees. It allowed you to focus your attention back on exposing him.

The towel fell open with little effort and you worked on tracing a trail along his thighs with the tips of your fingers. It made you smile to see the line of goosebumps which erupted on his skin. Gently you wrapped your palms around his shaft.

You started with a simple kiss, pressed against his tip. And you felt him respond. Your lips slipped over him again, taking him a little further into your mouth. A smile crept across your features as you heard him suppress his moan.

Bucky reached down to touch your face, there was a tenderness in his expression which made you feel a new kind of warmth inside you. It made you want to give your boyfriend everything you had to offer. 

Slowly, you stroked the underside of his shaft, just under the head where you knew how sensitive he was. He rose magnificently under your touch. His hands surrounded your head and he threaded his fingers through your hair with a hum of pleasure. 

"You watch in there," you jerked your thumb behind you. 

The long tortuous vein that ran along one side of his magnificent member received an extraordinary amount of attention as you traced its journey from the base to the tip. The tip which was now flushed, pulsing with excitement.

You offered him a coy smile before dropping your head. Lips enveloped him, engulfing him with the warmth of your mouth. Once, twice. The third time you dragged your now puffed up lips, giving a lap of your tongue against his meatus for added effect. Tucking away your teeth, you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked hard, hard enough to turn his hum into a strangled gasp followed by the most erotic groan you'd heard from him.

Bucky's fingertips massaged your scalp, tugging at the strands lightly to help set your pace. You reveled in the tiny whimpers that left his lips as you worked on him. 

His cock throbbed lightly, you could feel it in your mouth. He was rapidly reaching his climax and you wanted to help him along as best you could. You edged one hand down to his balls, taking both into your palm and rolling them between your eager fingers.

Eventually Bucky did the one thing you'd asked of him. He looked up. He wasn't sure if his vision was blurred because of his dilated pupil, or if it was the flush across his cheeks, but he barely recognized the man he had seen in the mirror for the last few years. He felt strong and confident and loved. 

Instinctively his hips thrust towards you and his cock slid further down your throat. He groaned, louder than before. His fingers clambered desperately at the duvet cover, trying to find an anchor for the oncoming storm.

You bobbed your head, deeper each time, inch by inch. His tip grazed the side of your mouth, the inside of your cheek, nearing the back of your throat. Lips sucking, tongue twirling, fist pumping. Over and over. Faster and faster. His breaths came hard and fast. Until that moment arrived. 

His eyes closed and muscles tensed. Hot, white cum exploded out of him with a strangled cry. Bucky’s body undulated as you pulled back while swallowing his load. As his pleasure subsided, you took him back into your mouth, lapping off the sweet elixir you'd milked from him.

Once you'd had your fill, you climbed back up onto the bed to sit at his side. He turned his head to face you and smiled. You pressed your forehead against his, your noses brushed against each other.

"Did you see?" you asked him. 

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Sixteen

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.1k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

His first few days back were far busier than he’d anticipated, as he had much to catch up on in his absence. But he had no complaints about what had been left for him, as Dís had done a more than competent job in managing things in his stead. Even so, she was also very willing and happy to turn his duties back over to him.

He had been back in Erebor for almost a week when Dís rapped on the door to his flat. “Thorin, do you have a moment?”

He’d been on his sofa, head back, eyes closed, and lifted his head to call, “It’s open. Come in.”

The door swung open and he braced himself for the whirlwind that was his sister as she barreled into the room, the beads woven into her beard clacking with every step. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to take the day off.”

He smiled. “No. I was up late last eve with Balin, catching up on the progress at Esgaroth and Dale. Men built at a far slower pace than dwarves, it seems, and they like to pad their bills as much as possible.”

Dís’ forehead wrinkled slightly. “Are we being cheated?”

“No more than usual and with Balin’s keen eyes keeping close watch, we catch each and every mistake before the bill is paid. It’s amazing how many mathematical errors find their way into invoices.”

“Perhaps we should rethink—”

“No. I gave my word, Dís.” He shook his head slowly. “And I went back on it once. I cannot do so again, but I also will not let them take me for a fool, either. Balin is far more diplomatic than I will ever be, and so when he calls them on their nonsense, they rectify it at once.”

“You’ve more patience than I would, I’ll have you know. I do not look kindly on those who think to steal from me.”

“Nor do I, but in all honesty, I think Bard is honest as well and if we didn't catch it, he most likely would.”

Dís hardly looked convinced even as she replied, “If you say so.”

“Either way, you needn’t worry about it.” He sat up, hands clasped between his knees. “Now, I know you came here not to be bored with construction news that you’ve already been privy to.”

“You know me well, brother.” She skirted the stone table before the sofa to settle alongside him. “There is something I wished to ask you and I hope you’ll not think I am meddling too much.”

“Which of course means you are about to meddle.” He said it with a smile, for no matter how much meddling Dís did—and she could be quite meddlesome when the mood struck—her intentions were of the best where he was concerned and he understood that, even if it threatened to drive him into madness time and again.

“Yes, it does.” Her hand came to rest on his knee. “Did you still wish me to see about inviting Elisin to come stay for a bit?”

He sighed softly. Elisin was the woman he’d at one point planned to court. She was a distant cousin, and one he’d known most of his life. He wasn't madly in love with her, but they got on well and should Mahal see fit for them to have children, she would be a fine mother.

But that was before Nina Carren came into his life.

Nina. 

His stomach curdled with fury at her betrayal. Why couldn’t he simply forget about her? She’d played him false, pretended to care, all the while plotting to end his life. 

For five thousand in gold.

Trouble was, he couldn't forget about her and no matter how busy he tried to be, she was always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the memory of her, and as more time passed, he found himself on the verge of pining for her and that was the last thing he wanted or needed.

 “Thorin?”

“Yes, please. By all means, invite her to come stay for a bit. There is still much to be done here, but she will be comfortable enough. And, as you reminded me before I departed for Rivendell, I am growing no younger and should think about taking a wife and giving Erebor a queen.”

“And you wish to do this now? You told me at the time to mind my own matters.”

“Things change.”

“What things?” She gave his knee a squeeze. “Did something happen whilst you were in Rivendell? A romance with an elf that went sour, perhaps?”

He chuckled. “No, our relations with the elves are better than they were, but they will never be that good.”

“So what is it, then?”

“Nothing. It is only that I’ve traveled far and nearly died and realize that my life is passing and I’ve little to show for it in the way of personal matters.”

“Are you certain that is all? You haven’t seemed like yourself since you returned. And I know you hate when I pry, as you like to call it, but you just… you seem unhappy, Thorin. And I hate seeing you unhappy and you know that. So, is that all?”

A knowing look accompanied her words and he braced himself for her to ask about Nina—or the mystery mercenary, as Dís kept calling her. When she said nothing more, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks and shook his head slowly. “I am tired, is all. It was an adventure, both getting to and coming from Rivendell. We crossed paths with a determined orc pack just beyond Rivendell’s borders and I am fairly certain we met up with them again outside Mirkwood’s.”

“I told you that you should take more than just Dwalin.” She squeezed his knee again. “But don't tell him I said that.”

“I won’t. And you were probably right. But, rest assured, I have no plans on leaving Erebor to go any further than Dale or Esgaroth for the near future.”

“Good. Then I will extend an invitation to Elisin and perhaps we might have a party of sorts to welcome her?”

“I think that sounds doable.”

“Then I will see it done and posted before luncheon.” She rose, then peered down at him, her face lined with concern, her blue eyes, so like his own, troubled. “Are you certain nothing else troubles you?”

“I’m positive.”

“Very well.” 

She bent to press a kissing the top of his head, and then with a soft clacking, let herself out and silence fell upon him once more. As the door closed behind her, he let his head fall to the back of the sofa once more. All he wanted to do was forget Nina. Forget the magical night he’d spent with her.

