#I fucking do my job!! and I do it well!! and I am doing work to compensate for my co because they’re useless
Note
Aight here me out
Buggy has a child but instead their like moody, grumpy and stuff (like Octavia and loona from helluva boss) but they love buggy and would do ANYTHING for him
Happy go lucky dad 🤝 looks like it would kill you would kill you child
Substitute Assistant ( Cross guild x f!child!reader)
A/N not gonna lie I totally forgot who loons was, it’s been a hot minute since I watched helluva, since we are talking about helluva boss here, specifically loona, do expect a few swear words here and there. This one is kinda a flop but hopefully it lives to your standards Cosmo, I am surprised it wasn’t a Whitebeard request 😂,
Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese
Dividers by @/saradika
“Here you go, asshole,” Dokucha growled, throwing a stack of paper on Crocodile’s desk, a task that they had called her father to do
Crocodile lifts his gaze from his work to the child, taking another look at the stack that now lay on their desk
“Where is the clown?”
“Why the hell do you care?! You have your stupid reports, now leave my dad alone asshole!”
“Should a child your age be using such words?” The voice of the swordsman drawls from the sofa next to them
“Shouldn’t grown men be over bullying others like little children?” She snapped back
At that let out a low chuckle that slowly grew into a full-out laugh
“Well, Well seems the brat has more guts than that useless clown,” he
“Don’t call him that!”
“Would you prefer us we call him a coward instead?” Mihawk questioned, taking a sip from the wine in his hand as he continued observing the child’s rage bubble more and more
“Shut up! You assholes know nothing of Dad! He has done many things and gathered people of all kinds with his charisma alone; unlike you, he doesn’t have to pay off or bully people into being his followers!”
Crocodile lets out a dangerous smile at her words
“Funny seeing how it was your father who borrowed money from me, money that he lost and got him where he is now, so by all means, go ahead and tell me more about paying people off.”
“Just leave him alone; you got the business you wanted. Now leave him the hell alone.”
“No can do, little jester, see those people that your father won with his ‘charisma’ have named him the president of the guild; he’s not going anywhere,” Mihawk spoke
“Whether you like it or not, it was Buggy’s decisions that brought him here; he has no one to blame but himself,” he finished, swirling his cup around and downing the liquid inside
She growled, turning around and leaving the room only to be stopped by Crocodile’s voice
“Be a good child and bring me a light, will you?”
“Why the fuck would I do anything for the likes of you.”
He lets out a puff of smoke at her comment, staring lazily at her
“Because if you don’t, then I have no trouble calling your father in instead. While we’re at it, I might have a friendly chat with him about his brat’s behavior.”
She grits her teeth at his response, glaring at him as he chuckles in response
“When you return, I have a few other jobs for you to do, so don’t be long now.”
“Fine,” she snarls, stomping her way out of the office
-
“Dokucha, where did you run off to? I missed you, my little star!” Buggy cheered as the small girl entered the room
“I was busy,” she mumbled
“How was your day today, Dad?” She questioned
“It’s so much better now that my favorite act is here!” Launching himself toward her, babbling about the different things they could do on their next performance
She chuckled as he draped himself over her, hugging him and nuzzling into him
“Hey, Dad?”
“And then Richie would app-hah? Yeah? “He asked, pausing his rambling
“I love you.”
He looks at her for a few seconds before he begins coming apart in surprise, fumbling to put his body together
“Little Star! You are just the cutest,” he cried, hugging her tight
“Okay, don’t go too far, old man,” she grumbled, trying to get away from the suffocating embrace
“Of course, anything for my little star!”
Again this was kinda weak but I hope you like it, obviously Dokucha is more mellowed out compared to Loona, and she doesn’t have that tsundere side with Buggy , hope you find the dynamic interesting
Taglist:
@imaginarydreams
@amethystviolin
@h0n3y-l3m0n05
#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#one piece fluff#one piece x child!reader#buggy x reader#op buggy#captain buggy#buggy the clown#mihawk fluff#dracule mihawk x reader#dracule mihawk x child!reader#dracule mihawk#cross guild x reader#cross guild#sir crocodile x child!reader#sir crocodile x y/n#sir crocodile x you#crocodile x you#sir crocodile x reader#crocodile x oc#mihawk imagine#mihawk scenario#mihawk x reader#buggy x you#buggy one piece#hawkeye mihawk#buggy x oc#mihawk#op mihawk
91 notes
·
View notes
Text
good boy.
art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)
summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC
warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating
author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are
————————————————————————
You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.
She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."
Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.
"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.
This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.
"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"
Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"
Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.
Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.
"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.
Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.
Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.
It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.
"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.
Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.
So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.
He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.
A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.
'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'
She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.
'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'
Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.
“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.
Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.
Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.
"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.
He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."
His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.
"I want to hear it from you."
"I felt fine."
Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.
"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.
You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.
"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.
You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.
"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"
'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."
Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.
"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.
Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."
Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"
You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.
"Look at me."
He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.
His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.
Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.
"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."
The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.
Art Donaldson lived to be praised.
You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"
Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.
"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.
You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"
Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.
"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."
Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.
Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.
His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.
Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.
When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.
His breath is shallow—anticipatory.
"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.
"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.
"You know you don't have to ask."
There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.
It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.
Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.
Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction.
You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.
His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.
“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”
You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.
“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.
Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, starting smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.
Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.
#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x y/n#challengers#challengers smut#art donaldson smut#challengers imagine#challengers x reader
75 notes
·
View notes
Text
2 soon || kim hongjoong part. 1
goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs
(listen here)
idol!hongjoong x non-idol!reader
synopsis: years after choosing his career over you, hongjoong still finds himself haunted by the memories of you. your relationship is a constant dance of on and off, and you cannot stay away from him.
genre: lovers to strangers to ?, angst, smut
trigger warnings: cussing/mature language, break-ups, toxic relationships, possessiveness, toxic jealousy, sex as a coping mechanism, excessive alcohol usage, emotional manipulation, obsession, verbal aggression, emotional distress, mentions of clubbing, career-related stress, explicit sexual content: making out, protected sex (condom), mentions of using birth control, pet names baby, princess, handjob, blowjob, hair pulling, neck kisses, dirty talk, nipple play (?), missionary
words: 12.8 k
reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.
!minors do not interact!
— hi there! after several intense days of work, it's finally here! the first part of the goes to waste series! while writing 2 soon, i had many negative thoughts and was very self-critical. im still not sure if i did a good job - especially when it comes to smut. smut is the genre where i probably will never feel good enough, but believe me, im really trying. the second part is already in the process of being written and will definitely appear later this week. im handing this over to you; thank you very much for such a warm reception of this series, and i hope you'll enjoy it. and please let me know if i missed any trigger warnings for the sexual content!
love, monika. ♡
if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!
taglist: @skittyneos @kyeos4ng @vcutparis
one
There you were, unexpectedly positioned in a scenario you never once imagined you would find yourself in. It was the middle of the night, the hour when all was quiet and still. Your ordinarily vibrant living room was dimmed, with only a single floor lamp in the corner casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. You were nestled into the corner of the worn-out comfortable sofa, hugging a pillow close as if it were your only lifeline. The only sounds filling the silence were the words from your boyfriend, each one hanging heavy in the cold air. You were painfully aware of what was coming, a gut-wrenching feeling of imminent heartbreak washing over you. The reality of the situation was that there was no escaping this conversation, no possibility of emerging unscathed. The knowledge that Hongjoong was about to shatter your heart into pieces was a bitter pill to swallow. This moment was the beginning of an end you had never anticipated. And it was happening tonight.
"The company believes that you will become a distraction," Hongjoong said, his voice laced with an undercurrent of tension.
"I don't give a damn about your stupid company," you retorted, your hand trembling and your eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. "I wasn't a distraction all these years when you were a trainee, so why am I suddenly one now?" Hongjoong paced nervously across the room, his movements betraying his inner turmoil. He was torn between the company and you, and he didn't know how to navigate this minefield.
"Y/N..." he sighed heavily, his hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture. "Now that Ateez is gaining more attention after our first prize win and the new album coming soon, the company..." he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. "They believe I need to remain more focused."
"I don't fucking care about what they think, Hongjoong!" you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. "You think I give a damn about their opinion?" you continued, your voice rising with each word. "They don't know us, they don't know what we've been through. All they see is some stupid company policy, but they don't see the love that we share." Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, the pain of the situation threatening to consume you whole. You had never felt so helpless, so powerless.
"Please, try to calm down. You're not making this any easier," Hongjoong pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.
''I don’t fucking believe that after almost three years they decided I will become a problem...'' Your voice cracked, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Hongjoong looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. It was clear that this conversation was tearing him apart just as much as it was you. "Hongjoong, do you believe what they're saying?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Do you think they're right?"
He paused, his back still turned towards you. "I... I don't know, Y/N," he confessed, his voice barely audible. "What if they are right?" The question hung in the air, a haunting doubt that only added to the heartache. Your heart pounded in your chest, the words echoing in your mind.
"You already believed them…'' you asserted, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. ''I can't believe that you see me as a distraction now." With a frustrated cry, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room, the action serving as a physical release for the pent-up anger and despair that threatened to consume you. "Fuck it, Hongjoong," you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I need you to choose me. I need you to fight for us, for our love. Because if you don't, then what's the point of any of this?"
There was a long silence before he finally spoke. "I...I need to do what's best for my career," he answered softly, sounding utterly defeated. "And if that means that we..." his voice trailed off and he didn't finish the sentence. You felt a lump in your throat and fought back the tears.
''So, you’re going to leave me?'' Hongjoong turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation.
"What else am I supposed to do?" Hongjoong's eyes flickered with pain as he met your gaze, his own turmoil reflected in the depths of his gaze. "I can't lose my career, Y/N! It's everything I've worked for.'' His words cut through you like a knife, searing through your heart. You had always known that his career was important to him, but you had never imagined that he would be willing to sacrifice your relationship for it. ''I’m sorry, Y/N,'' he managed to say, his voice filled with regret. ''I have to do this.''
"Just say it already..." Your voice was shaky, the tension in the room was palpable, and the silence that followed was deafening.
"I want to break up," Hongjoong finally said, his voice barely audible but clear enough for you to hear.
Your voice broke as you responded, "If this is your decision, then I'm not going to fight it. I won't beg you to stay, Hongjoong." The room was filled with a painful silence after your words. The reality of what was happening hit you both, but you stood your ground. "No, I won't beg," you affirmed, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "If this is what you've chosen, then I have no right to stop you. But remember this, Hongjoong, love is not a distraction. It's what keeps us human." He looked at you, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, the regret in his voice tangible.
"I need you to leave," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The room fell silent again. With a heavy sigh, Hongjoong cast a long, lingering glance in your direction, his eyes filled with a sadness he had never felt before. You couldn't meet his gaze, your own eyes fixated on the worn-out fabric of the couch, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he repeated, his voice just as quiet as yours. He hovered for a moment, as if waiting for you to say something else, offering him a way out of this situation. But there was nothing more to be said. The decision had been made.
"I'm sorry too, Hongjoong," you whispered into the silence, your voice trembling. The words echoed in the quiet room, a bitter acknowledgment of the pain that both of you were feeling. Slowly, Hongjoong headed towards the door, his steps heavy and uncertain. Each footstep felt like a punch to your heart, amplifying the emptiness that was beginning to set in. As the front door opened, a shiver went down your spine. With one last look, Hongjoong closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment. The silence was deafening, the absence of his presence felt like a void. You sat there, motionless, the harsh reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in. Eventually, you rose from the couch, your legs feeling like jelly. You switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could still feel the remnants of Hongjoong's presence, the memories of your time together felt almost tangible. But, he was gone. And you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, alone. Your small apartment never felt lonelier.
two
The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting shadows everywhere. Hongjoong sat on the hotel floor, his heart ached like a heavy stone in his chest, echoing the raw, jagged pain of an all-too-fresh wound. Next to him sat a half-empty bottle of whiskey, its strong liquor failing to dull the hollow gnawing pain that gripped him. For the past few months, Hongjoong had been busier than he'd ever been. Recording sessions that kept him up all night, followed by grueling dance practices to perfect choreography. Once ATEEZ’s first studio album was finally out, there was an endless string of fan sign events and meetings. Then, his dreams came true — they announced a world tour. Hongjoong was so busy that eating and sleeping felt like a luxury. He was happy, but not completely. Something was always missing. You were missing. Hongjoong'd become a master at hiding his pain from the world. So good, in fact, that he'd even managed to hide it from himself. But even as busy as Hongjoong was with his career, there were moments when he couldn't help but constantly think about you. And in those small moments every song that he wrote, every dance he choreographed, every performance he gave, you were always on his mind. Hongjoong was haunted by your memories, by the love he had lost. And even if he was being so good at hiding his emotions, his bandmates could see the change in him. They saw the sadness in his eyes, the heaviness in his steps, the emptiness in his laughter. But they said nothing, respecting his silence, knowing that this was a battle he had to fight on his own. Now, it’s been over six months since he broke up with you. Since he had chosen his career over your love, ambition over affection. He believed it was the right decision, but it did not lessen the pain of his heartbreak.
Hongjoong's eyes fell on his phone, lying innocently on the carpet. He had been contemplating it for hours, his heart pounding with apprehension. He longed to reach out to you, to hear your voice again and beg for forgiveness. Everything seemed so pointless without you. His dreams and ambitions felt hollow and meaningless. The fame, the success, the love from fans all over the world — none of it mattered. Because without you by his side, sharing in his joy and success, it all felt empty. All he could think of was the sweet sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the comfort of your presence. And the longer he was without you, the more he realized how much he had lost. Taking a shaky breath, Hongjoong gathered the courage to pick the phone up, dialed your number with unsteady fingers, and pressed the call button. Eight rings echoed in his ears, each one a chance to hang up, to retreat, to save himself from the impending heartache. But he didn't. He couldn't.
"Hello?"
"H-hey," His voice wavered, barely more than a whisper, "How... how you been? How you doing?" His heart pounded against his ribs. The room felt smaller with every passing second as if the walls were closing in on him. Hongjoong gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white as if holding onto it was the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment.
"I've been... okay," your voice was guarded, a stark contrast to the warmth it used to hold when you spoke to him. "Just... keeping busy, you know." Your heart was pounding loudly, so loud you were scared Hongjoong was going to hear it on the other side of the phone. You tried to steady your breathing, focusing on each exhale and inhale. There was silence on the other end. You could almost picture Hongjoong there, sitting in the dimly lit room, phone in hand, as he grappled with your words. The silence stretched on and for a moment.
"I've... I've been drinking," he confessed, a bitter laughter escaping his lips. "Thought I'd be over you by now... but I'm not. I can't be." His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling out. There was a pause again, a silence that seemed to last forever.
"Hongjoong..." you murmured, your voice filled with a detached understanding that was almost more painful than the silence before. "You... You shouldn't be drinking, Hongjoong," you said softly, concern seeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it neutral.
"I miss you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I know I caused you pain. I know I can't turn back time. But I... I can't imagine a life without you." The line went silent once again, except for his ragged breath and the deafening beat of his heart. Hongjoong held his breath, waiting, knowing that your next words could either set him free or push him further into his torment. Despite the distance, despite the coldness in your voice, he thought he detected a hint of lingering affection for him. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but it was there. A slight hesitation in your voice before you spoke, a soft sigh he barely caught. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but also a sea of despair. Because he knew that even though you might still harbor feelings for him, his choices had wounded you.
"I miss you too," you said, your voice so quiet that he almost missed the words. And in that moment, he knew that you felt the pain just as sharply as he did. Despite the remnants of love between you, you were both trapped in this cycle of regret and longing, both victims of his ambition. He longed to tell you that he loved you, that he was ready to give up everything to be with you. But the words wouldn't come. Because he knew he couldn't. He couldn't let go of his career, but he couldn't let go of you either. And so, he found himself stuck in this self-destructive cycle, driven by his own choices and his inability to let go of the past. The burden of his decisions hung heavy in the silence. His heart ached with unspoken words and the bitter sting of regret.
"I want to see you..." Hongjoong whispered into the phone, as he took another swig of the whiskey, the bitter liquid burning his throat, a fitting punishment for his mistakes. He closed his eyes, the image of your face clear in his mind, the memory of your laughter echoing in his ears. He missed you. He missed you more than he could put into words, more than he could bear. But all he had were his dreams and ambitions, the things he chose over you. ''I don’t know what I’m expecting'' All Hongjoong knew was that he missed you and that no amount of fame or success could fill the void you left in his heart.
"I... I want to see you too," you responded, soft and hesitant, yet filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Since the day Hongjoong left, your world had changed drastically, nothing felt the same. You tried to move on, to heal and rebuild your life without him. But it seemed like every time you made a little progress, something related to ATEEZ would unexpectedly appear, pulling you back into the memories of him. It was as if the universe was conspiring to ensure Hongjoong remained an inescapable part of your life, refusing to let you forget him.
"I don't know if this is a good idea...but, can we meet?" Hongjoong held his breath, waiting for your response, the silence between you two stretching out into a deafening void.
"Okay," you finally whispered back, the single word carrying a world of hope and fear, a promise of a reunion fraught with uncertainties and unspoken feelings. A wave of relief washed over Hongjoong, followed by a pang of anxiety. He had so many things he wanted to say to you, so many apologies to make, so many feelings to confess. But he feared that it might be too late, that the damage he had caused was irreparable. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult for him to speak.
