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quiet-onset · 6 months

Text

fever pitch

pairing: michael berzatto x reader

wc: 12.1k+, somebody sedate me

summary: an assortment of your time with michael berzatto

warnings: no use of yn, smut, so minors dni!!!, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, by ext. dubcon since reader is unaware at the time, oral (f receiving), drug use and addiction (character and reader), canonical character death/suicide mention, pregnancy mention (sorry not sorry), please do not read if any of this is triggering for you!!

a/n: beta’d by @brattylyricist bc she has no other choice than to put up with my bs!! also bc the content matter here is triggering and i have personal experience seeing the damage that addiction can do to someone you love, I’m including national hotline phone numbers here. please don’t be afraid to seek help if you need it: national suicide prevention hotline: dial/text 988, substance abuse and mental health services administration: 1-800-662-HELP. again, please do not read this if any of the warnings are triggering for you!!!

The day went by in a blur. You got up, showered, did your hair and makeup. You ate the little breakfast you could stomach. You put on an acceptable black dress and matching high heels.

You drove to the church — tried to sit in the back, but Sugar pulled you to the front pew, right next to her. You stood behind the lectern and said kind, loving words. You drove to the cemetery and watched as his casket was lowered into the cold. And you went to the repass, doing your best to stay out of Donna’s way, knowing how she gets when she’s both sad and under pressure.

But you hadn’t cried.

You sat on the stairs with your wine glass filled with water as everyone mingled, exchanging condolences about your dearly departed. You let your heart ache as you downed the glass, stories of him being told by this person and that.

But you still hadn’t cried.

Donna burst out of the kitchen, her hair a bit disheveled and eyes red from crying. “Have you seen Carmy?”

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It must have been the seventh time she had asked. “No, Donna, I have not seen Carmy.”

“What a fuckin’ help you are.” She snapped, pulling a box of cigarettes from her apron. With her other hand, she snatched your empty wine glass and turned on her heel. “I do all this work, and I can’t even go outside to smoke.”

You followed close behind, huffing as you stood. “I thought Sugar was with you.”

“Sugar is with her.” The middle child interrupted. She gave you a weak, empathetic smile when you entered the kitchen behind Donna. A wine glass of her own in hand as she sat on the kitchen counter, she sipped on red wine. “But Sugar can’t cook.”

“Not like Carmy, you can’t. Get your ass off my fuckin’ counter, shoo!” Donna swatted at her daughter’s thigh until she hopped off the counter, snatching her half full wine glass as well. She downed the wine in a couple seconds, and you and Sugar shot each other a look. It was passing, but you both understood the meaning — Donna needed a break.

“She doesn’t have to cook, Donna. Just watch everything. Keep an eye on it, y’know?” You tried to intervene but she was having none of it.

“I don’t need an eye. I need hands! I need someone who can cook!” Donna threw the glasses into the sink, and you flinched when they shattered against the metal. “Fuck!”

“I’ll do it, Donna.” From the shakiness in her hands, you know she’s so close to losing it. To taking everything in the kitchen and throwing it on the ground, at the wall, at whoever she deemed worthy of having something thrown at them. “I know I’m not Carmy, but I’m better than Sug.”

“Hey!” Sugar sounded defensive, but you and Donna barely paid her any mind.

“You can’t fuckin’ cook, Sugar, get over it.” Her mother snapped. “I’d normally have Mikey do it, but he—”

“Ma.” You gently placed your hands on Donna’s shoulders, and a bit of the tension fell from them. You hadn’t called her that in a long time — it no longer felt right — but doing so made her recall happier times. You looked her in the eye, reassured her. “You go outside and smoke. I’ll take over for a few minutes, okay?”

Her eye twitched ever so slightly, and she was still shaking, but you could tell it grounded her a bit. “If everything else goes to shit, make sure the fish is good, alright?”

“Save the fish. Got it.”

Donna nodded, pulling a cigarette out of the box. Then she finally walked toward the exit of the kitchen, twirling it in her hand. Just before she left, she glanced at you again, her voice shaky. “You.. you would’ve been good for him. If he’d let you.”

When Donna left, there were tears in your eyes. Sugar watched to see if you’d need comfort, especially after one of those tears fell from your eye. But you were quick to wipe it away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You turned to Sugar, gesturing toward the sink filled with broken glass. “Could you…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She was quick to do so, grabbing a paper bag to put shards in. You both worked in a comfortable silence. The only sound was the clinking of glass against each other. Sugar battled over whether she wanted to speak, but she figured if she needed kind words, then you definitely did. “Ma’s right, y’know. Michael lo—”

“Sug. Please.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause as you stirred a pot of stew, then you sighed. “I know he did. As much as he could anyway.”

—

Michael met you on a sober streak. He’d been clean for three weeks, the longest stint thus far. When Richie found out about his addiction, he dragged Michael to Narcotics Anonymous. You’re gonna die cooking at the restaurant or doing something cool, not fuckin’ OD, Richie had sneered in the car.

He sat in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, grumbling like a child. Despite being sober for three weeks, he maintained that he didn’t need to come to these meetings. To Michael, this was just proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. Regardless, Richie drove him to every meeting and planned to do so until he seemed ready to go on his own.

The host of the meeting, Brayden, greeted Michael with a kind smile, but he responded with a grunt. For three weeks, Michael sat silently in that circle and said absolutely nothing. He wondered what it took to get the man to speak, but of course, he’d never pressure anyone to share before they were ready.

Then you walked in. You seemed a bit more put together than others in the room, but still a bit shy. An oversized sweater wrapped around your frame, and you pulled it even closer, eyes glancing around the room. You nodded a greeting to Brayden before sitting in the circle across from Michael. When you noticed him glancing your way, you offered a friendly smile, and he returned it.

He knew then that he’d return to his weekly NA meetings.

The session started shortly after, but Michael was only half listening. He was mostly glancing back and forth from whoever was speaking to you. He liked the way you gave your full attention to every person who spoke, even when they said things you didn’t agree with — he could tell when you didn’t, a little crease would form for the briefest moment between your brows. But it always disappeared, and your attentive expression returned.

“Alright, would anyone else like to speak? Someone new maybe?” Brayden asked, quickly glancing at Michael.

He’d never admit it, but his heart was pounding at the idea of airing out his dirty laundry to a group of strangers. He took a deep, nervous breath, but then another voice spoke up.

“I’ll go.” You said, watching the relief wash over Michael’s face. You cleared your throat, pulling your sweater closer as you introduced yourself. “I was in a car accident two years ago. It, uh, it killed my son… That plus divorce plus prescribed oxy apparently equals addiction.”

The slightly playful lilt in your tone made Michael chuckle quietly, though you both knew nothing was funny. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Still, you continued, “I’ve been sober for two months, but my son’s birthday is coming up in a few months, so I, uh, needed a meeting. But yeah, that’s my story.”

After the meeting, you stood by the snack table, nursing a cup of coffee. Michael approached cautiously as he poured his own coffee. “Can I ask what his name was?”

You looked up from your paper cup into warm brown eyes. “Sorry?”

“Your son?”

“Oh.” You paused, and your heart sank at the reminder that your baby was gone. “His name was Benson.”

He snorted into his coffee cup, trying to hide his quiet laugh by clearing his throat. You noticed the light in his eyes, and it inexplicably made a smile pull at your lips too. “Sorry.” He said. “Benson’s a great name.”

“It’s a dorky name. Dorky first name, anyways. It’s what his father wanted.” You confirmed with a chuckle. “But it was my son’s name. So I liked it.”

“Course.” He smiled at you kindly. He was charming, and you liked it. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand. You went against your better judgment and invited him to your place. You both spent all night wrapped in your sheets, in each other’s embrace. He left for work the next morning but not before getting your phone number.

You texted Michael and arranged to meet up again that night. Then, you called your sponsor.

That was the beginning of the end.

—

“Cousin, your girlfriend’s here!”

“Not his girlfriend, Richie.”

“Not yet.”

“Send her back!” Michael’s voice floated in from the back of the kitchen.

You sidestepped Richie and walked through the kitchen, saying your hellos to everyone. “Where’s he at?” You asked.

“The office.” Tina answered, lightly nudging you in his direction. “He’s not having the best day.”

You nodded your understanding and proceeded to the small office where Michael was leaning back in his chair, hand over his face as he spoke into his cell phone. “No, I just don’t understand why we keep talking about the same shit.”

You leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small smile. He gave you the tiniest acknowledgment, a small wave, before spinning around in the chair to face the wall. You scoffed jokingly, closing the door behind you, “Well, fuck me, I guess.”

“Carmy, you’re a big shot in some fancy, five-star, European restaurant, what the fuck do you wanna be here for?” He asked exasperatedly. There’s a short pause, mumbling from the other side of the phone before Mikey throws a hand in the air. “Five star, three star, who gives a shit? Look, Carmen, you’re doing big things, good things. Stay in Europe. I gotta go.”

When Michael hung up, a long, tired sigh racked his body. “This would be a perfect time for—”

“One month.” You interrupted. You knew all too well where his mind was headed. He was spiraling into that dark, secluded state of mind you’d found him in just a few weeks after you met. He’d relapsed after a particularly hard day at the restaurant, something about finances and paying back a loan that he refused to tell you more about. But you’d helped him then. Picked him up, dusted him off, and called his sponsor — Started him back on the path of sobriety again. If you could help it, he’d never reach that lonely place again.

“One month.” He repeated to himself. Then, he spun around. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You walked over to him, standing between his spread legs. He immediately rested his forehead on your belly, groaning when you carded a hand through his hair. Your other hand rubbed circles into his back, the tense muscles a sharp contrast to his soft black locks. “I take it that was your brother?”

He grunted affirmatively. “Keeps askin’ to work here.”

“At The Beef?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t he a professional chef? Why don’t you let him?”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on my side.” He grumbled, pulling you down to sit on his thigh.

“I am on your side.” You chuckled. You took your thumb and rubbed gently at the spot between his eyes until the frustrated crease disappeared. “‘M just saying, he’s a trained chef, this is a restaurant. I don’t get what’s not adding up for you, baby.”

Michael sighed, looking up at you. He brushed a stray hair from your face and smiled up at you. You smiled back encouragingly, patiently waiting until he found the right words. “Carm doesn’t know.” He admitted.

“Carm doesn’t know…?”

“About the painkillers. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.” His brow furrowed once more, making you frown. “I mean, he’s got three Michelin stars. The kid’s a fuckin’ genius in the kitchen — he doesn’t need to be around all this shit, all my shit.”

You let his words sink in, deep in thought as you stroked his hair. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you thought about all the stories Mikey and Richie told you about the youngest Berzatto. How he could be quiet and unassuming, but, with a little encouragement, always came out of his shell around family and friends. Maybe, for Carmen, it wasn’t about the restaurant.

“Maybe he just wants to see you.” You said pensively. “I mean it’s been how long since he’s been home?”

A scoff passed Michael’s lips. “A long fuckin’ time.”

“Maybe the restaurant is a pretense. I mean, he would come work at The Beef and stuff, but maybe he just wants to see you again. Hang out with his big brother like he used to.”

His thumb stroked your thigh as he looked at you, silently admired the way you seem to come in and make all his problems melt away with a single thought, a word, a smile. “What about the whole bein’ an addict part?” He asked.

“You don’t have to tell him right away.” You suggested. “Baby steps.”

“You are too fuckin’ good to me, y’know that?” He grinned back at you. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he pinched your side, making you jolt and laugh.

You pulled his arm around your waist, settling your hands at the nape of his neck. “So, you’re letting your brother work at the restaurant?”

“How ‘bout we just start with a visit, hm? I’ll tell him to come home for a week or somethin’, stay at mine.” He compromised. “Baby steps.”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” You cooed playfully, pinching his stubbly cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swatted your hands away, leaning forward to press wet kisses to the column of your neck. He smirked as you suddenly ceased your pinching, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You should let me return the favor, sweetheart.”

“Not in your office!” You gasped when he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder before soothing it with his tongue.

“Why not?” He chuckled, lifting you onto his desk. He probably should have been a little more worried about his records and papers getting folded under the swell of your ass, but all he could focus on was the small strip of fabric covering the part of you he wanted to devour. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be addicted to my girl than painkillers?”

“That’s not, ah,” You jolted above him, the sensation of his thumb pressing into your sensitive clit knocking you back to your elbows, “That’s not funny, Mikey.”

“What’s Brayden say?” He muttered, pulling your panties to the side. His fingers expertly tugs your lips apart, and he pressed a soft teasing kiss to your hood-covered button. “Humor’s my coping mechanic.”

“M-mechanism.” The correction came out in a soft moan. Just then, his words hit you — his girl. He’d never said that before. All the times you’d kissed, made out, had sex, he’d never called you his girl. You liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He pulled away, his hands finding your calves as he looked at you. His brown irises held the tiniest bit of vulnerability in them, an emotion reserved for you and you only. “I mean, if you wanna be. Do you?”

You smiled and encircled his wrists, tenderly stroking his skin with your thumbs. It was a simple touch, but it made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. Strange how you always managed to do that. “Of course I do.”

“Good.” He exhaled. His large hands slid up your inner thighs, pausing at your core. With a gentle touch, he tugged your folds apart, watching the way your entrance fluttered. His mouth dropped open, and he let his saliva drip down onto your pussy, rubbing it into your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause I missed this pretty little pussy.”

—

“Where is it? Where is it? Where the fuck is it?”

You’d torn your apartment apart. Old storage boxes that gathered dust were now open and emptied. Your clothes were thrown all over the place. You managed to push the couch and check the floor, but you found nothing but crumbs and linty hair ties.

Tears started to blur your vision, and your chest felt heavy, like the entire world sat directly on your lungs. Your breath was just as shaky as your hands that tugged at the roots of your hair. You ran to your mess of a kitchen and scrambled for your phone, typing the familiar number from memory.

Your ex-husband answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Where’s Eli?” You heard him call your name, but his confusion was the last thing on your mind. “Benson’s stuffed cow, Eli. Where is it? I can’t find it.”

He sighed, his voice lower and more scratchy than you remembered. He must’ve been crying, too, you thought. “How am I supposed to know?”

“You helped me move out. Did you take it? I swear to god—”

“I didn’t take the damn cow.” He snapped. “Do you think I’m that selfish that I would keep it from you?”

“I didn’t call to rehash our marriage, alright? I need Eli, okay? I need him.”

The line went silent. You both knew you weren’t talking about the stuffed animal anymore. He let out a deep breath. “Have you tried therapy?”

“I don’t need to pay a bunch of money to have someone tell me I need to get over the death of our child.” You hissed, scrunching your nose at the suggestion.

“Have you been to his grave?”

You wiped your tears away, thinking about the cold, unfeeling stone that solidified your son’s death. You hadn’t seen it since the funeral. You took a shaky breath, “Do you have Eli or not?”

“I don’t.”

He tried to speak once more, but you already hung up. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without this one piece of your son. Tears dropped onto your phone screen as you scrolled and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name you were looking for. The line rang three times before a deep voice greeted you. “What’s up?”

“I need to see you. Where can we meet?”

Hours later, Michael was walking toward his apartment building with Carmy. He’d been purposefully avoiding bringing up The Beef, and luckily Carmy didn’t push. Instead, his little brother decided to bring up the little stuffed animal that Michael had pushed into his jacket pocket. “So,” Carmy started quietly, “You startin’ a collection with that thing or…?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Michael laughed. He pulled the stuffed cow out of his pocket. “It’s my girl’s. Remember I told you about her son?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes she likes to talk to me about him. She brought this over to my place a few weeks ago to show me. Apparently, the kid was obsessed with cows.”

“No shit. Look at you, bein’ vulnerable.” Carmy chuckled in amazement, admiring his brother’s new relationship.

“Yeah, whatever. The, uh, anniversary of his death is coming up, and she’ll probably be wanting this, so you can meet her while you’re here if she’s feeling up to it. Sound good?”

“‘F course.”

When Michael unlocked the front door, he was met with chaos. The front door banged into the coat closet door, somehow left open with coats strewn across the floor. The rug in his living room was flipped over, and the couch was now far from the wall. Michael was only brought back to reality by the stunned woah that passed through Carmy’s lips.

Somehow, Michael knew. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he remembered that feeling. A feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, traveling throughout his body until it pounded at his head. It was dread, hopelessness, not knowing how he’d find the strength to take another breath. He knew, and he needed to help you.

“Di-Did someone break into your house or something?” Carmy asked, closing the door behind him.

“Just stay here for a second, little brother, okay?” Michael’s voice was dismissive, preoccupied, as he followed the trail of despair into the kitchen.

And there you sat. Red eyes, swollen from crying. Head lulling from side to side and your heart almost numb enough to keep the darkness from creeping in and making a home, uninvited, in the hole of your chest. Your arms circled around your knees that you’d drawn up to your chest, hugging them close. Maybe, if you squeezed hard enough, you could stop grieving and move on.

Michael approached slowly, like you were a wounded animal. “Baby?”

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Please don’t hate me.”

He crouched down in front of you, steadied your head with a firm hand on your cheek. His warm, calloused skin helped to ground the thoughts in your fuzzy head. He looked you in the eyes, bold and sincere, just as you had when he relapsed. “I could never hate you. Never, you hear me?”

You paused for a moment before trying to explain. “I couldn’t find Eli, and I just- I started going fucking crazy—”

“Eli?” He asked, pulling the stuffed cow from his pocket. “Sweetheart, I have Eli. You left him the time you came over a couple weeks ago, and I was gonna take him back to yours.”

Michael thought the knowledge would console you, warm your heart enough to give him just the tiniest hint of a smile. But you just threw your head back frustratedly, the impact against the wall causing a dull pain to crash through the back of your skull. “Fuck.”

“Baby, why—”

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re no—”

Tears gathered once more. “If I had just called you… I’m an idiot.”

“Hey,” He regained your attention, this time with both hands holding your face steady. “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, ‘s all.”

“I fucking relapsed, Michael.”

“I’ve relapsed, and look at me, huh? Picture of a healthy, law-abiding citizen.”

“Michael.”

“You’ll start over. Just like I did. Here, give me your phone.” You dug around in your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. He turned the screen toward you so you could watch as he scrolled through your contacts until he found your dealer’s name. Then, with zero hesitation, he blocked the number. “See? Good as new, yeah?”

If tears could show your appreciation, you’d have cried an ocean’s worth. But the most you could do was throw your heavy arms around his shoulders and press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck. To you, nothing you could ever do or say would be enough, but to Mikey? If he could take your burdens and make them his own, carry the weight of your world on his back, he’d do it without a second thought. Your appreciation wasn’t needed — only your love. And he knew he had that.

“Uh, Mikey?” Carmen’s voice called from the living room. “What the fuck is this?”

Michael reluctantly untangled himself from you for a moment, signaling for you to stay quiet. But you knew what was in there — you’d left the needle on his coffee table. Immediately, you could hear Mikey try to calm his brother down. “Carmen, it’s not what you think.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that looks like a fuckin’ needle. Jesus Christ, are you—”

“I’m not high, Carm, just listen for a second.”

“Listen to what?” His voice got louder, more angry. “Michael, are you fuckin’ serious? You know this family has… issues and this is what you do? Fucking shit!”

“Hey, relax, alright? You’re making a big deal out of nothin’.”

“Nothing? If you’re getting high, it is a big deal. A huge fuckin’ deal.” Carm pushed his brother on the chest, hoping it’ll knock some sense into him. And Michael, he just curled his fists, restraining himself. The last thing he wanted was to lose control on his own brother. Carmen took a step toward, pointing one accusatory finger.

But before he could get a word out, a small voice, your voice, stopped him. “It’s not his.”

Icy blue eyes met yours as he took in your disheveled frame. You stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning against the threshold to hold yourself up. The high was starting to wear off a little, but you still felt the lingering effects. You tried to give him a smile, but a weary sigh passed through your lips. “Hi Carmen. I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”

Carmen looked back and forth from you to Michael. His eyes narrowed as his breath started to even out, confusion replacing anger. “You’re the girlfriend, yeah?” He finally asked, confirming your name.

You nodded, gauging his reaction as he let it all sink in. “I had been sober for a while, so I asked your brother not to say anything. But today was- today was hard.”

“Right,” The younger brother nodded, finally taking a step back and pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh, sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“So, Michael isn’t… he’s not using…?” He knew the words, knew the question he wanted to ask. But he was so afraid, so terrified of what the answer might be.

You knew the answer. It would have been less than savory, admitting that Michael was also an addict and had relapsed more than once since you met. The truth was potentially earth-shattering for Carmen and Michael alike. You glanced over at Michael, at how he hid the fear from his eyes. Still, you see it. In the way his hand flexed at his side, and how he refused to look in your direction. It’s almost like he knew what was coming if you told the truth, that he might have lost his brother for good.

That fear broke your heart. So, you lied. Took your blame and a little on the side. “No. No, just me.”

You excused yourself back to the kitchen to hide your tears. You hugged Eli close, burying the stuffed animal under your nose.

It smelled like Michael.

—

That fucking fork.

Fuck forks. Fuck Christmas dinner. Fuck all seven fishes. Fuck Pete’s eighth fish. And, above all, fuck Michael.

Chaos ensued after Michael gave in to his self-destructive tendencies. He all but flipped the table over in an effort to fight. Fak was making sure Sugar and Pete got out unscathed. Carmy practically begged his mother to stay out of it, and she only relented when her eldest son started making taunting braying noises — she retreated to the kitchen with a cigarette and the bottle of merlot in hand.