Forget that he was on the verge of falling in love with her. 

Perhaps Elisin’s arrival would help him do just that. 

A low sigh leaked through his teeth. Somehow, he knew he was just lying to himself.

“Yer Sigrid’s friend, ain’t ye?”

Cold grey eyes alit on her and while those eyes sent a shiver along her spine, Nina managed to keep that to herself as she smiled and nodded. “I am, yes. She told me you needed serving girls and I’d like to apply for the job."

The tavern proprietor, Harald narrowed his eyes as he gave her a long up-and-down appraisal. “Sigrid told ye I needed help, did she? Ye have any experience?”

Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly shook her head. Although her fever had broken several days ago, after the doctor Sigrid brought to the flat treated her infected wound, Nina still felt a bit unsteady and tired easily. Hopefully, Harald hadn’t noticed. “No, but I am fast learner and I’m quick on my feet.” 

He didn't look at all convinced or inclined to offer her a job, but then he shrugged and with a heavy sigh, said, “I’ve nothing to lose, I s’pose. Business is still slow, and Margrete’s been complaining about needing help. When can ye start?”

“When do you need me to start?”

“Can ye be here this eve? ‘Bout half-six?”

“Done.” She held out her hand.

He looked down at it, then up at her once more, then slowly reached to clasp that hand. “Don’t be late, girlie.”

“I won’t be.”

“And try to dress up a little,” he advised, his smile becoming a bit of a leer. “Show some skin. Ye’ll thank me.”

The thought turned her stomach, but she managed to nod. “Of course.”

“Go on, then. Go home and change.”

“I will see you at half-six.” She turned and made her way back out into the warm sunlight to go home.

Home. 

It had been so long since she’d had a home—a true home—but now she did, as Sigrid had told her she was welcome to remain with her in the small flat at the end of the alley. Nina had her own small, cozy room, and as she recuperated, her friendship with Sigrid picked up where it had left off, with late night chats filled with laughter and gossip, although Nina had no idea who had the people Sigrid mentioned were. And it didn't matter. She would come to know them in time. As the days passed and her wounds healed, she was the one who insisted she needed to find a job. Sigrid told her to take as much time as she needed, but Nina couldn't bear the thought of being a burden for any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

So, that was when Sigrid suggested Nina come talk to the Black Swan’s owner, sure he would give her a job. And now, as she strolled along the alley toward the flat, she managed a slight smile. She was becoming adept at beginning her life anew. And that’s what this was as well, another chance. 

The alley ended at a low stone wall that overlooked the Long Lake and what would one day again be Esgaroth. As her ability to get around returned, Nina found herself out there, at the low stone wall, more than once, just gazing out at what had been her home.

She sighed as she reached that wall and sank onto the wide flat top, her back against the stone building it met. Day after day, she sat there, just gazing out at the city under construction. Despite her distance from Esgaroth, she could hear the faint sounds of men working to rebuild, watched as new pilings replaced the charred, ruined ones. Watched as the walkways and bulkheads and platforms were erected and houses framed out upon them. 

It was bittersweet, seeing the rebirth of Esgaroth. Her life there had been difficult, but happy. She loved her family, they loved her, and although they were not wealthy by any means, thanks to her father’s disappearance and the Master’s greed, they had still been happy. 

Until the dwarves of Erebor arrived. They changed everything. 

And one of them had changed her forever.

She never regretted anything as much as she did going to see Tarog. What a fool she was, thinking she could be a cold-blooded killer, no matter how angry she’d been with Thorin. Truth be told, by the time she spied him in the tavern, her anger had faded, her grief had not run its course, but had become manageable. When she’d spotted him, she felt an initial burst of fury, but by the time she caught up to him in the clearing and took the arrow meant for him, it had begun to fade.

He’d seen to it she was cared for, and allowed her to join them.

By the time they’d shared their first kiss, she knew she was in trouble. 

And now?

Now she sighed, gazing out at the Long Lake as the sun burned across it to make its surface shimmer like fire.

“Show some skin,” she murmured, smiling at the shimmering lake. “Somehow, that isn’t very likely.”

****

In the year since Erebor had been reclaimed, restoration had been at a steady pace. Day after day, the city reverberated with activity and Thorin had no complaints with how Dís had run things in his stead. If he and his nephews had succumbed to their injuries, she would have made as fine a ruler as their cousin Dáin, who would have inherited the throne. He’d often thought about naming her his heir, should something else befall both him and her sons. He still hadn’t ruled it out entirely. 

He stood at the landing that overlooked the treasure hoard of Erebor. It had been depleted some since they reclaimed the mountain, and while it had pained him at first, now, it no longer troubled him in the slightest. He had much to atone for and rebuilding both Esgaroth and Dale were a small price to pay. 

Even with what the treasury of Erebor had parted with there was still a sea of gold. An ocean of gemstones of every cut and color. As he leaned against the railing of pure gold, against the wall of labradorite so green it looked almost black and had been polished to a mirror finish, and gazed out at that sea, a low sigh came to his lips. 

A feeling of restlessness came over him, and he pushed away from the wall to make his way down the one intact staircase leading to the hoard. In time, the second one would be refurbished, but for now, the one was more than enough. 

The stones and coins and other treasures shifted slightly beneath his bulk as he picked his way around all of it, wading into the center of the chamber. He didn't know what he looked for, only that he would know when he found it.

And find it, he did. A beautiful emerald the size of his fist. He scooped it up, the facets glittering under the torchlight as it rolled in his palm. The deep green stone reminded him of a pair of eyes almost that same rich shade. Eyes he’d lost himself in. Eyes he wished he could always lose himself in.

The eyes of a traitor.

He scowled at the stone and drew his arm back to fire it deeper into the chamber when Dís appeared on the landing. “What are you doing?”

His arm lowered of its own. “I’m bidding some old ghosts farewell.” He tucked the emerald into his trouser pocket. “What brings you here?”

“Elisin arrived earlier. I sent her to freshen up from her journey.”

“She made good time.”

“I think she was in a hurry to make certain no one else claimed your heart first.”

He forced a laugh to his lips. “Tell her there is no danger of that happening.”

“Isn’t there?” Dís came down the stairs, then carefully stepped into the sea of wealth. “You’ve been moping about here for the past fortnight as if someone has died. Now, give over and tell me. It’s your mystery mercenary, isn’t it?”

Annoyance bubbled through him, but he tamped it down as he shook his head. “No. It isn’t and there is nothing to tell, Dís.” He crossed over to her, holding out a hand as she stumbled over a jumble of gold plates. 

She caught it, her fingers tightening about his. “Thorin, do not lie to me. I know you better than you think.”

He sighed. “Dís, please… I’ve no wish to discuss it.”

“Very well. I’ll not press, but if you ever wish to—”

“I know,” he replied, offering her his arm. “Why don't we go above and I can reacquaint myself with Elisin?”

She looked as if she didn't believe him, but thought better of trying to force the issue. Instead, she nodded. “Very well.”

They crossed back to the staircase and once they were on the main floor, Dís pulled her arm free. “I’ll go fetch Elisin. You try not to look so broody. You’ll frighten her off.”

He scowled. “I do not brood.”

“I do not brood.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” Nina affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

Why couldn't he stop thinking about Nina? She betrayed him. She was going to end his life for five thousand pieces of gold. 

So, why did thinking of her hurt as well as make him angry? In fact, why was the hurt overtaking the anger a little more with each passing day?

Because hurt was the only description he had for what could only be described as an ache in his heart. 

“Thorin?”

He started, jolted from his reverie. “What?”

Dís offered up a queer look. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere,” he waved off her concern, “so, go and fetch Elisin. I look forward to seeing her again.”