"Thank you," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible. "I'll be back home in a few weeks, I’ll see you then?"
"Yeah...yeah, I'll see you then," you replied softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. "Take care of yourself, Hongjoong.''
The call ended, leaving Hongjoong alone in the dimly lit room once again. He sat there, staring at his phone, his heart heavy with a mix of relief, fear, and longing. He didn't know if this was the beginning of a new chapter or the closure of an old one. All he knew was that he needed to see you. He needed to say the things he had been unable to say for the past six months. And most importantly, he needed to apologize.
three
The interminable weeks you anxiously awaited for Hongjoong's return seemed to mercilessly drag on, transforming into a seemingly endless expanse of time. In truth, the past few months without him felt like an eternity, every moment punctuated by his absence. After the initial shock of your breakup, which shook you to your core, you managed to shake off the immobilizing numbness that it brought. Once the initial shock was dealt with, you allowed yourself to fall into a routine, an everyday pattern of activities that became your lifeline in these challenging times. This routine, mundane as it might have been, was the only thing that kept you going, the only thing that kept you sane amidst the tumult of emotions that threatened to consume you. It was your anchor in a sea of chaos, providing a sense of normalcy in a world that, without Hongjoong, felt anything but normal. So, when you saw the news that ATEEZ had returned from their tour, it took you by surprise. You thought Hongjoong would call you straight away, that he would want to see you as much as you wanted to see him. You were holding on to the thought of seeing the man you loved again, of finding closure, or perhaps a new beginning. But the call didn't come, and with each passing day, your hope dwindled a little more. The silence was deafening, filling you with a sense of dread and disappointment. But despite everything, you continued to wait, clinging on to the hope of hearing from him. Days turned into weeks, and the silence from Hongjoong was deafening. You tried to keep yourself busy, to distract your mind from the painful thoughts that threatened to consume you. You began to question his intentions, wondering whether he really meant what he said during the phone call. Did he truly miss you, or was it just a moment of weakness? Did he genuinely want to see you, or was he simply trying to ease his guilt? Your mind was a whirlpool of questions, doubts, and insecurities. You felt like you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair. Despite the emotional turmoil, you couldn't bring yourself to reach out to him first. You weren't ready to face the possibility of rejection, the fear of him telling you that he had moved on and that the phone call was a mistake. So, you waited, hoping against hope that he would contact you.
One evening, while you were trying to drown your sorrows in a sad movie and a tub of ice cream, the doorbell rang, startling you out of your thoughts. Your heart pounded in your chest as you got up to answer it. As you swung the door open, there he was. Hongjoong stood on your doorstep, looking just as nervous and scared as you felt. You were taken aback, not having expected him to show up at your doorstep. You felt a mix of emotions - surprise, fear, anxiety, but also a strange relief. Despite the emotional turmoil swirling within you, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the sight of him. He was as handsome as always, his dark blue hair tousled slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and longing. For a moment, you found yourself lost in the depths of his gaze, the familiar warmth of his presence washing over you like a comforting embrace. It was surreal to see him standing there, on your doorstep, after so many weeks of silence and uncertainty. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions that raged within you.
"H-Hey," he stuttered out, his eyes avoiding yours. "I hope I'm not... I hope this isn't too soon."
"No, it's... it's okay. Come in," you said, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitated for a moment, then walked inside. You closed the door behind him, it felt strangely normal to have him there, in your apartment, as if the last few months had been nothing but a bad dream. But the tension in the air was palpable, a reminder that things weren't the same anymore. You led him to the living room, he took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings.
"It's been a while," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, it has," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. The silence that followed was deafening, both of you lost in your own thoughts. Finally, Hongjoong broke the silence.
"I... I wanted to apologize," he began, his voice shaky. "I know I hurt you, and I'm... I'm really sorry." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I made a mistake... a big one. And I... I want to make it right." You were silent for a moment, processing his words. It was what you had been waiting to hear, but now that he had said it, you didn't know how to respond. You looked at him, studying his face, searching for sincerity in his eyes. Despite the hurt and confusion swirling within you, you couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited at his words. His apology felt genuine, raw with emotion. As you wrestled with your thoughts, a part of you longed to forgive him, to embrace the possibility of reconciliation. Yet another part remained guarded, wary of opening yourself up to further pain. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I've missed you so much," he confessed. Suddenly, Hongjoong reached out, pulling you into an embrace. The sudden movement startled both of you, but neither of you pulled away. On the contrary, you nestled deeper into his arms, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne instantly calmed your racing heart, making you feel like you were home again. In his arms, the pain and heartache of the past few months seemed to melt away. As you held each other in a tight embrace, the weight of the past few months began to lift, replaced by a sense of comfort and familiarity. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship, being in his arms felt right, as if you were finally where you were meant to be.
"I've missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The words were a confession, a raw admission of the emptiness that had consumed you in his absence. The warmth of his embrace melted away the walls you had built around your heart. Despite the doubts and uncertainties that lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn't deny the overwhelming rush of emotions that surged through you. Without thinking, you lifted your head from the crook of his neck, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. At that moment, all the words you had been longing to say seemed to vanish from your mind, replaced by a desperate need to express the depth of your feelings for him. Leaning forward, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender, passionate kiss. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time stood still, the world around you fading into oblivion as you lost yourself in the intoxicating warmth of his embrace. In that moment, all the pain and heartache of the past seemed insignificant, overshadowed by the overwhelming rush of love and longing that coursed through your veins. As you pulled away, breathless and trembling, you found yourself staring into his eyes, searching for some sign of understanding, of reciprocation. Hongjoong smiled and giggled quietly,
''I did not expect this…'' Your heart fluttered at the sound of his soft laughter, a gentle melody that filled the room. Despite the gravity of the situation, his laughter was like a balm to your wounded soul, easing some of the tension that had been building within you. Hongjoong’s hand found its way to your flushed cheek, it was a comforting presence, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you leaned into his touch, relishing the warmth of his palm against your skin.
"I know," you replied softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
''Can we do it again?'' A soft chuckle escaped your lips at his bashful demeanor, finding it endearing how he could still manage to blush after all this time.
"Of course," you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you leaned in closer to him. The warmth of Hongjoong’s breath against your skin sent a thrill coursing through you, reigniting the spark of desire that had never truly faded between you. Closing the distance between you, you pressed your lips to his once more, savoring his familiar taste and feel. It was as if no time had passed at all, as if you were picking up right where you had left off, lost in the intensity of your love for each other. As you pulled away breathlessly, the intensity of the moment lingering between you, Hongjoong placed his forehead against yours, his hand pulling you closer by your waist. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate and needy. Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you rising. Hongjoong's voice was husky when he pulled back, his breath hot against your ear as he said,
"I'm not gonna stop myself if we keep on." You could feel his arousal pressing against you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you hadn't shared in so long. A shiver ran through your body as you processed his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You had missed this closeness, the intoxicating intimacy that only Hongjoong could provide. Despite the uncertainties that still lingered, your body yearned for his. You met his gaze, your eyes reflecting the desire that was undoubtedly mirrored in his.
"Then don't stop," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. There was no hesitation in his actions then. His lips found yours again, his hands exploring your body, reigniting the flame that had never fully extinguished. Hongjoong's grip on your hips tightened, his touch electrifying, igniting a spark within you. He pulled your hair just the way you liked it, gentle yet firm, exposing your neck to his gaze. He began to leave a trail of wet kisses along your sensitive skin, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine. The anticipation was unbearable. You knew that after all this time, after all the longing and desire that had built up between you, you wouldn’t last long. Every fiber of your being was desperate to feel his body against yours, to experience the intimate connection that only he could provide. And as if he could read your thoughts, Hongjoong returned to kissing you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. He was devouring you with an intensity that took your breath away, his every touch and kiss stoking the fire within you. You felt his hands tugging at the hem of your hoodie, his fingers deftly pulling it over your head in one swift, practiced motion. As the fabric lifted away, the cool air of the room hit your skin, causing a shiver to course through your body. To Hongjoong's surprise, you were not wearing a bra underneath. His eyes, dark with desire, roamed over your exposed chest, taking in the sight of your bare skin. There was a moment of silence as he savored the sight, his breath hitching in his throat. Your head was spinning, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations taking over, and you could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. Hongjoong placed his palm on your breast, cupping it gently but firmly. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air surrounding you. His fingers, tender and explorative, began to play with your nipple, tracing delicate patterns that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned softly. Each touch ignited a spark within you, a flame of desire that seemed to grow with every passing second.
As your hands began to wander, you found yourself drawn to his jeans. Your fingers deftly unclasped his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the room. Heart pounding with anticipation, you slid the zipper down, the sound seeming to reverberate through the room. Hongjoong quickly removed his own shirt, revealing his toned chest. Your hands instinctively reached out to him, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. In response, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground with ease. Hongjoong carried you towards the bedroom, and a sense of anticipation filled the air. As he gently put you down, your eyes locked with his, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss while his hands roamed over your body, further stoking the flame of desire within you. You found yourself lost in his touch, each stroke of his fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As he slowly moved down, peppering soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, you could hardly contain the moan that escaped your lips. Hongjoong pulled your shorts down, kissing your stomach and hip bones. His touch was electrifying, setting your skin ablaze with a hunger that only he could satisfy. You reached for his pants, finally tugging both them and his boxers down and revealing his throbbing erection. Hongjoong groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his thick dick, you spread pre-cum on his length and stroked him gently yet firmly, eliciting a moan from him. Hongjoong was so hard, so ready for you, and the thought only made you wetter. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you knelt in front of him and placed a kiss on the tip of his throbbing length. Sensing his anticipation, you started licking him from the base all the way to the tip, savoring the taste of him. His body shivered in response to your actions, his breath hitching as he watched you with a mixture of desire and disbelief.
"I missed the way your cock tastes in my mouth,” you said just before you slowly took him all into your mouth, your lips wrapping around his length as you began to bob your head up and down. The sensation elicited a groan from Hongjoong, his hands instinctively reaching for your hair to guide your movements.
"F-fuck," Hongjoong moaned out, his grip on your hair tightening as you continued to pleasure him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his length in a way that had him seeing stars. His body was tense, filled with an anticipation that was only heightened by the rhythm of your movements. The room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet noises of your mouth on him. His hand tugged at your hair, guiding you, setting the pace. His other hand found its way to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggled to keep control. "I... I need to be inside you," he gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his. There was a raw intensity in his gaze that sent a thrill coursing through you. You nodded, releasing him from your mouth with a final lick, a smirk playing on your lips as you watched him shudder at the sensation. You crawled back up his body, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the sensation eliciting a soft moan from him. Hongjoong's hands found their way to your hips, guiding you to the bed. He positioned himself on top of you, his hands gently spreading your legs. His fingers slowly explored your folds,
"You are so wet, so ready for me" he murmured in awe, his fingers brushing over your slick folds. The sensation caused you to gasp. With a sudden surge of impatience, you pulled him closer by his neck, kissing him aggressively.
"Hongjoong, I need you now," you demanded, your voice thick with desire. He positioned himself, ready to give you what you so desperately wanted. But then, he stopped, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes with a serious expression.
‘’Are you on the pill?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"No, not anymore," you admitted, biting your lower lip anxiously.
"Condoms?" he asked, hoping that you had some.
"I don't think I have any," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Shit, I think I have some in my wallet," he moved off you and rushed to search his wallet, which was carelessly thrown to the side earlier. After a moment, Hongjoong let out a sigh of relief as he pulled out a condom. Returning to the bed, he positioned himself above you again, his dark eyes filled with desire. You took the condom from him, your hands slightly shaking as you carefully unrolled it down his throbbing length. You guided him to your entrance, the anticipation making you shudder with pleasure. As he slowly entered you, you couldn't help but gasp at the overwhelming sensation, the feeling of him inside you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As Hongjoong began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your hands found purchase on his shoulders, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. The rhythm of his movements, slow and deliberate at first, gradually picked up pace, each powerful thrust hitting that sweet spot inside you and drawing moans of pleasure from your lips.
"Hongjoong whatever you do just don't stop now," you moaned, your toes curling in pleasure. His name fell from your lips again in a breathless whisper, the sound of it spurring him on. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and your shared moans and gasps of pleasure.
"You feel so good, baby” he moaned. You felt his dick throbbing inside you, which made you clench around him, making him moan again. As your climax approached, your body tensed, your grip on him tightening. Hongjoong could sense it, and his thrusts became more powerful. "Are you going to cum for me, princess?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. Your body responded to his words before your mind could, a rush of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could do nothing but nod, your body taut with anticipation. Hongjoong’s movements became more deliberate, his rhythm matching your own as the tension built.
"Yes," you breathed out, the word barely escaping your lips before a wave of pleasure washed over you. Your body convulsed, your grip on him tightening as you rode the waves of your orgasm. His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as you rode out your orgasm, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. With a final, powerful thrust, Hongjoong groaned, his body tensing as he reached his own peak. Feeling him still buried deep inside you, you could sense the warm sensation of his cum filling the condom. Hongjoong’s head fell to the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he rode out the waves of his climax. The room fell silent, save for the sound of your labored breaths. He collapsed next to you, took the condom off, and threw it away. Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, and his fingers traced lazy circles on your bare skin, the sensation sending tingles down your spine. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that you hadn't seen for a long time. It warmed your heart, bringing a gentle smile to your face.
"I was going crazy without you," Hongjoong whispered his words a fervent declaration of the depth of his longing. "I missed you every single day," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as you gazed into his eyes, losing yourself in the depths of his gaze.
"You wouldn't let me forget about you," you smiled sadly, "ATEEZ were everywhere." You chuckled, the sound tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Every time I started to get a bit better, you would show up on a TV or the internet."
Hongjoong gave a bitter-sweet laugh, "I guess we're inescapable, huh?" His hand moved from your waist to cradle your face.
"I was so proud of you, Hongjoong," you confessed, your voice choked with emotion. "It just hurt that you needed to leave me to do all these amazing things."
His gaze softened at your words, his thumb gently brushing away the tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to," he admitted quietly, his voice hauntingly sincere.
"Will you stay for tonight?" you asked him, your voice quiet and hopeful. A silence hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and raw emotions. Hongjoong looked at you, his gaze soft and contemplative. It felt like an eternity before he finally responded.
"I wish I could," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "But I have to go back. There are things I need to take care of." A pang of disappointment shot through you at his words, but you understood. His world was unforgiving, with schedules and commitments that left little room for personal desires. You knew that asking him to stay was selfish, but some of you couldn't help but wish for a little more time together.
"I understand," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "But promise me this won't be the last time we see each other. Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'll come back as soon as I can." You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears that threatened to fall. Hongjoong planted one last kiss on your lips, before gently untangling himself from your embrace. He rose from the bed, his eyes scanning the room for his scattered clothing. You pulled a comforter from the bed around your naked body as you got up from the bed, and you walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.
"Stay over," you tried convincing him again. "I don't want to be alone." Your lips found the back of his neck, peppering soft kisses there. Each kiss was a silent plea, a yearning for him to stay. He shivered under your touch, goosebumps erupting on his skin. You knew he loved it when you kissed his neck like that. His eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped his lips, a clear sign that he was fighting the urge to stay with you. With one hand, you pulled him in closer, his back pressed against your chest. Your other hand traveled down his torso, exploring his body. You slid your hand lower, until you grabbed his cock, causing Hongjoong to let out a whimper at the sudden contact. The sound was music to your ears, a testament to the effect you had on him. This moment felt right, a perfect blend of desire and intimacy that only you two could share. As you started to pump him slowly, his cock hardened again. Kissing all over his neck, Hongjoong trembled under your touch. Your touch was gentle, yet firm, as you slowly worked him back to full erection. His reactions were immediate and intense, his body trembling under your hands. Hongjoong’s breath hitched in his throat, a soft gasp escaping his lips as you trailed kisses up and down his neck. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to set his nerves on fire, his body humming with pent-up desire.
"Feeling your dick get hard in my hand is so hot," you whispered into his ear. Hongjoong’s breath hitched at your words, he was completely at your mercy, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensations you were coaxing from him. His hands reached for you, his fingers digging into your arm as a silent plea for more. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one a testament to the pleasure you were bringing him. The room was filled with the sound of your soft murmurs and his gasps, the air heavy with desire. You took your time, savoring each reaction, each tremor that ran through him.
"I'm going to make you come so hard," you breathed against his neck, your voice filled with a promise of the pleasure to come. A shiver ran through his body at your words, anticipation causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The kisses you trailed along his neck grew more passionate, more desperate, each one a promise of the pleasure to come. He was trembling beneath your touch, his body writhing with anticipation, ready for the climax that was sure to come.
"Need... need to feel your mouth on me. Please, please," he moaned as you sped up your movements on his length. You could feel his desperation in every word, the primal need making his voice tremble. You turned his body to face you, without missing a beat, you moved down his body, trailing kisses along the way. You took him in your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate at first, earning a guttural moan from him. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers tangling in the locks as he guided your movements. With every moan, every gasp for breath, you could feel him lose himself in the pleasure you were giving him. It only spurred you on further, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent. Hongjoong was a moaning mess, his body tensing as he felt the precipice of his release approaching.