You gave up trying to help Michael calm down when he wretched himself from your grip, nearly knocking you into a wall in the process. Richie rushed over to help steady you, and Carmy, over all the chaos, called your name, “Yo, are you alright?”

“Peachy.” You called back sarcastically, rubbing your sore arm.

Carmen then turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, shut the fuck up for two seconds, for fuck’s sake! If you don’t calm down, you’re gonna hurt someone!”

“Kinda the point, little brother.” Michael’s eye twitched as he glared at Lee. He tried once more to push past Jimmy to no avail.

“Yeah? Was hurting your girl part of the point, smartass?”

Michael turned to you, the anger in his eyes slowly overtaken with concern. He hadn’t meant to push you; he didn’t even know you were one of the people trying to hold him back. But that didn’t take back his actions. Your gaze went cold as you pulled away from Richie, pushing Michael hard on the chest. “I’m not his fucking girl anymore.”

Then, you hightailed it out of the house. Everyone went silent as you peeled out of the driveway, rubber squealing against pavement.

Richie watched Michael carefully, noticing how his brow furrowed and his chest heaved. He took a step toward him and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mikey,” Richie warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael pulled away and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving Richie to call after his best friend from the dining room.

Over Richie’s voice, Carmen could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen followed by the soft glug of wine as she turned the bottle up. And immediately, he followed after his older brother. Richie tried to stop him, “Cousin, he just needs a minute.”

“Yeah, just a minute?” Carmen replied dismissively. “Fuck off, cousin, he’s not a baby.”

He pushed open every door looking for Mikey. Finally, he came upon one door that wouldn’t budge, locked from the inside. Carmy pounded on the bathroom door. “Yo, what the fuck was that?”

“Go away, Carmen.” Mikey paced the bathroom floor, hands pulling at the roots of his hair. He wished he had an answer for his brother, but he came up short. Maybe it was pride, or ego, or his innate tendency to self-destruct, he couldn’t choose. So he just paced the floor, avoiding the sight of his own reflection.

“Mikey, you need to go downstairs and fix this shit, alright?” Carmy continued. “Ma’s drinking herself stupid, Sug’s a mess, your girl just fuckin’ left, c’mon man.”

“Hey, you think I don’t know that?” The older brother hissed.

He braced himself on the sink, finally looking up into the mirror. He looked disheveled, angry. His hair was messy from pulling at it, and the whites of his eyes had a red tint to them. One prominent vein pulsed in his forehead, and suddenly, the need set in.

His head is fuzzy, brain pounding at his skull. So many thoughts, too many, clouding his head. He lifted his hand to push away a few strands of his hair, limp with sweat, and he realized that his hand was shaking. Even as he closed his fingers into a fist, it trembled like an earthquake. He blinked hard, eyes scrambling as he tried to think of a quick solution, a way to gather himself before he faced his little brother again.

Carmy was quiet as he started to think maybe he should have listened to Richie. “Mikey?”

No answer.

“Mikey, look, I’m sorry—”

The door flung open, and Carmy studied him. His hair was pushed back. His eyes were red, but Carmy assumed Mikey must’ve been crying. Everything seemed right, but there was something he couldn’t place. Something about his big brother that was very wrong. “Nothing to be sorry for, Carm.” Michael told him, one big hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”

When Michael started booking it downstairs, Carmy was quick on his trail. “Wait, go? Go where?”

Michael responded with a call of your name, “Gotta make sure she’s good.”

Carmy ran a hand through his golden brown locks as he followed his older brother out the front door. Their sister noticed the argument and followed them out the door, “Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Sug, go back inside.” Michael stopped for the briefest moment to turn around and place a kiss on his sister’s forehead.

“He’s leavin’.” Carmy sighed frustratedly.

“He’s leaving?” Sugar turned to Michael. “You’re leaving?”

“Fuckin’ snitch.” Michael mumbled under his breath. He squeezed Sug’s arm with a tight smile, “I’m just goin’ to find my girl, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

“How are you even going to find her?” Carm scoffed.

“You know her password, right?” Sug asked her eldest brother. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but you could track her phone. Here, give me yours.”

“What about Ma?” Carmy threw his arms up in defeat. Michael was the one who started all that mess, and now that it was time to pick up the pieces, where did he go? Chasing you. Like always, Carm thought to himself. “You’re the only one who can get through to her when she’s all…” He waved his hands around as if the devastating words he was looking for would magically appear.

“Well, you’re home, ain’t you? She missed you — just sit with her till I get back, alright? I gotta go.”

And just as quickly Mikey was off too, running toward the closest train station.

If there were ever a time for oxy, that would’ve been it. But instead, you drove and drove and drove until the tank was damn near empty. You pulled into a parking lot and called your sponsor. She talked you down, persuading you to delete your dealer’s contact information in your phone. When the long conversation was over, you were still angry, furious even, but you’d at least lost interest in relapsing.

Knock knock knock.

You jumped in the driver’s seat when calloused knuckles tapped on the car window. Michael wasted no time in starting an argument. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the barrier.

“How did you even find me?”

“Sugar showed me how to track your phone.”

“You tracked my phone?”

“Open the fuckin’ door.”

You pushed the door open and got out of the car, deciding your best course of action would be to walk away from him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”

“Where are you goin’?” He was quick to follow you as you walked down the street, just a few strides behind.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s the plan here, huh?” He asked. “You just gonna keep walkin’ till your feet fall off?”

“No, just till I’m away from you, Michael.” You retorted coldly.

“Hey, stop calling me that.”

“That’s your name!”

“Not to you! To you it’s Mikey, or baby, or my love, not fuckin’ Michael!”

“Fuck you, Michael!” You caught him off guard when you spun around, poking your index finger into his chest. “You couldn’t just let it be. You had to ruin Christmas for the whole fucking family!”

“Why do you care so much, huh?”

“Why do I— Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You do nothing but ruin shit for yourself for no goddamn reason! No one forced you to throw that fork!”

Michael scoffed and ran his hand over his lips, his warm breath evaporating into the cold air as he raised his voice again. “So we’re gonna pretend that’s why you’re upset? Because of the fork?”

“I’m upset because you ruined any chance at having a good Christmas with our family!”

“They’re not our fuckin’ family.” He laughed, though no traces of humor could be found in his eyes. “They’re mine! Okay? I’m the fuckin’ Berzatto, not you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. You parted your lips to retort, but he just kept going, slicing your heart in two with expert precision.

“You wanna act like the- the chaos bothers you, but you thrive on that shit — You’re just in a shitty mood because you miss your own family, and now that you can’t replace them with mine, you want some fuckin’ oxy to ease the pain, ain’t that right?”

Smack!

You’d never hit Michael before, never wanted to. Like any couple, you had your share of fights and passive aggressive comments. One thing you two never did, though, was weaponize your addictions against each other. It was an unsaid invisible line that had never been crossed until now. Michael Berzatto, the man you loved more than life itself, had never been so mean. At least not to you.

It happened faster than you expected, your small hand reaching up and slapping across his stubbly cheek. He just stood there, eyes dark and slightly angry, but you weren’t afraid. You were furious, hot tears filling your eyes. “Fuck you.”

You slapped him again. And again. Then, you beat on his chest with your fists. Michael started trying to swat your hands away, but when that proved ineffective, he caught your wrists in his hands, yanking you into a nearby alley, away from the night’s few prying eyes.

“Stop, stop.” He grunted when you landed another smack to his head, finally pinning you up against the nearby brick wall by your wrists. “Stop.”

“I hate you.” You spat.

“No, you don’t.”

You continued to fight against his grip, but he was strong and steady, keeping you in place as you continued to tell him how much you despise him. He knew he was wrong, but he refused to say it. After all the shit that went down that night with his family, with you, he felt like he was going crazy. It was like he was abandoned in the middle of the ocean in a boat with a tiny hole. And even though the hole was small, it was so methodically cut that water was pouring in like a faucet, and the boat was sinking. So he grabbed onto the only lifeline he was certain would be there: you.

You, with the most beautiful eyes that were now filled with angry tears. You, the hero of all his dreams and the victim in all his nightmares. You, whose heart was so broken, so crumbled when he met you, yet still managed to love him with all your being.

He loved you.

It all hit him at once, and he gently pressed his lips to yours. You turned your head away from him, rasping out your hatred once more. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” His voice was deep and rough, but the tone was soft. Was he even talking to you?

“Yes, I fucking do.”

His lips trailed across your jawline, wet kisses placed on his path. “No, you don’t.”

You hated how easily he was able to do this to you, like pushing a button. You were supposed to be angry with him. You were angry with him. But your body didn’t care about the argument. Your body slowly gave up the fight against his grip, wanting the heat that his touch produced, your emotions be damned. A few tears fell from your eyes just as a soft moan slipped past your lips, an instinctive response to the way Michael’s body pressed yours against the wall, his growing length pressed into your hip.

He slipped a leg between yours, pushing his denim-covered thigh into your pussy. You could feel a wave of arousal soaking your panties. “You’re mean, Michael.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He admitted quietly.

He used his grip on your wrists to gently pull your hands to your breasts. He pressed your hands in before covering them with his own, helping you knead the sensitive flesh. Even beneath your layers, you could feel his touch, and it made you whimper. His deft thumb ran over your hardening nipples, and a soft groan tumbled from his lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted his acknowledgement. And his lack of apology.

He kept up his movements, moving your hands to squeeze your breasts, pressing his thigh into your weeping pussy. Somewhere along the way, your hips began to rock back and forth on him. His brown eyes never left yours, even as you cried. It was strange, how your heart hurt so badly that tears fell freely down your face, but your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Still, you gasped for breath as the pleasure began to creep out of your core. “Mi- Mikey,” You moaned. “Please!”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Let it all out.”

And it all came out at once, sobs pushing past your lips as euphoria crashed over your body in waves. You clenched around nothing, head tipping back to hit the brick wall. But you never felt the cold brick — one of Michael’s hands left your breast to cup the back of your head, the protective gesture juxtaposing the unending push of his thigh into your pussy to help ride out your orgasm.

Even as your orgasm faded away, your hips continued to buck against him. Your hands found a new home on his broad chest, trailing down, down, down until you felt the leather of his brown belt. You wasted no time in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down so you could easily reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He moaned at your firm grasp, hips bucking into your touch.

Everything moved much quicker now, more desperate than before. You stroked his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft. His forehead pressed against yours as he stared at the way your smaller hand worked him over, twisting over the head on every downward stroke. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned.

“Help me.” You whined needily as you thrust your hips against his thigh once more, hoping he’d get the message.

He nodded quickly, kneeling down in front of you. His big hands slide up your thighs under your jean skirt, flipping the rough fabric up over your belly. Your legs were covered by sheer black stockings, a layer of protection from the cold winter chill. But neither of you could bear to wait, to take them off properly. He tore a large hole in the crotch and pushed your panties to the side, muttering curses at how your arousal shone in the moonlight.

“Perfect fuckin’ cunt, sweetheart.” He pushed his index finger through your swollen lips, collecting your juices before slipping into your twitching hole. “Can you take two for me?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He pushed his middle finger in on the second thrust, curving them to press on that spongy spot on your upper wall that you can never reach yourself. You cried out his name, and your back arched off the wall. His fingers were bigger than yours, thicker too, but they still didn’t fill you the way that you needed.

You whimpered when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking firm and hard. “Want your cock, Mikey. Want- oh shit!”

Your orgasm was hard and unexpected, pulling you under before you could even tell him to fuck you. Your legs buckled, and you buried your hands in his thick, black hair to ground yourself. A muffled moan came from between your legs when you tugged on the roots, trying to pull him off your sensitive clit.

He finally relented, pulling away from you and pushing his fingers, soaked in you, into his mouth. He licked them clean without hesitation, only stopping when you tugged on his wrist. You pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. It was deep and passionate, proving what you both knew to be true.

You didn’t hate him. Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t is the better word.

He cupped your face with both his large hands, wiping away any remnants of tears from your earlier sobs. His tongue licked into your mouth as you moaned, tasting the sweet tang of your juices in his saliva. You reached down to stroke his cock again, and he crowded you closer to the wall. “Want you inside.” You whispered.

“I know, baby.”

His open jeans impeded his efforts to get closer to you, buttons, zipper, and belt now in the way. His hands hurried to push the waistband of his open jeans down and out, ignoring how the frosty air raised goosebumps on his skin. His belt buckle jingled loudly, and something clattered to the pavement, but you could only focus on getting him inside you. His hands returned to your face, making you keep your gaze on his.

You pushed his cock through your pussy lips, let your arousal messily coat his shaft until it was all over your inner thighs. Both your panting was the only thing you could hear over the wet sounds of his length sliding between your swollen lips. You whined when the head of his dick bumped against your clit.

“Guide me in, sweetheart.” He told you, eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want.”

His head, already weeping with precum, nudged at your entrance, and you canted your hips up until the first few inches sunk inside. You lifted your leg around his hip in an attempt to take more of him, but it wasn’t enough on your own. Finally, he pressed forward, fully sheathing his cock within your soft walls. All the while, Michael held your face between his hands, gazing deep into your eyes as you whimpered. “There you are.” He groaned softly. “My girl.”

Your heart twisted at his words. How could he even say that? After saying the most vile things to you, what made him believe that you’d still be his? He nudged his hips forward a bit, and the tip just barely kissed your cervix, shooting a strange blend of pain and pleasure up your spine. You shook your head, hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself. “No, I… I- fuck, Mikey, I hate you so much.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” You moaned pathetically, still seething, angry enough to lie through your teeth just to give him a glimpse of the pain he caused you. Your nails dug into the thick fabric of his coat as he began to move, thrusting in and out of your cunt. The alley practically echoed with squelching sounds, and anyone walking by would know what was going on in those shadows. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care, lips falling apart as your sensitive walls clamped down on his length.

“You don’t fuckin’ say that to me.” He repeated with a grunt, leaving the tiniest pat on your cheek to regain the attention of your eyes rolling in pleasure. “You love me. Know you do. ‘S — shit, you’re so tight — ‘s the only thing I’m goddamn sure of, you hear me?”

One hand left your cheek to wrap around your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his hip. He thrusted again with renewed strength before looking down to where you both connected. The sight made the pit of his stomach flip deliciously: the slightly tanned base of his cock coated with a creamy white ring, little strands of your wetness dangling between you both when he dared to pull his hips away. “Fuckin’ takin’ my dick so well, baby.” He bit his lip, his voice sounding almost entranced. “Squeezin’ like you don’t want me to leave.”

“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He continued, groaning when your hands slid up his back and into his hair. You pulled hard, and his thrusts faltered ever so slightly. His other hand left your cheek to brace himself against the wall, and his head fell into the crook of your neck, puffs of his hot breath warming your skin.

“You can’t keep doing this shit, M-Mikey. Can’t take your shit out on me.” You mewled as he adjusted his grip on you, pushing you closer to the wall. He left you no space to squirm when his hips started to move faster, his cock bullying its way in and out of your soft, puffy folds to nudge against the spongy spot on your upper wall. You cried out as that unique sensation shot pleasure to every nerve ending in your body, “Fuck, right there!”

“I got you, sweetheart, that’s it.” He responded in kind, adjusting his stance just right so he could drag the notch of his cockhead along your G-spot with every thrust. “Right there, yeah?”

“Oh my god, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come!”

Michael lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes again. They were dark, glazed over, as he slowed his hips, still moving but not enough to finish you off. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he flooded your insides with his release, but he wanted to hear you say it: he wanted you to take back your words. “Say you don’t mean it.”

Your pussy fluttered around him in tandem with the whine spilling past your lips. “Mikey—”

“You don’t hate me. You love me. Say it.” He punctuated each sentence with a nudge against your G-spot, soft and tempting.

“N-no, you,” You heaved out a shuddering breath when his fingertips met your swollen clit, rubbing in tight, slow, torturous circles. “You’re being unfair. You- oh my god, yes - you can’t be n-nasty to me and—”

“Just say it for me, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. He was practically begging you to take it back, but, of course, Michael Berzatto would never stoop to such lengths. So, he kept rubbing your clit and nudging your G-spot, punching the breath out of you with his thick cock. “Promise I’ll make you come. I’ll make it so fuckin’ good for you. Just need to hear it.”

And, of course, as you always did, you gave in. “I didn’t mean it.” You admitted breathlessly. “I love you.”

The tension visibly rolled off his shoulders as his head dropped to your breasts, pounding your cunt as you moaned beneath him. “Fuck, I love you, too, baby. Love you so fuckin’ much, it hurts.” He groaned into your skin.

“Mikey, ‘m close!” You gasped, the assault on your cunt and clit too much to bear.

“Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, sweetheart.” He huffed, nails digging into your thighs, your stockings providing no refuge from the dull pain. “Show me how much you love me, c’mon.”

And then, white-hot, earth-shattering pleasure. You nearly blacked out as you clenched around him, stars burning into supernovas behind your eyelids. Your fluttering walls begged him to stay buried deep inside you. Back arched against the wall, your breasts pushed closer to his face, and he didn’t bother lifting up, resting his cheek on the soft fabric that covered your warm flesh as he fell over the edge with you. He groaned out your name as he shot thick spurts of his warm, sticky come inside you. He knew he’d never come so much in his life, only lifting his head when he heard louder squelching noises from where you both connected.

As he thrusted, slow and deep, the white creamy juices that once only circled the base of his cock dribbled out of your pussy, around the sides of his length. A bit slid down your thigh, and his eyes rolled back, reveling in how his balls pulsed with pleasure at the sight.

His whole body relaxed as you both rode out the waves of pleasure. As you came down from your orgasm, your head lolled to the side. Your eyes fluttered closed as you cherished his weight on top of you. When your eyes opened, your vision was still a tad blurry, but you blinked through the fog.

There was something bright on the ground. It was small, cylindrical, and… red? No — it was orange.

“What’s that?”

Michael hummed in response, his speech a bit slurred. “What’s what?”

He lifted his head from your breasts, following your gaze. And he froze, eyes stuck on the tiny bottle of painkillers he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet after you left. It must have fallen from his pocket when he opened his jeans.

“Are you high right now?”

Michael almost cringed at your whisper. It was different from all your yelling and slapping and arguing before. You were just mad then, and he knew that he could win you over like he had a million times before. This time, it was sad. Cold. Disappointed.

He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.

You wriggled beneath him until you could push him away, watching him stumble a bit. He was no longer standing tall, a bit slouched, and he swayed aimlessly from side to side. With the way he was fucking you, his blood was pumping, so they must just now be kicking in at full force. You knew — you were certain of the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Michael. Are you high?”

He had just enough of his wits left to take a step toward you with remorse in his voice, “Baby, I—”

You held up a hand, taking a step away from him. “I… I’ll call Richie. You can stay with him tonight. Or your mother, I don’t….” He called your name again as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down over your ass. “I can’t do this with you right now, Michael.”

You waited for a moment. For what, you weren’t sure. An apology? An explanation? An unremorseful tirade? Part of you would have even been okay with a fight.

But he just leaned against the brick wall, unable to support himself on his own any longer. He clumsily tucked his softening length back into his pants and mumbled his short reply, a correction. “‘S Mikey.”

Snow began to fall in time with your tears. You drew your coat closer, and turned your back to him. “I’m going home.”

—

“Besides work, how’ve you been feeling?”

“I don’t know, just extremely tired all the time. But what else is new, y’know?”

“And how’s your love life?”

“This is your way of asking if I’m still sleeping with Michael.”

“Well, are you?”

You let out a scoff as you adjusted your position on the couch. Your therapist, Deborah, watched you with knowing eyes as you sat against the arm of the couch, offhandedly pulling a throw pillow into your lap. Your index finger wrapped endlessly around the fringe as you carefully mulled over your words. “Well, I haven’t relapsed in almost a year and a half.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “Also not what I asked.”

“Okay, I’m still seeing him. Or, sleeping with him.”

“So, it’s not a relationship?”

“No.”

“Do you want it to be?”

You paused. You thought about the possibilities of what could have been — of what once had been. Dates, family dinners, shared apartment. Maybe you’d have gotten married and had kids. You’d have brought them up to be better, to break the cycle of whatever crazy shit made you both the way you were. But you also had to accept who he was.

You replied, “No.” It was a lie, and Deborah knew that, but you played it off anyway.

She leaned forward, setting her notepad down and resting her elbows on her knees. “Is he still using?”

You nodded reluctantly, “He says he’s not. And he hasn't been high around me since the, uh, Christmas dinner thing last year. But I’ve seen it… pill bottles lying around. Prescriptions that aren’t his.”

You trail off, once again running through what might have been. Would Michael still be sober if you stayed with him? Were you the only thing keeping him from losing his mind? Were you to blame? Your finger slowed around the fringe, heart aching in your chest.

Deborah gave you a cautionary look, like she could read your mind. “Stop it.”

You sighed, “But what if—”

“Michael is a grown man. His sobriety is his responsibility, and his alone. Just like yours.” She repeated the same words that she did almost every session, reminding you that you were not at fault. “I know it hurts, and it’s okay to let it, but you cannot blame yourself for his decisions.”

“I just- I miss him. How he used to be. But if this is all I can get…” You feel pathetic for even admitting it, but it was the truth.

Deborah watched you carefully, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but advise you. You were going to see Michael whether it was a good idea or not. So she figured you should know what you’re really getting into. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you know what codependency is?”

Your brow furrowed, “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s when two people depend on each other in an unhealthy way. Usually, one person learns to placate the other, keep them calm, while the other person continues unhealthy behaviors because they know their partner will be there to help them when it gets too bad.”