He hoped the smile he forced to his lips didn’t look so forced to his sister. She had an uncanny knack for seeing through any and all facades when it came to her sons and her brother. But the truth was, he cared nothing for seeing Elisin. In reality? He wanted to go and find Nina, to ask her why she’d chosen to hunt him. Why she instead stepped in front of that arrow for him, why she put herself between him and an orc’s blade, if she wanted to kill him? And had she truly attempted to kill him that last night?

But he had no idea where he might look for her, and even if he found her, there was no telling that his anger wouldn’t get the best of him. It might have faded some, but it hadn’t gone entirely. Not yet, anyway.

“Are you certain?” Dís asked.

“I am, indeed,” he assured her.

“Very well. Try not to brood too much longer.”

“I will do my best.”

He watched her leave, then turned back to the hoard, withdrawing the emerald from his pocket. It lay in the palm of his hand, glittering in the flickering torchlight. For a moment, he thought about hurling it back into the sea of gemstones, but then instead slipped it back into his pocket. 

[thoughts-with-hailey]

My Life in Prythian - Chapter Thirty Five

Mates

summary: MATES.

Despite the happiness of the morning success and a wonderful afternoon with the boys, I felt panic settle over me at their serious look. Thousands of possibilities flitted through my mind about what they wanted to talk about however one stayed at the forefront of my mind; they decided they wanted to be together so Azriel was breaking up with me. 

I mean, it made sense. Eris was fae, a high lord’s son even, and I was just human. I could never compete with him. Plus it was impossible to mistake the way they looked at each other, even though there was obvious tension and animosity there was also passion and intrigue. The two were like tortured unrequited lovers who actually both loved each other but refused to admit it. It was very Jane Austen of them, honestly.

So as they stared at me with such serious expressions and grim determination in their eyes that was the only thing I could think of. 

Tears started to fill my eyes even though I knew this would happen eventually. No one ever loved me forever. I was a good time girl, someone to pass the time with until they found their forever person, so I shouldn’t be surprised. It still hurt, though, that it was happening so soon. We barely had any time to enjoy our blissful little bubble of happiness before he chose someone else. Maybe that was for the best. The less happy memories I had to dwell on would hopefully mean that i would get over it that much faster. 

I tried to tell myself that lie as they glanced at each other. 

And then Azriel was…holding me?

Despite my arm full of frogs, which I was certain he hated, he cupped both my cheeks in his giant hands and lowered his forehead to mine with such an earnest expression I focused on him instead of my mounting anxiety. 

“No, no of course not. I told you; you’re mine. We just need to discuss some things. Take a breath for me.”

I hadn’t realized I had stopped breathing. That was probably why my vision was going black. Inhaling a deep breath through my nose I closed my eyes to enjoy his scent as I let his words register; he wasn’t breaking up with me. Which left one question. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

A gentle hand landed on my shoulder then and Azriel released my face so I could turn to look up at Eris’ penetrating gaze. “Come sit,” he instructed, gently ushering me over to a bench near the path we had walked down. 

Azriel followed close behind and the two of them lowered me and my frogs between them. Looking down at my friends I adjusted my grip so I only had George in my grasp, allowing the other two to hop down to their freedom. They turned and gave me a wink each before disappearing back towards the tidepools, leaving me alone to learn my fate. 

Eris took my free hand in his and held it firmly on my thigh as he cleared his throat. “There is something I need to tell you. I should have told you sooner, perhaps, though I am unsure when would have been a good time. I know we’ve only just met so this is quite untoward to be so bold as to declare my intentions, however Azriel has informed me that it is for the best so I do not mislead you in my intentions as we get to know each other. I-”

“Eris. Spit it out,” I demanded, unable to listen to his nervous babbly a moment longer.

“You’re my mate,” he blurted out. 

I stared at him. 

And stared. 

George stared too. 

Surely that was incorrect. I had imagined him saying that because there was no way that I, a human, was supposed to be the mate of Eris. Although, Feyre was Rhys’ mate and Elain was Lucien’s, Nesta was Cassian’s. Who was to say I too couldn’t be turned into a fae in the near future then, if Eris truly believed me to be his mate? But no, that was impossible. Those kinds of things didn’t happen to me. Well okay they sort of did because I somehow ended up in the fae world, but that was the extent of it. I couldn’t be someone’s mate. They had to be playing a prank on me. 

Looking from him to Azriel I tried to read his expression only to find him completely closed off. There wasn’t even amusement there over whatever kind of joke they were playing on me, just…nothing. 

Averting my eyes from both I turned to look out over the Sidra, watched the cerulean waves lap at the rocky shore under the bridge. Truly the world was so beautiful, so perfect, and I still didn’t know how i had managed to find myself in it. For a brief moment my mind tumbled the idea of being in a dream or a coma again, though I quickly dashed the thought away. We had well since proven that theory was a lie. This was real, and Eris really was trying to tell me I was his mate. 

Though his reason for such a lie was a mystery.

“That’s impossible,” I finally replied, shaking him head at him with what I hoped was a playful smile. “Stop fucking with me, okay? I’ve had a nice day and I’m not in the mood for this nonsense to ruin it. Now, since you dragged me over here go get George’s basket from the pools and we can go home.”

Eris frowned, the hopeful look vanishing from his face as he shook his head. “No, Hailey, I’m not uhm, ‘fucking with’ you. I’m being serious. You’re my mate.”

I rolled my eyes at him, keeping my grin in place when I really just wanted to smack him. He was quite the actor it seemed. “Be so fucking for real, Eris. You think I’m going to fall for that? C’mon, I’ve been the butt of this joke before, albeit it was a crush and not mates, but still I’m not falling for this.” Rising from my seat I turned back towards the path we had come down. “Get George’s basket and let’s go.”

Before I could even think to move, two sets of hands were wrapping around my arms to pull me back down to the bench. I glared between the two of them, truly over whatever game they were playing. I opened my mouth to argue some more since my anger was starting to bubble up but as soon as I opened my mouth Azriel’s shadows slid inside effectively shutting me up. His rough fingers grabbed my chin and jerked my face towards his as he leaned in so our eyes were level. Intense hazel eyes met mine with such a serious expression I almost believed him. 

“Listen to me right now, little human,” he all but growled, the dominance in his voice causing my entire body to freeze. “This isn’t a fucking joke. This is a very serious matter, one that’s causing me a significant amount of stress actually, and I want to get this shit figured out. So sit the fuck down and listen to what he has to say so we can discuss this and figure out how to move forward. Do you understand?”

Something about the way he talked to me and was manhandling me seemed to calm my nervous system and I nodded without thinking about it. The shadows slid out of my mouth and he released my chin, took George from my hands, and nudged me to turn towards Eris. 

The red haired fae’s mouth was quirked up at the side as he looked between us. “That’s rather effective. It’s ashame I have flames instead of shadows. Burning her doesn’t seem an effective way to get her to calm down. I suppose I’ll have to think of something else if you’re not around.”

I glared, folding my arms over my chest. “That’s rather presumptuous of you.”

The other side of his mouth quirked up and his attention locked on me. “Gods, you’re beautiful when you’re irritated. Your eyes get this determined sparkle and your eyebrows draw together like you’re trying to figure out if you want to kill me or not.”

“I would recommend not provoking her right now,” Azriel murmured from behind me. George gave an agreeing ribbit. 