"God... F-fuck," he stuttered, the words tumbling out amidst irregular breaths. He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire and pleading. "Baby, I love you... Can I... Can I cum in your mouth?" your eyes met his, a soft nod of consent given as you continued your movements. The quiet room was filled with only the sounds of his heavy breaths and soft curses. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "I love you... I love you so much," he gasped out, his body trembling as he reached his climax. His cum filled your mouth, the taste of him intoxicating and familiar. You swallowed it all, a sense of pride swelling within you. As his release washed over him, you could see the love and adoration in his eyes. He was open, vulnerable, and completely yours at that moment. Post-orgasmic bliss took over him, his body going limp as he tried to regain his breath. You crawled up, placing soft kisses along his chest, his jaw, his lips. Hongjoong pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly.
"I love you too, Hongjoong," you whispered, your head resting on his chest. His heart was still racing, the rhythm syncing with your own. You could feel his fingers tracing patterns on your back, a content sigh escaping his lips. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was in love, and so were you. Despite the challenges and the heartache, you belonged together. And in that moment, everything felt right. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace, his mind lost in the warmth of your touch.
"So, did that earn me your stay?" you asked playfully, a hint of mischief in your eyes as you looked up at him. Hongjoong kissed your forehead, before gently pulling away from your embrace, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with regret-filled eyes.
"Baby I really wish I could stay, but I can't," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "I have early rehearsals tomorrow. I promise I'll come back soon." He gently extricated himself from your grasp and began to get dressed.
"Don't go," you pleaded softly, your voice barely a whisper. But despite the plea in your eyes, he knew he couldn't stay. No matter how much he wanted to remain by your side, his responsibilities were calling him back.
"I don't want to leave you," Hongjoong murmured in a tone that was barely a whisper, his eyes filled with regret. "But I have to. I have responsibilities that I need to attend to." Despite the warmth of your bodies pressed together and the lingering taste of you on his lips, he knew he couldn't stay. He gave you one last look, his heart aching at the sight of your disheveled hair and the love in your eyes. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions. Once fully dressed, he turned back to you, his gaze soft. He walked over and pulled you into a gentle hug, his hand stroking your hair in a comforting gesture.
"I'll see you soon, I promise," he whispered into your ear before pulling away. Hongjoong gave you one last lingering look, his eyes filled with longing before he opened the door and stepped out of your apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
However, Hongjoong did not keep his promise.
four
Once again, days turned into weeks, and Hongjoong was nowhere to be found. You started to believe that your meeting was only a dream, a figment of your imagination borne out of desperation and longing. Each passing day without any word from him further reinforced this belief. The emptiness that you had once managed to keep at bay was slowly creeping back in, consuming you bit by bit. The silence was deafening, a harsh reminder of the reality you were trying to escape from. It felt as if you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair, each passing day a test of your resilience and strength. With each passing day, a seed of doubt began to grow within you. Was it possible that Hongjoong regretted what had happened? Could it be that the promises whispered in the heat of the moment, the tender kisses and reassuring words, were nothing more than a mistake? The thought gnawed at you, casting a dark shadow over the glimmer of hope you had been clinging on to. You found yourself questioning everything, your mind a whirlpool of confusion and despair. Your days were filled with uncertainty and your nights were haunted by dreams of him. You longed for the comfort of his presence, aching for the familiarity of his touch. Yet, all you were left with was the deafening silence, a cruel reminder of the distance that had grown between you.
Three weeks had passed since you last laid eyes on Hongjoong, and the absence was fucking with your head. Questions spun around in your head like a whirlwind, each one piercing deeper than the last. Was it only the sex that he missed? You were haunted by the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating way he used to look at you. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, a cruel reminder of the intimacy that once existed. The silence of your phone was deafening, the man who once couldn't go a day without hearing your voice, who used to fill your inbox with loving messages, had now been reduced to radio silence. Your mind was a battlefield, memories of him clashing violently with the present reality. This was not the Hongjoong you loved and cherished, the one who held you through the darkest nights and lit up your world with his smile. This was a stranger, a phantom wearing Hongjoong's face and carrying his memories, a cruel mockery of the man you once knew.
five
On a sunny afternoon, you came back from grocery shopping and approached your apartment complex. Upon reaching your floor, you found Hongjoong leaning against your door. The sight of him waiting there, a look of nervous anticipation on his face, sent a jolt of surprise through you. The sound of grocery bags dropping onto the floor startled Hongjoong, his head snapping up to see you standing there, a look of shock and anger on your face. He quickly jogged over to help you pick up the scattered items, but you recoiled, pulling the bags away from him.
"Why are you here, Hongjoong?" You spat out his name like it was poison. "I don't want to see you," you quickly got up as you finished picking up what was left from your shopping.
"We both know you don’t mean it…" Hongjoong blurts out, a look of guilt crossing his face.
"My manager found out I came to see you," Hongjoong admitted, avoiding your gaze. "The company... they're not happy. They made me sign a contract." His voice was barely a whisper, but the words hit you with the force of a freight train. "I'm... I'm banned from dating now." His words hung heavily in the air, the final blow to the fairytale you had tried so hard to keep alive. The revelation left you speechless, your heart aching at the harsh reality of his words. You felt a cold wave of disappointment wash over you, the realization of Hongjoong's predicament hitting you like a punch to the gut.
"Banned from dating?" you echoed, the words sounding foreign on your tongue. As the weight of Hongjoong's confession settled over you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. It wasn't just the fact that he was banned from dating that stung, but the realization that he had chosen to prioritize his career over your relationship once again. "How could you?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "After what happened that night, you still chose them over me?" The hurt and anger bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over at any moment. You felt like a fool for ever believing that things could be different, for allowing yourself to hope for a future that was never meant to be.
Hongjoong reached out to you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to touch you. "I didn't have a choice, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "You have to believe me. I didn't want this to happen." But his words fell on deaf ears.
"You always have a choice, Hongjoong," you retorted, your voice laced with bitterness. "You chose to sign that contract!" The tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. "You promised you would be back to see me, Hongjoong! You said you missed me and you wanted to make this right. And now this?" you exclaimed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. The betrayal cut deep, his broken promises like salt in the wound.
"You can't just show up here after weeks of silence and expect me to be okay with this," you continued, your voice raw with emotion. "You've made your choice, Hongjoong. Now, I'm making mine. I can't do this anymore."
Your words hung heavily in the air, the finality of them echoing in the silence that enveloped the two of you. Hongjoong was left standing there, a stunned expression on his face as he processed your words. The man who was once your world, who held your heart in his hands, was now a stranger standing before you.
"I... I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were brimming with regret, the weight of his actions visibly weighing on him.
"But you did, Hongjoong," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill. "You hurt me... and the worst part is, you chose to. You chose them over me... again."
The silence that followed was deafening, the tension palpable. Hongjoong looked as if he wanted to say something, to defend himself or perhaps apologize, but no words came out. It was as if he finally realized the gravity of his actions, the damage that he had caused.
You turned your back on him, the sight of him too painful to bear. The man you loved was no more, replaced by a stranger who wore his face and held his memories. As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, heavy with regret and longing. But it was too late. The damage had been done, and there was no turning back.
You walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you. The finality of the sound echoing in the silent hallway. As you leaned against the door, your knees gave out, sending you sliding down to the floor. Sobs racked your body, the tears flowing freely now. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Y/N, please," Hongjoong's voice filtered through the door, his tone desperate. "I love you, please let me in." But you couldn't bring yourself to open the door, to face him again. His words, once so comforting, now felt like a cruel mockery of what you once shared. You wrapped your arms around yourself as if to ward off the chill that had seeped into your bones.
"I can't, Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The silence that ensued was deafening, only broken by the occasional sob that escaped your lips. You could hear Hongjoong's muffled pleas on the other side of the door,
"Baby, I need you to understand," he began, his voice steady despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I love you. In this world, it's always been you. Without you, I feel so alone. I need you to really hear me when I say that I love you." he murmured, his voice filled with so much pain that it made your heart ache.
Your cry spasmed through your body, causing you to shiver uncontrollably. Between gasps for air, you managed to sob out, "I love you too." Hongjoong’s voice fell silent on the other side of the door, and you clung to the silence, hoping, praying that he had left. But then you heard it, a low, heartbreaking sob from the other side.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Hongjoong's voice was barely more than a whisper, choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for everything." You clung to the cold, hard floor, your body wracked with sobs. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the silence echoing through the space, a stark reminder of your loneliness.
"Please let me in," he tried begging again, his voice echoing through the silence. But you couldn't. You were too hurt, too betrayed. You curled up tighter on the cold floor, your heart aching as his pleas continued to echo through the small apartment.
"I...I need to go," Hongjoong finally whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. You heard his footsteps recede and the faint sound of the hallway door closing. You were finally alone, the silence in the apartment a stark reminder of the void he had left behind. In the silence of your apartment, you allowed yourself to break down completely. Your sobs echoed through the empty space, your heartache manifesting in the tears that streamed down your face. You felt the loss of him deeply like a part of you had been ripped away.
six
You had lost track of how much time had passed since you last saw Hongjoong. The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months. Morning turned into night, and night turned back into morning, but the ache in your heart remained constant. Hongjoong’s absence was like a gaping wound that refused to heal. You found yourself going through the motions of life, putting on a brave face during the day while falling apart in the solitude of the night. Every little thing reminded you of him - a certain song on the radio, the scent of his favorite cologne lingering in the air, the way the morning sunlight streamed through the window just the way he liked it. You knew it was wrong, that you needed to move on, but it was easier said than done. The memories of him were etched deep within your heart, a part of you that you couldn’t just erase. You missed his laughter, his touch, the way he used to look at you. You missed him, and it hurt more than you ever thought possible. Try as you might, you were coping really badly without him. His absence had left a void in your life that you didn't know how to fill. You felt lost, adrift in a sea of loneliness. You yearned for his presence, for the comfort and familiarity that he brought into your life. Despite the heartache and the pain, you were holding on. Holding on to the hope that, maybe, with time, the pain would lessen. Holding on to the memories that brought you joy in your darkest moments. Holding on to the love that, despite everything, still lingered within your heart.
You started to go clubbing, drinking more alcohol than you should, each shot you took was a desperate attempt to erase him from your mind, to numb the pain that was threatening to consume you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the mindless chatter and laughter around you, but all you could think about was Hongjoong. Alcohol, which was supposed to help you forget, ironically made him even more present. His name was etched on every bottle, his memory swirled in every glass, his phantom touch felt in every drunken stupor. Each night was a replay of all the moments you shared, every word exchanged, every secret whispered, every promise made.
The club was packed, the music pounding in time with your heartbeat. The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the air, mingling with the intoxicating scent of perfume. Lost in the crowd, you tried to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at your insides. Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. He was handsome, with a warm smile and dark, inviting eyes. He offered to buy you a drink, his voice barely audible over the loud music. You nodded, accepting the drink he handed you. The alcohol burned your throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the emptiness you felt. As the night progressed, the stranger became more comfortable. He leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours. His touch sent a jolt through your body, a feeling of excitement... and something else. Something that felt like a betrayal. The stranger leaned in for a kiss, his lips barely inches from yours. You wanted to respond, to surrender to the desire that was churning within you. But as his lips meet yours, a flash of Hongjoong's face appears in your mind. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you. Suddenly, the stranger's touch felt wrong, his presence a stark reminder of what you were missing. With a gasp, you pulled away, pushing the stranger off you. You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned and ran, pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. The stranger called after you, but his voice was drowned out by the thumping music. Once outside, you leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the truth. Despite the desire to move on, to forget Hongjoong, your body seemed to have a mind of its own. You still craved his touch, his presence. It felt like your body was still his, refusing to let go, refusing to be with anyone else. It was a painful realization, a glaring reminder of the void that Hongjoong had left in your life. Staggering back to your apartment, you felt more alone than ever.
After what felt like forever, you reached your apartment complex. Stumbling through the doorway, you barely had the strength to close the door behind you. Your thoughts were a blur, the world spinning around you as the effects of the alcohol finally started to take a toll. You leaned against the wall for support, the cold surface offering a stark contrast to the warmth that was spreading through your body. A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you slid down the wall, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You sat there, alone in the darkness, the silence of your apartment echoing the emptiness you felt inside. You pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over Hongjoong's name. Without any hesitation, feeling like you had already waited too long, you pressed the call button. The phone rang, but there was no answer. A pang of disappointment hit you, though it was an outcome you weren't entirely surprised by. You sighed, waiting for the beep before leaving a voicemail.
"Hongjoong, it's me," you began, your voice slightly shaky. "I was out clubbing, and there was this guy… We kissed and… and he wanted to take me home. But I couldn't... I couldn't because it felt like I would be cheating on you. And that just... it made me feel sick." There was a pause as you braced yourself, gathering your thoughts. "The worst thing is," you continued, your voice slightly choked, "that I would still welcome you with open arms. I miss our life together, Hongjoong. I miss you." There was another pause, a heavy silence filling the line. "I'm so sorry," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry for making you feel bad about choosing your career. I know how much you wanted what you have now. And I... I shouldn't have held you back." You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the words you knew you had to say. "And Hongjoong," you added, your voice filled with a quiet intensity, "I will never not love you." With that, you ended the call, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your words.
In a haze, you managed to make your way to your bed, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of the mattress. The silence in the room felt overwhelming, and your mind filled with thoughts of Hongjoong. You missed him terribly, the uncertainty of his whereabouts gnawing at you. Pulling out your phone, you started to text him, your fingers clumsily typing out the words.
"Hongjoong... I miss you. I don't know where you are... and it's driving me crazy," you typed, the words blurring on the screen as tears welled up in your eyes. You hit send, the message disappears into the ether. Tears trickled down your cheeks, the emptiness of the room amplifying the loneliness you felt. You cried a deep, aching sob that echoed in the silence of the room, your body shaking with the intensity of your feelings. The room was dark, the only light coming from the screen of your phone, you picked it up and started typing another message.
"Hongjoong, I miss you."
"I need you, Hongjoong."
As you sent the message, a wave of regret washed over you. You knew you shouldn't have sent it, but the alcohol in your system and the loneliness in your heart had made you reckless.
"I still love you."
"I love you so much it hurts."
"I wish I wasn’t hurting this bad."
You dropped your phone on the bed, the screen illuminating the darkness as your messages were sent into the void, unanswered.
"I wish things were different."
The truth of your words hit you like a sledgehammer, and you broke down again, sobs shaking your body as you curled up on your bed. You cried until you fell asleep, your dreams filled with memories of Hongjoong.
seven
The crowd roared with applause as Hongjoong left the stage, his heart pounding in his chest. The energy from the audience was infectious, their cheers and screams echoing in his ears long after the music had stopped. The final show of the tour had been a resounding success, each seat filled, each ticket sold. As he walked off the stage, the reality of their success began to sink in. The bright lights, the screaming fans, the sold-out venues - it was more than he had ever dreamed of. Despite the fatigue that was beginning to set in, he couldn't help but bask in the afterglow of their performance. The excitement, the adrenaline, the sheer joy of performing - it was a feeling like no other. After all was said and done, he found himself walking through the corridors, personally thanking each member of the crew. Their faces lit up at his words of gratitude, their hard work acknowledged by their leader. The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and mutual respect, a testament to the bond they shared. Once he had made his rounds, he finally reached his sanctuary - his dressing room. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. Rows of neatly hung suits, shirts, and accessories greeted him, a stark contrast to the chaos that had ensued earlier. Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, the adrenaline that had been fueling him all day finally starting to wane. His body felt heavy, his mind cloudy from the day's events. He moved towards the plush leather couch sitting in the corner of the room, his legs giving way as he sank into the soft cushions. The quietness of the room enveloped him, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He let out a sigh of relief, his body sinking further into the couch as he allowed the exhaustion to take over. The day had been long and arduous, but he had made it through, and for that, he was grateful. Hongjoong reached out and picked up his phone from the bedside table. The bright screen lit up, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw your name at the top of his notifications. Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest as he played the voice message. Your voice, which he hadn’t heard in so long, laced with alcohol and desperation, echoed in his brain. His breath hitched at your confession, the image of another man touching you burning in his mind. It was a torment he hadn't prepared for, a reality he refused to accept. His grip on his phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as your words washed over him. Each syllable was like a dagger to his heart, the pain raw and unbearable. As the full weight of your words sunk in, he was left reeling, the reality of your pain and longing hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had never felt more helpless, more desperate. After hearing the voice message, he quickly clicked on the text notifications. His fingers trembled slightly as he read the messages:
my love: "Hongjoong... I misssss youuuu. Don't knoowww whereeee u r... it's drivin' me craaaazy."
my love: "Honjoong, I missss youuuu.”
my love: "I neeedd yoooo, Hongjoongg.”
my love: "I stiilll lovvee yooouu.”
my love: "I wishhh thinggs werre differrrent.”
my love: "I luvv yu sooo muchh it hurttss."
my love: "I wishh I wasn't hurtin' thiss badd."