“Okay, I see where you’re going here. It’s not healthy for me—”

“It’s not healthy for either of you.” She clarified. “I know you love Michael. And I’m sure he loves you as much as he can. But I think the best way for you to help him and yourself — if that’s what you want to do — is to stop enabling him.”

Stop enabling him.

That’s all you could think about for the rest of the session. Those three words terrified you. How would he react if you put your foot down, if you said this needed to stop? What if he never spoke to you again? You loved him, the man that put your heart back together when it was in a million shattered pieces. You were lost, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Twenty minutes later, when you left your therapist’s office, your phone dinged with a text. It was Michael, as usual;

u busy tonight? wanna see u.

And of course, you gave in. But not without thinking up a plan. You took a deep breath and typed out your reply:

meet me in the parking lot off fourth street at 7:30. wanna take u somewhere.

And you tried to hold out, you really did. But no sooner than you arrived, Michael’s lips were on your neck, sucking and licking, making it hard to think. Before you could even remember Deborah’s warning, you were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows as you bounced up and down on his cock. “‘M gonna come!” You warned him.

“Go on, sweetheart.” He encouraged with a groan, strong hands plastered flat against your sweaty back. “Tight cunt’s gonna pull the come right outta me.”

“Fuck, ‘m coming, Mikey!” You whimpered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His hands gripped your hips, grinding you down on his cock to ride out your orgasm. Your clit bumped deliciously against his pubic bone, and your walls clamped down even tighter, throwing Michael headfirst into his own orgasm.

“Holy- oh my god, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby.” He moaned, throwing his head back. His hips pushed up of their own accord, his thick cock twitching inside you as he shot his come as deep as he could go. He brought one hand down on your ass as you thrusted weakly against him. “That’s it, sweetheart, get every drop.”

You rested your weight on him, your sweaty forehead against the leather headrest. You both took a silent moment to catch your breath, regroup after the explosive sex you always seem to have. Turns out, even with all your disagreements, the attraction never stopped. His hands rubbed up and down your back, almost lulling you to sleep until he pressed his fingertips a little harder, and a moan passed through your lips, eyes shooting open. Michael chuckled deeply and kneaded at that spot, “What was that?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” You admitted, tension rolling away as he worked at the knot. “My back has been killing me lately.”

“Work?”

“Maybe, but ‘m not sure. Just hurts sometimes.”

“Lucky for you, you got your own personal masseuse.”

You snorted, “My hero.”

His hand smacked against your backside playfully, making you jolt on his lap with a giggle. He laughed along with you, “Watch that tone, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, laughter dying down as your eyes haphazardly scanned the ledge of the back window. And next to an empty cup, you saw a piece of paper. A prescription made for Natalie Berzatto.

And it hit you like a train. You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to either of you. You couldn’t keep taking the best parts of him and ignoring the fact that he needed help. And he couldn’t expect you to be around at his beck and call forever. The time for playing pretend was over — you needed to take a real step for the both of you.

You swung your leg over his lap and sat next to him, scanning the car floor for your panties. “Get dressed. I still have somewhere to take you.”

“You kidnappin’ me, baby?”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t go willingly.”

Minutes later, you were walking into a nearby building. The entire walk, he asked and asked where you were taking him, but you never answered, merely saying it was a surprise. When he walked in, and his eyes fell on the folded chairs set in a circle, his smile dropped. Without another word, he turned around and walked out.

“Michael, wait!” You were close behind, following him back outside into the hot, sticky summer night. “Just listen to me, okay?”

“So- so you think ‘cause you’re sober now you can do whatever the fuck you want, is that it?” He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I told you I wasn’t fuckin’ using anymore!” He yelled at you.

“And I know that you are!” You snapped back. “I’ve seen the empty pill bottles, Michael. All the prescriptions that are never in your own fucking name. I’m not stupid!”

“Stupid enough to keep comin’ back!” He spat at you. “W-what changed, huh? Is it the therapist? ‘Cause before her, you were happy to just fuck me and leave, pills be damned.”

“Oh, fuck that, Michael.” You laughed humorlessly, pushing at his chest. “You are not doing that anymore, being a dick to me because you can’t accept the truth.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what would the truth be, sweetheart? Fuckin’ enlighten me.”

“That you’re gonna fucking destroy yourself if you don’t get help!” You shouted. Tears were filling your eyes at the thought, and you realized you weren’t even angry. You were desperate — desperate for him to do something, anything to help himself. “You- you push everyone that loves you away! Me, Richie, Carm—”

“You leave Carmen outta this.” He grumbled, looking away to avoid seeing the tears that fell down your face.

“Everyone that cares, everyone that tries to help, you just treat them like complete and utter shit because you don’t know how to ask for help! But you don’t have to fucking ask, Mikey — we’re offering! You just have to take it and do something before it’s too late!”

Michael was quiet, eerily so. There was a time when you would’ve been able to read him like a book, to say exactly what he needed to hear. But you couldn’t anymore. And that scared you.

You stepped forward with a sniffle, placing your hands on his biceps. You rubbed up and down in a way that you hoped was comforting. “Just one meeting. That’s all I’m asking.”

When he finally looked back at you, his chest tightened at the sight. Your beautiful eyes, filled with tears and a shimmer of hope that he might agree. And part of him wanted to. Some inkling deep down inside of him wanted to wipe your tears, take your hand, and march into that meeting determined to stay sober for the rest of his life. If only to settle down and make a life with you, one that he could be proud of.

But, as always, something stopped him. A small doubt creeping in, telling him he couldn’t do it. That he wasn’t capable of normality, that it wasn’t in his blood. He was drowning in sorrow and pity, and he was willing to accept that darkness — welcomed it, even. But what kind of man would he be if he dragged you under with him? He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head. Your hands slid up his forearms and stopped on his wrists with a desperate iron grip. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not going to that meeting, baby.”

“Mikey, please.” You begged. “I love you.”

“You can’t fix me.” He hoped you heard what he meant to say: I love you, too.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and responded in kind. It was gentle, melancholic, but it was his way of saying goodbye. His way of expressing the love that he could never quite show you in the way you deserved. But the love was there nonetheless, tearing at his heart until his chest was hollow, nothing left but the memory of you.

When he pulled away, he had to pry your hands off him and take a step back. He gave you a sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy your meeting, sweetheart.”

He turned around and walked away. A few tears escaped his eyes when he heard a heart-wrenching sob pass through your lips. He wiped them away quickly and tried to walk faster.

He was gone the next month.

—

“We’re closed!”

“Maybe you should lock the door then.”

You were still in your black dress and heels when you arrived at The Beef. No one knew where Carmy was, but you’d had an idea in the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you were right, but it only made sense that he’d be at his brother’s restaurant.

Well, at the restaurant his brother left him.

When Carmy emerged from the back, he stared, his eyes red from crying. “How’d you know I was here?”

You shrugged, “This is usually where I’d find him too.”

“Yo, please, please don’t come in here with that sentimental bullshit, alright?” He said, his tone sharp and mean. “If I wanted to hear about how great he was, I would’ve gone to the funeral.”

“You should’ve been there anyway. He was your brother.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Carmen, I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back to the kitchen, and you followed close behind. “What did you come for then?”

“We’re going to a meeting.”

Carmy kneeled on the floor, next to a bucket of soapy water and a wet rag. He picked it up and wrung it out with a grunt. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you prefer NA or AA?”

He was scrubbing at the same dirty spot that he had for the last hour and a half, but your question made him pause. He looked up at you in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “Excuse me?”

“There are two NA groups I know of, but only one AA, and it starts soon so—”

“Y’know, you’re the addict here, not me.”

“Which is exactly how I know you need to go to a meeting.”

He was seething, an angry red steadily creeping from his neck to his face, one prominent vein bulging in his forehead as he shouted at you. “Goddamnit, I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ Al-Anon meeting! I’m just grieving, alright?!”

“Carm—”

“No, fuck that. The whole reason I didn’t go to the funeral is so I wouldn’t be around that bullshit! You know how Ma gets, and without Mikey here to fix it…”

“Michael was never gonna fix your mother.”

“Right, ‘cause he was too busy trying to fix you.” Carmen let out a harsh chuckle. “‘I’ll call you back, my girl needs me. Hold on, my girl is on the other line.’ Instead of fixing his restaurant, or-or helping his mother, he was making sure you were on the right track. Making sure you don’t relapse.”

Your heart stopped. Your blood burned. You wanted to let loose on him then and there. Yell and shout and cry about how Michael could barely fix himself, let alone you. You wanted to tell Carmen that it was you who desperately tried to fix Michael, make him sober, turn him into the man you knew he could be. Or at least, the one you believed he could be. The man Carm thought he was.

It baffled you how the entire family managed to hide the fact that Michael was an addict from Carmy. But it was a group effort, a last ditch effort to give him the big brother he’d always wanted, the one he remembered from his childhood. He was truly blind to Michael’s true nature, but you knew it was partially because Carmy had his own thing going on. You could see it behind his eyes — it was the same look Michael got before he did something self-destructive.

Instead of yelling or screaming like you wanted to, tears filled your eyes. You knew from experience the Berzatto men could be mean, especially under pressure, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Unlike earlier in the day, you couldn’t hold them back. Tears fell freely down your cheeks.

But unlike when his older brother spat unkind words your way, Carmy didn’t try to distract you from it or talk his way out of it. No, his face dropped when he realized the severity of his words. He watched as your knees buckled beneath you, moving across the floor to catch you once an ugly sob wretched its way past your lips. He held you as your body shook with the emotions that you’d been ignoring all day. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay?”

You don’t know how long you cried. You just sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left, until you felt completely and utterly empty. Luckily, Carmy helped you sit on the floor. He sat next to you, both your backs against the dishwasher. It creaked loudly under your combined weight, and you sat up. “Sorry,” You croaked out. “Should I not lean on that?”

Carmy chuckled quietly and drew his knees up, resting his forearms atop them. “Piece of shit doesn’t work, don’t worry about it.”

The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you leaned back and wiped away your tears. “Good. For me, I mean. Sucks for business though.”

His smile faded away as he watched you wipe your tears. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the fact that he’d been so mean, that he’d made you cry. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t the only reason you broke down, but he didn’t like that he piled on. He called your name softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Carm, it’s ok—”

“It’s not.” He shook his head, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You were right. Michael couldn’t fix Ma’s problems. And you didn’t need him to fix yours. He was lucky to have you.”

A sigh passed through your lips, and for the first time in a long time, tension rolled off your shoulders. “He loved you, Carmen.”

He fought back a sad smile, “He loved you, too.”

You paused, tears of grief filling your eyes before you remembered what you came for. You took a deep breath and wiped at your cheeks. “I need to show you something.”

His brow furrowed, turning a bit to face you, resting one leg on the ground. “What?”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled off the case. You lifted the strip of film from your rubber case, handing it to him. “This is why I need to go to an NA meeting tonight. Figured you could go with me.”

A hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, Carmy let out a single quiet sob as he stared at the two black and white ultrasounds. “Is it…?”

You nodded, “They are.”

“They?”

“Turns out, you can’t forget to take birth control for even one day. I thought taking two the next day might help, but here we are.” Chuckling quietly, you wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall once more. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to replace Mikey or be their dad or anything. It would… y’know, just be nice not to do this by my—”

“Woah, hey,” He stopped you with a shake of his head, not even wanting you to think like that. “You’re family, period. Have been since Michael brought you home. And always will be. Alright?”

Finally, a sliver of hope. You smiled, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He handed the photos back to you gently, as if one wrong move would ruin them. Then, he stood on his feet, wiping a hand over his face and taking a deep breath. He offered his hand. “Now, come on. I’m taking you to your meeting.”

#michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear smut #sorry in advance for this one lol

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astroloverblog · 1 year

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astrology observations part. 3

💫 HIGHLIGHTS: Pisces Moon, Lilith in 3rd/4th/5th/7th/10th/11th, Capricorn Moon/Rising, Mars in Aries/Taurus/Scorpio, Venus Opposite Moon, Pluto Sextile Asc, Gemini/Libra/Leo Rising, Aries/Aquarius Venus, Saturn in 3rd/12th, Sagittarius & earth signs in big 3‘s, Jupiter in 11th, Fama (408) Conjunct Jupiter, Industria (389) in 2nd, Rahu in Leo & Ketu in Aquarius

Use Rising Sign:

introverts: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces, Capricorn, Taurus, Virgo

extroverts: Aquarius, Libra, Gemini, Leo, Aries

ambiverts (both): Sagittarius

☂️ Scorpio & Sagittarius are a good example for understanding the deeper meaning of life with questions like “Why am i here?” “What is my purpose?” etc. They often question the meaning of life.

☂️ 8th house Gemini always talking about sex but are rather interested in the mental side of the relationships instead of the sexual. Tendency to black-white thinking.

☂️ Mars in Taurus love when you kiss their neck, they have a high sex drive and their possessions are the most important thing for them. Buy them necklaces.

☂️ Lilith in the 3rd house people tend to steal, cheat, lie or fake documents. Always fighting with their siblings.

☂️ Venus Opposition Moon have complicating relationships, more the type for one night stands. Its hard to cooperate with them because their needs are quite the opposite of what they feel. You have high expectations of your partner. Maybe try loving yourself first before loving others.

☂️ Gemini Risings fall for anyone who‘s funny, they need partners that are charismatic and relatable. They smile a lot when their lover is around. Their first thought in the morning is usually; „Where is my phone?“

☂️ Lilith in the fourth house have a challenging relationship with the family or mother, might be someone with toxic roots.

☂️Taurus 5th house ppl love collectables like funko pop figures, trading cards or even collecting video game consoles.

☂️ Moon in Pisces can easily isolate themselves from others when they feel the need to. They have a strong passion for singing, dancing, comedy, art or any other talent. Interested in deep & meaningful conversations.

☂️ Mars in Aries loveeee dominating in relationships (especially in bed🤌) They love dramatically and if you mess with them you’ll always get it back. They always fight back. Might have a uncommon taste in music, food, fashion, etc.

☂️ Lilith in the 5th house have selfish pleasures, might struggle with addictions or a hurt inner child.

☂️ Lilith in the 7th house have difficulties with relationships, might be manipulative, could attract toxic partners and enemies.

☂️ Capricorn Risings come off mature & when they get compliments they might compliment back. Normally very popular especially in high school, they smile a lot. Like to take many pics of themselves.

☂️ Lilith in the 10th have compromises at work and a complicated public image. They can be harsh towards their co-workers.

☂️ Pluto Sextile Ascendant like to be with ppl one-on-one instead of being in a group full of people. Might be explorative of the taboo areas of sexuality, especially domination, whips, leather, etc. (Fifty shades of grey, that‘s all i‘m saying🤭)

☂️ Capricorn Moon are the ones annoying everyone and at the same time feel annoyed by everyone. (If that makes sense lol) Its giving ENTJ personality type. They never know how they feel, their mood can go up and down. Hate when people talk behind their back, feels like everyone betrays them.

☂️ Lilith in the 11th you might have obsessions about the future, your friend group can have a bad influence on you.

☂️ Libra Risings struggle the most deciding what to wear, they always say smth like “I have nothing to wear” when their closet is a whole mall shop of clothing. They can easily get offended by others opinions since they’re sensitive & can’t handle criticism very well. They love following fashion trends.

☂️ MC in a fire sign gives leadership abilities and big chances of huge success in their career. They need a job that motivates them and usually know exactly what kind of job they want.

☂️ Mars in Scorpio are somehow really into playing the drums. Females with this placement could be „tomboy“ like, since this Mars is more masculine.

☂️ Is there a specific reason that especially people with earth signs in their big 3 are interested in fantasy fiction including; harry potter, lord of rings, star wars and so on?

☂️ Saturn in the 3rd are normally the type who hates small talk, has a small social circle & usually avoids going to parties. Might also prefer texting instead phone calls or facetime.

☂️ Venus in Aries love jewellery especially earrings or rings in general. Buy them any jewellery as long as it suits their skin tone.

☂️ Rahu in Leo & Ketu in Aquarius start listening to your heart instead of your head. Avoid being emotional detached and let go of the habit having to „fit in“.

☂️ Venus in Aquarius may appear shy at first, but deep down they are extroverted. They fall for intelligent, unique and independent lovers. They might not show that they care, but deep down they do. They seek pleasure in business or technology.

☂️ Venus/Mars in Scorpio its important for you to understand your deeper emotions and know what you want. You are charismatic and fall for emotional intelligence & for dynamic and powerful partners.

☂️ Fama (408) Conjunct Jupiter is such a important indicator for getting famous one day, even in persona charts. Having this placement in of your persona charts (check your dom planets & their persona charts) can be so important too.

☂️ Venus in Aries (again) are impulsive at love, the relationship gotta be exciting or they‘ll loose interest/feelings quick. Give them a reason to stay with you, winning their heart over is not easy at all. Check on them 24/7 or else you make them feel unworthy or unloved.

☂️ Leo Risings are such people pleasers (at times) but they are always attracted to popular people or ppl that are unique, really open and playful.

☂️ Industria (389) in the 2nd house can make it look so easy to make money, even when they get fired and loose their job, they still find a way making money. Although they never run out of money, ever.

☂️ The 12th house can show what you lack the most. For ex. Taurus in the 12th: lack of trust, security, stability. Cancer in the 12th: lack of kindness, empathy, a home, emotions. Saturn in the 12th has a tendency to self harm.

☂️ Sagittarius in the big 3‘s or having Sagittarius 9°, 21° degrees makes someone have the best. humor. ever. Showing comedy tv shows or anything associated with comedy is their absolute favourite thing to do. guys I‘ll recommend minions on this one.

☂️ Saturn in the 12th house individuals biggest fear might be dying alone. They often feel guilty and might be artistic or at least have writing skills. They could have wanted to kill themselves before or even tried doing it.

☂️ Jupiter in the 11th house if Jupiter is weak, the natives tend to overeat and overdrink & can easily get addicted to alcohol. If Jupiter is well aspected, they are blessed with good-looking partners and a happy marriage.

sorry it took me so long to make this post, I’m so proud of you guys we almost made it to 600 followers! :P

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wishcamper · 3 months

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Nesta, Interrupted: gendered perceptions of alcoholism in ACOSF

CW: addiction, sexual assault, gendered violence.

Creds: I’m a licensed counselor with a degree specialization in treating addiction. I have career experience with multiple modes of mental health, trauma, and substance use treatment in women-specific carceral, institutional, and healthcare settings. And I know anyone can come on the internet and say that, but I pinky promise.

The short version:

ACOSF stigmatizes alcoholism in line with cultural standards.

Western culture feels differently about female and male alcoholics due to systemic sexism, and thus treats them differently.

Women’s experience of alcoholism is often compounded by or even a result of systemic factors and intersectional identity.

Nesta’s treatment in ACOSF, while repugnant, is in many ways very accurate of attitudes today.

(I’ll be using “women/men” and “male/female” to denote cis afab and amab people. Little research exists on the experiences of queer, nonbinary and gender expansive considerations in addiction and recovery, which is a fuckin’ shame. Studies are also largely conducted with white participants due to enormous barriers to treatment for Black, Indigenous, and people of color, so this convo is inherently incomplete where it neglects those intersections.)

Okay, first things first: ACOSF is a book that stigmatizes alcoholism. I will not be taking questions.

The number one thing to understand is that in America, land of Miss Sarah, we are very bad at addiction treatment (tx). Why? Because our culture hates addicts has as stigma around addiction. And female alcoholics bear a very specific set of stigmas based in their identity.

In Susanna Kaysen’s memoir Girl, Interrupted , Kaysen’s character is institutionalized following a non-fatal suicide attempt. When evaluated, she’s diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, that bastion of diagnoses perfect for people (75% of whom are female-identified) who don’t fit into our polite definition of functioning. As the book unfolds, she reflects on how (white) women are often pathologized when they buck against systems of oppression that create the dysfunction in them in the first place. That is not to say other women in the institution are not genuinely in need of help, nor that mental illness in women is always from a systemic wound. But it’s crucial in the treatment of female addiction and mental health disorders to considered the systemic factors of gendered violence and patriarchy, and the attitudes we hold about women who struggle with drinking.

Think about female alcoholics in media. If she’s young, she’s a loose, reckless sl*t looking for trouble and deserving of the reality check when she finds it (Amy Schumer in Trainwreck, Lindsay Lohan in general). Or if the woman are older, they are discarded, or gross, or pathetic, or evil like anyone Faye Dunaway played or Eminem’s mom in 8 Mile (deep cut lol). Men are afforded a much larger spectrum of experiences and struggles - Ernest Hemingway, Leaving Las Vegas, Sideways, the dude from A Star is Born, Frank from Shameless (brilliant), frat boys, blue collar workers, introspective tortured artists, fucking IRON MAN. I could go on forever, but I hope that illustrates the depth and diversity of male-centric stories of alcoholism not often afforded to women.

One of the most empathetic and accurate portrayals of female alcoholism, in my opinion, is in the show Sharp Objects (the book, too, but actually witnessing it makes a difference). We see Amy Adams’ Camille swig vodka from an Evian bottle while fending off vicious, veiled attacks from her verbally and emotionally abusive mother and experiencing flashbacks of teenage sexual assault. We watch her struggle to find emotional safety in her conservative hometown, both wanting to fit in and get out in order to survive. We GET why she drinks and I have trouble blaming her for it even as she wreaks havoc on herself and others. We can see her clawing just to make it out alive, and alcohol is the tool she’s using to do it, for better or worse.