“Right,” Eris murmured, the amusement sliding off his face to be replaced with a serious expression. “Hailey, when I saw you at the peace ball I knew. From that first glimpse I felt that pull, the unmistakable connection between us and every moment I spend away from you is causing me anxiety. I’m not sure how this all plays out or how to make this work. I’ve never been one to be in a relationship, both for my own sake and that of my partners because of who my father is,. This, though? This isn’t something I can ignore. I want to get to know you better so we can see what this connection can offer.” He shifted uncomfortably then, his eyes darted over my shoulder to Azriel before coming back to mine. “In full transparency, having a mate would be the best thing to happen to me not only because finding someone to be my partner would be the greatest gift of all, but because having one would me I could finally unite the Autumn Court against Beron. I don’t want to lie to you, so I will tell you this; my first thought when I recognized who you are to me was that I could finally take my rightful place at the highlord of my court. Almost instantly after I realized how much I also wanted to be around you just for the sake of being near you. So, please think about this. I don’t expect an answer right away. I just wanted you to know my intentions as you are going to be seeing a lot more of me, if you want to of course.”

That was a lot to take in, a lot to unpack, and I was sure I was going to be spending a lot of time later doing so. The one question that came to mind blurted out of my mouth immediately. “What about Azzie?”

“That’s up to you,” Eris murmured. “You know Azriel and I have history, and I would never expect you to give up what you have with him for me. I can see the two of you are good together, and I’m certain the three of us could be, too.”

I felt my heart stutter at that and my vision hazed for a second. “Three of us?” I repeated even as my own voice sounded far off to my own ears. 

“If you want,” he hastened to assure me, eyes widening. “We don’t have to. It’s just an option. Azriel and I have a history, as you know, and there are some complications regarding that, however both of us would be interested in making this work with you if you decide that’s what you want.”

I swallowed. 

The two of them. And me. Both of them, with me? The three of us, together. 

Dozens of images flashed in my mind of tangled limbs and soft moans, hands running over my body and mine over theirs. Heat rose in my cheeks, and the rest of me, when I considered what it would be like to have these two gorgeous fae showering me with attention or letting me explore their sculpted bodies. The idea of watching the two of them pleasure each other had my breath quickening at the mere thought of the possibilities. 

“Fuck,” Eris groaned, his eyes darkening and his eyes became hooded. 

My gaze focused back on him in time to see his nostrils flare as he took in a long breath and my cheeks turned scorching hot as I realized what he was smelling. 

“Is he the one you were thinking about the other night?” Azriel murmured against my ear, having moved closer without me knowing. 

I clamped my mouth shut, pushing to my feet once more. This was not the time for sexual fantasies after revealing such life altering information. Snatching George from Azzie I spun around and marched over to where his basket was, then headed up the path back to the main street, not bothering to see if they would follow.

[briar--rising]

Rosh Hashanah is next week. It's always been my favorite holiday, and every year I prepare for it and look forward to it. But this year I've been dreading it, and until this past week I couldn't figure out why.

I haven't been to synagogue much in the past year. I've gone a handful of times, but much less than any other year since graduating college. And I thought of going, my therapist tried to encourage me to go because she knows it often makes me feel better, but there was just this inner resistance that I couldn't figure out and wasn't ready to look at closely enough to decipher anyway. And then as the High Holy Days got closer and closer I started to notice that I was really dreading them, which is not how I usually feel. And so I brought it up in therapy on Tuesday, and came to some really important realizations.

I've been doing a lot of very serious grief work and trauma work this fall. My most serious trauma anniversaries are almost all in the fall, and it's a season of great grief and usually highly elevated symptoms for me. My first serious psychotic break was in the fall, four of my five hospitalizations have been in the fall, etc. Until this year I spent every autumn of the past decade pretty severely psychotic. I could not face the trauma and grief that this time of year brings up for me, I could not process those feelings and memories without losing my mind in defense so that I wouldn't have to truly experience them. I've always known this, and for a few years have tried very hard to truly experience my grief and not retreat into psychosis, but I never managed it until this year.

This autumn has been different. I've still struggled with psychosis much more than in the summer, I still have to fight it most days. But I'm winning most of those fights. And I'm grieving. I'm mourning, I'm crying, I'm sitting with my feelings for as long as I can bear and then distracting myself from them when they get too much instead of retreating into symptoms most of the time. I'm genuinely experiencing the thoughts and feelings I need to be experiencing. I'm reading about death, about grief, about loss, I'm talking about these things in therapy. It's often incredibly painful, though sometimes it is simply a peaceful kind of sorrow. I'm getting in touch with a lot of the feelings I've found so difficult to face from some of the hardest times of my life, and I'm experiencing some of them again.

And some of those feelings that I was really quite blindsided by and that I've been largely repressing for 15 years are incredibly complicated feelings about G-d. When I was 11 years old I was just like any other religious and traumatized kid: I prayed to G-d to fix it. I did that thing kids do, I tried to make bargains with Him. "Dear G-d, if I clean my room will You save my mommy? If I'm perfect, will You fix my family?" You know. Things like that.

I was desperate for anything, anyone to save me. I talk sometimes about the particular traumas of that year, about my brother's birth, about my mother's hospitalizations, about her suicide attempt. But I have no words to express the year as a whole, except to say that terrible thing after terrible thing after terrible thing happened, and throughout all of it I was neglected and left at sea. My mom was sick, my dad was trying to keep his head above water, no one was there for me. So I tried to turn to G-d. And when He wasn't there for me either, I felt incredibly abandoned and betrayed, both by Him but also because I was taking my feelings about my family neglecting me during severe trauma and putting them onto Him. It's hard for me to express the levels of hurt and rage I felt at G-d during that time period.

And then my memory cuts out. I remember approximately nothing from shortly after my twelfth birthday (in June) until November over a year later. I have a handful of memories of specific events that took place at school or at camp, but absolutely zero memories of my internal feelings or anything that ever took place at home during seventh grade. It's just. Gone. Always has been, probably always will be.

The next significant things I remember in terms of my relationship to G-d and my religion are all about Hebrew High School, which I loved (I got to start it early bc I was being bullied in normal Hebrew School), and preparing for my Bat Mitzvah, which I also loved. My memory goes from intense feelings of betrayal and abandonment and agony to instantaneously a relatively low conflict, positive relationship with G-d and Judaism (with Jewish-appropriate amounts of questioning of course and moments of anger, but no true rage and despair like I once felt). And I stayed in that space of Judaism-as-comfort-with-minimal-internal-conflict for the next 10+ years. I have no idea how that transition happened, but it certainly didn't occur because I slowly and naturally dealt with all of my complicated feelings and embraced religion after processing.

And then this year, well. I guess the processing came due. I'd like to be very very clear that being Jewish always has been and always will be incredibly important to me, and nothing about any of this changes that. I am struggling, though. I'm re-experiencing a lot of those childhood feelings of betrayal and abandonment and confusion and rage. And not being ready to face those feelings is why I've been subconsciously avoiding synagogue for the past year, and is why I've been dreading the holidays. At least now I'm aware of what's happening, so that's a step in the right direction. And in the long term this is a good and important step not only in my trauma recovery but in my relationship with Judaism and with G-d; I can't have as deep of a relationship as I want without this kind of struggle. To quote my therapist, "your relationship with Judaism is too important to you to be easy." Thankfully in Judaism struggling like this is not only allowed but expected. But it is a struggle, right now. A painful one.

I leave you all with a song I've been listening to on repeat that is helping me confront and think about a lot of these feelings:

[rokkit-story-time]

HypNovember Day 1 - Collar/Game

CW: Pet play, Third person, post-hypnotic suggestion, some hypnotic language

"...so that's it?" She turned the collar over in her hands. It was a perfectly normal leather dog collar. Nothing special. "I just wear it for five minutes and then take it off myself?"

They nodded, that teasing smirk playing across their lips. "Yup~! And then I'm at your beck and call all weekend. Easy win, right~?"