In a heartbeat, Hongjoong got up from the sofa, the quick motion caused his head to spin. Shaking off the disorientation, he lunged for his bag, hastily gathering his belongings in a flurry of swift movements. All his thoughts were consumed by one singular goal - he needed to see you. Not bothering with changing out of his stage attire into something more casual, he embraced the urgency of the moment, allowing it to fuel his actions. He shrugged on his jacket, barely noticing the lingering sweat on his skin or the way his stage clothes clung to his body. Hongjoong’s heart pounded in his chest, as he sprinted out of the dressing room. His eyes darted around the bustling backstage area, scanning the familiar faces and chaotic scenery in search of one person. His manager. Every second was critical, each fleeting moment amplifying the urgency of his need to see you. The world around him seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colours and sounds as he navigated through the backstage chaos, his mind solely focused on his mission.
"Hongjoong, are you alright?" Minah, the stylist, asked as she approached him cautiously. She had been observing him from a distance, noting the far-off look in his eyes. It was unlike him to be this distracted, especially when they were on a tight schedule. Hongjoong didn't even notice her until she was right next to him, her voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at her with a slightly startled expression.
"Where is my manager?" he asked, his voice tense. It wasn't like him to be so curt, and Minah knew instantly that something was off. She glanced warily at him, biting her lower lip anxiously.
"He stepped out for a moment, he should be back soon," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She had been working with Hongjoong for a while now and she had never seen him this agitated before. Hongjoong nodded, his gaze wandering off again as he started scanning the room left and right. He looked like a man on edge, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Minah watched him with growing concern, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to help. She had seen him tired, stressed, even overwhelmed at times, but she had never seen him like this. He looked like he was at his breaking point, like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. She knew better than to press him for answers, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. But as the minutes ticked by and his anxiety seemed to mount, she couldn't help but worry. Something was clearly wrong, and she felt helpless as she watched him struggle.
"Fuck it," he cursed under his breath, his thoughts racing as he rushed towards the back doors that led to the underground parking lot. Hongjoong made his way through, heading straight for the exit. At that moment, the possible consequences of his actions didn't matter to him. Just as he was about to pry open the alarmed doors, causing the alarm to ring out, he heard someone calling his name.
"Hongjoong, what do you think you're doing?" It was his manager, jogging over to him.
"I'm going back home," Hongjoong declared, his voice ringing with a determination that startled his manager. The manager, taken aback by the sudden change in his typically professional demeanor, quickly tried to regain control of the situation. He grabbed Hongjoong by the shoulder, attempting to steer him back towards the conference room where a team of publicists and stylists awaited their return.
"You aren't going anywhere, Hongjoong," his manager sternly replied, his grip tightening on Hongjoong's shoulder. "We're flying back in two days after the interviews. You know the schedule." Typically, Hongjoong was a stickler for professionalism. He understood the importance of maintaining a certain image, of fulfilling his responsibilities and keeping to the schedule. But this was not a typical situation. His mind was filled with thoughts of you, your voice in that message echoing in his ears. The sound of your soft sobs, the barely concealed panic in your voice - they haunted him. He needed to be with you, to hold you, to reassure you that everything was going to be okay.
With a firm shake of his shoulder, he freed himself from his manager's grasp, his movements abrupt and filled with a newfound, desperate energy.
"Seonghwa will take the leader role when I'm gone," he declared, his voice louder than it had been all night. "You will figure something out," he continued, his voice echoing with a resolve that hadn't been there before. Hongjoong gaze was intense, almost desperate, as he looked at his manager, it was a look they had never seen before, a look that spoke of desperation and determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking.
"Seonghwa will take the leader role when I'm gone," he declared, his voice louder than it had been all night. "You will figure something out," he continued, his voice echoing with a resolve that hadn't been there before. Hongjoong gaze was intense, almost desperate, as he looked at his manager, it was a look they had never seen before, a look that spoke of desperation and determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking. "Give me the keys to the car," Hongjoong demanded, his voice icily calm in contrast to the furious glint in his eyes. But his manager defied him, refusing to hand over the keys. Hongjoong was on a rampage, his usual composed demeanor replaced with a fiery rage that was starting to consume him. His vision blurred, the edges tinged with red as his frustration escalated."I NEED to go!" Hongjoong shouted, his voice filled with an urgency that cut through the tense silence.
"You're not thinking straight, Hongjoong," his manager retorted, his tone laced with frustration and concern. "You can't just abandon everything and run off. Think about the consequences!"
"I don't care about the consequences!" Hongjoong snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This is more important!"
"Oh, is it?" his manager sneered, a manipulative glint in his eyes. "Remember, Hongjoong, I can ruin you. I can leak your little secret to the press. Imagine the scandal, the headlines... ''ATEEZ's leader, Kim Hongjoong, abandons tour to chase after ex-girlfriend.'' How do you think the fans will react?" Hongjoong knew it was a threat, a blatant attempt to control him, but the reality of the situation was that his manager held the power to destroy his career.
Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest, his blood running cold at his manager's words. He gritted his teeth as he cut off his manager's words.
"How do you know it's about her?" he demanded, his voice harsh. A cold dread washed over him as he considered the implications. How was it even possible for his manager to know you had contacted him? After all these months of radio silence, how could he possibly know? His manager shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face.
"I have my ways," he said cryptically. "Besides, it's not like I don't know what she still means to you." The words stung, a harsh reminder of the heartache Hongjoong had been trying to bury. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you," his manager said smugly, dangling the car keys in front of him. With a sigh, Hongjoong snatched the keys from his hand, his determination unwavering. He would face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be, as long as it meant he could be there for you.
For the first time in his life, Hongjoong didn't care about professionalism or the implications of his actions. He didn't care about the shocked expressions of his manager and the other staff members. He didn't care about the potential backlash or the consequences he might face. This time, all he cared about was you.
#ateez x reader#ateez angst#ateez au#ateez fanfic#hongjoong x reader#hongjoong angst#hongjoong smut#ateez x y/n#hongjoong x y/n
64 notes
·
View notes
Note
Fuck yeah! I just love it when Tim makes a name for himself and his own place to help people using his resources instead of Bruce's resources. It's just something so dear to my heart.
Also it would be really funny if Tim wasn't only hiring other people goons. Like yeah, he's stealing all of Lex's workers, but he's also taking Joker's and Bane's and Penguin's and Two Face's. He put up a policy that said, "we hire (most) all felons. Crimes do not matter, unless certain scenarios such as crimes of a sexual nature." Which means most of the Henchmen who are only that because they can't get a legal job? They *flock* to Tim.
Tim also hires villians as well. He offers Ivy a job studying plants and green solutions to make the company better. He offers Harley a job as a nurse. He even goes to other cities to offer jobs to other heroes rouges such as giving Chershire a job trying to find holes in his security so he can patch them, Captian Cold works as a security guard, and Metallo works in some of the research labs working with chemicals that humans can't touch or testing new cybernetics that allow him to actually feel.
I am fully under the belief that a lot of DC rogues/villains/criminals would pursue an "honest" line of work if they had that choice/ability. This is why fics or AUs of one of the Bats (I am more partial to Tim, but I'd also so be down for Barbara) figuring out how to incorporate better social programs and supports to cut down crime.
There will be people who commit atrocities for the hell of it (fuck you Joker), but most of DC's villains have a just reason for their actions (even though the execution is poor).
Now, Tim cutting down crime through social programs and hiring people more so than the JL lowered crime since its founding? That would be fucking hilarious.
I would love to see more fics of different rogues getting their needs met and having options outside of the path DC made for them. Your examples are great, and I'd love more
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
accident prone
part two - I laugh often, so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine
Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato
Summary: Steve and Frankie really get to know one another, and the friendship blossoms quickly. So fast, Steve can’t keep up with his own feelings, even in the face of an emergency.
WC: 8.6k+
Includes: angst, hurt/comfort (like, a lot), internalized ableism, language, PTSD, revolving around Hawkins/the Upside Down, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, a teensy bit of fluff and flirting if you squint, medical emergencies, etc.
series playlist ⋮ masterlist
here, here and here - meg & dia
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me / I laugh often so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine”
A/N: hey there! Wow. I didn’t think this would really gain any attention— this fandom seems to hate OCs (y’all’s loss tbh), but the support I got on the last chapter, though small to some major blogs, means a fuck ton to me. I don’t want to tag everyone, but thank you to whoever sent me a kind message or pep talk after posting the first part— I really am glad this is relating to others with chronic health concerns, one way or another. Even if it relates to one person, it means more than meaningless notes. Also, may 12th is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day! So, consider this my contribution lol. As previously stated, for anyone with fibro, or without, but living with a chronic illness/condition, mental and/or physical, I am sending all my love, and this is for you <3
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
The next morning, Steve’s up early; if he can’t push past the pain, he’ll try working with it. He refuses to let the opportunity to get to know Frankie slip away.
And the opportunity for a possible job. That’s important, too. Just… not right at this very moment.
What the hell do I wear?
He glances at the pair of glasses he’s been neglecting lately, just annoyed he needs yet another tool of assistance to help him function; his vision blurs easily these days, especially with migraines. And while it’s not severe, he’s been warned to wear the glasses to prevent further deterioration of his vision.
To Steve, it’s another reminder of how broken he feels. If this was about anyone else, he wouldn’t feel that way, but when it comes to himself, the internal ableism never ends.
Just like the day before, everything hurts terribly. It’s one of those days where even certain fabrics and elastics add to the widespread ache, and it’s not like he has to dress up, but he doesn’t want to just show up in sweats, either.
At least I don’t have to wear that ugly, stiff uniform anymore.
He opts for a well-worn, loose cardigan with a pair of jeans that he ripped at the knee years ago; the tear is conveniently over his bad knee, making it easier to wear the brace he has on his bad joint days. And today, he really needs it.
Steve also needs a boost of confidence and a way to shake his nerves; the thought of seeing Frankie again and possibly getting another job have him on edge.
Too bad there’s no medical device to assist him on that one.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Noticing the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door of the record shop, Steve hesitates, realizing he should’ve asked Frankie about the hours; a tiny note taped to the bottom of the sign catches his eye. “Unless your name is Steve,” is scribbled in disheveled handwriting, with a small smiley face drawn at the end.
Entering the record shop, he first sees Frankie, sitting criss-crossed on the checkout counter; her cane is laid over her lap while she’s meticulously applying stickers to the aluminum. The door’s chime goes off, and her head pops up, immediately breaking into the warm smile Steve had thought about since the last time they spoke.
“Steve!” There’s an urge within her to hop off the counter and greet him with a hug, but she holds back, reminding herself that they’re barely even friends. “Hi,” She opts for a wave instead, eyes falling to the coffees, one in each hand.
He shyly nods with a sweet smile, all bundled up in layers most folks would consider unnecessary. For him and his temperature intolerance, the obnoxious amount of warmth is very necessary.
“Hi, Frankie,” He hands her coffee over to her, in all its icy, sugary sprinkled glory. She takes it, eyes crinkling as she smiles wide. Steve can’t help teasing, “Cade’s right, you really are sick for liking iced coffee in the winter.”
Her smile flips into a comical frown before snarking, “He’s never getting that damn tape now.”
“The one about dinosaurs?”
Frankie snorts just as she takes a sip of her coffee, covering her face with her sweater bundled arm.
“Robin told me you’d say something like that.”
“… So it’s not about—“
“Steve, it’s the name of a band,” She giggles, moving her arm away from her face. Steve notices the way her sleeves cascade over her hands completely; the sweater she’s in is way too big, but with that and her flowing skirt, she looks comfortable, and warm.
“Right. I knew that!” He tries playing it off with a shrug, “They’re great.”
“You’ve never listened to them before have you?”
He laughs at the knowing smirk Frankie gives him, shaking his head, “Yeah, no, not at all.” If this was high school, he’d be trying to save face right now, to look cool, pretend he knew what he was talking about. Mid-twenties Steve is able to let it roll off his back, poke fun at himself, move on.
Plus, Steve knows this interaction wouldn’t happen at all in high school. Labels and useless popularity would keep them far, far apart. He’s alright with that; Frankie definitely didn’t need someone like ‘King Steve’ and his bullshit to deal with.
“Okay. What about Jawbreaker?”
“… The candy?”
Frankie giggles, shaking her head, before running down a list of bands off the top of her head; The Cure, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Strawberry Switchblade, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, the list went on. Steve says most he’s heard of, but never listened to. Some, he’s heard some of their singles on the radio.
“You’re into all that… punk stuff, right?” He’s a little lost, but he’s headed in the right direction. Frankie doesn’t tease him for it, though.
“To an embarrassing degree,” She smiles, crinkling her nose, and oh, god, Steve’s not expecting the way that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “And new wave, grunge, honestly some pop, too— oh! Dolly Parton! Just her, though, can’t get into any other country otherwise. I’m a mess when it comes to music interests.” She shrugs.
He shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off before unwinding his scarf; Frankie catches on immediately, pointing to the coat rack behind the counter.
“No… it suits you.”
“Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“O- oh, no, I meant that in a— it’s a— nice way, promise!” Frankie smirks as he stumbles over his words. “So… got any recommendations on what to start with?”
“Oh, don’t you worry, Steve. I’m gonna make you a mixtape later.” No pretentious undertone can be found in her words; Frankie’s just really excited to introduce someone to music they haven’t heard. “What do you listen to, then?”
Steve sits on the stool behind the counter while Frankie still hangs out on the countertop, kicking her legs over the side now. He watches as she continues sticker-bombing her cane; it’s got quite the variety of holographic stars sprinkled about.
“Uh…” He shrugs, tugging at the edges of his sleeves before shoving them in the pockets of his cardigan. “Whatever sounds good, I guess.”
Frankie narrows her eyes at him, “C’mon, you can do better than that.”
Steve nervously laughs as a hint of red creeps across his face.
“Okay, uh… Queen, Springsteen, some of Bowie’s stuff—“
“Some?”
“I just- I can’t get into it all!” He stammers out. Frankie dramatically sighs, throwing her head back with a hand over her forehead, pretending like she’ll faint. When she levels her gaze to him again, she gives a teasing smirk, and he carries on, red in the face. “I like U2’s last album… uh, shit. What’s it called?”
“Achtung Baby?” She’s so quick to answer in a nonchalant tone, like this is common knowledge.
“Yeah! That one.”
“Oh, you’d really get along with my dad, then,” She teases, watching Steve’s expression flatten in a playful annoyance. “That’s not a bad thing! Bring it up in your next appointment— actually, don’t. He’ll talk about it for hours.”
Steve laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger, “Alright, I’ll try to remember that.”
“Might want to write a reminder with the brain fog,” She quips, and it easily earns a chuckle; if anyone else tried to joke about his symptoms, he’d be bothered. To laugh it off with someone else equally as sick as him, though, is weirdly… cathartic. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on.”
“Okay, don’t make fun of me, but Blondie’s got some good stuff, too.”
“Yes!” Frankie throws her hands out excitedly. Steve admires how animated she can be.
“I like a lot of other stuff,” He’s becoming more comfortable talking about this, not as afraid of rejection. Frankie didn’t give that kind of attitude off, but he second guesses himself always these days. “But it’s just singles and stuff.”
“Gimme a list one of these days, I’ll give you some recs.” She looks up from her sticker work on her cane, warmly smiling, but it falters seconds later. “Not pushing that on you, but it might— you don’t— don’t be afraid to tell me no—“
“Frankie.” Her name comes out of Steve’s mouth like the night before, a combination of reassurance and teasing. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
Dusting over her cheeks is a tint of rosy pink as her smile returns, ever so slightly. “Okay, cool.” She plucks a star sticker off the page, leaning towards Steve to stick it on his forehead. Her touch makes Steve’s heartbeat quicken, but it’s over as soon as it began. “Congrats, Steve, you’re hired.”
Brows furrowing, he doesn’t bother to remove the sticker. “What? Seriously? That was the interview?”
Frankie nods enthusiastically. “You already seemed nice, and got a good review from your best friend—“
“Seriously, what did she tell you?”
She pretends to zip her lips shut and shrugs, holding back giggles.
“I’ll get you all that boring ass paperwork later, but yeah, I’m serious.” She holds her cane out, rolling it in her hands to make sure the stars are placed the way she wants. Her tongue pokes out while she’s focused, and Steve thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. Directing her attention back to him, she continues, “I don’t wanna work with someone I just tolerate.”
Though Steve’s flattered to find he’s more than just tolerable to her, he’s still skeptical; not of her, but how this friendship is growing so easily, so suddenly. “Frankie, we barely know each other.”
“I don’t know anyone else my age that’s disabled, and you just… you get it. I wish you didn’t, but you do. If you don’t wanna work here, no hard feelings, but I want to continue getting to know you.” Her words, her tone, even her facial expression, they’re all sincere. “If you’re up for having a new friend, that is.”
Steve nods embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t care. “My friends get it to an extent, but I don’t have to explain shit to you, and it’s… well, I don’t want to say nice, ‘cause like you said, I wish you didn’t know what this was like, either. But it makes me feel a little less alone, I guess.” His fingers grip the edge of the stool between his legs, arms straight, as he looks away shyly. “And I- I’d like to make you feel a little less alone too— jesus, that makes me sound like a douche. You get what I mean, right?”
“I get you, Steve, don’t worry,” Frankie picks up her coffee, holding it out to Steve. It takes a few seconds, but he catches on, grabbing his own coffee to hold out to her. “To a sick friendship. Get it. Sick? ‘Cause we’re both—“
Steve knocks his cup against hers, smirking, “Yikes, I thought my humor was corny.”