Which is where Nesta enters the chat. When we get our first glimpse of her alcohol use is ACOFAS, it’s portrayed as something everyone knows about but that she’s still mostly keeping it together - her dress is clean, her hair is neatly braided, she doesn’t need a chaperone to show up to a family event. The deterioration between ACOFAS and ACOSF is alarming, and we know that alcoholism is a progressive condition so that tends to happen. Was there a particular trigger? That’s hard to say. Solstice certainly didn’t help, especially with the pressures to perform and conform to the standards of the Inner Circle aka the people in power. I imagine seeing her sisters bouncey and reveling in the world that stole them and killed their father was probably.. tough, to say the least. The barge party seems to be a turning point as well, though this one is more confusing to me. But given the child abuse, extreme poverty, sexual assault, kidnapping, bodily violation, witnessing her father’s murder, almost dying, WAR - and that’s not even to mention essentially becoming a refugee - it would be amazing if she DIDN’T drink. She 100% has complex trauma, and is looking for ways to cope.

No one with full capacity dreams of becoming an addict when they grow up. Addiction, in my professional and personal experience, is largely a strategy for coping with a deeper wound. People don’t drink to feel bad. They drink to feel good, and to survive. Nesta herself is drinking to survive, but it’s having the unfortunate side effect of killing her at the same time. As she slides into active addiction, the thought of her own death may even be comforting, and alcohol in that way is her friend. (There's some interesting research right now framing addiction as an attachment disorder, but I don't know enough to speak on it much.)

So she obviously needs help. That’s not a debate. What is a debate is how the IC should best go about intervening. A variation on the Johnson method is used in ACOSF (the one from the show Intervention) and appears to be successful only because they threaten her if she doesn’t comply. This method has mixed data to support it, and while it’s very good at getting people into tx, there is a higher relapse rate for those who receive it (1). The “family” gathers and tells her the ways she’s hurt them and tell her the consequences if she doesn’t seek the help they’re offering. And again, so many of their reason are the effects on THEM, how she’s making THEM look, not her pain.

The IC’s ignorance and dismissal of her alcoholism in ACOSF is frankly mystifying. Why do they intervene on all the drinking and sexing, anyway? It seems like they’ve been fine enough with it up to this point. But now it's gone too far, not because of her illness but because she is embarrassing them. And I don’t know about you, but between Cassian apparently fucking half of Velaris and Mor’s heavily documented emotional drinking, that’s hard to square. It makes it feel much more likely that they don’t like the way she is coping, that she is not fitting into their picture of who she’s supposed to be. This picture is inherently gendered, because Prythian society and those who live in it have explicit and implicit expectations of gender roles, whether they’ll admit it or not. Cassian and Mor are playing their roles well; Nesta is not.

That leads me to believe it is NOT all about her, but the systemic and internal factors influencing their perception of her and the ways she’s struggling. It’s distasteful to them for her, a female, to be deteriorating this publicly, despite the fact that her very identity makes it harder for her to function in the patriarchy of Prythian. We hear almost exclusively about sexual violence against women, aside from 2 male characters. Past or present assault of women is a major plot point on multiple occasions (Mor, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie, Rhysands mom and sister, the lady of autumn, Cassians mom, Azriels mom, I could go on). But something about the way Nesta is contending with that is unacceptable, and I believe it’s because she’s not trying to cover up her dysfunction. In prythian, we keep these things hidden- Mor’s assault is never processed in full, Azriel’s mom seems to be alone at Rosehall, priestesses are literally hidden inside a mountain for centuries. Women process trauma alone and in the dark, but Nesta is in the light and she is loud. She is refusing to hide her problems, and the IC don’t like that, whether they realize it or not.

So why don’t the IC understand this? Like I said earlier, as a culture we hate addicts, or what they stand for, in very much the same way I think we hate people experiencing homelessness. We convince ourselves it was a series of bad choices that led someone where they are, choices we would never make because we are smart, smarter than them. We believe are more in control than that. We can prevent bad things from happening to us because we are good, because we are better than whoever it’s happening to. But the reality is almost ALL of us are one hospital stay away from homelessness, just as all of us are one trauma away from addiction. And with female addicts, we have another layer of expecting women to only struggle nicely and quietly, or to go away. Intersectional factors are at play here, too: white women are much more likely to have alcoholism attributed to mental health and trauma factors, where people of color often suffer the same addiction being more associated with crime. You can imagine how that plays out differently.

So what is the effect of all this? Gendered expectations lead to not only external stigma around addiction and tx, but also to internalized stigma which can limit willingness to seek tx. (2) Many social forces encourage women to drink and discourage them from telling anyone. Factors such as poverty, family planning, access to education, racial discrimination, and location can make services harder to access. Internally, women are more likely to enter treatment with less confidence in their ability to succeed, but report more strengths and more potential to grow recovery strengths during and following tx. For men, the pattern is reversed (3). And women have more successful tx episodes overall when gendered considerations are a part of the design and implementation of services (4). For Nesta, the effect is that she’s forced into treatment and copes by having hate sex with her ex and changing herself to conform to her family’s expectations while the House and the Valkyrie’s actually take care of her. I do not see how Sarah drew the line from there to recovery, I truly don’t. If anything, she recovers in spite of the ICs intervention, not because of it.

In summary, Nesta Archeron deserved better. Nesta deserved the same compassion the book gives to men who are struggling, and it’s a reflection of not just the book’s culture but the author’s culture that she doesn’t get it. Female alcoholics are worthy of treatment that integrates their identities, as those identities are often essential factors contributing to their addiction. What's shown in ACOSF is a reality many women live, and they shouldn't have to.

Barry Loneck, James A. Garrett & Steven M Banks (1996) The Johnson Intervention and Relapse During Outpatient Treatment, The American Journal of Drug and Alcohol Abuse, 22:3, 363-375, DOI: 10.3109/00952999609001665

Groshkova T, Best D, White W. The Assessment of Recovery Capital: Properties and psychometrics of a measure of addiction recovery strengths. Drug Alcohol Rev. 2013;32(2):187–94.

Best D, Vanderplasschen W, Nisic M. Measuring capital in active addiction and recovery: the development of the strengths and barriers recovery scale (SABRS). Subst Abuse Treat, Prev Policy. 2020;15(1):1–8.

Polak, K., Haug, N.A., Drachenberg, H.E. et al. Gender Considerations in Addiction: Implications for Treatment. Curr Treat Options Psych 2, 326–338 (2015). https://doi.org/10.1007/s40501-015-0054-5

#nesta archeron #pro nesta #alcoholism #mental health #sexism #acotar #acosf #stigma #rehabilitation #prythian university #sjm critical

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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year

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Congratulations on your milestone!

If it’s not too late, I’d like to request Spencer/Reader post prison with this lyric.

“You’re the cure, and your eyes have dug me out of my grave more times than I could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe me back to life - The Cure by The Movielife

Thank you.

Oh how I love post prison angst! And this was the perfect song for, thank you darling!

You’re the Cure

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary - you’ve always been the ray of light in Spencer Reid’s often dark life. But in the wake of his incarceration, can you be his cure?

CW - past drug addiction, past parental abandonment, mentions of Maeve arc, prison arc, emotionally distant Spencer, break ups, bad mental health, mentions of not eating and bathing, an almost relapse, heavy drinking, maybe one swear, tears, hopeful ending.

WC - 4.4k

Spencer Reid had never seen himself as someone who needed saving. Being forced to grow up at ten years old when his father abandoned him and his sick mother, had a way of instilling in him that when things went wrong, he could only rely on himself.

His drug addiction only went to further perpetuate the notion that he was on his own. Even when his brain was muddled by the dilaudid he knew his team was aware of what was going on and not a single one of them ever said anything.

So Spencer got used to fending for himself, keeping his emotional issues internalised. He loved his friends but he learnt not to count on them. As such he made a habit of keeping his cards close to his chest, never letting anyone in fully.

Spencer Reid could only truly depend on one person and that was Spencer Reid.

But then he met you.

You admittedly joined the BAU at the worst possible time. Spencer was off work while he dealt with the grief of losing Maeve and he heard all about you through stories from Garcia and JJ. Both women described you as a bouncy, happy-go-lucky, ray of human sunshine. And to be perfectly honest, that filled Spencer with dread.

It was one of the darker moments of his life and the idea of someone coming in and trying to force their light onto him was the last thing he needed. Spencer liked to deal with his trauma by wallowing in it on his own, he didn’t need other’s trying to cheer him up, to drag him out of the shadows. He wasn’t looking for someone to try and make it better, to take his pain away.

And then you showed up and you breathed him back to life without even realising you were doing so.

From the moment he met you he had instinctively gravitated towards you, like you were magnets of opposing poles who were inherently drawn to one another. But his wounds caused by Maeve’s death were still so raw that he wasn’t in a position to open his heart up again.

So the two of you fell into a wonderful friendship, probably the best one Spencer had ever had in his life. You were the light to his dark, the sunshine on his cloudy day. You were the first sip of coffee in the morning, the crisp pages of a new book. You were his favourite song.

You were his cure.

The whole team joked about the two of you, often referring to you as work husband and wife. Truthfully what you had was essentially a romantic relationship minus the intimacy. And at some point Spencer found the scars start to heal and his heart began to open up again without his realising.

Almost two years after you joined the team, when Spencer kissed you for the first time, it was like the most natural thing in the world.

You’d been leaving work together one night and you offered him a ride home like always but somedays Spencer enjoyed taking the metro to clear his head after particularly long days.

He walked you to your car nonetheless and as you were saying goodbye he leant in and kissed the corner of your mouth as though it was something he did all the time. And then he kissed you again, this time directly on the lips and the strangest part of it was how it didn’t feel strange at all.

You never talked about what it meant but you didn’t need to. The next time the two of you went to the movies he slid his hands in yours as you walked towards the theatre. He spent the night with his arm protectively around your shoulders while you snuggled against him.

And outside of your door after he walked you home, he kissed you again, this time much more passionately. You’d subsequently invited him in and the two of you finally took your relationship to a whole new level.

You never defined your relationship per se. Somewhere over time Spencer started referring to you as his girlfriend and it was just so simple.

Your relationship had grown and blossomed as though it was the easiest thing in the world, like you’d always meant to be together. Up until he’d met you, Spencer’s life had been full of complications but you were the least complicated thing in the world.

You were the full stop to the end of all his paragraphs, you banished all the darkness from his life. You were the cure for everything that ailed him.

But then he was arrested.

Being locked in a cage for two and half months for a crime he didn’t commit brought all those demons out of the shadows that you had chased away with your light. He was sure even your sunny aura couldn’t bring him back from this.

And after his release, he started shutting down.

It started in small ways, ones in which you didn’t even really notice at first. Conversations became more one sided, his casual touches were few and far between. Then he started leaving for work earlier and earlier and you started getting used to waking up alone in an empty bed.

During his stints of mandatory leave from the BAU you barely saw him and you knew that was by design. It became apparent that he was avoiding you, pushing you away along with the rest of the team.

But you weren't the rest of the team. You were his partner, you shared a home together; a life together. You were once able to pull him out of any hell he was going through without even really trying. But this time he seemed so lost you worried he’d never find his way back to you.

Even when he was home, mentally he was elsewhere. Perhaps he was still stuck inside a prison cell at Milburn, or maybe he was trapped in a perpetual nightmare that revolved around Cat Adams.

You tried to comfort him, to offer him a reprieve from his dark thoughts but after so many attempts you gave up trying. There was only so much you could do and to be perfectly honest, you didn’t think there was any way of freeing him from the clutches of his monsters.

Seven months after his release from prison, the two of you called time on your relationship.

You moved out of his apartment and in with Penelope as a temporary measure while you found your own place. You took an indefinite leave of absence from the BAU while you worked on piecing your life back together.

You didn’t see or speak to Spencer for several months that followed the break up. You made Penelope promise you not to tell you anything pertaining to him, it wasn’t your job to worry about him anymore. And even thought it killed her to do so, Penelope agreed to do this one thing for you.

Spencer had allowed himself to get swallowed up in the darkness and this time even your magnificent light wasn’t enough to cure him.

***

Three months after the break up you still felt just as fragile as you did the day you moved out of his apartment. Your heart had taken a beating, it was bruised and battered and it would take a long time for it to heal, you knew that. But after three months you thought you might have made some progress. Instead you were still stuck at square one.

You’d moved out of Penelope’s last month into a tiny little studio apartment not far from Dupont Circle. You hated it if you were honest, but it was better than continuing to put Garcia out by sleeping on her couch.

You hadn't been back to the BAU since the break up and had recently started looking for other jobs. You’d interview at the DC Field Office and were hopeful to get an offer, but it would be bitter sweet. You loved the BAU, you didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t work with Spencer again. Not with the way your heart shattered everytime you simply thought his name.

You were trying to move on, it was all you could do. But what you didn’t realise was Spencer living in a whole new level of hell.

***

The final nail in Spencer Reid’s coffin was when you moved out of the apartment. And what made it a harder pill to swallow was the fact it was his own fault you’d done so.

He’d thought he’d been protecting you by bottling up his emotions and not dragging you down into the pit created by his time in prison. He thought if he didn’t talk about it, it would go away. This was one thing you couldn’t shield him from, one thing he needed to work through on his own the way he’d grown so accustomed to doing before he met you.

But he’d pushed you too far, right out the door. And from there his life simply spiralled out of control.

He left the BAU, just up and quit one day without any warning. He knew it was terrible timing with you taking a leave of absence but he couldn’t stop himself. He woke up one day and decided he’d had enough.

For the months that followed he didn’t leave his apartment much at all. He wasn’t eating properly, wasn’t showering as frequently as he should and barely sleeping more than a couple of fretful hours a night.

To be alone with himself like this for eternity would be agony. Without you there to breathe him back to life his appetite for living died.

On one of his rare trips outside of the four walls of his tiringly lonely apartment, he brought a vial of dilaudid. He kept it in the middle of his coffee table for weeks, unopened, just as a reminder that he could take it if he wanted to.

But thankfully it never did come to that. Instead of getting high, a particular rabbit hole he may never find his way out of, he drank.

In actuality, it wasn’t much better and he knew that. Just because he’d never had a dependency to alcohol before didn’t mean he couldn’t develop one, clearly he was susceptible to addiction. But drinking was the only thing that helped numb the pain, aided in distancing himself from his tormented thoughts.

Without you the demons were able to sneak closer and he lived with them among the shadows. You were always the one to shoulder the brunt of his misery but now he had to face it alone because he’d pushed you away. The lightness in your heart that he had always envied was gone, casting him forever into blackness.

He needed you here, the cure when his thoughts turned to cyanide, when he was going out of his fucking mind.

He’d been drunk for more days straight than he could count and with each passing day the dilaudid grew more tempting. He moved it from the coffee table more often, rolling the vial around his hand, tapping his nails against it; contemplating the sweet release that would come with just one hit.

But it never would be just one hit.

The things he’d seen and done in prison haunted his every waking breath and seeped over into the small window of sleep he managed. He was never going to be the same after that experience, it had hardened him in a way he never realised possible.

It had created a shell around his heart, a solid armour snugly encasing the organ in order to protect himself from his own emotions. But ultimately it hadn’t just been himself his emotions had been locked away from.

In the seven months you stayed by his side after his release he hadn’t once been able to tell you he loved you. It only occurred to him after you walked away that he hadn’t said that to you since the morning he’d left for Mexico.

In seven months the most physical contact the two of you had was a few occasions when you’d dared to place a kiss on his cheek. You hadn’t kissed properly, hadn’t been intimate, hadn’t even so much as held hands since before he made the decision to go to Mexico.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about it. There were multiple times he’d almost initiated something, almost drawn you into his body when you were laying in bed side by side yet miles apart. But he always stopped himself.

The sad fact of the matter was: Spencer didn’t trust himself to be with you anymore. But in order to survive in prison he’d had to become someone he didn’t recognise and it wasn’t so easy for him to shed that new persona. And as if to really drive that point home, when he’d had Cat pinned against the wall with his hand around her throat, he knew he would never trust himself with you again.

The darkness was inside of him now, leaching into every pore. If he was the kind of man who could have killed Cat, or Scratch, and slept well afterwards, who’s to say where he would draw that line?

As much as he missed you with every strangled beat of his shattered heart, keeping you away from him kept you safe. And he only ever wanted you to be safe.

But without you, he may well meet his demise at the bottom of a bottle, or the bottom of a vial.

You were the cure. Your eyes have dug him out of his grave more times than he could ever count. You’ve always been the one to breathe him back to life.

And so maybe it was inevitable that he called you, perhaps it was a feat in itself that he’d managed months on his own. But when he found himself on his bathroom floor, half a bottle of whiskey clouding his brain and a needle full of dilaudid in his hand, the only thing that was going to stop his relapse was you.

He didn’t expect you to answer but he prayed you would. And maybe someone was looking out for him, maybe there was some kind of higher power smiling down on him because you answered after three rings.

“Spencer…” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke his name. Just those two simple syllables from your lips wrapped him in a blanket of your warmth.

“H-hi Y/N.” His own was hoarse, run down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud and it showed.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, heavy and thick as the hand holding the needle trembled.

“Did you…did you want something?” Your voice held the weight of the pain he’d cause you and made even more tears fall.

“Uh…” he stared at the needle, brushing his thumb along the plastic tube. This was so unfair of him. He couldn’t do this to you, drag you back into his mess like this. He knew if he asked you would come running in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t fair of him to ask. “It’s nothing. Forget I called.”

“Are you sure?” Your tone was riddled in concern.

“Y-yeah. Sure. V-very sure.” He stuttered, choking a little on his own tears.

Before you could reply he hung up the phone before he could change his mind and beg you to come and save him from himself. He tossed the device aside and focused on the needle. He leant back against the bathroom wall, pulling his knees up to meet his chest.

The cool tile on his bare feet was a nice repreve, but the dilaudid would be better.

His shirt sleeve was already pushed up to his elbow, the tie was already secured around his bicep. The needle was full, all he had to do was press it into his waiting vein and all of his problems would melt away.

But this was one grave he may never be able to dig himself out of. Once he relapsed there would be no going back, no getting sober this time. But his sobriety didn’t mean as much to him as it once had, and perhaps it was worth succumbing to his demons for a chance at peace.

***

Despite how hard he tried to sound like himself, it was easy for you to see through Spencer’s thinly veiled lie. And as much as you didn’t want to involve yourself anymore, you couldn’t help yourself.

Taking care of Spencer Reid came as naturally to you as breathing. You didn’t intend on doing it, and most of the time he didn’t need looking after. But you did it anyway in small, every day ways.

You did it in the way you made him coffee every morning before work. You did it in the way you ran your fingers through his hair after a stressful day. You did it in the way you grasped his hand when he needed something to ground him, when you offered him a soft smile of encouragement when he needed it.

He’d always called you his cure, as though you were the antidote to all the horrors in the world. He’d told you that your smile was the sweetest medicine, that your mere presence in his life was therapeutic.

So if there was any way you could help him, even after he’d pushed you away and caused you to leave, you would find it and you would do it. Which was why after he hung up on you, you were quickly jumping in your car and driving across town to the apartment you used to reside in.

The door wasn’t just unlocked but it was open a crack. Immediately your heart started to race and you were so glad you hadn’t officially quit the BAU yet and you were still in possession of your firearm.

Your hand shook as you pulled the weapon from your holster, nudging the door further open with your shoulder. You made quick work of taking in the room. It looked to be ransacked, like someone had broken in and turned the place upside down in search of something.

You held your breath as you silently started across the room, manoeuvring in and out of piles of debris left behind in someone's wake. You headed towards the closed bedroom door, gun pointing right ahead of you. You focused your hearing but thus far couldn’t make out any distinctive sounds.

Pushing open the door, you found the bedroom in much the same state as the living room. You tried not to allow yourself to get sentimental as your eyes swept across the unmade bed and you thought back to late nights and early mornings snug beneath those sheets with Spencer. The bed that was so big but you’d never know it as he always kept you as close as humanly possible.

The bathroom door, like the front door, was open a crack and a light pooled from inside. It was then you heard the sound of haggard breathing punctuated by loud sniffing, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to well and truly stand to attention.

As you listened to the unmistakable sounds of a grown man sobbing, you lowered your gun and tucked it back in your holster.

A deeply disturbed and troubled man had ravaged this apartment but it was not the work of some petty criminal. Spencer had turned his home into a reflection of his own tortured mind, you had no doubt.

You were somehow more tentative after you knew someone hadn’t broken in. You had never seen Spencer cry before, he always liked to put up a tough exterior, probably something to do with him being the baby of the BAU for so many years.

You’d seen him vulnerable, probably more than he’d ever let anyone else see him, but you’d never witnessed him with his walls stripped away completely. And honestly, the thought of it scared you a little.

But no matter how scared you were, despite how much he had hurt you, you pressed on.

You inched open the bathroom not wanting to startle him and found him on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest and sobbing into his knees. But the truly terrifying part was the vial and needle discarded at his side. A silk tie was fashioned into a tourniquet around his arm.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped, covering your gaping mouth with your hands.

He stiffened and slowly lifted his head from where it had been buried in the fabric of his slacks. His eyes were red rimmed and tears silently streamed down his cheeks. His hair drooped lifelessly onto his forehead and his face clearly hadn’t seen a razor in months.

He somehow looked even worse than when you visited him in prison.

“Why are you here?” His voice cracked and his words were slightly slurred.

“You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone. I needed to see you with my own eyes.” You heard the sadness in your own tone, unable to hide it.