She squinted. This was far too suspicious. But... "...alright, I'm down. Let's play this game of yours~"

Their smirk widened into a grin. "I'll let you set the timer then... pet~"

She rolled her eyes, hoping that distracted enough from her small blush as she tapped at her phone. "Five minutes it is! Timer beeps, I take off the collar, and you're my bitch for two days~"

"That *is* one way this could play out, yes~" They leaned down, bringing their face tantalizingly close. If she wasn't feeling so competitive over this little game, she'd have taken the opportunity for a kiss no question. Instead, she just glanced down at how close they now held the collar. "Ready to start~?"

She looked back up and nodded. "I'll hit the timer as soon as it's clasped."

They nodded back and wrapped the length of leather around her neck. "*Five* minutes~"

It actually took her a second to hit the timer... the moment the collar clasped shut, a shiver went down her spine. That didn't make sense... she was never into this kind of thing before! Yeah, they tied her up plenty, but this was different.

"Doing alright so far~?" Their voice made her blink. She'd been spacing out, focusing on the feel of the collar around her neck and trying to figure out why it made her so... so... "Getting a little needy~?"

Her head jerked up to look at them. "Wha-!?" Her mouth worked, but she couldn't quite find the retort she wanted. "I-I'm just fine!"

They just quirked an eyebrow, that damn smirk not wavering a hair. "Well, it's been a minute so far. We'll see how the next *four* go~"

Four more minutes of this, and then she was done. Easy. It wasn't even a real challenge. She literally just had to take the thing off! It's not like she'd leave it on just because she felt so damn needy and submissive!

She shivered again. Wait, where had that come from!? Needy was what they said, but submissive... sure, she was usually the subby one of the pair. They switched off only on rare occasions. B-but she wasn't into pet play! Even if it was making her needy, and submissive, and...

...docile?

"*Three* left~" Their voice sounded like she had water in her ears. She just nodded dumbly, too caught up in this thought-spiral.

Needy. Submissive. Docile. Why were those words coming to her like this?

Needy. Submissive. Docile.

Needy. Submissive. Docile.

Over and over, louder and louder, playing on repeat in her head.

A hand came up slowly, and she oh-so-gently laid the tips of her fingers on the collar.

"Ah-ah, no taking it off early~" Their tone was teasing, but held just enough insistence that she knew they were serious.

Which was fine, of course. "O-of course, I-I'm not gonna take it off..." Her voice was too soft, too breathy. She blinked, realizing she'd trailed off. "...e-early, I mean."

"Good pet~ *Two* minutes to go..." Their tone made her shiver again. Two- she slumped a little. Two minutes. She could take it off in two minutes...

Her fingers caressed the leather.

...could she?

Needy.

Submissive.

Docile.

Fuck. Why did those words feel so damn good~!? Why couldn't she stop thinking them... why didn't she *want* to stop thinking them!?

Needy submissive docile needy submissive docile needy submissive docile-

"*One*..."

Already!? B-but then she'd... she'd have to...

...'have to'? Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck!

She was too needy. Too submissive. Too docile.

And she didn't want it to end.

"*Zero*~"

Her eyelids fluttered.

The time went off with a sharp *beep!*

She jerked and gasped, fingers leaving the collar to fumble with turning it off. Then both her hands went to the collar. Wrapped around it. Tugged.

...it felt sooo *good*~

She looked up at them and opened her mouth. Instead of words, all that came out was a long, low whine.

"Awww, something wrong pet~?" They ran a hand through her hair and cradled the side of her head. She nuzzled into it automatically. "All you have to do to win, is take it off..."

She tugged again, looking at them.

She was so needy. So submissive. So docile.

And it felt better than *anything*~

"...I lose..." She could barely push out the words as a whisper. Not because it was hard to admit, but because she barely had the will to speak.

"Oh my poor, needy, submissive, docile, silly little pet~" They leaned down, pushing her back against the couch and climbing on top of her. "You'd lost *days* ago, when we first set this up~ When you first said you trusted me to set up scenarios for later while you were in trance..."

...oh yeah. She had said that. And that she'd never tried pet play before, but maybe it could be fun... she'd said that too.

"After all... why didn't you ask what *I* got if I won~?"

There was no competitive urge stopping her from kissing them this time. And as she melted underneath them, there was only one fully-formed thought left in her head:

This was going to be a *wonderful* weekend~

[that-was-anticlimactic]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by my beloved @zukkaoru & @lesmiserablol <333

tagging (with no pressure): @beachytablecloth, @fabro-de-omres, & @milf-harrington (so sorry if you've already been tagged!)

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

69 which... is honestly more than i was expecting? i think it helps that my goal is to post a fic once a month mostly bc that's my motivation to keep writing even when i'm busy/stressed!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

396,183 - omg i am SO CLOSE to 400k ahhhhhhhhh

3. what fandoms do you write for?

uhhhhhhh many??? right now, it's a lot of bsd/bnha, but it's always a plethora of things, haha! my first was prolly ninjago tbh

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

hey, little songbird, give me a song

you never quite say (but i hear)

lost in love and lost in feelings

Deeper Than Words

for a new world to begin, the old one must fall

okay the #1 for that is honestly so real that is one of my absolute favorite things i've written EVER lol, same with #2! the rest are... idk #4 is AWFUL - like one of my first atla fics and also my first time writing a ts fic (i have gotten SO MUCH BETTER AT IT NOW)

*note: i started this in like nov or early dec, and #5 changed! it was the zukka goose fic but now it's actually one of my favorites iugytfyhujiko

5. do you respond to comments

i used to be good at it. then i got stressed bc of school. and then i was suddenly like "uhhhh idk How to respond???" i think the thing that got me was i didn't know how to reply to the distressed comments on my sokka falling fic so i just. accidentally stopped.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh here in the garden (let's play a game) 100% rip to sokka sorry babes ilysm hate to do it to ya, love the angst tho <333 rip to everyone who missed the major character death tag lol. well... that or a spring and summer song, too brief rip to geto in the +1 oops... oh shoot... it could also be take me where my soul can run... hm...

7. what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

this was hard, but imma go with i was a child and she was a child bc it's based on one of my favorite childhood memories! rip to zuko and his ice cream tho :/ but azula is VIBING the whole time oiuygfcgyhuij

8. do you get hate on fics?

not really? i did once have someone try to correct me and say that i wrote sokka with ocd instead of tourette's but it was in the bookmarks and it made me laugh lol. i also got this comment on my kubokai kaidou with ts fic: ".. the self projection is heavy in this one ... -_-" so idk if that counts lol

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

nope :)

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

uhhhh not really? i wrote ninjago equestria girls crossover oneshot in middle school but i never finished it and it SUCKED lol

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of?

12. what's the longest you've spent working on a fic? and the shortest?

uhhh i wrote a 7,600 word fic in three hours while i had covid? that's prolly the shortest? i count that as shorter than anything i may have finished faster bc i had covid lol but longest? ummmm over a year? multiple years? idkkkkkk the jay with ts fic i posted was something i wrote in 2019 and i edited it (a lot) and posted it in 2022 so??? that maybe?

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

uhhh i did with friends in middle/high school, but those never left the docs! also grace and i have. very many much so aus lol

14. what's your all-time favorite ship? from all fandoms?

RARIJACK!!! it was one of my first hardcore ships, and also was my introduction to queer ships!!! renga is a close second, but rarijack just is really important and special to me for sentimental reasons that put it above renga and others! i am also on a seroroki kick right now. it's not my all-time favorite, but the brain rot seems never ending right now lol

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

GOD SO MANY i have a folder in gdocs just for ninjago fics and there are folders within the folder for different types of wips i'll never finish - i have That many: "no substance", "baby girls", "drafts"... etc...

16. what are your writing strengths?

uhhhhhhhhhh ngl i'm in a place right now where i feel like the answer is Nothing (writer's block has been Bad recently), but i think something i'm good at in a very specific way is making readers feel the discomfort of characters? like idk i've been told that the way i write ts and tics (specifically tic attacks) makes the readers feel uncomfortable in like a "wow i didn't know it felt this way" kind of way??? i like to think i'm good at characterization??? idkkkk

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

ummm setting and scenery & connecting parts of a story, especially if they're parts that i'm stuck on/transitions are prolly my biggest ones???