“Fine, no more jokes at all, then.” She deadpans, but her expression immediately cracks, breaking into a laugh, one that scrunches her nose and crinkles the edges of her eyes. It’s contagious, pulling Steve into her fit of laughter, too. “Yeah, I got a good feeling about you, Steve.”
“Huh? Like what?”
“Oh, we’re not that far in the friendship, buddy.” She props her cane onto the floor, sliding off the counter. The proximity between her and Steve when she’s on her feet is a little too close for him to handle, breath hitching in his throat. “Gotta earn the sappy moments, man.”
With that, Frankie rounds the counter, heading towards an aisle of vinyl records. She turns back to him, “Well, you want a tour?”
Steve’s eyes widen as he scrambles off the chair, “Y- yeah, that’d be— I probably need to know where things are.” Frankie resists teasing him further, leading him around the shop.
The pair walk slowly as she points out the main sections, split into three— vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs.
“I still can’t get behind ‘em. They’re too flimsy for my clumsy self.” Frankie’s lips curl in a snarl as she eyes up the racks of the shiny discs, tucked away in their jewel cases.
“At least they’re not LaserDiscs,” Steve murmurs, cringing. “I hated those things.”
“Yeah, never was a fan myself,” Her brows crinkle. “They’re like frisbees.”
“But vinyl… isn’t?”
“No. And I’m not elaborating.”
“Francesca, you’re something else.”
She scoffs playfully, “Can’t believe you just called me that. You’re fired.”
“Mhm, sure.” He smirks before glancing around the shop; it’s on the smaller side, but jam-packed with nearly anything and everything music related. Beyond CDs, tapes, and records, are band shirts, Walkmans, headphones, record players, tape players and boomboxes, useless novelty items, and so on. “So, when’d you open the store?”
“Oh, I didn’t. It’s not mine, only running it for now… kinda took over when the owner had to take a sick leave.” Frankie begins leading Steve towards the back, through a worn, beaded curtain. She points to an open door, “Stockroom,” Then, to the door across the hall. “Break room.”
Steve acknowledges her directions with a nod before asking, “Oh, are they okay? Well, wait. Shit. I guess not if they’re on— my bad.”
Frankie gives him a half-smile, more for the sake of reassurance, along with an answer, “Dementia. So, uh, yeah. Probably not coming back.” A pained expression washes over Steve’s features. “The own— Mr. Fisher wanted to close the shop when his health continued declining, so I told him I’d keep it going for him. This was before the diagnosis, he just knew something was wrong and warned me he’d most likely shut down.”
“That’s… fucked.”
“Yeah. He actually lived a few floors up, now he’s in a senior living home.” She wanders into the break room, falling onto the worn couch hanging out in the heavily used space. Steve sits on the opposite side, not wanting to invade her personal space as he listens intently. “Cool dude, hired me years ago, and he was really into jazz when he was younger. Like, used to play the sax for a living. He knew nothing about punk music, but he loved asking me about it. I learned a lot about jazz from him, too.
“He was empathetic with my pain, too. The couch is back here ‘cause he felt bad I had nowhere to rest on break. Then he ended up using it more than I did.” Frankie’s a little dazed as she retells the circumstances. “I knew he’d never get better, and he knew it too, but I told him I’d love to watch over the business until he’s ready to come back. Couldn’t stand watching this place close, so… yeah. S’why I asked you.”
“I’m sorry, Frankie.” It’s all Steve can come up with, but it’s genuine, and she can tell.
“I hope it doesn’t come off like I’m telling you this so you’re guilted into being here, ‘cause if you wanna find another job, don’t feel like you have to st—“
“You do that a lot,” Steve blurts out, but it’s not mean-spirited. He stammers, “N- not that— it’s not bad— sorry—-“
“And you do that a lot,” Frankie observes bluntly. “Guess we’re kinda similar in the whole ‘overly apologetic’ department, huh?”
Steve glances at her, sighing with a hint of a sad smile. “Guess we are.” He rests his head on the back of the couch, blowing air between pursed lips as his eyes fixate on the ceiling. “Anyway, you’re not guilting me. I’m staying.” Then he sits back up, narrowing his stare at her. “Unless I’m still fired.”
She sits up, shoving her hand out towards him. He grabs it as she shakes it obnoxiously, snorting, “Steve Harrington, you’re re-hired.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
“Fibro’s just like… a bag of jellybeans.”
Steve scoffs out a laugh, lost on Frankie’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”
At the end of the day, Frankie and Steve wound up at a diner, still caught up in the excitement of getting to know a new friend.
“Y’know, it’s always a mystery over what color and flavor you end up with ‘til you get it.” Frankie begins to explain, hands on the diner’s table; Steve’s noticed she talks with her hands, a lot. She’s always so animated, even talking about the most mundane subjects. “And you might have ‘em all, but there might be more of one flavor, or another. Fibromyalgia is just a bag of symptoms, ‘cause you don’t know what’s gonna hurt that day ‘til it does— does that make sense?”
“Oh, like, I get a lot of headaches, sometimes ocular migraines— the first few times, those freaked me out, and joint pain the most, but the other symptoms still exist, too, just not as frequently.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut with a nod, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Right? Or maybe I’m way off—“
“No, that’s exactly it!
“That’s actually… a really good analogy,” He tucks the comparison away in his mind, for future use. “Wait, so you also have fibromyalgia?”
Frankie’s about to answer, until the waitress brings their milkshakes and fries to the table. Her smile over something as simple as a milkshake is contagious, and Steve finds himself grinning along with her.
“Yeah, but we found out lupus was a bigger concern,” She shares casually. “Y’know, I wouldn’t wish fibro on anyone, but I’m pissed you have to deal with it.”
Steve’s face distorts into confusion. “Why d’ya say that?”
“It’s such a fucking mess of a disability. Tests come back normal, x-rays show nothing, MRIs are clear, too— shit is so infuriating. You’re living in constant pain and most people don’t believe you. Then ya’ got these fuckin’ misogynistic doctors who see it as a “woman’s disease”— yeah, it’s more prevalent in women, but men get it too, and it’s like y’all are told to just… suck it up. “Man up”. Deal with it.
“Honestly… not sure which sucks to be told more, that you’re just “hysterical and attention seeking” for being sick as a woman, or being told you’re just a “whiny baby” if you’re sick as a man.”
Steve only stares at her; Frankie feels warm under his gaze, sinking into the booth.
“Sorry, I— you’re so spot on, I have nothing to add.” Steve’s shaking his head, fidgeting with his napkin. “But I can’t get over that someone my age fucking gets it.”
Frankie sighs, relieved to hear she wasn’t overdoing it with her rambling.
“Steve, I hate that we’re both in pain, but it’s… it’s nice not having to struggle alone, for once.” She stretches her legs under the booth, resting her boots on the cushion on Steve’s side. He mirrors her, sneakers kicking up to rest next to her. She smiles, nudging his shoe with her elbow. “Copycat.”
“You really lucked out having a dad who’s a doctor,” Steve softly chuckles, and Frankie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately, he panics he might’ve said the wrong thing. “I- I don’t mean that in a bad way—“
“No, I know you didn’t. He—” Frankie looks off, eyes fixating on the bustling traffic out the window, despite the two of them being seated in the far end of the diner. She looks back to her milkshake, swirling the straw mindlessly. “He wasn’t always a doctor. He wasn’t in the medical field at all, not ‘til I got sick as a kid.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yup. He got tired of taking me to specialists for them to always say I was being overdramatic, or “Oh, she’s a girl, she might just be faking that for attention.” I guess what I was going through made him realize shit had to change for the sake of us sick folks. I don’t know how anyone would be able to juggle a full time job, full time med school, and raising a kid on their own, but he did it. Even if shit is terrible most of the time, I’m grateful to have a dad as incredible as him.”
Steve let Frankie’s words sink in before curiosity took its hold, “He’s a single parent?”
Frankie sips from her milkshake, looking back at Steve as she sits back. “Wasn’t always, but yeah. Never met my mom, she, uh, she was sick, too. Cancer. Passed before my first birthday.”
“Jesus, Frankie… I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs, trying to let the everlasting sting roll off her back. “I heard she was really sweet, and funny. My dad showed me some home movies a few years back, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was so pretty, and happy, and—“ She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. “God, I’m sorry for rambling.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If you ever wanna talk about this… or anything, I might not know what to say, but I’ll always listen.”
“Right back at ya’, Steve,” She murmurs, gaze friendly before sipping her milkshake.
“I don’t think you want to know my story,” He tries shrugging it off, as if a chuckle would follow, but never does.
“I do, and I mean that.” She firmly states, locking eyes with him. “But only when you’re comfortable sharing it.”
Steve nods, “Yeah. Maybe someday. Kinda hard to even talk to my therapist still about it.”
“You’ll get there eventually. On your own terms.” Frankie can tell he’s uncomfortable, searching for a change of subject. She looks back at his legs, still next to her in the booth. “Isn’t your leg cold?” She nods to the hole in his jeans, right above his knee.
“Yeah, but I needed to wear my knee brace today.”
“I can sew loose, stretchy fabric in, and snaps to remove it, if that helps,” She slurps down the last of the milkshake. “You cool with hanging out longer?”
Steve can’t suppress the grin that graces his face.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨
Frankie’s apartment is in a repurposed warehouse; a large studio, cluttered with art supplies scattered all about. An easel hangs out in the wide open room near a window, with canvasses, both finished and unfinished everywhere surrounding it. Cups and cups of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, pastels, graphite pencils and drawing pads strewn atop nearly every surface. A sewing machine rested snug in a corner of the open room.
Among it all was the kitchen and living room; down a hallway were the doors to the bathroom, and her bedroom.
After Steve changes into the sweats Frankie found for him, he enters the main room, holding the sweatpants up by the waistband awkwardly, handing his pair of jeans over to her.
“Sorry, I knew they’d be kinda big, but not that much.” She has jersey knit fabric already cut, sewing snaps to the edges. As she works, she elaborates, “I keep a buncha sizes in clothes, ‘cause my weight fluctuates all the time with flare ups.”
“That’s actually… really smart.”
“Yeah, I got tired of buying and donating the same several sizes over and over. Just easier, and cheaper, to keep ‘em all on hand.” Frankie’s zoned into the impromptu project, so Steve wanders around her apartment, stopping at the kitchen table, blanketed with multiple sketches.
“I didn’t know you could draw.” He wonders aloud, glancing over the sketch pad papers. There’s a certain style he can’t quite put his finger on with her work; for plain subjects and ideas, they’re incredible.
Steve turns to the easel with her latest work in progress. It’s a portrait of a woman weeping, holding a mask of her face that’s smiling over her real expression. It’s gorgeous work, but he feels a pang in his chest, wondering if Frankie feels this way more often than not.
“Holy shit, Frankie…” He breathes, recognizing his own struggles through the piece; how often he feels as if he needs to bury his own pain to keep everyone else comfortable. Then again, who hasn’t felt at one point or another they need to cover up how they truly feel?
“I hope that’s a good “holy shit”,” She responds as she continues sewing.
“Your work is amazing,” He’s still staring at the painting, admiring how her art style is slightly unkempt, and leans toward traditional tattoo-style art, but she makes it work somehow; some of the paint bleeds outside the lines, or speckles in random splotches, like watercolors, but it adds character. “Do you just paint as a hobby?”
“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything,” She murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, but still weighed down with disappointment. She pulls the denim away from the sewing machine, trimming away the loose threads. “Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”
Oh.
“Shit. That’s…” Again, Steve can’t find proper words of empathy. “I’m sorry.”
Frankie finally glances over her shoulder at him, “Kinda normal for folks like us to leave behind our dreams. Mourn what our lives could’ve been, and what they used to be.”
The familiarity of surrender in her voice hits Steve hard. He might not have had the same dreams to give up to prioritize his health, but it’s still an experience similar to hers. Giving up any dreams or goals he had to accept they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to life. He’s watched his life’s potential slip through his fingers, and has no way of stopping it from vanishing completely.
Mourning what your life was isn’t easy, either. Reminiscing on better health in earlier times of your existence, proof you’ll never be that happy, that healthy again— even if Steve was unhappy deep down in high school, he wishes he had the energy to still fake it.
“Yeah. Fucking sucks.” He mutters. At the same time, Frankie turns to him, holding his jeans out for him to take.
Steve glances over her handiwork, grateful to have soft fabric that’ll finally work with his knee brace, while being removable when it’s too warm out.
“On the bright side, at least you’ve got a friend who gets it now.” She’s speaking softly, with so much, too much, understanding. It helps to finally have a friend who can relate, but with that comes sharing the same emotional hardships, ones that feel endless.
Still, it’s better than navigating that all on your own.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
It’s been a handful of weeks— maybe about a month and change— since Steve’s life began to feel good again. He’s not sure how long exactly, he just knows since finding a doctor that sincerely cared for his patients, and befriending Frankie, someone his age he could finally relate to, he doesn’t care to keep track of time like a dismal countdown.
He’s not counting the days he feels like a prisoner in his own body anymore.
Timing, though, is always perfectly unfortunate when it comes to Steve’s luck, and life.
On a dull Wednesday night, he and Frankie are closing up the shop before their plans to meet up with Robin at the diner. Steve has had a muted ache in his head since the previous night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, thankfully. He took some Tylenol earlier in the day, and that helped with staving off most of the pain. Any relief he can find, he happily takes.
The sun isn’t setting as early anymore, a sign winter’s almost at its end; he’s been looking forward to spring, because this cold has done no favors to his aching joints. Until then, he’s still bundling up ridiculously to keep from violently shaking in the cold.
“Hey, Frankie?” He’s looking behind the counter, puzzled. His head feels heavy, thoughts settling in a thick fog. Pushing past it, he asks, “Have you seen my scarf?”
Frankie returns from the tiny stockroom, keys swinging lazily on her finger. “Is it the blue one?”
“No, it’s—“ Steve pauses, hands on the counter to hold himself up from a sudden bout of dizziness. He gives a weak laugh, “I can’t even remember if I wore one at all. Maybe I didn’t.”
Frankie’s quick to notice something’s not right when Steve practically white knuckles the edge of the counter; her firsthand experience with chronic illness is setting off alarms in her head.
“Steve, you should sit down—“ She rushes around to him, pushing the stool towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushes him gently into the chair. “What’s going on?”
“S’blurry,” Is all he mutters to her. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shivers, speaking up a bit more, “You’re always cold.”
She keeps her panic to herself, and rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, pulling her hand away to reach into her bag on the floor; straightening back up with a heavily sticker-bombed water bottle, she hands it to him.
“When’d you last eat?”
Steve shrugs, weakly sipping out of the bottle. “Uh, a few hours ago, I think.” He’s struggling to stay in conversation as the vision in his one eye blurs. “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye.” He points to the right side of his face, hand nearly limp.
“Does your head hurt?”
“Been hurting all day, actually,” He waves his hand in front of his own face, repeating, “Yeah I- I can’t see a damn thing out of this eye.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wasn’t a big deal ‘til now— shit—“ Steve clutches his head; everything’s too overwhelming. The lights are too bright, the buzz of electricity is too loud, and he feels nauseous. The dizziness is only growing stronger, too. Curling into himself, he doubles over, head in his hands as he leans towards his legs. “God, I hate this.”
Frankie rushes to the light switch across the room, turning off all the lights inside; the only light available is what wanders in from the city outside through the windows.
There was one crucial detail Steve left out when he confided in Frankie about his ocular migraines: the pain is so intense, it works in tandem with his anxiety, triggering flashbacks of those miserable last few years in Hawkins.
They roll through so quickly in his mind; the first time he fought off a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan. When Steve became a personal punching bag for Billy nearly one year later, the same night he had been roped into fighting off demodogs with the kids, nearly dying multiple times before the sun rose again. The fucked up elevator in Starcourt that plummeted to an artificial hell that also nearly killed him and his friends. He could picture the fists flying at him, his honest answers for the countless times he was asked “who do you work for?” never enough for his captors.
“Stop, stop, stop—“
Frankie hears Steve whimpering while his flashbacks drag him deeper into the past.
Because who can just forget nearly dying far too many times with your friends before turning twenty? Why forget it when the past just continues to help you survive even further carnage?
His lungs burn while he recalls swimming down to the bottom of the lake, in search of the gate, only to be pulled back down after resurfacing to his friends. It’s not easy to erase the way he fought for his life once dragged into the Upside Down, especially not when the scars refuse to fade, continuing to keep the nightmare alive. Even if his scars blended into his worn, tired skin now, the proof lies in each and every person in the group. Hell, the proof is in anyone from Hawkins.
“Steve—“ Frankie’s voice breaks through to him, only for a moment, too quick to pull him out of this traumatic loop of memories.
Vecna. Stumbling upon Eddie, nearly dead, in Dustin’s arms. The “earthquake”. Max deep in a coma in the hospital. Watching the Upside Down bleed into reality on this plane of existence. The ultimate downfall of what was once his hometown— once a haven of memories, good and bad, ones that taught him life lessons, ones that he still reminisces on to this day. Leaving behind everything he loved in that shitty little town. Goodbyes with everyone as they all split their separate ways, with hopes and dreams of making the most of a new life somewhere safe.