“I’m not myself.” He exhaled a breath that sounded like he had been holding it in for years. “I haven’t been since prison.”

You swallowed, daring to take a few steps further into the bathroom. Spencer let his legs fall and stretch out in front of him on the linoleum and you slid down to sit next to him, the only thing separating you was the drug paraphernalia. As if reading your mind he exhaled again before he spoke.

“I didn’t take it.” He wouldn’t look at you, instead he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“Why are you slurring then?” You watched the side of his face. He clenched and unclenched his jaw several times.

“Whiskey. Not dilaudid. I swear.”

“I’ve never known you to drink.” Of course it was a relief that he hadn’t taken the drugs, but hearing that he was drunk wasn’t a whole lot better.

“I hadn’t had a drink in nearly ten years. I gave it up around the same time as I quit dilaudid, I guess I worried it would become one vice replacing another. But I needed something. And alcohol was the lesser of two evils.” He was still slurring but he was surprisingly coherent.

It didn’t surprise you in the least that Spencer could still string a logical sentence together when he was inebriated.

“Why did you call me, Spencer? Of all the people you could have called, why me?” You whispered as though you weren’t entirely sure you really wanted an answer to that.

He finally looked at you, glancing to his side with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip in contemplation for a moment or two as though formulating a carefully curated answer. But really, the answer was incredibly simple.

“Because you’re my cure.” He shrugged, his tears had dried up but the stains on his cheeks remained. “And right now I am in desperate need of remedy.”

“Spencer…” You sighed, your own eyes misting over with tears. “I was always here for you, you could have talked to me about anything but instead you shoved me aside and tried to deal with things on your own.”

“I’ve never been very good at asking for help. I’ve only ever been able to rely on myself. People leave. People aren’t reliable. But you…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You brought the kind of sunshine into my life I could only dream of. You have saved me in more ways than you will ever know. Your mere existence in my life has been more help to me than I can explain to you. That’s why I call you my cure, because it's the best way I can think to describe what you are to me.”

“I knew you would be different after prison, Spencer. No decent man can go through an experience like that and come out unchanged. But in your bones you are still the Spencer Reid I fell in love with.” You tried to tell him much like you had countless times in those torrid seven months. You hoped this time he might actually hear it.

“I’m really not sure that I am, Y/N.” He raked his fingers through his tangled hair with a meek shake of his head.

“I am.” You nodded. “I’m sure. Spencer, whatever you had to do inside was for your own protection. It was every man for himself and you did what you did to survive. And Cat…? After everything she’s done to you, I wanted to strangle the bitch too.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, looking a little like deer caught in headlights. He was gnawing on his bottom lip haphazardly as he stared at you.

“Really?”

“Yes, Spencer.”

“Do you really think I can come back from this?”

“Yes, Spencer.” You repeated, defiance in your voice. “And I’m going to help you. Whether you want me to or not. Because my love for you is stronger than the pain you caused me. I will be by your side, showering you in light until there is not even a sliver of a shadow for your demons to hide in. Let me be your cure, Spence.”

You reached out your hands towards him, palm upwards and fingers spread to create enough space for his own to slot between them. He glanced between your face and your hand a few times before his lip quipped up ever so slightly at the corner in a small smile.

And then he reached for you, his fingers finding those spaces between your own that always seemed like they were made intentionally to fit his. It was as though someone had crafted you both perfectly for each other.

Spencer had never been a believer in higher powers but it was the only reason he could fathom for how you had found him.

In a world consisting of nearly eight billion people, what were the chances of the two of you meeting? What were the odds of two perfectly imperfect people finding each other and slotting together in such an inconceivably faultless way?

As you sat there hand in hand, Spencer knew he would do anything to keep you by his side for as long as he lived. Even if it meant allowing you to see all his flaws, all his cracks. Because he was certain now you would love every one of his broken pieces.

You were the light casting away his shadows. You were the air being breathed into his lungs. You were the thread holding him together.

You were the cure.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n

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cookinguptales · 9 months

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I just keep thinking about the way that Silvia and Nandor mirrored each other in this episode. Both of them represented Guillermo's two families and how he's really failing them both.

Both Silvia and Nandor love Guillermo and know him well enough to know that something's up. They both know that he's distracted and self-involved and absent -- and won't tell them why. And it's hurting them both.

They're both starting to get angry.

Silvia and Nandor both get pieces of Guillermo that the other doesn't, and both treat him very differently, but... they're both very similar in this episode.

Like, Silvia rarely sees her son. He barely took any time to see her for thirteen years, even though they lived in the same city for most of it, and has missed at least three birthdays in a row. Then he suddenly starts wanting to repair their relationship. He's not just showing up at her house every so often or crashing on her couch in a depression for a week without telling her why. Now he's actively trying to be with her. Be there for her. He's giving her lavish gifts and making time to visit with her.

But even before that, she still loved him. She still supported him. Even now, she's happy for any scrap of attention he gives her. But... she's finally losing her patience with him in 5.05, and you can understand why. She's finally got him there at her birthday physically, but mentally he's not there at all. He's constantly on the phone, constantly ignoring her, didn't even bring a token gift. He keeps trying to make this night about him.

And her Guillermo has always been distant, has never been entirely honest with her about his life -- but he's never been cruel or selfish towards her.

Until now. So for the first time, he's truly disappointed her.

Then, on the other hand, we have Nandor. Nandor has always had all of Guillermo's time, but he's only started to have the emotional intimacy that Guillermo's shared with Silvia very recently. He's become addicted to it very quickly, though. He doesn't just enjoy Guillermo's attention; he's addicted to it. And he's come to really depend on him. He's become used to Guillermo being there for him, protecting him, hyping him up, getting him out of trouble. Loving him.

And now, like Silvia, he's coming to realize that his Guillermo is pulling away. And like Silvia, he doesn't know why. Silvia doesn't know that he became a vampire familiar 13 years ago, and Nandor doesn't know that he's been bitten by a vampire now.

Nandor has sort of been downgraded to where Silvia was for most of the series, hasn't he? He had all of this love and attention from Guillermo, and then he was very abruptly ghosted without any straight answer why.

But he's not like Silvia. He's not gentle and understanding and long-suffering. Nandor, like Guillermo, is fairly selfish. So while Silvia is only becoming disappointed with Guillermo now, Nandor's speedrunning it. lmao

Guillermo betrayed his biological family with his physical and emotional absence, but this episode showed that he's starting to do that to the vampires, too. And while we may laugh at the vampires' antics and it's harder to feel bad for them when Guillermo isn't there to clean up their messes, we understand keenly how badly Guillermo hurt his family by messing up his mother's birthday.

By the end of the episode, though, it's made really clear that to Nandor, the two feel like one and the same. It was an important event in his life and Guillermo, who promised to always be there for him when he needed him, was not. And he was deeply, deeply disappointed.

Compare Nandor's reaction here to his reaction in s2 with The Curse. (I could write an entire meta post just comparing those two episodes, lmao.) He would have liked Guillermo's help in The Curse and seemed a little cross that Guillermo was off "having fun" at a concert or something (read: killing vampires) but he was largely okay with figuring things out himself.

In Local News, though, he was constantly reaching out for his right hand, who was no longer there. Guillermo has become something reliable and depended on and necessary to Nandor -- and he's not here. While it irritated Nandor in The Curse, it seemed to actively hurt him in Local News. He felt betrayed by Guillermo's absence, just like Silvia did.

For both of them, though, it's not actually about physical distance. (Though that obviously bothers them, too.) It's about the emotional distance that Guillermo is putting between them. Guillermo might physically have come to Silvia's birthday, but he was emotionally a thousand miles away. Guillermo's physical absence was felt by Nandor, but it was that he wasn't there to depend upon emotionally that really seemed to fuck him up.

(Even though Nadja and Laszlo disagreed on methods, they both comforted and supported each other in a really scary time here. Nandor kept reaching out for that from Guillermo, but never got it. Ouch.)

So both Silvia and Nandor are getting this sense that they're not really important to Guillermo anymore, and that's killing them. Both of them are feeling abandoned -- and for Nandor in particular, who has several hundred years of abandonment issues, that's devastating.

Guillermo, for his part, doesn't seem to realize how much his actions are driving them both away. He's trying to have it all, but he's on the fast track to having nothing. He won't be a full vampire, he won't be a full slayer, he won't have his biological family, he won't have his vampiric family. He'll be all alone, and he'll have no one to blame but himself.

The vampires didn't make him forget his mother's birthday. The slayers didn't prevent him from helping the vampires. Guillermo is just prioritizing his own hopes, fears, and desires, and he's alienating everyone.

It's good to prioritize yourself sometimes, especially when you're a person like Guillermo who's always suppressed his own desires so he could fulfill others', but it's almost like he's swinging too far the other way now. He's letting down the people who depend on him, and he's hurting their feelings in ways that will be very hard to fix.

Guillermo has, up until now, been a very dependable person. Guillermo's mother couldn't depend on his presence, but she could depend on his love and care and kindness. Nandor couldn't depend on his openness, but he could depend on his presence and unconditional support.

But he's not dependable anymore, is he? And that really seems to have thrown both of them. They don't know what to make of this new Guillermo, but they don't like it.

They're both so, so disappointed in him.

And I think Guillermo is, too. : /

#tbh I could write an entire meta just about how this is tying into nandor's deep-seated fear of guillermo leaving him #which is worsened by the abandonment issues he's had since he was alive #but this one is already pretty long #wwdits #wwdits spoilers #wwdits meta #guillermo de la cruz

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jasontoddssuper · 6 months

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'Fanon is better than canon' Batfam stans are so transparent.Jason is a mentally ill man who shows all the ugliness that comes with brutal trauma,grew up poor,has a deep respect for women and is closest to the only black Batkid so ofc it's 'better' to erase his erase his symptoms and trauma responses because they're not pretty enough,make him a rich dudebro,have him be a stereotypical playboy who gives his female love interests backhanded compliments and insist that anyone BUT Duke is his favorite sibling to the point of bringing in non-DC characters because they're so desperate to replace him.Cass is a wasian girl who's butch and probably on the nonbinary spectrum,snarky even without talking,tougher than nails,has a hard time with her emotions and is brutal in fights so ofc it's 'better' to feminize her and take away her struggles with gender and all her massive amount of bite,make her soft uwu and sensitive,reduce her down to the Batboys' perfect therapist and prop and have her never hurt a fly

Tim is an autistic-coded teenage boy who's mom died when he was little and who's dad abuses him so he's a huge asshole in the same way most traumatized teenagers are and is canon bi so ofc it's 'better' to switch his autism traits for stereotypes,infantalize him instead of treating him like a person and having him own up to his faults so he can grow up in a healthy way and say he 'has a thing for blondes' in order to reduce his attraction down to apperances instead of personalities.Duke is a young black boy who's extremely troubled from his dystopia-like childhood and a rebel with impulsivity out the ass and a physical incapability to not run his mouth and has some of the coolest powers ever that he knows how to use well so ofc it's 'better' to write him like a fucking white boy,completely brush over all he's been through,turn him into a weak geeky softboy who's oh so scared by his much more interesting family's weirdness,have him be the 'token nice Batboy' and never EVER show his literal demigod heritage

Dick is a romani man who grew up too fast and is mean so often that it's as defining to him as his kindness is,has a darkskinned black woman as his soulmate who he's constantly talking about how much he loves and shows it just as much and is a multiple time SA victim who's triggered by being sexualized by strangers so ofc it's 'better' to exotify him even more than canon does,turn him into a doofus who's happy 24/7 and dosen't have a mean bone in his body,downplay his wife who's also one of his best friend's and has been since they met and replace her with your fave white girl or boy and transform him into a sex symbol to 'normalize casual sex' and 'for gender equality'

Stephanie is a young woman with an abusive father and a drug addict mother who always fought both emotionally and physically to keep herself kind and to do true justice,was a child genius,is super bubbly and femme and silly and unashamedly weird but also take no shit and has a huge mean streak and a hell of a punch instinct and acts like a mix between a big sister and a pseudo-mom to the kids she meets because she wants them to have the positive adult figure she didn't get to have so ofc it's 'better' to age her down to take away her agency,treat her like she's never been constantly mistreated and dosen't 'understand' childhood trauma,is just naturally the way she is instead of working her ass off for it,treat her like a dumbass,take away her all her nuance and feminist personality to make her just a quirky white girl and girlbossify her and pretend she's never been good with younger people and bullies them instead

Damian is a biracial brown boy who was raised as a weapon instead of a child,loves his mom despite her faults,has severe self-eestem problems in the sense that he both believes he's better than anyone else and that he'll never live up to their greatness,developed violence as a coping mechanism,can't socialize normally because he was never taught to and is very much a child so ofc it's 'better' to draw him with no features from his parent of color for your unfunny and overrated and overdone 'they all look the same!!!' jokes,make him hate his own mother who was the only person who gave him genuine love,call him a narcissist as an insult when it's an actual personality disorder which he most definitely is developing/will grow up to have and 'feral' for shit that Jason and Tim have pulled,transform his lack of social skills into him being emotionless and careless and treat him like he's grown either so you can bash him or simp for him

They say 'fanon is better than canon' because despite all the writings faults,the Batfam are still amazing and wonderful characters that so many minorities can easily relate to and see themselves in.And that dosen't sit right with them so they have to destroy all that to turn them into their perfect caricatures of what we're like and pass it off as 'happy family fluff'.It makes me sick to my fucking stomach

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toshidou · 1 year

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oddly specific british hcs . . .

characters // the 141 (simon "ghost" riley, john "soap" mactavish, kyle "gaz" garrick, john price)

an // don't ask me what this is, because i really don't have an answer for you. my brain just spat this out at me mid walk and for some reason i decided to post it here. i am so sorry.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

He's scared shitless of Year 7s, despite knowing full well that he was one of those little bastards when he was a kid. Not much puts the fear of god into him, yet something about a group of little shitheads who think they own the world has him crossing to the other side of the street at the sight of them.

Got suspended from school one time for stealing one of the dildo's from the RE classroom and supergluing to the seat of the kid who tried to bully him.

Got good grades at school. Not because he put in the effort, but because he stole all the exam answers from his teachers desk and spent the night before the exam memorising it all. "Work smarter not harder" was his motto.

Once got lost in a Primark. He was only looking for some cheap sleep wear, and ending up somewhere stuck between rows of Disney clothes and screaming children on leashes.

Has an unhealthy obsession with Monster energy drinks, he once drank so many in a row he went temporarily blind in his left eye. Still drinks them to this day.

John "Soap" Mactavish

He once had a full on mental breakdown in ALDI because the cashier was scanning things too quickly and he couldn't keep up.

Has started several fights in pubs because someone insulted Iron-Bru, both Simon and Price have had to drag him out of nearly all of them kicking and screaming garbled Scottish insults.

Used to dip his sherbet dib dab in dirt as a kid.

Once got in trouble in maths class for spelling "80085" on his calculator and laughing so hard he pissed himself.

The only time he laughed that hard again was when the Queen kicked the bucket. Price looked nothing short of disturbed.

If one more person comes up to him and yells "DISGUSTANG" in an exaggerated and shit Scottish accent, he's going to commit serial arson.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Went to private school, and gets bullied for it by the entire 141 as soon as they find out. They rib him even harder after they find out he was head boy.

Got invited to a night out in London by one of his rich acquaintances from school, which ended up being The Box. That night single-handedly gave him more PTSD than any mission he's ever been on.

Has personal beef with Percy Pig after he almost choked to death on one, and to this day he will never live it down that Ghost had to give him the Heimlich.

Has an unhealthy addiction to the Spice Girls. Sometimes he forgets he lives on a military base and still sings "Wannabe" at full volume in the showers. He's had to swear Soap to secrecy on numerous occasions.

His favourite Spice Girl is Scary Spice.

Captain John Price

His biggest guilty pleasure is listening to Take That. He'd first heard them first thanks to his mother being worryingly obsessed, and started mockingly singing along to their songs on brief phone calls from his barracks after he'd first joined. Little did he know that soon he too would unironically love their music. And yes, he cried when Robbie left the band. It's a secret he's taking to the grave.

Hates Waitrose with a burning passion, he once threw a fit over the price of a packet of peanuts and scared the middle-aged woman and her baby two aisles down.

Saw Gaz choking on a Percy Pig, and then proceeded to buy him every available Percy Pig related merchandise for Christmas.

Loves vinegar on his chips from the chippy, and when he found out the smell makes Soap gag, suddenly he loves his chips drowning in it.

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paperstorm · 3 months

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I am upset and I would like to talk about it.

The mother of one of my closest friends, a woman who is like an aunt to me, is going through an incredibly difficult time and has developed an alcohol dependency because of it. After many, many months her daughters finally convinced her to go see a therapist, and after a few sessions she was told “I don’t treat alcoholics, come back to me when you’ve stopped drinking.”

This is apparently something that is both common and completely legal. Something similar happened to me once, a psychiatrist told me “Just stop using, okay?” as if it was as easy as picking a different t-shirt to put on in the morning. It is so infuriating and heartbreaking how much both the general public and literal medical professionals misunderstand addiction. It is not something fun that people just do because they want to. It’s not something frivolous that people can just stop doing at any given moment.

Addiction is a symptom of broader mental illness. Always. Every time, in every case. It is not possible to have a drug or alcohol addiction if you don’t also have untreated mental illness. Addictions develop because a person’s needs are not being met. It is a coping mechanism, it is self-medicating. The idea that it’s something people could just choose to stop doing tomorrow if only they were stronger is killing people. The conceptualization of addicts as petty criminals rather than sick people in need of medical treatment is killing people.

Imagine going to a doctor because you have Covid and them telling you “I don’t treat people with coughs, come back when you’ve stopped coughing.” Without exaggeration, this is what mental healthcare workers are doing when they send addicts home with judgment and finger wagging rather than compassion and treatment.

I don’t know that with all the flowery language in the world I could overstate the harm that is being caused. It’s difficult for me to imagine this woman will ever be convinced to go back to a different therapist. I can’t wrap my mind around how this is okay, to have someone who is sick reaching out and asking for help, and a doctor telling them to come back when they’ve stopped daring to have symptoms of their illness. I lived despite this malpractice. So, so many addicts don’t.

#to put it in fandom context this is why I need people to be more gentle with TK #this is the kind of shit he is up against

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crucifiedbymypriestess · 18 days

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So while researching some things to start writing a fanfic, I found some things about Charles that I feel were not exploited enough. I also leave you some headcanons. Things written on "()" are just opinions. If something is wrong or you have any opinions, please comment, I need all the help possible before start writing sht.

•His mother was about to have twins, but apparently Charles was forced to kill her, so she was born, but died shortly after. (Which may lead Sharon to hate and blame her own son for her baby's death, but rather a distancing of Charles as her son. She may also have suffered postpartum depression. Honestly, we can exploit this more when writing fanfics. Like, I don't know, Sharon seemed unconvinced but tied to Raven because of it.)

•The mutants were not publicly known until the incident in Cuba in the 1960s, when Charles is 30s in the movie, but he manifest as a child of ten depending where you found the info. (Which may put Charles whose mutation is not physical at risk of being taken as a mentally challenged child, especially in the 1940s. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet, this is something I plan to do in my own fanfic. So Charles may have been treated with experimental or insulin therapy. He easily could be diagnosed with schizophrenia or smt.)

He may have mental health problems, depression and tendency to addictions.

Cain bullied Charles and Kurt may have not only indulged it, but I think he participated in it. Kurt was also abusive to Sharon.

•Charles was part of powerful groups due to his position as a millionaire.

Low level of telekinesis. YES, HE HAS IT OMFG.

Military training and fighting expert.

His dark side is one of the most curious things I've ever read, as he was not only capable (but didn't, I think. I didn't read enough) of it for his personal gain.

•Charles has other abilities, so I will list them all, and I will put the description of the most interesting ones.

•Telepathic Illusions, Telepathic Cloak, Mind Link (He has the ability to develop a mental link with any person which remains as a connection to that individual.), Telepathic Camouflage, Mind Blast, Mind Control (This power could allow him to completely shut down several people's minds, making it appear as if time has stopped.), Mind Possession: Xavier can possess the mind of another and use that being's body as his own.), Mind Alteration, Mental Amnesia, Psychic Wave Manipulation, Mental Shield, Psionic Blasts (Xavier can project psionic force bolts which had no physical effects but can affect a victim's mind so as to cause the victim pain or unconsciousness and could even kill an adversary.), Mental Detection, Mind Transferal (Xavier possesses the ability to transfer both his mind and powers into other host bodies if his own physical body was somehow killed☠️‼️‼️‼️‼️), Absorb Information, Telepathic Learning, Omnilingual, Astral Projection (Charles can use astral travel and communicate with others astrally through his own will, or through contact with the thoughts and memories of others and more.)

#cherik #charles xavier #xmen

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rriinnnie · 7 months

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reach you | suna rintaro x reader

bandau!guitarist! suna rintaro x singer!reader

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧

PROLOGUE

it’s in the middle of december when sixteen year old y/n encounters the nineteen years old suna rintarou for the first time. Two orphans who decide to start a band and eventually bond like family to overcome the shitty world they live in. As years goes by they come to the conclusion that they can’t live without one another anymore as they become one thing together - inseparable - to the point where it is too toxic.

However it seems like destiny has different plans for them as they have to saparate ways in order to achieve their dreams and goals.

Is their love strong enough?

Two hot headed people who face each other again after long 4 years. Now y/n is 20 and Rintaro, who is now 23, is the famous and handsome guitarist of NoMemories.