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i mean go for it as long as it's respectful and like... you tried making sure it's accurate?

19. first fandom you wrote for?

uhh rainbow fairy/a-z mysteries... but that was like very briefly on paper. first time like... for Realsies was ninjago

20. favorite fic you've written?

oh 100% hey, little songbird, give me a song. it's just really special to me and writing it helped me cope with a new tic i had. but one that i wrote more recently is fantasies i'm not sure that i'm worthy of which is a ritsu-centric fic and is prolly tied as my favorite fic i wrote in 2023. the other one would be sun comes streaming through the window (& i can't sleep anymore) which is my 21k word kenji-centric fic lol but that one is like... i'm more proud of it than anything, which is what puts it up there.

[armpirate]

UNDER HIS SKIN || JJK || Ch. 23

Pairings: tattoist!jk x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, friends to lovers, tattoo au, virgin reader.

Summary: They say there are two versions for every story, and it's important to hear both of them. Everybody is hearing your side of the story, but it's just fair to get to know his.

After breaking up with his girlfriend, the only thing he wanted was to have fun with no attachment. You wanted to get rid of your virginity, and he wanted to tick you off his list. What he didn't expect was getting so emotionally attached to you that he would regret the deal.

Warnings: Nude dry humping, dirty talk

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

I look at my reflection in the elevator's mirror when I get home, thinking about how Tae mocked me for this new hair color as soon as we got to the restaurant. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking when I tinted it red, and the fact that this is just a consequence of that makes me want tear my hair apart. But then I remember how Y/n kept saying it looked good on me, and whether those words were genuine or a good attempt to make me feel better, it also helps me to find this new hair color quite appealing.

When I get out of the lift, I think she might not be here anymore. Probably she got bored, maybe her friends called her to hang out... which would also explain why she hasn't replied to my text yet. But when I cross the entrance door, and I see her head peeking up over the backrest of my coach, and I can't control the smile that's caused by the relief it causes me.

—You're here —I sigh, closing the door behind me.

I start taking my jacket off when her eyes land on me. And even if I can't see it, I can tell she's smiling behind the leather fabric of the sofa.

—You thought I'd leave?

—Nah —although the truth is that I was partly convinced she had left long ago—. But I'm happy to see you're here anyway.

Her eyes almost shut completely due to the big smile she keeps hiding, although she turns back to face the TV before I'm able to fully enjoy that sight.

—I sent you a pic of the tattoo —I mention, lying on the spot next to her—. You didn't see it?

—No, I haven't been on the phone today.

She lazily points to her phone, that's placed near the corner of the coffee table. It's something I already thought when I saw she hadn't been online all day, so I'm not really surprised by her answer.

—That sounds like you've been busy —seeing that her feet are resting on the edge of the table, I decide to join her—. What did you do?

—Not much —she shrugs—. I looked around the house, but found nothing interesting —she puckers her lips, making me chuckle due to the cute face she makes while thinking—; I watched a movie, too.

—What else? —I hit her side hopefully.

It doesn't take me much to know she hasn't done just that in the five hours I've been out. She looked around, watched a movie, and still didn't have time to reply to a text I sent just two hours ago? That, and how she's nervously biting her lower lip, while making sure her head doesn't make a wrong move to look up to me, is everything I need to know something else has happened while I was away. But I wait for her to bring it up.

In the little time we've been around each other, I learned that she is unable to keep some thoughts to herself. She tends to overthink and try to calm them down, but lately she's started to be more open. Always doing the same nervous lip biting and head tilting before she dropped the question.

—Leslie only wanted to apologize the other day?

Among every little thing she could be curious about, the mention of Leslie surprises me. I frown at her, hoping she explains what's up with that question. But, instead, she opens her eyes a bit more, insisting to get an answer from me.

—That's what's kept you busy all morning?

The light comment does nothing to her. Her look intensifies at time goes by, and I'm sure she won't say anything else until I finally give in.

—I thought that's what she wanted —I sigh, finally giving Y/n what she wanted—. That's what she said. But she kept saying how dumb she was, and how much she missed what we had —I grimace at my own words—. I didn't need her to tell me directly she wanted to come back. And I didn't like the direction the conversation was taking, so I left and texted you to meet up —I scratch my nape—. She's also been calling me almost every day, and has sent me texts trying to hang out.

Y/n nods, pressing her lips together again as she tries to process the information I've just given her. I didn't want her to overthink the night we made up, I just wanted to enjoy her company without her being insecure about the possibility of me going back to my ex. And right now I'm not really sure if it was a good idea to hide it from her that night.

—Sounds like a stalker —she murmurs.

—Sounds more like someone who's been dumped and thought her plan b would still be available for her —I click my tongue—. She'll get over it.

At least, I hope so after she was blocked.

Instead of going on with the conversation, there's silence. And I'm dumb enough to think it's over, letting myself get comfortable and relax, while resting my head on the backrest.

But she isn't done, she was just thinking about what to say next.

—You could've told me last night —she lets out a sigh.

—It was late, and I wanted to enjoy being with you after not seeing you for a week. I told you the only relevant thing for me from that night, which was Leslie apologizing —I try so hard to show I'm relaxed, when actually I'm scared of her getting mad at this whole situation—. I don't care whether she wants to come back or not, because I don't want to.

—You know, it'd have been nice just to be prepared when she showed up here today —she turns to me.

Why the fuck was Leslie here?

I frown, looking at her confused, while she's just staring at me concerned.

—What was she doing here?

—She came here looking for you —she shrugs—, said you two still had some things to talk about.

If I thought I was clear enough with Leslie, then I was wrong. So now, directly saying I don't want to go back with her, translates in I still have some things to discuss with her regarding us? Somebody should've warned me...

—I thought what I told her the last time would be enough to make her step back —I sit properly next to her—. That's everything she said? —looking into her eyes, I waits for her answer.

—She didn't say much more —she shrugs again—. Not like she needed to say much more anyway.

—I swear there's nothing going on. What I told you is everything there is to it.

—Okay —she looks away—. There's no need to get so worked up over it. Even if there was something to it, you can do whatever you want.

—There is. Because I care about what you think.

We stare into each other's eyes for a long minute, before she speaks again just to repeat what she's just said.

—That's great, but doesn't change the fact that you could do whatever you want.

And for some reason, those words annoy the fuck out of me. I know what she means, I know she's trying not to cross boundaries, but what the fuck she means with "I can do whatever I want"?

—Not again —I stand up, annoyed with her and annoyed with myself, going back and forward my own tracks—. I can, but I still care about your opinion. And that's why I texted you that night. You're the only person I can think of right now, so I don't care about what Leslie wants.

—And I'm just saying I have no say on anything.

And I'm really wondering if she's this thick on purpose, or if she genuinely isn't able to see that right now I'm only crazy for her.

—But you do —I kneel in front of her, trying to get all her attention—. You're unbelievable —a small chuckle leaves my lips—. I told you I'm into you, into you only, and your head is still spinning around trying to convince yourself you have no say on what I do. You do, so don't tell me I can do whatever I want.

She's going to answer before even trying to process what I've just said. And it's obvious, by the look on her face, that she seems to finally be getting what I'm trying to say now. Y/n looks down at me, eyebrows slightly frowned, while her lips part and momentarily shake, before she starts speaking.

—Well... —she licks her lips, and lowers her body a little— Thank god you said that, because I didn't mean it at all.

I sigh hard, deep inside. A light feeling of relief invades my body when she says that with a shy smile.

—I know —I lie, silently chuckling. I actually was shitting my pants thinking she'd ask why I was even thinking that way—. Now, honest opinion on what you think I should do?