Hawkins, Indiana was wiped off the map. Wiped from existence to keep the rest of the world safe.
Hawkins was only a memory, now.
Hawkins was gone.
“Hi, y- yeah, we need an ambulance, my friend, h- he—“
Everyone made it out alive, but what was the point when everyone was hurting badly, one way or another?
What’s the point in surviving if you continue to live in your own personal hell? He thinks, barely making out Frankie reciting the address for the record store. He blindly reaches out for her, still folded over in agony.
Instead of finding her, he finds himself slipping off the chair, hitting the cold, hard floor before abruptly losing his grip on reality.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
The first thing Steve sees when his eyes weakly flutter open is Frankie. Everything is blurry, but not like before; his vision slowly comes into focus, while the edges of tunnel vision have faded away. A dim, frail smile appears on his face at her sleeping figure, curled up next to him.
Pressure in his head spreads, like there’s an ache about to begin, but it never does, held at bay. That’s when he notices the IV in his arm, prying his eyes open a little more, baffled and trying to sift through the brain fog.
Frankie stirs, eyes squinting open, but once she sees Steve’s awake, her eyes widen; she sits up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair she folded herself into, catching herself at the last minute.
“Steve—“
“Hi Frankie,” He smiles, dopey and sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap, and not a medical scare. She grabs his hand, and he blushes. Looking down at their hands clasped together, a dazed look covers his features. “Your hand’s not very cold. You okay?”
A laugh slips out of Frankie, “I think all the panic made me overheated.” Her bottom lip wobbles, despite Steve’s lips still curved up lazily, “You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be asking you that.”
“M’fine, I feel great, actually.”
“That would be the drugs doing their job, buddy.” She’s surprised to hear herself giggle, but it rises a weak yet genuine laugh out of Steve. Her thumb softly swipes back and forth on his hand, still in hers. “You scared the hell outta me, Steve.”
His face drops, beginning to realize the severity of the situation, despite gaps of memory to recall on. “I… don’t remember anything.”
“Do you want me to tell you?”
He wordlessly nods.
“Your head hurt all day, but you didn’t tell me until a migraine started,” Frankie sighs, gently pushing his sweat-matted hair away from his eyes. “I think it was an ocular migraine, ‘cause you told me you couldn’t— well, in your exact words, you said “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye”, and then it— you—”
It all floods back to Steve in a flash— his headache that rolled into a sudden, ocular migraine, making him dizzy and weak. How his right eye went blind, then everything hurt, sent him into a panic, and triggered the flashbacks.
“You fell, too, but thankfully you landed on my bag instead of the floor.” She reaches down to his forehead, just above his brow, gently sweeping a thumb across his skin. “There’s a small bruise, but could’ve been worse.”
That, he ignores. Instead, Steve’s heart drops at the thought of what Frankie might’ve heard or seen. Before he can ask, she gathers the courage to tell him.
“You we’re crying, saying ‘I wanna go home’ a- and ‘stop, stop, stop,’” Her fingers grip his hand, shaking. He squeezes back, sobering up fast from the pain medication. “You kept calling out names, calling for Robin, and I- I don’t know who else, but you sounded so hurt, Steve.”
Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Frankie whispers, “oh” and grabs a handful of tissues from the side table, handing them over to him.
“I— goddammit. I’m so sorry, Frankie.”
“It’s okay—“
He shakes his head, eyes falling shut; he can’t look at her right now, he feels nothing but shame.
“It’s not. It never will be. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or lie, but I- I- I—“ In the midst of his panic, he remembers the plans they had with Robin. His bloodshot eyes lock with Frankie’s teary ones. “Shit, does Robin know—“
“She’s on her way. Thankfully she stopped by instead of meeting us at the diner, right when the ambulance came. I asked if Robin wanted to go with you, but she asked if I could instead; she wanted to grab your meds and a few other things.” Frankie reassures him, but Steve can’t shake the guilt, can’t escape the embarrassment. “Robin’s really a great best friend.”
Steve rubs his eyes, nodding as his voice wavers, “Best friend I ever had. I- I’d be dead without her.”
“Give yourself some credit, man.” A familiar voice floats into the room; Frankie and Steve both look across the hospital room to find Robin, along with Eddie and Dustin trailing in behind her.
“It’s definitely that charming stubbornness to survive y’got going on,” Robin teases lightheartedly.
Frankie looks back at Steve, finding his face about to light up, but he just falls apart again. She releases his hand so Robin can hug him. Steve shakes in her grasp, while Robin murmurs “you’re okay, you’re safe”, soft enough for only Steve to hear; Frankie’s still able to catch it, though.
“Wh— what are you two doing here?”
“You picked the best time to go to the ER,” Dustin grins, trying to point out the bright side. “We were gonna surprise you at the diner, but now we get to surprise you here!” Steve’s smile wavers; he wants to be happy to see his friends again, but the sudden visit and multiple voices, louder than Frankie, makes him wince, too.
Still, he finds himself asking, “Dustin, why are you excited about that?”
“‘Cause, hospitals suck. Unless Eddie and I are in ‘em.” Dustin looks over at Frankie with a questioning, yet friendly look. “Who— oh. Are you Frankie?”
Her cheeks turn rosy while Steve groans, head falling back on the pillow.
Trying to redirect, Eddie teases, “The kid tells no lies, we’re the best free entertainment a hospital can get.” He’s shooting Steve a knowing look that earns a short-lived laugh out of him.
Now Steve knows how Max felt when she woke from her coma, when Eddie was finally stable enough to leave his room next to hers. How him and Dustin did everything they could, said whatever they could say, to crack a smile on her face.
It’s the thought that counts, he thinks, grateful to have friends who care. Steve always felt like everyone would forget him when they all left Hawkins behind. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everyone else. Putting them first. Making sure everyone was safe and sound before himself.
How relieved he was to be wrong, for once.
“How you holding up?” Dustin asks,
“Uh… I…”
All of this is overwhelming; Steve’s still trying to process what happened, was in the middle of Frankie retelling details, and now he’s on an emotional rollercoaster from a surprise visit from two friends he hadn’t seen in god knows how long.
On top of all of that, his head is one loud, startling noise or bright light away from kicking off another migraine.
Robin can tell he’s a step away from falling apart, so she jumps in to give him some breathing room. “I think… we should get snacks from the vending machine. Do either of you want anything?” Frankie shakes her head, and Steve only shrugs without an answer. “We’ll be back, ‘kay?” She backs up, gently pushing the two curly heads out of the room despite their protests; the room falls silent once again.
Steve sighs loudly, eyes shutting as he relaxes into the bed. “I love them, but I— it’s just—“
“Bad timing, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for space.” Frankie assures him, then adds, “I should’ve asked too, do you need me to leave?”
“Don’t,” Steve’s cursing himself inwardly for answering so quickly. “Un- unless you wanna leave—“
“I wanna stay,” She answers at an embarrassing speed, making Steve smile. “I— I can stay overnight, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to say yes.”
“They’ll let you do that?”
“Usually, no, but I know the nurse on shift tonight, and she’s incredibly sweet. Told me already I can stay if I need to.” Frankie smirks. “One, tiny upside of being a hospital regular. Honestly, everyone’s nice here, at least who I’ve met.” She stops herself from rambling, glancing at Steve with concern. “You need anything right now?”
Steve murmurs, “No, just cold,” and releases her hand to pull the covers over himself, shivering. As he does, Frankie catches the scar around his neck while the flimsy hospital gown shifts along with him, exposing a sliver more of him than she’s seen.
He notices her stare, hand flying to his neck in a pathetic attempt to cover it; he’s quick to stammer out an excuse, “Oh that’s, uh, from— it’s actually a long story, but it’s not— it’s—“
Frankie shakes her head, reaching for Steve’s hand to squeeze softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not unless you’re ready and want to. Whatever your story is, Steve, it’s for you to tell on your own terms.”
Again, she watches him relax from a tensed state.
“Thank you, ‘Key.”
She smirks, “Y’know, I only let people I’m close to call me that.”
“Oh- oh, shit, I’m—“ He sits up, about to stammer out an apology, but her free hand gently stops him before pushing him back down slowly.
“That includes you.”
“Really?”
“Just one condition.”
“What is it?”
“You tell me if you’re in pain. I know that’s nearly all the time, but if you can’t come in, or can’t hang out, you tell me. Hell, if you need, you can call me if you’re home alone and just need to talk about it.” She softly demands and suggests. Steve nods; it’s only fair, especially after tonight’s scare. “Or even if you still come to work or want to keep plans, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. I’d rather you take care of yourself than push your body past its limits.”
Steve’s mind races around for the right words to return to her, but all he can respond with is a sincere, “Thank you, Frankie.” Then he adds quickly, “All of what you just said, that applies to you too. Got it?” He tries coming off stern, playfully, of course; instead, his lips crack into a smile, but the sentiment is still true.
“Got it, Stevie,” She tries winking, but it looks more like a twitch, and the two burst into giggles. “You make it look so easy whenever you wink!”
Steve just shoots her a smooth, quick wink. In return, he gets her playful eye roll. He finds comfort and safety in the harmless teasing between one another.
Things might’ve gone to hell tonight, but at least Steve didn’t go through it alone.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
When everyone returned to the hospital room, they made sure to keep their tones quiet, soft, and Steve felt some guilt over that, but he reminded himself too that he’s lucky to have friends who accommodate his needs.
He catches Robin, Dustin, and Eddie up to speed, leaving out the gory, telling details of his flashbacks; Robin must’ve warned Dustin and Eddie to not speak about the Upside Down, for Frankie’s sake. And really, for Steve’s sake, too. After his mind ran through every event, every memory, down to the very last detail, he was exhausted. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about was Hawkins, and all the horrors it once contained.
And once proper introductions were made, Steve admired the way Dustin and Eddie automatically included Frankie into every part of the conversation, making sure she felt welcomed among them, too.
Steve needed this. He needed the distraction, needed the laughter, the inside jokes, with stories explained to Frankie to keep her in the loop. The longer the visit went on, though, the more Steve realized at some point, he’d have to explain everything to Frankie. She told him to take his time, that he wouldn’t ever need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, but he’d rather get it out in the open sooner rather than later.
This friendship was something Steve never had with anyone else before, and he was quickly growing attached to the dynamic. He never expected to grow attached to Frankie so fast, either. Or at all.
Visiting hours end, with Dustin hugging Steve a little too tight, apologetic as he loosens his arms when Steve grumbles in pain. Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, repeating a sentiment from the time they were stuck in the elevator in Starcourt. “If you die, I die. So don’t die.”
“Oh, we changed that one up a bit? Alright,” Robin snorts, and Dustin flips her off.
Meanwhile, Steve only shrugs. “Okay.”
“Some things never change,” Robin mutters, shaking her head.
The older two out of the trio say their goodbyes, too, with Eddie reminding in a sing-song voice, “Gonna bother you again tomorrow, Big Boy.”
“Please, for the love of—“ Steve sighs, sinking under the covers, embarrassed. “Stop calling me that.” Frankie’s lost, but still giggling over the exchanges; he points at her, “No, don’t— do not encourage his nonsense”
“Respectfully, no, I’ll never stop.” He grins while Robin shoves him out of the room. As he’s nearly out the door, he waves and shouts, “Nice meeting you, Frankie!”
Alone, yet again, Frankie bites her lip to contain her laughter, and Steve narrows a glare at her. “Oh, I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble with them.”
“Listen, it’s not my fault your friends are funny and charming.”
“They’re anything but—“
“Oh, I’m telling ‘em tomorrow you said that.”
“Where’s your proof, Amato?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Harrington.” She sticks her tongue out at him.
Laughing, his brows knit together, “I would!”
He tries to conjure a better comeback to throw her way, but his thoughts fizzle out while watching her set up the chairs into a makeshift bed.
“Frankie.”
She spins around, watching Steve lean up on his elbow. “Huh?”
“You’re not sleeping on those chairs. That’s gonna kill your neck. And your back.” Steve deadpans, pulling his glasses off to set them on the nightstand. “And every other joint in your body.”
Frankie snorts, holding her arms out, “Then where am I sleeping, Steve?”
“Up here,” He’s even surprised by his own boldness, but carries through. “With me.”
If one could hold someone’s gaze in a death grip, Frankie would be doing that right now with Steve’s stare; disbelief and skepticism floods through her thoughts.
“Unless that’s too— if you’re not comfortable—“
“Steve,” Frankie pushes past the way her round cheeks flush red, “We gotta stop second guessing ourselves like this.”
“Yeah, but I just don’t want to assume—“
“When you’re close with someone, assumptions are kind of a given. When someone gets you, it’s not offensive.” She holds the extra pillow a nurse gave her earlier to her chest. “I’m okay with it, if you are. And I’m going to assume you are, because you asked—“
“Demanded—“
Her mouth falls open at his bluntness, “Okay, Big Boy, slow down—“
“Francesca,” He groans, falling back onto the pillows, “please do not call me that.”
She laughs softly, tugging the edges of Steve’s lips into a soft smile; he’s a goner. He knows he is. He’s known for awhile now, but her laugh, her smile, solidifies it.
“Okay, Steven.”
Waving his arm out towards the uncomfortable hospital bed, he sasses, “Will you shut the hell up and get up here?”
“Didn’t know you were so bossy in bed, Steve,” Frankie waggles her brows at Steve, and while he tries rolling his eyes, his face falls back into a deep shade of red she’s been so easily able to pull out of him these days.
“Christ, Amato, do you ever sh—“
“Shut it, man. I’m moving as fast as a cripple can,” She teases, rounding the bed to climb into the empty side. Kicking her boots off, she swings her legs into the bed. There’s just enough room for her, but only if she presses against Steve by just a touch. “If this is too close—“
“It’s not—“
“Okay, well—“
“‘Key?” Steve’s voice wavers, soft and unsure of himself, despite the habitual teasing. “Can you— shit, this is stupid—“
“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” She reassures blindly. “Ask me.”
Steve takes a deep breath, nerves seeping through the overly confident demeanor the drugs gave him. “Can you… can—“ He sighs, frustrated with himself, before blurting out, “Can you hold me?”
Frankie doesn’t answer, not verbally; already on her side, she winds her arms around Steve’s torso, hugging him lightly from behind.
“This okay? You’re comfortable?”
He just nods definitively.
“Steve… your gown is open.”
He panics, shooting up and throwing a hand behind himself to try closing the opening, until he feels Frankie shake against him with laughter.
“You’re such a— quit laughing!” Steve laughs as he tries demanding this of Frankie.
“M’sorry, it was just— the opportunity was there, I had to take it.”
He sighs, suppressing his grin, his chuckles, laying back down. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
“Best place to have one though, no?” Frankie settles down, snuggling closer to him; her position is certain, yet leaves room for Steve to distance himself if he wants.
He doesn’t answer with words, just tugs her arms closer around his body, her hands to his chest.
“Hey, Frankie?”
“Mhm?”
“Thank you. I know those migraines aren’t exactly life threatening, but…” He trails off, closing his eyes before admitting the truth, “They make it so… so hard to want to be alive. I’m grateful for your help. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I— you—“ Oh, fuck it. “I didn’t expect to become so attached to our friendship, to you. But… I’m one lucky, unlucky son of a bitch to have someone in my life like you.”
Frankie feels her tears well her eyes; her and Steve are both so easily emotional— it comes with the territory of being sick on a regular basis. Who wouldn’t be? Realistically, how can you expect someone in the depths of internal and external pain to navigate this life with ease?
Neither of them are cured from the security of this friendship, but it’s reassuring to both that neither are alone in this fight against the bodies they pilot, day in, day out. No definite future for either separately, but at least they can navigate it together.
Frankie’s almost sure Steve’s asleep, so she speaks up to make sure.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
She sighs, pushing her sentiment into words, solidifying the security of their friendship, at the very least.
“Whatever hell you lived through,” Her voice wavers while on the precipice of sleep, barely heard under the heart monitor’s routine beeps. “I’m glad you survived.”
He’s half asleep, heart monitor rolling to a steady crawl “M’glad I survived, too.”