“Rin is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of - I am sure of one thing - his and mine are the same”

WARNINGS: smoking, use of drugs, swearing, toxic relationship, nsfw, sex, vulgar and strong language, rehab, addiction, anxiety, mental illness, depression

AUTHOR’S COMMENT: ATTENTION THIS IS NANA INSPIRED - MOSTLY REN AND NANA’S RELATIONSHIP - CUZ I LOVE IT SO MUCH SO SORRY IF THIS IS TOO SIMILAR TO THE ORIGINAL STORYLINE. BUT I WANTED TO CREATE A SIMILAR STORY WITH SUNARINN CUZ I NEED MORE STORIES OF HIM BEING IN A BAND

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧

~ CHARACTERS INTRODUCTION ~

y/l/n y/n is the lead vocalist of the popular punk band of Revival. Y/n is a tall/short young woman in her early twenties with long/short c/h hair. Numerous characters have stated Y/N as beautiful.

She’s kind hearted and devoted to her friends. However, after being abandoned by her family, she slowly develops abandonment issues which leads her to become quite selfish towards the people she loves - not wanting them to think about anything but her. She spent her childhood alone - refusing to be sent in an orphanage. Therefore she learns to take care of herself.

Despite insisting that she wants to be independent Y/N often turns to Osamu and mostly Eita for help.

In her teenage years she’s rebellious, intimidating and cold - often addressed as “cold princess” even in present time. This changes when Osamu breaks through her icy exterior and presents her to his childhood friends Rintaro and Eita, both grown into the same orphanage.

When she first lays eyes on Suna Rintaro, she feels mesmerized and captivated not only by his look - especially his bright olive eyes - but because of his talent. Therefore she finds herself accepting the offer to join the band - and this is where their love story begins.

Suna Rintaro is the popular guitarist of NoMemories. Before moving to Tokyo he was previously the guitarist for Revival. Ever since he was a kid he has always being called “the prodigy of music”.

Rintaro was an orphan who was abandoned right after his birth. Subsequently, he stayed at the same orphanage as Eita. After Semi was adopted, Rintaro frequently visited his friend, so much so that his foster mother offered to adopt him, an offer which he refused.

Later, he formed a band, Revival, with Eita as the leader and bassist, himself as guitarist, Osamu as drummer and Y/N as lead vocals. He also fell in love with her. However, despite the band being quite popular, he was offered to join NoMemories, but declined because of Y/N. With Eita convincing him, after a while he then joined Nomemories as their lead guitarist. As he left, he and Y/N tearfully broke up.

Rintaro is very handsome, has dark brown, slightly combed down hair, with few strands sticking out at the top of his head and middle-parted bangs. He has grayish-yellow narrow eyes.

Despite being popular he suffers from anxiety which is why he often relies on drugs to calm down - to the point where he becomes an addict. Eita feels responsible for it as he knew that Suna couldn’t live in this industry especially under people constant judgement and being followed by ossessive fans and paparazzi.

He was able to quit drugs for a few months but fell into the abyss of addiction once again.

Despite Eita, Osamu and his Nomemories’ bandmates awareness about his problem, he keeps Y/N in the dark - not wanting her to have a different view of him.

Semi Eita is the popular leader and bassist of Revival. He handles most of the band's business related matters. He is a long-time friend of Suna Rintaro, with whom he created Revival.

When he was little, both of his parents were killed in a car accident, and was therefore put into the same orphanage as Rintaro.

He is older than the others, and the only one of them who has higher education, so Osamu sometimes teases him by calling him "old man". Ever since he met Y/N, Eita has been an older brother figure for her and sometimes Osamu, and acted as Y/N’s "guardian". While he admits to being in love with her, he baits Rintaro to steal her from him in order to convince him to quit his addiction. However Rintaro says that Eita - since they were kid - has always let him have what ever he wanted - to the point that Semi had to give up on his feelings towards Y/N.

Eita looks after her in place of Rintaro, who can not.

Eita has thick and messy ash blonde hair with dark grey tips. His eyebrows are black, contrasting his hair. His eyes are brown and sharply shaped, and he's often seen with a small scowl on his face. He has a lean but muscular build.

Miya Osamu is the drummer of the popular punk band of Revival and was the only person able to befriend Y/N during high school — with whom he coincidentally began their shared love for punk music.

Osamu is a kind and caring guy, willing to stand up for people he cares for and for what he believes is right. He’s very friendly which is why he has a lot of friends. Especially he enjoys being around people who are different, unique, even strange. He is a curious person, who loves to seek out something new and unusual in the world.

He always cares for Y/N’s well-being and tends to have a sense loyalty towards her - resulting to be the first one to be able to stand most of Y/N's tantrums.

He also highly respects Rintaro and idolizes him - dreaming to be one day as good as him.

However when he discovers that Rintaro’s doing drugs again he feels powerless and scared to lose him.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧

EXTRAS:

- NoMemories memeber’s will be revealed soon

- Eita refers to Suna as Rintaro while Osamu calls him Sunarin

- Y/N refers to Suna as Rin

- they often call each other bastard, punk, fucker

- Rintaro loves to tease Y/N and often calls her “princess”

- when Revival reunites in Tokyo they start to look for another guitarist

- Revival’s new guitarist will be revealed soon

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧

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dawnagustd · 2 years

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unconditionally || kth

➼ a/n: Hi loves! So I wanted to drop off this piece before I left. it’s not the usual stuff I post but it’s something I’ve had on my chest for a while. I’ve been a bit down because of mom guilt and other things—having to work, go to school, and now leave the kiddo for 2 weeks. I just feel really horrible for always being so busy but it’s all for our future and it’s finally about to pay off. Her dad told me I shouldn’t be so hard on myself and to try to get it off my shoulder so that’s how I started writing this. No planning, no outline, just me typing and trying to get myself in a better place mentally. It worked…I cried but I feel so much better. I want to give a special thanks to Isi @raplinesmoon for not only beta reading this story for me but for being so supportive and leaving such kind notes. I really appreciate you and thank you so much.

Read on AO3

“Congratulations, babe. You’ve done it, and I am so so proud of you!”

Your older sister Kaylin showers you with ropes of streamers, not caring if any gets in your hair. She tosses the empty contents behind her and immediately pulls you in for an embrace. What usually is an annoying feeling becomes a joyous one because she’s absolutely right. You did it.

After all those classes and court appearances, two years of sobriety, you’ve finally crawled out of the hole of self destruction you managed to dig yourself. And it’s been a long time coming.

You remember the day everything went downhill. You and your ex were fighting, like you had always done. Both of you were young when you married, but you thought you had it all figured out. No one told you how rough marriage can be, and neither of you were prepared for the stress of raising two children within a home that already had enough problems.

You had an addiction and Taehyung was a workaholic. Fighting and arguing was a norm during your ten years of marriage, and no matter what you did to fix it—therapy, vacations, babies. Nothing could mend the damage that had already been done. Your biggest regret was bringing your children right into the eye of the storm. They were really young at the time, but they saw and heard it all.

None of this is fair to them, and you’ll do whatever it takes to make things right. Things may be over between you and their father, but you still want to somehow remain a family. You were never ready to be a mother, however you love your children more than anything, and you miss them so much.

Losing custody was the hardest blow you ever took, and in the beginning, you almost gave up. If Kaylin wasn’t there to help you through it, you’d still be sleeping on a blowup mattress in her one bedroom apartment. She pushed you to get up, pull yourself together and handle your legal business, find a job, and ultimately move on with the divorce from Taehyung so you both could move forward.

That was two years ago, and the court had ordered that your visitation with the children be supervised by their grandparents due to the nature of your car accident. No other person was injured or involved, but a criminal record isn’t a good look for a mother of two. The judge ruled, and he ruled hard. However, you didn’t argue or complain. You knew it was your fault entirely, and you deserve the punishment you received and some. But you’ve paid your debts to society and now it’s time to get back on track. Though, that is easier said than done.

“I owe it all to you, big sis. I owe you everything,” you admit with the utmost gratitude. In a way, Kaylin saved your life, and if the opportunity to repay her ever presented itself, you’d jump on it immediately.

Your sister withdraws and looks at you with her hands still resting on your shoulders.

“You owe me absolutely nothing, but a glimpse of that beautiful smile of yours. This is a huge day for you; I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. It’s just—”

“You’re nervous?” she intervenes.

You nod and she gives you a sympathetic look. “Aww, sweetie. Everything’s going to be okay. Trust me, once they get to your place, they’ll be so thrilled. They’ll finally have some alone time with mommy and it’ll be one big girls’ night. You just watch and see.”

She’s always been the cheerful one, and you are so fond of that trait. Your mom was like that and you always thought deep down, she was supposed to be the one who got married and had kids. She’d be a perfect mom and wife, unlike you—a screw up in its truest form.

“I sure hope you’re right, Kay,” you sigh.

Your sister’s eyes soften and she gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “Aren’t I always?”

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes when she touches your nose, still treating you like she did when you were kids. “We should probably sit over there so he can see us when they–ooph!”

As you’re walking down the park’s trail to the main entrance, someone accidentally bumps into you and makes you drop your phone. The man quickly bends down to pick it up and place it in your hand, apologizing repeatedly for not paying attention. When your eyes reach his face, you’re blown away by how handsome he is, and how his smile and skin seems to radiate a certain glow.

“Hey,” he breathes, staring back at you with the same awestruck gaze.

“H…Hi.”

Seconds pass before he clears his throat and straightens his posture.

“Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Scott,” the stranger holds out his hand and you look at it hesitantly for a moment, “...or not.”

You blink a few times, realizing you’re being rude. You take his hand before he retracts then you introduce yourself while fighting through a bit of embarrassment.

“I’m, _____. So nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he states, focus drifting towards the left. You realize your sister’s still standing there and you quickly involve her in the conversation.

“Oh, this is my sister, Kaylin. Kaylin, Scott.”

“What a pleasure,” she winks. You slap her arm, and the man tries his best to stifle a laugh.

“Anyway, I have to get going to meet some friends. It was nice meeting you both, and I’m so sorry about bumping into you.”

You wave it off. “It’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention either, and my phone is scratch-free.”

“Well, that’s awesome. I’ll see you around then?”

“Oh, I’m just here to meet—”

“She will, Scott. I’ll make sure of it,” your sister interrupts yet again.

You look at her with your mouth open. Scott leaves you with an optimistic grin, and as soon as he’s out of sight you turn to your sister. “I cannot believe you sometimes.”

She huffs. “Girl, it will not kill you to have some fun. You’re still young, beautiful…sexy.”

“Shut up, will you?”

“I’m serious. Listen, at some point you’re going to have to get back out there. Today could have been a start. Even if it was just a little one-nighter, if you know what I mean.”

Your sister’s eyebrows wiggle, and she does that little annoying thing she does with her shoulders every time she’s trying to make her point seem plausible. However, dating is the last thing on your mind right now.

“Yeah, I’m just not sure all of that is for me anymore,” you reply, lowering your head, and trying to erase the negative thoughts from your mind.

“Hey,” she touches your arm, prompting you to look her way, “You move at your own pace, okay? But don’t count yourself out just because you have some battle scars. There are people out there who will accept you for who you are, and love you regardless of such.”

You nod in agreement with her and continue your journey to the main entrance, looking at your phone to check the time.

“Heard from him yet?”

“Yeah, he should be pulling up any minute now,” you answer, still looking at your screen.

“Well, I think he’s here.”

“How do you know–ohh.” A large black SUV drives into the parking lot and finds a space towards the rear. Your breath gets caught in your throat when your ex climbs out of the driver seat, taking off his suit jacket and tossing inside before he shuts the door. He opens the back side door, and helps your two children out.

They jump around wanting to go to the playground but Taehyung just looks around while rolling up his sleeves. There’s not a brown hair out of place, and his designer clothing makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine. His dark shades shield his vision from the sun, but you can still feel his piercing stare when his focus finally zooms in on you. Your knees buckle and you become lightheaded within seconds.

“Or maybe you should call your ex for a booty call every once in a while,” your sister comments, making you snap out of it.

“Kaylin.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, you two are on good terms and you’re single…you could just—”

“No! Absolutely not. Kay, please don’t make this awkward. I’m already shaking,” you plead.

“Alright. I was just kidding.” You sigh in relief and your sister smirks before she turns to watch Taehyung and the kids make their way towards you. “Mostly.”

“You bitc…Hi kiddos!!”

Just seeing your babies after a week apart has you dropping to your knees to hold them close. They wrap their little arms around you and you spend the moment taking in everything about them—their voices, their smells, how much they’ve changed since the last time you saw them. It’s almost an overwhelming feeling knowing that this visitation isn’t going to end with them leaving so soon. You’ll have them for the whole weekend, and it’s the best Mother’s Day gift you can ask for.

“Where’s grandma and grandpa?” Khloe asks straight away.

“Well, they’re at home. We’re going to go see them on Sunday,” you answer, smoothing some of her hair back into its ponytail.

“So we’re gonna see you twice this weekend?” Jade quips with excitement. However, her features fall slightly when you shake your head.

“Actually…you’re going to be spending the weekend with me.”

The girls look at each other, confusion etched over their faces. The youngest, Jade, is the first to speak. “Is daddy coming too?”

You look up at Taehyung who’s pushed his glasses up on his head, combing some of his bangs away from his face in the process. Thankfully, he helps you out and explains your new arrangements to the girls.

“Your mom wants to have a girls’ night,” he leans in and pretends to deliver top secret information, “No boys allowed so, I gotta bounce.”

“But dad…”

“Khloe, remember if you wanna start having sleepovers with friends, you’re going to have to show me how responsible you are. Your mom throws the best sleepovers so she can teach you a ton of cool stuff,” he reminds her, giving you a wink when she isn’t looking.

You silently thank him then turn your attention back to the girls.

“So, y’all ready to have some fun?”

You try to sound cheerful and excited, but your fear and nervousness seeps right through and tears down your façade. Both Taehyung and Kaylin look at you with pity, but stay silent and allow you to reclaim your role in their lives. You have to start somewhere is what you keep telling yourself.

“Okay, mommy,” they both reply in unison and you release a much needed breath.

You rise to your feet and nod at your sister, signaling her to get the car ready while you go over last minute details with Taehyung. “Alright, let’s go get your things, shall we?”

“Okay, who wants pizza?!”

With a lineup of movies ready to go and two boxes of pepperoni pizza ordered, your mommy-daughter sleepover has officially begun. It started off rocky with a few moments of awkwardness and a forgetting that Jade likes her bath filled with her favorite toys, you finally manage to get your kids settled on the couch without any complaints from them. You just hope you can keep it that way.

“Ew, pizza is gross. Dad makes us lasagna on Fridays,” Khloe whines.

“Yeah, we want lasagna, mommy,” says Jade as she rubs her tummy.

You look between the two girls back and forth with your mouth slightly ajar. “We just had pizza two weeks ago from this place, and you said it was your fav.”

Your brain replays the day you met them at the pizzeria downtown vividly. They were begging their grandparents to bring them back. You thought for sure this would bring smiles on their faces.

“I mean don’t you wanna try a piece? It’s your fav—”

“Can’t you make us lasagna like daddy? Khloe whines with Jade being her echo.

You look towards your next to empty kitchen and lower your head in shame. Even if you had all the ingredients, you still couldn’t cook something like that. You don’t have the skill.

“No, sweetheart. Mommy, can’t make that.”

They both let out defeated sighs and sink into the couch. “Well, how about I order you something else, or maybe I can make something else?”

They both look at each other and then back to you. Khloe is the only one to speak.

“It’s okay, mom—”

“Can we go home?” Jade blurts out, putting a sinking feeling into your stomach.

It’s no secret that the girls live with Taehyung and that he has full custody despite the new schedule, but hearing your child refer to somewhere other than with you home, hurts you so deeply you have to take a step back.

Her older sister slaps her arm and she winces. “Shut up, Jade.”

You tell her not to hit her sister and turn to set the pizza boxes on the coffee table so you can secretly push back your tears. You return with a brave face, and a smile even you find believable. You’ve been waiting for this moment for two long years, but you will not force it. Even if you have to wait two more, you will if that makes them comfortable.

“Do you want me to take you back to your dad’s?”

They both hesitate, but nod timidly.

“No worries, let me grab your things and then we’ll hit the road, okay?”

They cheer and dance around, finally being happy for the first time since they left the park. You leave them to do their victory dance and make your way down the hall to get their bags. Slowly, your hands begin to shake because there’s just one little issue about taking them home. You haven’t driven at night since the accident, and it’s always been because you’ve had a fear of doing so. However, calling Taehyung would probably make him a little upset since Khloe broke her promise and you know how it affects her when she disappoints him. You’ll just toughen up and come up with something to let them off the hook while you’re on the way across town. And hopefully, you’ll make it back here without breaking down. You just hope that one day you can become the mother they deserve.

With the girls secured in the backseat, you start your car and take a deep breath. It hasn’t rained in about a week, but tonight it’s storming. It’s pouring down so hard the droplets rock your tiny sedan. Your mind can only replay the screeching sounds of your tires as you tried to slow down that night two years ago. The flash you saw right before slamming into the tree is still a vivid memory you hold onto. It haunts you, terrifies you so much that you want nothing more than to run inside rather than reenact the tale. However, one look at your daughters’ optimistic gazes into the stormy night with the excitement of seeing their father dancing in their smiles, you know that they’re just as thrilled as you were upon their arrival at the park—and you’d never rob them of that.

“Are we ready to go?” you turn and ask the girls. They both cheer and nod their heads, leading you to respond with a nervous smile. Your shake hand puts the car in drive but forget to put on the wipers so you make a haste to reach for the lever.

The blades startle you immediately, causing you to shriek and cover your ears before you realize it’s just the wipers. The girls giggle, thinking it’s a joke or that their mom is just afraid of window wipers, but they have no idea of the level of fear coursing through your body.

You tremble as you get yourself together, and eventually after several deep breaths, you’re able to pull out of your driveway into the slippery streets, praying you get your babies across town safely. Taehyung’s place is about a 20 minute drive, and you’ll spend every minute of it trying to ignore the terror that’s trying to take control of your mind.

“Hey, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. We’re outside, and I know I have key, but I didn’t want to barge in—”

“I’m on my way down,” Taehyung responds quickly, not hanging up until he swings open his front door. Concern is etched over his features, but Jade and Khloe swarm him before he can say anything.

“Daddy, we missed you!” Jade exclaims, squeezing him tightly with her little arms. Khloe is attached to his hip and he smooths her hair before turning back to you.

“Wha—”

“I’m sorry. I have really bad cramps and I just couldn’t keep up with them like this,” you quickly lie.

Taehyung’s lips hold so many questions and he’s prepared to ask them but Khloe interrupts him.

“Can you make lasagna, dad? I’m so hungry.”

Her doe eyes look up at him innocently and he instantly melts, unable to say no to his oldest little girl. “Alright, but after dinner you both are going straight to bed.”

You smile. “I’ll go get their bags and then I’ll steal some kisses before I leave.”

“Wait, did you drive here yourself?” Taehyung questions before you can step out into the rain. You’re already drenched so it won’t really matter if you got rained on at this point. You just wished your shoes didn’t make these awful sounds when you walk.

“Yeah.” You turn around and find him shaking his head.

“We’ll get them in the morning. You have something in your purse right?” He points to your handbag that’s still clinging on your shoulder due to you forgetting to remove it in the car.

“Huh?”

“You said you were…so I figured you had some emergency stuff in your bag.”

“Oh yeah,” you slap your forehead, scolding yourself for forgetting about your little lie that quickly, “I do, but—”

“Well, come inside and eat with us. You still have clothes here and you can take one of the spare rooms. You don’t need to be driving in that storm; it’s getting worse, and,” he steps a bit closer so he can whisper, “Kaylin told me how difficult it is for you to drive in these conditions, just consider staying for a moment at least. Please? For the girls?”

For the girls. That’s all it really took for you. Though you dread stepping through that door, the same one you walked out of right before you ruined everything, you’re filled with warmth knowing you’ll be having dinner with your daughters tonight after all. You’ll take what you can get, even if it pulls you back to the place you swore you’d never return to.

“Oh, alright. I guess I am a little hungry too,” you jest and Taehyung gives you a smirk.

“Well, right this way my ladies. The three of you may go and throw on your finest evening gowns and meet me in the dining area shortly.”

You and your daughters all giggle as you enter the dimly lit foyer, and he taps your shoulder before you can ascend the stairs.

“If you need me, I’m here. I know it’s not easy,” he speaks softly.

You nod. “Thanks, Taehyung. I know.”

It took a while to get to this point in your relationship, but you know even after years of turmoil and a divorce, you’re in a better place. You respect each other and you communicate exceptionally. If only you’d done this in the beginning, your marriage probably would have been a lot stronger and would have been able to withstand the rough patches you had. If only.

“Khloe, when you were a baby, you had these things called blow outs. Every time you did that, your dad would come to me screaming and saying he couldn’t do it. It was hilarious,” you say to the oldest of your pair.

She buries her face in her arm and giggles at her father’s flushed face. Just recalling the memory of dirty diapers has the man shivering. But of course, he’s quick to counter.

Taehyung scoffs with a slight jerk of his head. “Touché. I remember the first time Jade puked in your face, you cried in the shower for almost an hour.”

“Did you really have to go there?” you whine playfully, looking at your daughters with a little pout. Jade gives you a hug and Khloe walks around to do the same and you poke your tongue out at Taehyung to claim your little victory.

“Nope, I didn’t have to go there. But I know two little princesses that need to go get their rest, yeah?”