—There isn't much you could do right now —she puckers her lips, thinking—. You made clear you were happy right now —I nod—, you've been avoiding her —god knows I've tried my best—, you also told her you're seeing someone...

Oh... Of course Leslie told her that.

—I knew you'd bring that up —I let a mischivious smile adorn my face—. Yeah, great girl indeed —I tease her.

—Are you going to talk in third person about me now? —she raises one of her eyebrows, adding up to her sassy tone.

—Who said it was you? —I tease again, using the same tone.

—Is it not? —she crosses her arms over her chest.

He presses his lips together, trying to -needlessly- hide the smile that's forming on his face while we keep eye contact. He scrunches his nose again before looking away.

—I'm the great girl —I confirm, relaxing on the couch while letting my body fall back until it hits the backrest.

I feel like there are a lot of things that I should say right now, it just seems like the right moment to do so, but I hold back. I think it'll be enough with the conversation we've had just now, and seeing her positive answer is enough for me.

Trying to avoid my long tongue from running free after looking into her eyes for a little longer, I get up from the floor. I'm not really hungry -honestly, I ordered the sandwich thinking it'd be smaller, but that thing was an abomination. I know she hasn't had lunch, most probably, though. So I'll make something for her either way.

✸ ✸ ✸

We don't do anything special for the rest of the afternoon, we just lie on the couch, watching the first show that popped in my TV screen after I opened Netflix. Honestly, I wasn't even planning on watching this -basically because it seemed one of those cringey shows that drops dumb jokes for no reason at all. But any excuse is good to be around her, at this point.

When I sneakily turn to her, I catch her looking at me, but it doesn't seem like she's looking at me. Her eyes are lost while her mind is working on something else, and I just happen to be in the middle of her field of view.

—What are you thinking?

Dragged back to this moment, she blinks a few times, finally looking into my eyes and paying attention to me. Although it doesn't last much. Y/n moves her eyes away from mine fast, trying to keep her gaze somewhere else.

—Umm —she looks at the TV—. I was thinking... of a way to tell you this show is awful.

—I heard you laughing just ten minutes ago —I fake amusement, throwing my head back to the backrest.

—Yes, by how bad it is —she replies back—. Let's choose something else —she tries to reach the remote right after.

Finding a new entertainment that's actually worth it, I start teasing her by moving the remote away every time she tries to reach it. But of course she fights back, finding weak spots on my ribs that makes my whole body squirm and flinch when she pinches it.

—Give it to me. C'mon.

I'm so concentrated on dodging her fingers, that I'm not aware both of our bodies are at the edge of the couch until it's too late. Y/n makes one final move that makes her lose her balance, but she doesn't fall by herself, she drags me along by grabbing the collar of my white t-shirt.

—Look what you've done —I accuse her, placing my hands on both sides of her head so I don't rely the weight of my body on her.

—You should've given me the remote. Technically, this is your fault.

—Is it?

It must be the tone I use, or the way I keep switching where I draw my eyes to between her lips and her eyes. When I look at them again, they have a darker tone, and when I look down at her lips, she's licking them, making them shine under the light after coating them with a thin coat of spit. I move her hair away from her face, brushing some locks away.

—I'll take the blame for it, then —I whisper.

I swear every time we kiss it feels completely different. The way her lips suck on mine, and her tongue licks my lower lip drives me insane every time. She moves her thighs under me, placing them around my hips so I can place myself more comfortably between them.

And the huge mistake that is...

My body fights itself, the little common sense I have left against the primitive I need to bury myself deep inside her, when she starts rolling her hips against my growing bulge.

She doesn't give me time to stop anything, or ask her if she's alright, her voice drops those words that leave me shocked for a few seconds:

—I want to do it.

I move my head back, trying to get a better view of her face. I should be feeling great after hearing her say that, it's exactly why all of this started. But instead of letting my body run wild with her offer, I think of what her thoughts could be after we're done tonight.

Losing her first time after making out on the floor because we're both horny and bored? Doesn't seem like the best start, and I definitely don't want her thinking it could've been a way better experience in a few weeks. She's waited a lot already, and I think I should be at the same level of her expectations.

—I'm ready —she repeats—. I want to do more.

—Babe, I'm sure you are —I try to calm her down, rubbing my thumb over her belly. —. But it's your first time, it should be more special than this.

She's disappointed, and she tries to hide it by nodding several times and looking somewhere else. Masturbating each other? We've done that a few times already. Oral sex? It's usually what comes after the masturbation, and I completley understand she's eager for the whole thing after a few months.

If only there was a way to give her the level of intimacy she wants, without doing anything she'd regret...

As I try to find a way to get her to feel better, I thank god for my twisted and horny mind.

—Let's go.

I get up from the floor, helping her to stand up by pulling her arm. It genuinely seems like I've found the biggest discovery by the way I drag her to the bedroom.

—I thought you said you wanted it to be special.

—And I stand by that —I turn to her—. If you want to do it, we'll do it right now and here. But I'm asking you to wait, so I can make it worth it.

Giving her one last chance to choose among the options she has, she clicks her tongue and looks at me with curious eyes.

—What was your idea then?

—I want you so bad, cocktease —I play with the button of my pants—. Only thing I was able to think about today was you wearing this shirt —my fingers move down her zip slowly—. Waiting for me here... You have no idea what you do to me —I whisper on her lips.

Her determined hands move to my jeans, unzipping them. But instead of pushing them down, she sneaks her hands under my t-shirt, lifting the fabric while her fingers make shivers run through my spine as they go up on my torso.

—Should I keep it on? —she teases me, while her hands ghost near my nipples.

—Please, don't.

She giggles when I answer that way, and that sexy smile only urges me to lean over her so I could kiss her neck while fighting with the thick fabric of my jeans to get rid of them. I lose my balance a few times as I take them off, and she laughes at that.

—You're laughing? —I try to sound as offended and challenging as possible, but doesn't seem like that intimidates her anymore— Let's see if you keep laughing.

I bite her lower lip, leaving her eager for another sloppy kiss when I take my t-shirt off and let my body fall over the matress, crawling until I'm sitting in the middle with my back resting against the headboard.

—Take everything off.

I regret saying those words as soon as she starts shwoing off her soft skin, being incredibly right under the lamp light of my nightstands. Her perked nipples have me licking my lips unconsciously, remembering intensely the rugosity of her hard buttons on my tongue.

—Everything —I remind her when I see she's still keeping her panties.

—You, too —her eyes point to my boxers.

We're both so desperate to get on each other's skin that we waist no time getting rid of the last pieces of fabric.

—Come here.

Y/n crawls on the bed, until she finally reaches me, kneeling in between my thighs. Maybe I'm a bit rough by the way I cup her cheeks and link our lips into a short sloppy kiss, but I just can't resist her.

—You're so perfect —I growl, lips still wet with our spit—. So fucking beautiful —I pecks her lips—. You trust me?

—Yes.

Not wanting to move away from her, I move our bodies over the mattress, until she's finally stradling my belly.

—Remember when you rode my thigh?

—Yeah.

—Do the same thing on my cock.

She looks confused, but still tries to place herself in a way to be able to do what I'm asking her. Her hands shake doubtful, and she moves her head trying to find the right angle a few times.

—Like this —I stop her, with my hand on her hip.

Trying to make my dick lie flat on my stomach, I hold it by the tip while I guide her body by the hip until I can feel the wetness from her pussy coating my shaft. I mark the initial rhythm, with both hands now on her hips so I can move her body on my cock. I do it a few times, slow, feeling her pussy clench every time I push her back.

I can tell she's nervous over being on top right now, but I know she's ready to try when both of her hands find support on my abs. Slowly, my hands stop adding pressure on her body, just to find out she's been moving her hips on her own. Her body swings with the rhythm I marked at the beginning, coating my balls with her juices before she's back on my tip. But it only takes her a few seconds riding me that way to start moving faster.