#Steve Harrington x fem!oc#Steve Harrington x oc#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#my fics#accident prone
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
ok obviously because i am myself i have to journal through some Big Feelings!!!!
here are some of my feelings:
i feel an immense sense of relief. i have been in so much pain for so long with no solutions and no clear endpoint. i feel like i've been slowly losing my mind for weeks. it is just not good for your brain to experience that much pain or to feel that much raw despair every night for so long. i can have my baby and then i can have the surgeries and then i can get PT and then i can recover normal motor functions and not be in excruciating agony. i feel like i've been so deep in the despair pit that i've started losing sight of the fact that i'm genuinely excited to have a baby. i've started losing sight of the fact that there's going to be a baby, period. it's felt like this would just last forever and ever and ever. but it won't. it might last another month or two but from sunday onwards i will be moving in the direction of less pain.
i feel an immense sense of guilt. i know i should wait until 39-40 weeks for his health/well-being but also i know many people who were induced early and their babies are fine. i was born at 38 weeks and he'll be born at 37.5 weeks and i have had no lasting health issues. and they will keep a close eye on him and we will be able to manage anything that happens. i am trying not to let myself be swallowed up by the fear that i am being hugely selfish by prioritizing an end to my own pain over his well-being. i love him so much and i want him to be healthy but i also have to trust that my health and well-being matters and is important to his health and well-being. like i guess start as you mean to go on, you know, and i want to try to be a parent who can make decisions that take care of my kid but also honor my own needs.
i feel frustrated. as my sister pointed out if people had felt a greater sense of urgency about the pain earlier i probably could have gotten to "clear evidence of nerve damage" sooner and then had time to prepare for an early term induction instead of making it feel so rushed. also maybe i wouldn't have done so much damage to my hands in the meantime. i mean maybe everything would've played out exactly the same way and that's fine but it is still a little frustrating to tell people that you are in the worst pain you've ever experienced and to have them be like aw i'm sorry but that seems normal. but it's fine! it's fine.
i feel kind of proud of myself. one of my goals for pregnancy esp after the pregnancy loss over the summer was to get better at medical self-advocacy. i tend to be really cowed by doctors and to downplay symptoms or to assume that if i am a bit more forceful in asking for things i'll be labeled a difficult patient. but i think over the last couple months i have done a good job of nicely but firmly being like, this is not normal. this is not normal. this is not normal. i know you are saying this is normal but this is not and cannot be normal. and i feel like saying that repeatedly and showing up to the ED and calling all the time finally made people be like hm maybe this isn't normal, and then i was able to get objective confirmation that my hands were sooo fucked up, and now things are happening that are moving me towards a future without this pain.
i feel stressed about work but also in some ways i've moved so far beyond that i don't feel that stressed. like i just don't have time to care about my boss yelling at me or being passive-aggressive towards me for leaving early. i'm about to do something that is so, so, so, so, SO immensely more important and meaningful and life-affirming than like, figuring out who's going to cover tabling events or run an application workshop in the fall. like come on. i am not going to expend a single ounce of energy on that in this last week. i will wrap up everything to the very best of my ability and then i will leave it. nothing is life or death in this job, and i have done a good job already of preparing my team for the transition.
i feel panicky!!!!!! i'm going to have a baby in less than a week. i thought i had more time although like what was i even going to do with that time given the fact that i can barely perform household chores or type for more than 30 min at a time or sleep. i feel panicky just because it feels so sudden, but also like, i have everything i need to bring him home, and i've read all the books and done all the pre-baby prep work and i've spent nine months getting ready for this moment. i have a bunch of chores and errands i want to take care of before sunday, but then i want to really dedicate saturday to reflection and journaling and taking long walks and just like, experiencing the last day of being just me.
i feel grief!!!! a whole part of my life - the part where i'm not a parent - is ending. i wish i had more time to honor that transition and to reflect on what it meant. i will definitely carve out time this week to do that and will try to not fritter away the next five days with errands... i think it's much more important to spend time getting myself emotionally ready.
this is a little dumb but i must voice it aloud: i feel weirdly sad about ending the part of my life where my dogs were my most important companions & beloved creatures. i know they will continue to be my beloved creatures! my best little guy and my sweet scruffy little girl! but the time when we were just a little family unit of three is ending and everything will be different now even if it will also be better and richer in a whole host of ways. i have already done a lot of crying and forcibly snuggling a disgruntled Pip and i anticipate there is a lot more of that in my future this week lol. but we will take lots of good long walks and i'll snuggle them so much and i will just trust that it might take a little time for us to settle back into our new normal but we'll get there.
i feel grief, too, at the thought of not being pregnant anymore. in some ways i'm SO ready... my whole body just feels so heavy and so uncomfortable and so swollen, and of course, as you might have heard, my hands hurt so much i think about cutting my fingers off at least once a night. but for the most part, up until this last stretch of pain, i've really, really loved being pregnant. i love feeling him kick and stretch and roll over inside of me. i love rubbing the outside of my stomach and feeling him press against the inside in response, like we're talking to each other, like we're making contact. my baby!! my little guy i've carried inside of me for nine months. i did expect to have more time to savor the end of pregnancy and to honor the experience (even the painful parts) in ways that felt meaningful to me. i feel real grief about not being sure if i'll ever get to do this again! and i wish, idk, i wish i could've paced myself through the end of it differently and had time away from the distractions of work to really have this experience of being in my very pregnant body, connected to my baby in a way I'll never be again, in a way that has felt really deeply meaningful to me. i'll do my best to make that time this week, and i know it's ok, i know that the next chapter will be so good too, but i can grieve not getting to have the ending to pregnancy i wanted.
i feel ready to be changed forever. the rush at the end is not what i wanted for myself, just in terms of getting my head on straight before he arrived, but on some deeper level i've been ready for this for so long, and i'm so, so ready. i want to meet my baby. i can't believe he's going to be my kid for the rest of my life. i can't believe how lucky i am that i got to choose this for myself and that i get to live the life i wanted. i'm so ready. i'm so ready. i can't wait to meet my kid and i can't wait to meet my new self on the other side of this big, big, big, forever-life-altering change.
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
where the fuck is my impulse control
Yeah, Avengers AU.
Don't care what you say, I tried to make it work.
Including edited quotes from Avengers and Age of Ultron
I replaced Hulk with the Zillo Beast.
---
Dave Filoni: Superheroes in New York? Give me a break.
Echo: We won.
Hunter: All right, yay! Hurray. Good job, guys. Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I want to try it.
Wrecker: We're not finished yet.
Hunter: And then shawarma after.
Echo: Is he breathing?
Tech, in lizard form: *roars in his face*
Hunter: What the hell? What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me.
Hunter: Tell him to suit up. I'm bringing the party to you. *a giant Chitauri is following him*
Omega: I don't see how that's a party.
Echo: Tech. Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.
Tech: That's my secret, Echo. I'm always angry.
Omega: Just like Budapest all over again.
Crosshair: You and I remember Budapest very differently.
Hunter, to Scorch: Maybe your army comes and maybe it’s too much for us, but it’s all on you. Because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it.
Crosshair: Why am I back? How did you get him out?
Omega: Cognitive recalibration. I hit you really hard on the head.
Crosshair: Thanks.
Crosshair: Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and stuff something else in? Do you know what it's like to be unmade?
Omega: You know that I do.
Mace Windu: There was an idea, Hunter knows this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people to see if they could become something more. To see if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could. Cody died still believing in that idea. In heroes.
Echo: Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?
Hunter: Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.
Mace Windu: I don't know about that, but it is powered by the Cube. And I would like to know how Scorch used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.
Wrecker: Monkeys? I don't get it.
Echo: I do! I understood that reference!
Hunter: It’s good to meet you, Tech. Your work on antielectron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous Godzilla lizard.
Tech: Thanks.
Hunter: The only major component he still needs is a power source of high-energy density. Something to kick-start the Cube.
Ahsoka: When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?
Hunter: Last night.
Hunter: Raise the mizzenmast. Jib the topsails. *points to Anakin* That man is playing Galaga. He thought we wouldn't notice, but we did. *covers one of his eyes* How does Windu even see these?
Ahsoka: He turns.
Hunter: Sounds exhausting.
Wrecker: Don't talk like that. Scorch is beyond reason, but he's from Asgard. And he's my brother.
Omega: He killed 80 people in two days.
Wrecker: He’s adopted.
Echo: Is this a submarine?
Tech: Really? They want me in a submerged, pressurised, metal container? *walks to the side of the deck* No, no, this is much worse.
Cody: We need you to come in.
Omega: Are you kidding? I'm working.
Cody: This takes precedence.
Omega: I'm in the middle of an interrogation. This moron is giving me everything.
Bad guy: I don't... give everything.
Omega: Look, you can't pull me out of this right now.
Cody: Omega... Crosshair's been compromised.
Omega: Let me put you on hold.
Hunter: Shit!
Echo: Language!
*Some chatter and fighting later…*
Hunter: Wait a second. No one else is gonna deal with the fact that Echo just said “Language”?
Echo: I know. Just slipped out.
*Some more chatter and fighting later…*
Wrecker: Find the spear-thingy.
Hunter: And for gosh sake, watch your language!
Echo: That’s not going away any time soon.
Omega: Wrecker, report on the Zillo.
Wrecker: The gates of Hel are filled with the screams of his victims.*Omega gives him a look* But not the screams of the dead, of course. No, no, wounded screams. Mainly whimpering, a great deal of complaining and tales of sprained deltoids and gout.
Echo: The two Enhanced?
Ahsoka: Leia and Luke Skywalker. Twins. Orphaned at 10 when a shell collapsed their apartment building. Sokovia's had a rough history. It's nowhere special, but it's on the way to everywhere special.
Echo: Their abilities?
Ahsoka: He's got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. Her thing is neuroelectric interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation.
Echo: *confused*
Ahsoka: He's fast and she's weird.
Ahsoka: Lab's all set up, boss.
Hunter: *points to Echo* Actually, he's the boss. I just pay for everything and design everything and make everyone look cooler.
Tech: How's he doing?
Hunter: Unfortunately, he's still Crosshair.
Tech: That's terrible.
Hunter: Right, so, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?
Wrecker: Yes, of course.
Hunter: I will be reinstituting prima nocta. *tries to lift the hammer* I'll be right back.
Hunter: *Tries again with the Iron Man glove, nothing. Makes Rex take his glove too and they both try to lift it.*
Rex: Are you even pulling?
Hunter: Are you on my team?
Rex: Just represent. Pull.
Hunter: All right, let’s go.
*Echo tries next*
Hunter: Come on, Echo.
Echo: *makes it move a tiny bit*
Wrecker, nervously laughing: Nothing.
Echo: Sorry for barging in on you.
Hunter: Yeah, we would've called ahead, but we were busy having no idea that you existed.
Luke, in a police station: We’re under attack! Clear the city! Now! *No one’s doing anything, comes back with a gun and fires in the air* Get off your asses.
Crosshair, to Leia: Hey, look at me. It’s your fault, it’s everyone’s fault. Who cares? Are you up for this? Are you? Look, I just need to know. Because the city is flying. Okay. Look, the city is flying, we’re fighting an army of robots, and I have a bow and arrow. None of this makes sense.
Luke: Keep up, old man! *takes Leia and runs off*
Crosshair: Nobody would know. Nobody. “The last I saw him, an Ultron was sitting on him. Yeah, he'll be missed, that quick little bastard. I miss him already.”
Crosshair: All right, we're all clear here.
Echo: We are not clear! We are very not clear!
Luke: This is S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Echo: This is what S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to be.
Luke: This isn't so bad.
Luke: *Shoves Crosshair and a kid behind cover and gets shot multiple times in the leg* You didn't see that coming?
#the avengers#marvel cinematic universe#age of ultron#star wars au#the bad batch#tbb crosshair#tbb hunter#tbb tech#tbb wrecker#tbb omega#captain rex#commander cody#luke skywalker#leia skywalker#ahsoka tano#clone commando scorch#mace windu#dave filoni#thank you stan lee#rip stan lee#cross and omega are besties and they're awesome#yes I am implying that crosshair has a family#hunter is... just the absolute worst for echo's stress
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Man: Jey Uso
Jey. The frost on the window grew as the night sky was tucked into a dark grey cloud. You think back to the weatherman stating the forecast for this weekend: nothing but cold air dropping down to the low twenties. Usually, you were more of a spring person, but this cold weather was rubbing off on you. It was perfect. Perfect for cuddles, hot chocolate, sweaters, beanies, boots, and beautiful fall colors. A smile plastered onto your face as you stir the soup in the pot. You thought about who you'd be cuddling with, keeping you warm on these cold nights. Joshua Fatu is your amazing boyfriend that you've been with for three years now.
You met him at a friend's family gathering, and you two hit it off pretty well. Since that day three years ago, you two have been inseparable. You can honestly say you were in love with this man. As cliché as it sounds, he wasn't like the other men, not that there were many. You can count on one hand the men you've ever given a chance; that's how serious you were about protecting your peace, and by protecting your peace, you were protecting your heart.
Sometimes, you think back and laugh at the time men did the bare minimum and were expecting to get in between your legs. One guy had the nerve to think he was going to trap you into a situation ship, you turned him down immediately. You were about to give up on love because, honestly, the dating pool was looking shallow. Nowadays, everyone wants to be in situation ships, "Let's see where it goes," and "I'm not looking for anything serious, but I am into you." You didn't have time for that bullshit. If a man wasn't approaching you to settle down and build a future with you, he had no future. Not even friends. No, you weren't one of those hardcore women; you didn't mind being submissive to a man. Submission wasn't the issue; it was men thinking they could get away with the bare minimum, be manipulative, and still have a "yes woman." Sometimes, you honestly think some men hate women; they can't date their homeboys, so they settle. You had one call you every name in the book because you told him to let his homeboy stick his tip in since he hates women so much. You still laugh about that to this day.
But back to your man, you do love this man—that 6'2, brown-skinned, tattoo-covered man of yours. Baby, when I say he walked into this relationship ready, I mean he was ready. He told you immediately that you would be his wife one day, and you believed him. You feel a special connection with him. No trying to use you or neglect you. Just a grown man, on his mature man shit. Not only did he love you, but he loved being around and caring for you and vice versa. In a generation of people who can replace you and throw you to the side like dust, you will cherish your man who stays, communicates his needs, and is willing to work things out. Not only did he communicate his needs, he created a safe space for you to do the same. Additionally, he listened, comprehended, and never invalidated you. And you shared the responsibilities around the house because he didn't just assume them as yours only. A man like that you would submit to and let him lead because he knows how to be a leader.
The type of man to drop money in your account, no questions asked. The type to pop up at your job with flowers and lunch. The type to spoil you and make sure you never go without. The type to give emotional, physical, and financial support without feeling like you have to beg for it. The type to be intimate in more than just sex. Respected your "no" and never tried to manipulate. Although with you, you were always up for some love-making with Joshua. You didn't have to ask him to go deep because he knew how you liked it. You didn't have to force an orgasm because he'd have you cumming in more ways than one. You wanted to be fucked? He'd have you bent over the counter, and he gave you the best back shots. Wanted it nice and slow? He'd have your body rocking like a gentle wave as he made love to you.
You weren't just addicted to the physical aspect of sex, but rather to him. One touch from him electrified every nerve in your body. So it wasn't just sex; it was the true bond and expression of love for one another. He knew how to make your body react on command. His aura. Everything about him screamed maturity and love. The way your legs shook as he talked you through your orgasm had you throbbing at the night, potentially ending like that.
You honestly weren't asking for much, just to be loved and treated with love, loyalty, and respect, and you'd do the same. When your friends would shit on their men and complain, you didn't dare open your mouth. No, your man isn't perfect, but you sure weren't about to be dogging him in front of other people, especially women. The same ones encouraging you to leave your significant others will be those trying to get in their bed when you all are done. Besides you don't like people in your business anyway.
Simply put, that was your man.
You're zoned out as you stir the pot of lasagna soup that you almost don't hear his footsteps as he jogs down the stairs from your bedroom. You suddenly feel his presence behind you as you take in his subtle scent. Momentarily, you close your eyes and allow his scent to fill your nose. So soft, creamy, and seductive. He wraps his strong arms around you and pulls your back onto his front. He places a spine-tingling kiss on the most sensitive part of your neck. His gold chain leaves a chill on your neck as well.
"Mmm, hey baby, it smells good in here."
"Thank you, baby; I'm making lasagna soup, garlic bread, and a Caesar salad." You weren't the best cook, but you loved experimenting in the kitchen, and for the most part, you weren't terrible.
"Sounds good, I'll get the wine and set the table."
"Okay, baby, thank you." He grabs your chin, turns your face to his, and gently kisses your lips. One that has you molding into his body with ease. Just as quick as the kiss came, it left as he pulled away, and you were already missing his lips. "One more." You damn near beg. He licks his lips with a knowing smirk as he pats your hip.
"One more, and we won't be making it to dinner. I'll go set the table now." He says, pulling away. Shaking your head, you return to your pot with an unwavering smile.
My man.
#wwe smut#the bloodline#wwe fanfiction#jey uso smut#jey uso x reader#jey uso x black reader#main event jey uso#jey uso imagine#wwe bloodline#wwe x reader#jey uso fic
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
what are some Fox tropes and headcanons that you like 👀 or anything else that you wanna ramble about him!
Okay!!! I am finally back at my laptop and able to give this question the proper answer it deserves!
STRAP IN KIDS WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE!!!
HEADCANONS/TROPES
Let's be honest, considering we get about five minutes of him in the animated series and very little extra information outside of it, most of the characterisation of Fox is based on headcanon/fanon tropes. There are a few I am very particularly fond of to say the least! These aren't in any particular order, and at all times can be intermixed/left out etc etc...
The Corries are systematically abused by the Senate/the Chancellor - I won't lie, I'm a sucker for this. The Corries are strange in the show for a few reasons: no known assigned Jedi, several Commanders instead of one, non-officers appear to have the same paint job, and their remit appears to be very different to the rest of the GAR. I'm going to fail miserably at this list thing, because I already want to go off on multiple tangents that are headcanons of their own, BUT! I'm going to highlight the lack of individuality - Fics where this is described as being due to the need to protect troopers from being decommissioned/reconditioned/being singled out by Senators for numerous other nefarious reasons are like crack to me. I will drink that shit like water. It feeds into my loving Fox being a problem solver who works damn hard and damn cleverly to protect his people. The Senate abuse the guard through so many ways - dehumanisation of them being the overarching feature that makes it so easy to treat them like objects, toys for their amusement. Give me a good fic where fox paints himself like a target to take the abuse from the rest. Thorn and the other Commanders refuse to let him go it alone. They are the bulwark against the abuse reaching the rest of the guard.