They both begin to move, but still complain.

“Okay, daddy,” they sigh in sync. The girls make their way to the stairs and Taehyung starts to clean up the dining table. You quickly get up from your seat to help him.

“I’ll tuck you in and stuff once I’m done in the kitchen,” he calls and you respectfully interject.

“Taehyung, I can clean this up. I don’t mind.”

He declines. “No, no. I got it. Just sit and I’ll—”

“I insist, Taehyung…meaning let me do it or I’ll do it anyway.”

His shoulders drop and he shakes his head, a small smile rising to his cheeks.

“Why did I even try?”

“You should ask yourself that,” you reply.

Taehyung’s grin widens. “Maybe I just wanted you to get a little sassy.”

“Hey!” You throw an uneaten roll at him but he dodges it before it makes contact.

“You’re funny. I’m gonna shower and take off to bed after I get them settled. You need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks, Taehyung,” you assure and continue with your task.

He nods. “Well…I guess I’ll see you in the morning then?”

“Yup.”

Out of your peripheral, you notice Taehyung’s mouth opens to say something, but he goes against it and walks away. “Night, ______.”

“You too, Taehyung.”

When everyone disappears and the room is filled with silence, you wonder how you’re going to sleep in this house that holds so much misery and heart ache. You’ll try to focus on the positives like being here with your daughters and maybe, just maybe—the demons of the past won’t bother you too much tonight.

You tried to sleep, you really did. But the longer you lay there tossing and turning, the more horrible memories of this home flood your mind. It all started after Taehyung’s promotion. He worked more and came home less. The man would rather spend the night at a hotel than come home to his wife. You didn’t mean to bicker or complain about never seeing him, but the change affected you more than he ever understood.

He thought you were just bored and wanted company, so he got you pregnant—twice. However, the girls only caused a bigger rift in your marriage, no matter how much you deny it. You were raising two children on your own with little help from Taehyung. Each time your six weeks were up, he’d be right back at work, leaving you alone to take care of the home.

You struggled to say the least. Something simple as making dinner brought you great difficulty. You could barely boil water, let alone make a meal for four. You felt like the world’s worst mother and wife. Nothing you did was right, and Taehyung made sure you knew that. He’d come home pissed and upset. The kids would be crying, the house would be a mess, and dinner would be late or unavailable. He always lost his shit when you said you’d get something delivered.

And you weren’t innocent either. You were sure to remind him of his long work hours and even accused him of seeing someone when you knew he’d never go there, but you were bitter and spiteful. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to fight fire with fire. Until the day Taehyung ceased your flame and hit below the belt.

Not only did he tell you were a horrible wife, but also a piss-poor mother. That’s when it all started. The stress, the striving for perfection, the drinking. It started off with a few glasses of wine at night and quickly progressed to something much stronger. You never did it when you were alone with the girls, only when Taehyung was home. That was the only way you could face him, stand toe to toe in your heated arguments without falling apart. It made you numb, it made you invincible. But even vodka couldn’t shield you from Taehyung’s rage.

“You’re pathetic, and that bottle has dragged your sorry ass right out of our lives because I can’t do this shit anymore.”

You remember the way you nearly collapsed when he said those words. The only response you could give was to tell him to burn in hell to which he replied, “not before you,” and he almost got his wish. You left at that very moment, in the middle of a severe thunderstorm with nothing but your car keys and a bottle of vodka in tow. That was the night of the accident, the night you nearly lost your life.

After that day, everything changed. It was like the universe was telling you and Taehyung, life was too short, fix it or it’ll get fixed for you. Something clicked in you that never had before. You knew your marriage was over but you still had two beautiful children to raise. Taehyung wanted to pay for everything—your legal fees, your living expenses. He even wanted to pull some strings to make your punishment less severe. However, you declined. Whatever you got, you deserved and instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you got up and did your part in making it right.

But being here again, for the first time in two years, brings back so much pain and hurt that getting any sleep seems impossible. You wonder how he does it. How he sleeps in this house every night after everything that’s happened. Taehyung’s always been the stronger one so you imagine it doesn’t phase him much. You do know he blames himself, however. He puts all the burden on his shoulders, and you wish he wouldn’t. You’re the fuck up, not him. In the end, you chose to pick up a bottle, and it ruined everything. You should have tried harder to be a better wife, a better mom, and a better person. Now you’re afraid it may be too late.

“Can’t sleep?”

You tear your gaze away from the moonlit sky, and turn to the familiar voice around you.

“Oh, I was uhh…grabbing a glass of water,” you avoid the question.

Taehyung nods as he slips his hands inside of his shorts, leaning against the kitchen counter. His hair is now in its natural wavy state, falling over his eyes and giving him that boyish look you fell in love with. He clears his throat and moves forward with small talk.

“Is there…something on your mind? You’ve been down here for a while.”

You shake your head.

“No, I was just,” you turn towards the window and fix your eyes on the calm and gentle night sky, “...enjoying the view.”

You return your attention back to him and find him partly smiling with his eyes fixated on his fuzzy slippers. “Same here,” he whispers, barely audible.

“Oh, how long have you been standing here?”

You didn’t even notice his presence until he spoke to you.

“Not very long. Looks like the rain finally stopped, huh?” he comments.

“Yeah, finally. I thought it never would.”

Taehyung looks up and stills, whatever he was planning on saying is forgotten in the moment. “You’ve been crying.”

Your fingertips touch your cheeks and feel the dried tear stains from earlier, but yet you still deny the accusation.

You laugh. “I’m fine, just watery eyes.”

“Hm, okay.”

You quickly down the rest of your water and turn away from him, pretending to wash your hands in hopes that he’ll grow tired and return to bed, but Taehyung is always persistent.

“I always forget how short you are.” He makes his way toward you and takes his place behind you with only a few inches to spare. He looks out of the window over your head and doesn’t move, making your hair raise due to his close proximity.

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?”

You face him and you have to take a deep breath before you speak. His eyes are barely visible underneath his bangs and thick lashes, but they still hold you captive with their fierceness.

“I’ve already told you before. I’m not short, you’re just—”

“I’m not tall,” he interrupts.

“Tall-ish.”

Taehyung’s soft laughter fills the kitchen and brings a smile to your face as well. You both giggle and try not to wake the girls, but are almost failing miserably, especially when you try to put the glass on the top shelf without a stool. He takes it away from you and puts it there himself, earning a playful eye roll from you.

“I could have done that,” you tell him once you turn around. He folds his arms and scoffs.

“You’re fucking hilarious.”

As the laughter slowly calms, his eyes drift to the garbage disposal and lingers there for a few seconds. You cannot help but follow his gaze out of curiosity and notice the empty wine bottle lying among the other discarded items.

“Taehyung, I didn’t-That’s not mine. I promise,” you attest truthfully.

He closes the drawer quickly. “I know. That’s mine from earlier. I’m so sorry. I should have done a better job at getting rid of that. I just didn’t know you were—”

“No, it’s fine. I can see it. Smell it…I still don’t want any.”

Taehyung nods before his features raise in a flash of sudden thought.

“But even if it was yours, I wouldn’t judge you for that, you know?...Whether it was just to help you relax or you were slipping, I’d never make you feel like you aren’t safe here. Not anymore.”

“You don’t have to do that. If I ever slip, you should—”

“Be the man I should have been and helped the mother of my children through what she was going through.”

You shake your head.

“You promised me you wouldn’t think like that.”

Taehyung grits his teeth, fighting back emotions he’s probably been holding in for years. “I’ve tried, but I can’t let myself off the hook like that, not when you’re the only one who had to suffer for the shit I put you through.”

“You are not responsible for me giving up, I am. So stop it. Please.”

He shifts his focus elsewhere, attempting to hide his glossy eyes from you, but it’s impossible to not hear the shakiness in his voice.

“But I’m responsible for helping you back on your feet, and that’s in our vows. That is what I promised you, remember?”

“We have no vows, Taehyung! Not anymore. You divorced me, remember?” you argue and the feeling that follows is not one you favor. Regret, sorrow, pain…the list goes on. Bottom line, you should have never said it.

Taehyung nods, running his hand over his face. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “you’re absolutely right about that.”

“No, I didn’t…I should–Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

In a flash, you find yourself wrapped in his embrace stiffened with shock and unsureness. Comfort surrounds you but you’re too afraid to fall into it. It’s foreign in these arms.

“I just wanna be there for you. Just once,” he murmurs while his face is buried in your hair.

“But you have been…more than you’ll ever know.”

Taehyung sighs. “I could do so much more, but you’d never let me.”

“Taehyung, I owe you everything for allowing me to still be in the girls’ lives. So if there’s anything I can do for you, please—let me know.”

“I wouldn’t keep them away from you. I’d never do that,” he assures. As seconds go by, you become more relaxed and accustomed to your current position. Taehyung seems to be in some sort of daydream, a place that brings him comfort. You wonder where that is. “You know…sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just said fuck it and kissed you.”

You pull away and look at him. “You’ll only know if you find out.”

He scoffs.

“Like you’d let me do something like that.”

“I’m still in your arms, aren’t I?” you point out.

“Yeah. You are, huh?” he whispers while staring at your lips. Your body seems to gravitate towards him even though there’s literally no space between you.

“Mmhm.”

His fingertip comes up to gently trace your bottom lip and your lashes flutter. “I’d give a million.”

“Just do it, Taehyung. Kiss me.”

And so he does. He leans in and softly cups your face in his hand, bringing his lips within a hair’s distance before he finally gives in. Initially, there’s hesitance on both parts, but after time passes and you become more familiar with each other’s touch again, the more right it feels. You would describe as two pieces that are finally joined and connected to one another. A magnetic pull between you that doesn’t want to tear you apart. And you wouldn’t want to if you could because for once in a very long time, you aren’t afraid of allowing someone to see you when you’re so vulnerable.

Your hands explore and touch places you haven’t felt in years so when a small moan travels into Taehyung’s mouth in response to him squeezing your ass, he freezes.

“I should stop,” he suggests, preparing to withdraw.

“You don’t have to.”

Taehyung pulls away slightly, creases across his features. “But you aren’t feeling well.”

“Huh?”

Taehyung seems amused by your confusion.

“Earlier, you were in pain, no?”

Oh.

“Sorry, I kind of lied about that,” you shrug, giving an awkward smile. Taehyung’s response isn’t one you’re expecting; his hands grab your waist and spin you around. “Um, Tae—”

“You’ve been doing that a lot, haven’t you?”

His right hand ventures lower and you grip the counter to steady your wobbly legs.

“Doing what?” you ask him.

He breathes a small chuckle in your ear and his deep voice makes you shiver. “Lying. To me of all people.”

Taehyung slaps your ass and you bite back the mewl that tries to escape your mouth. You whimper into his other hand when it moves to your face. The sting leaves you trembling, but arouses you nevertheless. Your pussy clenches around nothing, letting you know how desperate it is to be filled.

“That shit’s so unnecessary.” He scolds you while tenderly caressing the area of contact. You don’t know how long you can hold yourself together like this because it’s been forever since you’ve been touched. You want to let it out, but you know he can drag this out if he wants to. Patience is going to be the key. “You know you’re still my girl.”

“Fuck, Taehyung,” you cry into his palm when another slap is delivered to your rear.

The sound resonates through the kitchen, ricocheting through the silence. You both stay still for a moment, not moving or making a sound until you’re sure it didn’t wake the girls. You feel him smiling against your skin when he knows the coast is clear.

“Fuck, Taehyung…you sound fucking sexy when you say that. Come here,” he mocks and spins you around.

His piercing gaze softens when he sees the fresh droplets rolling down your cheeks, but only for a second because he knows the real reason behind them is driven by nothing but want and pure lust. Taehyung pulls you close and wipes them away with his thumb. “I wanna take you upstairs…have a little fun with you.”

“Okay,” you answer. Your hands move from his face to his chest then eventually to his toned biceps, “Let’s go.”

“Yeah?...You sure?”

You nod. “Mmhm.”

“Come on,” Taehyung says as he grabs your hand and leads towards the stairs.

Your back falls onto the bed with a tiny thud. The softness envelops you almost immediately and your eyes naturally shut as you bask in the smell of home for the first time in two years. He still uses the same detergent, and it almost feels like you never left, but then reality hits you.

“You’ve changed your mind,” Taehyung mentions climbing on the bed and hovering over your body. He observes your features, trying to piece together what could be wrong on his own.

“That’s not it.” You sigh and he tilts his head with curiosity.

“Then what is?”

Your hand feels the fabric beneath you and you watch as the small wrinkles smooth out. A million thoughts running through your mind but only one actually makes itself known.

“Women.” Taehyung’s frown displays his confusion so you elaborate. “How many have you had since we…How many have been in here?”

“There was one, but she’s never been here. No one else ever has, and no one ever will. This is my marital bed, the one I shared with you. I may have not respected it when you were here, but I do now, baby. You mean too much to me; I could never do that.”

His orbs hold sincerity and you believe the words he says to you. It’s not like you’d say anything if he did, but knowing he hasn’t makes you more comfortable with lying here.

“Do I know her?” you can’t help but ask.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t even know her.” He laughs briefly but then his expression turns serious and he gives you a small smile. “Now can we focus on you?...That’s all I wanna do tonight.”

“Okay, Taehyung.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Giving him the greenlight reignites the fire in his dark brown orbs. He lowers himself and kisses your lips, then your chin; he gets lower and lower until he can’t access any more of your exposed skin. Taehyung’s solution is to move lower, and find home between your thighs.

He spreads them apart and begins to leave wet kisses up to the hem of your shorts. You feel a slight tug followed by a growl that ripples straight to your center. “Off.”

Your bottoms are pulled down quickly, and the action lets you know just how impatient Taehyung is right now. A lopsided grin adorns his handsome face when he takes in the sight of you lying beneath him in no panties, captivated by the slickness coating your folds. They glisten under the moonlight, exposing how deeply you desire him. You squeeze your thighs together when he tries to open you up for his greedy eyes.

“I already know how wet you are, just let me see,” he encourages and you slowly relax your muscles. You turn your head when he spreads you and the sound of your stickiness makes it to your ears. You can feel the smirk growing on Taehyung’s face when his fingers scissor your lips apart. “Look at that,” he whispers.

His digits move up and down your center, making your chest heave with exhilaration. He brings them together again and dips them into your opening, just enough to make your back arch. However, when he notices your closed eyes he’s quick to regather your attention.

“Hey,” he taps your clit with the pads of his fingers and your body twitches because of how sensitive you are, “I said watch.”

“Taehyung, I can’t.”

“Wanna come on my fingers?” he quips.

You nod feverishly, propping yourself on your elbows so your foreheads can touch. “Yeah. Yes, please.”

“Then watch, and tell me how deep you shove your fingers in your pussy when you think about me.”

Taehyung pushes two of his slender digits inside of your heat, causing your mouth to fall open. He pauses and gives you a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, however his gaze is anything but patient and gentle. “Please move,” you plead.

“How?”

“Fuck. Slow, and deep.” He adopts the pace you’ve given and finally begins to feed your needs. Your eyes stare at the amount of wetness that covers his fingers whenever he pulls out and you can hear him licking his lips as he imagines how you would taste on his tongue. Soon, you also become needier. “More,” you murmur while your lips are pressed on his.

“More?...Faster?” Taehyung’s movements quicken and a disgusting squelching sound fills the room, making your cheeks burn. Your hand grips his shirt for support and to keep yourself from floating away because he’s already taking you to your peak. “Of deeper?...How does my baby like her cunt fucked?”

You whimper when he buries his digits inside of you, keeping his same pace and curling them to make you come undone. A silent cry is the only response you can muster, and your eyes beg him not to stop until you’ve reached your release. But Taehyung has a few other plans.

He pushes you backwards, making you fall flat on the bed and dives into your wetness. His tongue attacks your throbbing clit, licking it in swift motions to add to your sensitivity. Your thighs threaten to close again, but his forearms and body weight keeps them apart. You squirm beneath him when his lips envelope the bundle of nerves, and your hands instinctively find his hair. Even though you grip onto his dark strands to keep your sanity, you still become overwhelmed with pleasure. Within seconds, you’re begging him to let you chase your high while grinding against his face.

Taehyung’s only response is to hook his arm around your thigh and lock you in place, forcing you to endure his merciless wet muscle until you’re contorting in his arms and softly punching the bed to cope with your intense orgasm.

“You taste so fucking good, you know that?” When his fingers abandon your leaking hole, it quivers from the loss, and Taehyung kisses the area to soothe you. Your body twitches and he releases a breathy laugh. His hands reach up to gently caress your nipples through your shirt while his lips and teeth work their way up your body. “I really can’t get enough of you.”

“Taehyung,” you whine when he uses his teeth to lift your shirt, exposing the faint stretch marks that crawl up your stomach.

“Don’t be like that, baby. You know how much I love this part.” Your body gives in once he starts tracing each stripe with the tip of his tongue, leaving a chill across your skin once the air hits the moisture. “I miss hearing your little moans. I miss you, _______.”

“I miss you too,” you gasp when his kisses reach the center of your stomach and his soft lips touch your navel. He smiles and gifts you with another, making you call out his name.

“I can tell. You’d probably come again if I kissed the right spot, huh?” He works his way up your body until he’s blocked by your shirt, and he quickly lifts it above your breasts. His mouth hovers over them, debating which one he wants to give attention to first. You try to guide him towards your lips but he grabs your wrists and pins your hands above your head. “Which one?”

“Tae—”

“Answer me, darling,” he warns, giving your wrists a squeeze.

You sigh in defeat. “The left one.”

Shock comes over you when he ventures to the right instead, and you immediately begin to make noises of pleasure. Taehyung has no choice but to pull your shirt up further and use it to muffle your moans. You’re so sensitive and driven by lust, you forgot the girls were sleeping down the hall.

Taehyung alternates between the two, nibbling and sucking each nipple with a precise amount of pressure to have you trembling underneath him. Your body arches into him, giving him the encouragement he needs to continue his torture with no mercy. Only when your body shakes with another pending orgasm does he release your nipple with an audible smack that causes you to mewl.

“You’re lucky,” he growls, pulling away to remove his shirt, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Your tongue pushes out your shirt so you can answer him.

“Yeah, okay.” Your eyes try to focus on his face, but when his dick springs out of his shorts, you have to hold yourself back from lunging forward and wrapping your lips around the reddened leaking tip.

“I’m going to give you a good fuck, but I need you to keep it down, alright?” Taehyung slaps your pussy with his thick shaft a few times to gather your arousal, and you have to bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. He moves his hand up and down its length and coats it well before he brings the tip between your folds. The hard bluntness already has you whining. “Easy,” he reminds, running it along your slit.

You nod as tears gather in your eyes from the sensitivity and Taehyung’s finger touches your lips. “Shh,” he shushes as he slides in slowly.

He opts for covering your mouth with his palm to be safe then uses his other hand to tease your clit while you adjust to his size once again. “You’re still tight as fuck…still take me so well.”

“You feel so good,” you say after moving his hand.

“Yeah?...Can I go a little deeper? That’ll feel even better.”

You beckon for him to come closer and he does then you steal a kiss from his lips. He smiles as you wrap your limbs around him. “Fuck me.”

That’s all he needed to pull out of you and slam right back in. His self control finally falters and he fucks you with every ounce of pent up emotions he’s been burying all these years. The pace he sets is unforgiving, and your eyes roll back as pleasure builds within you once again. Your nails claw at anything they can reach—the pillows, the sheets, Taehyung. Anything to distract yourself from crying out as he pounds into you with everything he has.

“Taehyung,” you try to warn, but all it earns you is a bite on your right nipple. He rolls the bud between his teeth before taking it into his mouth and sucking gently to soothe it.

“Not now, rub your clit and I’ll tell you when to let go.” Taehyung grunts as he approaches his own release due to your walls clenching around him.

He rests on his forearms, allowing you to reach between you and stimulate your own bundle of nerves. Your thick salty tears roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming sensitivity.

Taehyung places a firm grip around your throat as his high approaches, and your eyes squeeze shut to focus on anything but coming. It feels so good, and all you want to do is surrender to your own pleasure.

When his thrusts begin to falter, he quickly requests your attention. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, okay? I want you to remember who makes you come on command.”

Your fingers continue to draw circles on your swollen clit, and when Taehyung angles his thrusts to target your g-spot, the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

“Come,” he growls in your ear.

Your vision whitens and another intense orgasm ripples through your body. A gush of your arousal forces Taehyung’s cock out of you, but he doesn’t mind finishing himself off while he enjoys the show.

The light pressure on your throat while he searches for his release, only granting you the tiniest bit of air he can offer. Your fingers continue to work in and out of your heat, making a larger mess beneath as another wave of juices leak onto the bed. You cry Taehyung’s name as quietly as you can and he comforts you in response.

“I know, just let it out, sweetheart. You deserve it,” he moans softly as ropes of cum paint your thighs and stomach. His hand loosen its grip and slides down your body once you’ve both calmed down. You lie on the bed in silence as he uses his shirt to wipe away the seed on your skin, thinking about all the horrible things they may come next. However, none of those things ever leave your mind.

He lies down beside you and envelopes you in his arms. “You alright?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Stop lying to me,” he chides, but you can hear the silent plea for honesty in his tone.

“I haven’t been okay in a long time, Taehyung. But right now, I feel better.”

Your back is turned but you can sense the approval in his aura. “Good.”

A beat of silence passes, and the soft strokes of his thumb makes your eyelids low and heavy. However, you still hear his deep voice speaking in your ear.

“I’m so sorry, for everything.”