—That's it —I moan—. Make me feel it.

I thought I'd be ready for the image I have ahead of me right now, but nothing would've prepared me for the way her body moves, with her tits bouncing in the air before she allows her hands get a hold of them. And all of that while she's giving me one of the dirtiest, yet -ironically- the most innocent, look she has ever given me. And fuck, those moans and gasps that make my dick leak and twitch with every stroke of her folds.

She can't be real.

But while I admire her, I notice something is off with her. Her eyes are closed, and her head is slightly thrown back, but her eyebrows are frowned and her head is tilting while her lips pucker in disgust.

Not again.

Supporting my body with one of my elbows, I reach to her cheek with my free hand.

—Babe, look at me.

I can't explain what I feel when she opens her eyes and everything seems to be okay.

—Are you okay? —she nods— Sure? —she nods again.

—It's just... I'm not sure if I'm doing it okay.

But I know she's lying. She's always been vocal whenever she was unsure of whether I liked what she did or not. Not to mention the full concentration look she has plastered on her face whenever that happens. I also know she might've lied because she doesn't want to ruin the whole mood, and I don't want to make her feel that way either.

—You're doing great —I assure her, kissing her shoulder—. Keep moving like that —my hands go back to her hips.

Acting as if she needed help, I go back at guiding her moves, moving her in a way that her clit can feel more pressure with every stroke.

Suspicious of all the problems coming whenever she closes her eyes, I scold her when I realize she's about to do it again.

—Keep your eyes on me —I order her—. I want to see your eyes when you cum.

She digs her nails on my skin after a few more movements, and those sexy moans that comes out of her mouth, and her needy gasps trying to reach her high, are the last thing I need before I cum with her, spilling all my load over my abs.

She lowers her moves when she seems to be aware of my orgasm, but I don't allow her to stop, controlling her hips, making her rub against my cock as fast as she's able to. But I'm also greedy, and not only I want her orgasm, I want her to get it by herself while my hands enjoy every single spot in her body.

—Cum on my cock —I encourage her—. Let me feel how much you liked it.

Her speed goes crazy after that, holding onto my arms so she's focusing completely on the tingling feeling that's forming in her pussy, and infecting her whole body. With a hand on her jaw, I force her to look up to me, opening her eyes surprised by the sudden touch just when she was about to close them again.

I make my best at looking after her once we're both done, avoiding her resting her body on mine so she doesn't get full of the mess I made. And once we both are clean enough, and back on the bed, I don't even process it before I pull her closer to my body, feeling her rest her head on my chest.

—How was it? —she asks shyly.

—Tonight it was confirmed you showed up in my life just to kill me —I chuckle.

She's either a goddess that came to pay me for all good I've done in my previous life, or she's the biggest punishes I have to deal for the mistakes I've done in the past. Either way, she's insanely -and dangerously- perfect.

We stay in silence for a few seconds, allowing my brain to come up with a risky -yet exciting idea.

—Let's go on a date —I suggest.

—Hmm? —she opens her eyes, looking up to me again.

—A date. Tomorrow night.

—I'm working tomorrow night.

—I'll pick you up when you finish your shift —I explain her—. Are you with Tam tomorrow?

—Nope.

—Then it's settled —I hold her tight—. Do you want to?

Yeah... It's lovely and all. But I didn't even try to think about the small detail that she should want it just as much as I do. Imagine if after coming up with the idea, she says she doesn't want to do it.

—A date as in?

—As in two people that clearly are into each other and want to do something different. What do you think?

She nods fast, with that cute smile that urges me to hide her tight to protect her from everything that's wrong.

[cipher26]

this is truly a tmi but i have no friends to talk to about this stuff so here i am, yet again.

hooked up with a guy from tinder tonight. first time having sex. i'm quite proud of myself for going through with it instead of chickening out. i'm also quite surprised at how not nervous i was, which is either testament to my maturity and Growth™️, or a result of the anxiety meds which must be working wonders, absolutely top quality product right there. 10/10

it was also interesting that like...not only was i not nervous and less awkward than normal, but it didn't feel like...shocking? idk i lost the word i wanted, but like touching someone and having them touch me just felt normal. it wasn't weird or embarrassing or whatever, which again...testament to the cocktail of drugs im on lmao. but anyway, idk. i'm a pretty lowkey person to begin with, but it is hard to tell how you'll react to certain situations until you're there.

anyway it was great actually. i mean the guy was fine, attractive but also kinda basic like... the "do we really need a condom?" kind of basic which was almost funny. textbook "high school peer pressuring boy from the examples in sex ed class" kind of basic. it def wasn't romantic in any way, which is probably better for me at this moment. also it didn't last very long lol, and i didn't cum. not surprising but i did have some hope. thank goodness for the toys i have at home. and then i just left.

i'm sure most people would be shocked or appalled that my first time wasn't "special" or whatever (i didn't tell him i was a virgin, i told him "it's been a long time" cause i'm not gonna date the guy and didn't want to deal with that drama, and also i've used toys so it wasn't my first rodeo in a lot of ways).

but the thing is, most of the moments in my life that were supposed to be special, these milestones people romantacize, they were never that special for me. in fact i missed out on most of those life events entirely, for reasons. so this was really on brand for my life i guess. i'm just glad it was on my terms.

oh also it was truly just a quick fuck, there was no kissing involved, which is even funnier when you think about it cause i've never been kissed cause no one cares about me. lmao. my life is so ass backwards i can only laugh about it at this point.

i will say, it was an amazing confidence boost though. physically i'm in the worst shape i've ever been in, and have been convinced my whole life that no one could possibly find me attractive. but he did. i actually felt sexy. and suddenly i don't feel so... different i guess. idk i'm not saying the words right, but you know what i mean she says to the ether. i genuinely think the adhd meds have also helped, because i've been taking care of myself more lately, in some ways anyway. definitely not with eating food... so i think that helped me have enough confidence to even go for it in the first place. i almost didn't out of habit, but then i was like "bitch you are on this app for literally one reason..."

and also i walked into a bodega and bought condoms and didn't feel weird or embarrassed about that either...

honestly i have been wondering if these meds have maybe numbed my personality a bit, cause there are a lot of things going wrong in my life right now and yet i don't feel the familiar ache and coldness of the depression. but maybe this is how normal people function all the time, and i'm not being numbed i'm just feeling what normal people feelings are supposed to feel like for the first time ever, lmfao. i need a focus group of neurotypicals to compare notes with. "so these barely there feelings is how you experience life all the time? it's not an extreme rollercoaster of emotion? weird." lol.

anyway that's enough of that. i did jokingly say to myself earlier "you should lose your virginty before you have to move back in with family in a month, and for the forseeable future" and i didn't think it would actually happen but then it did lol. high five to myself.

anyway if you're still reading this for whatever reason, and you relate to my anxiety/depression/adhd fun factory combo, and you haven't talked to a doctor about trying meds to help manage, i highly recommend you do. i was so against it for so long, and it took me many years to admit that i needed help. and not just that, but that i WANTED help because i was so tired of struggling every day. but it has been such a relief. it's taken over a year of trying and adjusting meds (and convincing the doc that i definitely have adhd) to get to this point, but it's been so worth it. i feel like i'm finally getting to a place where im actually able to live my life, aside from the I'm Broke factor, and i know for a fact i would be a mess without the antidepressants because i'm literally in the middle of losing everything i've worked for for the past 15+ years, including my home, literally, and yet im able to get out of bed and exist and even laugh! that absolutely would not have been the case 2 years ago. so if you need help, please don't be afraid to ask for it. it's so worth it.

strange moral lesson to end this post with but.... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