Thorn painted their armour the opposite to Fox's on purpose. Yeeeeah, this is a little bit of a shippy thing. Won't lie! Not entirely; I do love the idea that thorn does it so they're clearly the highest ranking and can be targetted easily. But I'm also a complete sucker for Fox/Thorn, especially Thorn being devoted to Fox and putting him back together when it all gets too much.
Fox has scars, grey hair, and slightly more golden-brown eyes - Personal preference on the eyes thing. I just think it makes him more Fox-like. I swing between him being named Fox due to his slyness, and because of his eyes. Never written it though weirdly! Scars - heavily predicated by the Guard being abused thing. Typically I picture him with a scar through his right eyebrow (see my pfp and The Ballad), though I am very fond of the scar across the bridge of the nose look. I also, fooking love Fox having Lichtenberg scars, possibly weirdly raised and brutal-looking, due to the fact they've been caused by Sith lightning... Palp's is a bad bad man! The grey hair I headcanon being an indication of the stress his mind has been put under by Sithly intrustion/manipulation. As well as just pure fucking exhaustion.
Fox loves caff! I love coffee and exist in a constant state of fatigue. The man gets to feel both my pain and my nectar of life. Typically he has it black with no sugar, but largely because the Guard don't get frivolous things like milk and sugar! (Secretly he loves it with just one spoon of sugar and a touch of cream. Bail made it that way for him once and he nearly cried. He's been chasing that flavour ever since)
Fox loves his Guard. So much. He will do anything to keep them safe. Half of his exhaustion is caused by him taking as much onto himself as he can, including, but not limited to, the abuses of the Chancellor and other Senators. He's a professional, and it takes some convincing/manipulation/Thorn just bullying him into it, but he does love being surrounded by his Vode in a massive pile of warmth and love somewhere.
The Guard love Fox. They see and know what he does for them. They bring him little gifts and leave ration bars and the other Commanders quietly race through datawork and do their best to take what work they can from him. In stories where the GAR become hostile towards the Guard, Fox's troopers will defend him to the end. (I'm actually not fond of the GAR turning against the Guard in my own headcanon! I read and enjoy it for the angst/whump, but oftentimes I prefer any separation to be more because of Sithly intervention/simple war making communication hard).
Eldritch Fox is fucking excellent by the way. There's a set of fics called Corrie Red that I just love. Fox accepts power to help the Guard. It turns out excellently. (For the Guard!) Eldritch guard is wonderfully delicious, and seems to have a subset of fans within the fandom. There's a few really damn good fics of the sort out there.
Palp's activates Fox's chip and uses him to conduct assassinations - Bonus points if Fox starts to become aware of this. bonus bonus points if it causes the chip to degrade, and there's angst over realising what he's done etc. Yes pls!
Fox struggles to trust Nat-borns due to everything that's happened with the Senate. I struggle to ship Fox with Quin or Riyo because of this. Strangely I find Riyo easier than Quin? I think because Quin is a Jedi, and I can imagine Fox feeling very betrayed by them, or separated from them in a way he doesn't perhaps with a nat-born who has worked from the beginning to help him. She's depicted as quite young at the beginning of Clone Wars, so I more imagine them perhaps getting together in the Bad Batch era. I am getting more fond of Foxiyo these days I'm finding! But, realistically, my headcanon is that Fox can't relax completely with Nat-borns, always feels like there's another foot to fall. Personally, as a clone-shipper, I prefer Fox/Thorn, Fox/Cody or Fox/Thorn/Stone/Thire. That last one makes me so freaking happy! I love the idea of them all just piling in together lol!
The command batch consists of Fox, Cody, Wolffe, Bly and Ponds. This is fairly typical of the clone fandom, but I thought it worth saying! I see Fox and Wolffe in particular as very close, seeing each other very much as siblings/twins. There's another excellent fic where Wolffe realises not all is right with the Guard and goes in to investigate, and I LOVE IT.
Fox being Force-sensitive - This is more a trope I enjoy - I don't personally headcanon it, I tend to lean towards any indication of Force-sensitivity being a reason for decommissioning. But do I love fics where he realises this and cleverly avoids being discovered, or the chip prevents Force sensitivity, or he's just quietly better at knowing what people are going to do, at knowing where to dodge to? YES. YES I DO.
Fox is a kind, but firm person. He'll give you his last ration bar, but he'll expect you to do what you're told. He's a Marshal Commander. He's been trained to lead, and he's earned his position. He'll never order someone to do something he wouldn't do himself, and he'll muck in with everyone else.
Fox will sacrifice himself before others. Rations are being cut? Fox takes the lowest amount. The Guard are being given more tasks? Fox will take the first shift.
Fox saves Dogma and incorporates him into the Guard - He hides him the same way he does any trooper order to be decommissioned - he swaps their idents numbers and quietly hides them deep within the Guard. Dogma's a Corrie, and with them, he learns how to be comfortable with himself.
A trope I have enjoyed (but only know of one fanfic that does it!) - is where Fox is actually a series of different clones. There's an excellent fic where the first fox disappears, and Thorn and the other Commanders move someone else into the position. I annoyingly can't remember what it's called right now, but the current Fox at the end of the war is something like the 9th of that name? It's very good!
I know there's more, but I brought some whisky back from Scotland and have enjoyed a couple of glasses and am now struggling to remember more! I may well reblog and add some more as I remember lol!
To me, the Corrie Guard as a whole is particularly interesting precisely because we know so little of them, and only see very brief glimpses of them. I think I've fallen, HARD, for fanon Fox. Where he's the leader of an abused and beleagured group, and doing his absolute best to protect them with every ounce of power he has. Where he suffers and struggles and is broken down to his very marrow, but forces himself back up, and fights to the bitter end to protect others. He's an excellent whump target, and also a sexy silver Fox. What fanon has made of him has been beautiful, and I love it.
Always happy to talk about Fox, and what I like of him.
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
I haven't shared any random Bobby/Don ideas lately and I'm procrastinating working at my job rn I have several for "Don away at/immediately after the war" that I'm not convinced I'll ever write into a full fic because I have a weak heart (cries, do not separate them!).
I figured I might as well share them here, since otherwise they may never see the light of day (that being said, maybe if y'all like them enough, I can be convinced 👀).
Anyway here we go, my Bobby/Don war times head cannons:
Before Don leaves, Bobby gives him a ring to wear. He had his father make a pair, with "Moch" and "Hume" engraved on the inside. Bobby keeps the Hume one and gives Don the Moch one. He asks Don to wear it on his ring finger and claim to be married while he's away.
They write letters to each other obviously, and Bobby always just signs his as "B.", so the content can still be lovey/candid and Don can claim the letters are from a girl with a B name if needed.
Because I am weak of the heart, even in my head cannons, I imagine Don doesn't really see much of the actual war front because his engineering skills are what is put to use (I think that was a thing irl?). He has mixed feelings about this, some guilt, some frustration that he's essentially just doing his same job but forced to do it far away from home/Bobby. Bobby is grateful that Don isn't facing any danger, even if he realizes it's selfish.
Similarly, Don very selfishly is glad that Bobby couldn't join the army because of his health issues.
Bobby relies on friends a lot for support while Don is away. Joyce of course, because it's me, but also some of the other guys who couldn't enlist. They all know about Bobby and Don's relationship at this point.
I have an idea that is pretty much the closest to an actual fic plot of Don figuring out that another guy in his unit is gay and they befriend each other. It would include letters between Don and Bobby of them talking about it discretely.
Now, when Don returns when the war is over, nsfw but I imagine the two of them just fucking ravish each other. Like Bobby at one point is like "you better not expect to leave this house, this bed, for at least 3 days."
Related to above but the bullet was getting to long: They keep swapping between really hot/horny "meaningless" sex and super emotional lovemaking. They figure out early on that they have to decide/tell each other which it's gonna be so they're both on the same page lol.
After the war they still wear the rings :') maybe they have to switch them to the middle finger or right hand instead, since they live together and clearly not with wives, but still, they know what the rings mean.
I think that's it! Sorry for any heartache if you're like me and thinking about it for too long makes your heart hurt 🙏 knowing me, even if I ever wrote it I'd somehow manage to turn it into fluff lol.
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
my chemical romance albums but make them (a24(ish)) film posters
#just for funsies…..#well they’re SUPPOSED to be a24 type posters bc i think they’re always neat but if they miss the mark who gives a fuck#i missed doing like strictly graphics based work instead of always cramming illustration in somewhere#also losing my job means i have a Lot of free time in the evenings after freelance and i am so bored all the time#anyways.#mcr#my chemical romance#i brought you my bullets you brought me your love#three cheers for sweet revenge#the black parade#danger days#gerard way#frank iero#ray toro#mikey way#mine#arty art
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
i hate how commodity and capitalism has ruined so much storytelling . i hate how sequels and prequels and whatever else all ring like merch sales; i hate that i as an author have to include any social media following i have as a marketable trait; i hate that everything feels like a xerox of a copy of a dream of a memory.
i hate that my nostalgia has been turned into profit. i hate that companies fear consumer backlash so no real commentary may be made; i hate that companies care more about quantity over quality. i hate that so many artists and creators are being overworked to the point of complete collapse rather than being allowed to tell the story their way. i hate that every point of representation has to be fought for. i hate it i want us all to go back to living in a cave .
when you sit with friends over a bonfire and the night is getting long and people start telling this slow, almost hypnotic story - in this quiet voice, like they don't expect you to listen while they say the most fucked up shit you've ever heard - that is storytelling. who cares if the punchline is car hand hook door. storytelling has always been about community, about us all sitting in the dark, choosing to fill the silence while the last embers are dying. we forgot that storytelling is spellwork. hallucinating together, our breaths held, waiting for the ending we already knew was coming.
#this is specifically due to my rage and undying hatred of megacorporation#disney.#and specifically bc i think there COULD have been a really good series of new#dinosaur island t rex movies#if they had just fucking gone the distance#stopped with the fucking bad CGI#and made the whole thing about late-stage capitalism#do you wanna know what would ACTUALLY sell and work on the big screen more than a trex screaming in front of a volcano#(u absolute jerkweeds)?#so they've rebuilt the island and the park. but the narrative is 100%#that nobody wants to fucking work there and it feels AT BEST cult-like and insular. nobody is paid well for this#at EVERY possible place they are cutting corners. the dinosaurs might have higher walls#but the handlers are paid 5.34 an hour due to island laws. the corporation has RFID tags in their costumes which they are forced to wear#the employees are not allowed to drink water in 120 degree heat bc it would be upsetting to guests#u know real things i experienced working for disney#(but it was 8.90)#anyway it turns out the park CEO knew the risks and just didnt care bc bottom line BAYBEE.#it would be so much more sobering and fucking GOOD if it was like. scientists being like ''i am an environmental scientist''#''after the epa was slashed this is literally the only job i could find. i literally HAD to take it or i couldn't feed my family.''#''i hate what i do. i am disgusted by it. i literally CANNOT STOP because the company also charges us 400 dollars a week to live here''#the dinosaurs escape EARLY in my movie. like minute 45. and then... 1 week later#the park reopens.#half the staff are missing. they're just fucking gone. it doesn't matter tho the company tells everyone to work 2x as hard#that those people weren't loyal enough or they are tragic heroes bc they died doing what they love#and the movie isn't like ''wow dinosaurs scary!!!'' it's...#that in a global fucking pandemic disney kept sacrificing employees.#but it'll be disguised bc the pandemic will be dinosaurs.#this my beloved is what we call an ALLEGORY but unfortunately certain companies have never heard of them#allegories require critical thinking and that doesn't test well with audiences
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
me: im not camp counseling again this summer it was so stressful and exhausting and badly run
camp hiring manager: hi 🥺🥺 we saw you didn’t apply this year… like the deadline passed but ummmm 🥺🥺 we neeeeed your unusual gay ass please come back please 💕💖🌻💝✨
me: omgggg who me?.? i meannnn maybe it wasn’t soooo bad,..,……
#i am not immune to corporate flattery#got a good grade in camp counseling… against all odds…….#listen i do Not have the camp counselor personality or energy. but that ended up working way too well in my favor#turns out kids fucking love it when you’re weird and kind of unenthusiastic#applying for so many other jobs so i have a reason to not do it
104 notes
·
View notes
Text
So i finally listened to The Magnus Protocol and uhh holy shit, yall mind if i
[The contents of this post has been deleted]
#the magnus protocol#tmagp#tmagp spoilers#In the tags#My favourite case has to be the 2nd one Daria girl you are so fucked up!!!! You are so fucked up girl get help!!!!#And i am loving the absolute toxic work environment it is hilarious all the characters are great!!#Alice Gwen and Lena have three way situation of snide backhanded remarks and office coworker hate going on#Colin hates everyone but especially the puter and is this close to murder#Sam is just trying to do whatever the fuck he is doing. He is new here. He is over qualified#Teddy my man saw his place workplace comedy swerving towards horror genre and immediately ditched ship good for him!!!#(Unless Lena brutal pipe murdered him in which case girl i am so sorry)#And just character in general. Like Alice is trying to vibe her way through life#while also saying some death flaggy 'oh this is def foreshadowing' shit every episode#Gwen has the same surname as the shows previous antag#but also just after Lena's job and just wants to be taken seriously and thinks everyone is against her#she also may or not have discovered that her boss is murderer but oh well#Sam is like this sweet nice guy who is also so fucking nosy and the only one actually curious about fucked up shit cases magnus institue#And everyone is telling him to stop Girl! Turn away girl!! You are gonna get fucked up girl!! Look away!!#Colin is just so fucking angry and feral but also IT is just like that. He is crawling on the floors. He is growling at people#Lena is so fucking tired with all these bitches in her office Head Bitch incharge of all these Bitches#And i am 80% sure she murdered that guy Klaus#Anyway love all of this. Cant wait to hear them get killed in brutal tragic ways
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
#IM SO STRESSED IM SO STRESSED#I feel like I'm not handling ANYTHING well rn#so many people have symptoms that are WAAAAAAY fucking worse and they're like. working full time jobs and being a parent and shit and#I'm like waaah oh no I have body aches and chronic fatigue looks like I'll have to be unemployed and never do anything ever 💀#how am I gonna live?? like. my parents are taking care of me and I'm so fucking glad but#SOMEDAY THEY WONT BE AROUND and that stresses me out so bad#I'm 25 years old and I NEED my mom every day if not physically then emotionally because I'm a little bitch baby that can't do anything for#herself. im having a hard time feeding myself I'm having a hard time keeping my living space clean#I'm not taking care of anything except the dogs sometimes and my lizard and she's not getting as much attention as she used to#I need a job and I need to be able to suck it up and DO THINGS but I feel like I'm not the person u was anymore#I was strong and I could push thru things and make myself do things and now I can't???? I just lay on the fucking couch!! and feel bad abtit#is it the tism. is it the ADHD. what about the chronic depression. how bout the fibromyalgia?#and the thing is that ALL OF THOSE THINGS ARE MILD#I don't have severe pain (yet).#I just can't handle it I don't WANT to handle it#so. shoutout to my mom I guess because if it wasn't for her I simply wouldn't be alive#I feel like I've never been happy!! why can't I just be content and be happy!!!!#I have no fucking reason to be unhappy!!!!!!
17 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Hello! As you guys have seen, I’ve been figuring out the dip pens recently for a project, and I’d love to draw a guy of your choice as practice!
Head Over Here (Or Input The Link In The Picture Above) To Get A Slot
Three slots will be available every time I open for this! Please read and follow the instruction for sending references upon purchase; if references are not sent after 24 hours since the purchase is made, I’ll assume you’ve cancelled the commission and refund. If you need an extension on that, please leave me a word in Tumblr message or email!
UPDATE 20/06/2023: 3/3 slots filled. Thank you so much for your support, and please stay tuned for the next round!
#bakuspeech#commission info#b4kuch1n#big thank you to rudeboimonster for pointing me towards the ko-fi commission function!! and for helping me test the format!#what I make of this will probably go towards ink and more nibs and necessities while I work on the comic#(it will take a bit! so having a sum to spare while doing it would be nice)#obvious disclaimers here is: I am also doing this to practice the dip pens (which I am not yet super familiar with)#so if you expect like. mike mignola level of ink. youre not getting it lol#best to go off of the examples I posted! thats where Im at rn#and I will be experimenting a bit with anything I draw rn. in my fuck around era!#please keep that in mind as well as the instruction stuff. spend money wisely! thank u for ur support no matter what!#and now. I take a got dang shower#it is SO damp here. I am made of like 70% mushroom at this point. I need to Submerge#have a good nite! take care! deep breath!#edit: I fucking forgot its international day of clown. this is fully serious btw lol#I do not celebrate it I am ambivalent to it. its business as usual here. this is real#GREAT timing baku. good job!
88 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
dryeyeguys
Dry Eye Guys
0104-vikita
Vikypoopsiekins
dlvault
DL Vault
thefkgsoul
Espero les llegue
i-marriedhook
A Happy Beginning