You sigh. “I know, and I forgive you. Now please forgive yourself,” you insist.

“I will try, as long as you keep trying.” Taehyung stifles a laugh when you yawn, and you playfully nudge him with your elbow. “Get some sleep, you have a big day tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

He snuggles closer and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ll see. Goodnight, love.”

However, sleep is no longer present in your tired eyes. Curiosity takes over your mind and you’ll spend the next two hours lying awake and wondering what tomorrow holds.

You wake up to the smell of food for the first time since you moved out of Kaylin's apartment. It smells divine and your nose and stomach beg you to get up and follow it. However, before you leave Taehyung’s bedroom, you grab a pair of his sweats to cover your lower portion. You do your best at fixing yourself in the mirror, but eventually give up because no matter what you do, you still look like shit.

As you descend the stairs, you hear the girls talking to Taehyung in the kitchen and you pause before you enter to eavesdrop.

“Dad, why does mommy get scared so much?” you hear Khloe’s voice ask.

“Well,” the sound of him cracking eggs makes him pause so that the girl can hear when he speaks, “Mommy’s been through a lot and sometimes when something reminds her of all the bad stuff, it scares her a little bit.”

“But aren’t grown ups supposed to be brave?”

“Your mom is brave, sweetheart. She’s the strongest person I know,” he answers, and his words cause a warm feeling to grow inside you.

“Really? But she’s afraid of the window wipers.”

You hear Taehyung’s deep chuckle fill the kitchen, and your heart flutters. Hearing your ex-husband say these things about you means more than he could ever know. You don’t realize you have tears until they reach your chin.

“Hey, I’m afraid of window wipers too, those things are wild!”

The girls start laughing and you hear Jade’s voice next. “But daddy, you aren’t afraid of anything.”

“That’s not true, Jade. I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

“Really? Like what?”

You lean in a little bit closer so you don’t have to strain your ears and your breath gets taken away by the way Taehyung answers her question.

“Mmhm. I’m afraid of a lot of things, but do you know who I always call when I’m upset or afraid?”

Both girls begin to bubble with curiosity. “Who? Who, daddy?”

“Your mommy.” The room gets quiet as your daughters process the response he gives and wonder why you were his answer in the first place. You hang on with the same interest. “She’s my best friend.”

Your hand covers your mouth to keep your soft sobs trapped within your throat.

“How?...Mommies and daddies can be friends?” Jade questions him.

“Of course they can. Your mom and I were close for a really long time before we fell in love. We did everything together, and she’d always stick up for me when someone was giving me a hard time.”

Khloe is the next to ask her question. “But how are you best friends when you don’t talk to each other that much? Did you make mom sad? Is that why she cries?”

You step forward, preparing to enter the kitchen and change the subject since the topic has gotten heavy, but Taehyung puts on a brave face and gives her nothing but his honesty.

“I did. I made her sad. But we both ruined our friendship before that. We lost each other somehow, and now we’re trying to get back to where we started.”

“Does that mean mommy can come back home?” Khloe inquires with a hopeful tone in her voice.

“Well,” Taehyung sighs and turns around to check the food. You enter the kitchen unbeknownst to any of them and stand near the door frame to observe and wipe away your tears. “That’s entirely up to her. She’s always welcomed here, and I’d love for her to live with us again.”

“Me too,” Jade cheers.

Taehyung hums. “Have you told her that?”

“Have you?” Khloe counters, making you giggle.

Everyone turns towards the sound and finds you standing there awkwardly. The girls rush towards you screaming as loud as their little lungs allow them to. “Happy Mother’s Day, mommy!”

You wrap your arms around them.

“Thanks, my babies. I love you so much. How did you sleep?”

“Good!” Jade exclaims, grabbing your finger and bringing you further into the kitchen. “Did you sleep okay, mom?”

Taehyung snickers to himself and you roll your eyes.

“I slept okay, but I think a bear was snoring outside of my window,” you reply, smirking at Taehyung when he turns and narrows his eyes.

“Must be a jungle out there, I could have sworn I heard some sort of wild animal squealing all night,” he adds.

The girls bounce up and down with excitement, obviously to the middle finger you’ve presented to their dad while they share their hopes of exploring later. He motions for you to come over and he makes room for you to squeeze in front of him.

“How long were you standing there?” Taehyung asks you, grabbing your hand and putting the spatula in it. He guides it to the skillet that the eggs are frying on and silently teaches you how to make them perfectly while he speaks.

“Long enough,” you answer.

Taehyung hums and continues to move your hand in the correct motions so the eggs won’t burn. “Jade likes her eggs fluffy, and Khloe likes hers cheesy. If you keep them separate like this, you can save a lot of time.”

He allows you to do it on your own, but you aren’t sure if you’re doing what you’re supposed to.

“Am I doing it right?”

“Yup. Now you want to flip your bacon. They like it really crispy so it’s okay if it overcooks a little bit,” he informs, watching you turn the strip over. “Good job. They look almost ready. You can fix their eggs and I’ll take over this part, okay.”

You follow his instructions and place the fluffy eggs on Jade’s Minnie Mouse plate and the cheesy eggs on Khloe’s Scooby Doo themed plate, earning a small praise from Taehyung. You smile because you feel like you accomplished so much in the past few minutes. Yesterday you thought you’d missed your chance in being involved in the girls’ life.

“The plan was to bring you breakfast in bed, but I thought you’d enjoy this more.”

You turn to him after giving Khloe her meal. “Thank you. This means a lot. I should already know how to cook for them so I really appreciate you teaching me.”

“You don’t have to know how to cook or do any of the things everyone says you’re supposed to know how to do. But if you want to learn, I’m here to help you. We all are…the girls too.”

“That’s more than I deserve,” you whisper and he shakes his head.

“Last night you told me to forgive myself, I need you to do the same…because we were never upset with you. We love you, _______.” Taehyung suddenly snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a hug. “I think it’s time for us to forget about fixing our marriage; it was over before we started. But our friendship…I think that is what’s going to get us through this.”

You agree. Whenever the subject of your marriage is brought up, you’re both reminded of all the horrible memories that come with it. However, you still remember how close you were before, and how close you are now that you’re treating each other kindly out of love instead of obligation. It’s healthier, a safer environment for not only the girls, but for two people who have both been battling with demons of the past.

Last night was fun, but it wasn’t enough to consider falling back into the cycle. You’re glad you and Taehyung are on the same page because you need to be in order to raise your daughters.

“Yeah, I’d like that actually. We’re happier like this, and I don’t want to lose it all trying to rebuild a toxic situation. This is perfect…our perfect.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he sighs.

Jade and Khloe continue to eat their food while you and Taehyung chat. However, Khloe’s voice draws you both away from the conversation.

“Mom and dad are so cool,” she comments before taking a bite of her eggs.

Jade chimes in and makes you smile from ear to ear. “Mommy’s the coolest, though. Daddy says she’s a superhero.”

“Yeah, and her eggs taste better than daddy’s,” Khloe declares and your eyes grow wider.

You look at Taehyung and he dramatically rips off his Doc McStuffins apron before waltzing towards the stairs.

“Well, since my services are no longer needed, I’ll be off to take a shower. You ladies better be ready by ten; we need to drop your mom off at her spa appointment and then plan more secret stuff that she doesn’t know about yet.”

You all giggle as his heavy footsteps ascend the stairs, complaining about being replaced by someone who can’t even boil water without supervision. You give your girls a fist bump and get them to help you with the dishes.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Khloe.”

“Dad told me to give you this because he said he was too nervous to give it to you himself.” She holds out your wedding rings in her little palm and your hand clutches your chest. “He says you don’t have to wear it, but he feels better knowing they’re with you.”

You take them from her with a smile, fighting back the urge to shed a tear. For now, you place them on your finger because nowhere else seems right. You’re also aware of how Taehyung still wears his. Maybe it brings him as much comfort as it brings you. Your marriage was the worst, but two beautiful children were created during that time. Because of them, you were able to see your true place in each other’s life.

It doesn’t really have a title, but you know wherever you are now feels great. You’re family, and you’ll always be. Doesn’t matter if it isn’t what the world deems as “right.” What matters is that everyone is happy and the love is strong.

“What are you going to wear for your date tonight, mom—”

“Jade, that’s a secret!” Khloe shouts at her little sister. You can only laugh because you already heard him asking Kaylin to babysit when you were at the park yesterday. You knew he was up to something.

“Sorry. Please don’t tell him I told you,” she pleads.

You tap your chin in pretend thought. “Hmm, I guess I could keep a secret for one small fee.”

“What is it? I’ll do it!”

You squat in front of her and gently tap her nose with your finger.

“Gimme some kisses,” you request and they both tackle you and shower you with affection. You lie on your back, not even thinking about moving or getting them off of you. These moments heal everything that’s ever hurt and you’d never take them for granted again.

As the three of you wallow and play, the figure standing at the top of the stairs goes unnoticed by you. Taehyung watches his family with a proud and grateful smile. The same walls that used to witness so much fighting and torment can now be cleansed by the sounds of laughter and unconditional love.

This is how it should have always been, and he’s thankfully you both were able to save it in time. He looks at the diamond ring adorning your hand and a bigger smile forms on his face.

You two will be fine, no matter the purpose for wearing them. Your bond is unbreakable, and whatever the universe has in store, you’ll both be ready to take it on.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of those who celebrate and sending love to those who have lost their mom or to those who have lost a child whether they were in the womb or in this world. I personally have experienced both and I know how tough today is from some of us.

With much love, Dee. I hope this brings some comfort to those who may need it.

#taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts angst #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #btsdreamcourt #bangtanbathhouse #bangtansorciere #bts imagine #bts fanfic #taehyung x you #sugakookitty

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nterini · 8 months

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The Leftover Kids in ONLY FRIENDS

A character analysis of Boston and Ray Ep. 6

This episode reveals a bit more about Boston’s character, and while it doesn’t justify his actions (because your past doesn’t have to justify all your present decisions, especially in fictional characters) we’re able to better understand his impulse to “humble” others when it seems to him like they’re finding their own way.

We learn that Boston’s mother remarried, and flew to another continent to start her new life. And while I don’t want to make assumptions, something about Boston’s politician father (who calls him only to speak about his campaign and winning over young people) encouraging his son’s impulses to toy with the emotions and bodies of others may have had something to do with it. Boston, time and time again tells Nick that the potential of the public finding his sex tapes (with other men) would be a burden to his father’s career. We don’t know if Boston has come out to his father, but the ultimatum that Boston must graduate or be sent back to New York to live with his mom shows his father’s willingness to get rid of a son that may not fit his public image. Boston is a talented photographer and someone in the demographic he wants to target; why so eager to send him away.

In the next scene, while comforting our favorite crazy lovesick puppy, he tells Nick, that the reason he doesn’t make lasting relationships is because he knows he has to leave anyway (and some more be about how he’d be a better photographer abroad). Maybe it’s because of the pressure he feels from his father, but Boston believes that there’s no place for him permanently anywhere. No one has chosen him for an “unconditional forever love” and no ever one will. He’s had no power over that. If my assumption that Boston’s father already knows of his son’s sexuality, and is slowly freezing him out and that Boston knows this already, Boston’s view of his future in Thailand, one that will always be queer, must be bleak. His own father, a popular candidate elect, does not want him. This loss of control triggers him. We see Boston seek control of potential rejection in the way he pursues his flings. He prefers Nick over all his other flings because he’s confident that Nick will always choose him no matter what selfish things he says. He’s envious of Mew who’s constantly chosen and pure, of the perfect Top who rejected him and has his life together, and of Ray and Sands budding relationship. He believes he’ll be left alone again, so he sabotages externally against anyone’s progress.

It’s what makes his scenes with Ray that much more interesting. Because Ray is just like him, except he sabotages internally.

We were introduced to Ray’s family background a few episodes back, and the toll it took on him emotionally, physically, and mentally. His mother was a young and talented actress who married rich, and whose light was dimmed in that marriage. And whether it was resentment over her lost career, Post-partum depression and an uncaring husband, or just a worsening addiction that was left untreated, she died alone drowning herself in alcohol. We know that Ray did not receive much affection from his mother and that his father was just as neglectful. Ray has learned to use money to buy emotions, companionship and intimacy. Unfortunately, he seems to be following in both his parents footsteps.

There is a theory going around that Boston has had a secret unrequited crush on Ray. And while I don’t think there’s a lot of evidence that supports this ship, it’s a plausible theory. However, the way he constantly goes back to Nick when he needs comfort and conversations, other than just straight sex, says the opposite. I think a better conclusion would be that Boston finds comfort in Ray’s lack of growth and misfortune. After all, they’re very similar. Leftover, abandoned, rich kids that were never chosen. I don’t even think he had any ill intention against Mew when he slept with Top or even with Ray. I think deep down he’s secretly comforted by seeing Ray heartbroken. It makes sense that he was triggered when he saw that Ray might have found someone to help him come out of that misery. He doesn’t provoke Mew or Top the way he does Ray. Maybe it’s because Ray doesn’t see how similar they are. Maybe it’s because Top and Mew see right through him.

Mew’s role in their friendship is also really interesting 🤔. Ep. 7 might give us inside Mew’s thoughts and actions. Is Mew manipulating his rich friends to get his dream career and partner or is it all all a grand plan to help heal the lives of the people he cares about most.

Overall, I love how real the show feels. The discussions of drugs in Thailand’s queer community, of privilege and class struggle, it all feels incredibly genuine. It’s hot and steamy and we’ll written. Like we CAN have all of these things at once! The growth that I see in BL/Queer (the slash is necessary) content gives me hope. Please give the lesbians (AprilNamchueam) more screen time plsssssssss 😩.

(Please excuse any typos and errors.)

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raving-raven-writing · 1 month

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Recom Headcanons

So, some of this is from my mind, but some of these headcanons I'm sure are based off others' headcanons I've seen. Also, some of these headcanons may actually be written in terms of some of my fics that I have written for Avatar. Particularly if you have read my story Lost and Found or any of my Recom Smut series. @hellpmeimobsessed You asked me to tag you, so here you go! Warning: Some of these headcanons may contain mention of past abuse/past child abuse/past sexual abuse, and may also contain content in terms of what the character enjoys in the bedroom Brown: -Was SAed when he was younger -Loves karaoke, even though he might be a bit tone deaf -Enjoys cuddling naked with his partner -Did modelling for a brief period of time before he decided to join the marines Fike: -....I got nothing for him, sorry. No hate to him, just don't have any at the moment.

Ja: -Was raised by his grandparents -Seeing the EMTs work on his grandma sparked his interest in wanting to become a medic -A sensitive soul, rather quiet and reserved -Enjoys movies, most genres except for horror; is a bit of a baby when it comes to the scary movies -Has minimal sexual experience compared to some of the others; but has always wanted to titty f**k his partner -Him, Prager, and Lopez are close

Lopez: -Is a masochist and will openly admit to it -Comes from a large family, a middle child of five. Very close with all of them. -Has problems with authority figures, always having to hold his tongue so he doesn't get himself into trouble -Very protective to those he loves or is loyal to -A rather horny drunk...this may or may not be how he and Ja got it on Mansk: -Has a light sensitivity, hence the sunglasses all the time. But also uses the sunglasses as a layer of protection of being perceived by others -Sits somewhere on the autism spectrum but was never diagnosed, comes across as just being "socially awkward" -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Was sexually abused by his uncle as a child well up until his late teen years -Definitely a mama's boy - The younger of two kids. Has an older sister named Nora -Turned to cooking as a way to cope with his trauma--found he had a gift for it and just kept at it. But also enjoys making others feel good by being able to give them a good meal

Prager: -Is a pothead -Grew up with alcoholic/drug addict parents, but was eventually fostered by an old teacher who took him under their wing -Likes most types of card games and board games -Stress cleans -Enjoys rollerblading and skateboarding -Easy going/go with the flow type of person--both in day to day things and in bed Quaritch: -Grew up on a farm -Raised by an abusive/alcoholic father and a mother that fell ill when he was in his teens -The oldest of three children---lost connection with his siblings when he left to join the military -His relationship with Paz started as her simply flirting with him based on a dare, but eventually turned into a fling as Miles was impressed by her boldness -Smokes when stressed but turns to alcohol as a bad coping mechanism if given the opportunity -Enjoys camping and hiking and being able to be out in nature so he can reflect upon life and to be able to get more in touch with his emotions -Likes to take charge in bed, but Paz is able to persuade him into being a sub in some situations Wainfleet -Has a bit of a crush on the Colonel. He thinks it isn't obvious, but some of the others see it -Is a switch in the bedroom. But prefers to be the sub when he is with his girlfriend, Mina. -Makes jokes constantly despite the fact that he struggles with his mental health--saw being the funny man as a way to make others like him -A middle child of three; has an older brother who is also in the military, but joined the Army branch, and a younger sister, who died when he was about thirteen -Grew up on a farm, although not many people know this -Grew up being rather sensitive and a "cry baby" as his brother dubbed him. Was a big mama's boy and her death damn near broke him -Smokes when stressed

Walker: -Likes to scrapbook in her spare time -Her and Z-Dog have flings with one another, but neither of them would label themselves as an "item" -Likes to sit down with a good book on a stormy day and curl up by the fire with some comforting snacks Warren: -Gives off the "strong and silent type" vibe -Has a crush on Mansk (initially unrequited?) -Is gay, but no one knows this (at first) -Is very much a wallflower, people forget he is there sometimes -In sexual relations, is very straightforward and a take charge type of guy--but makes sure that he is never rough with his partner

Z-Dog: -Grew up in a house full of men. Her mother left when she was young, so she just had her dad and her three brothers -Was very much a tomboy before realizing that she liked girls more then she liked men -Her father was a mechanic so she knows her way around a car -Enjoys physical sports like boxing and kickboxing -Chews gum as a way to manage her anxiety as well as to curb any emotional eating Zhang: -Is one of the three "strong and silent types" (with Warren and Mansk being the other two) -Rarely smiles -Enjoys shibari (Japanese rope bondage) and 69ing -Looks mean since he has a "resting bitch face" but can be quite gentle and doting with his partner -Joined the marines as a way to rebel against his parents since they wanted him to become a doctor or lawyer or engineer.

That's all I got for now. Might eventually develop some headcanons for Fike and might add on to what I have here. Hope you enjoyed reading!

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freshbakedbreadstick · 8 months

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No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Six

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The human mind is a very scary thing.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, funerals, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, interventions, al-anon. Depiction of a gun and implication of suicide in a portion, not graphic but heavily implied/hinted at during a possibly distressing nightmare sequence.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: A little late bc i just moved into my dorm for the year <3 its been quite the adjustment so i took a bit of time to myself to just relax and get used to things ! ! ! Anyways today was my first day of class and it went SO GOOD ! ! ! ! Im so excited for the semester and the school year in general ily all sm have a slay day besties ! Also this is just angst again im sorry i swear it will get better at some point but probably not nowwwww 😭

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic @eternallyvenus (MWAH <3 )

Masterlist

You stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall and wearing some sunglasses you dug out from your bag. Your arms were crossed and your face was neutral but, behind those dark frames you wore, your eyes darted back and forth between each person who sat in the chairs around the circle and to Amanda, the leader of this Al-Anon meeting.

Some were at ease, sharing freely and even throwing jokes in between their talks, while others sat stiffly and managed to get up on their shaky legs and share their own narratives.

But somehow, none of them judged one another.

Beside you stood your mom, gripping her purse straps so tightly that you could see the straps bending in her grip. She tapped her foot softly on the linoleum, smiling empathetically to each person and applauding politely when needed. But every once in a while, she would glance over at you and look away quickly, shoulder slumping and smile fading.

Your lips formed a line as you continued to look as neutral as possible, staring as the meeting started to get wrapped up. Amanda spoke to everyone, clasping her hands together before waving everyone off with a soft smile.

Everyone got up from their chairs, some joining one another to talk while others moved toward the door a couple feet away from you. They passed by you, most not really turning to you while a couple politely nodded and left.

But as the room started to get emptier and emptier, that scared-nauseous feeling came back in full force when your mother put a hand on your forearm and looked over at Amanda.

“You know, Natalie was the one who recommended me to take you to some Al-Anon meetings… but it was Carmy who told me to take you to one after you ran out…”

You glanced over at your mom, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why?”

Your question was both a rhetorical and actual one. Part of you was confused as to why Carmy was the one who spoke to your mom about the argument at The Beef earlier. Carmy was the person who didn’t bother to show up to Mikey’s funeral and refused to reach out to those who tried to contact him, so why would he even bother to care about you facing your own feelings about this situation?

But another part of you was touched.

Carmy was the kid brother who would follow you and Natalie around when you were in middle school. When you were in high school and started to date Mikey, Carmy was the kid that you would playfully bother when Mikey wasn’t giving you attention. As an adult, Carmy was your sense of peace whenever he was around, providing you with a much needed distraction during Berzatto family gatherings when he would finally open up (after much pestering on your part) about his own life away from Chicago. And while it seemed like that sense of peace was gone as he got farther and farther away from everyone, this news made you realize that it had never left.

He still wanted to give you that peace you desperately needed when it came to his family.

Your mom turned to look at you and gently reached up to take your sunglasses off. She looked into your eyes, seeing the way the bags under your eyes looked darker while you both stood in the corner of the room.

With a heavy sigh, she responded, “Carmy told me that he had just started to attend some meetings himself. Natalie told him over and over to go to some but he… he hadn’t gone until now. And when he heard the news that you came back, he jumped to tell me about taking you. Especially when he saw your erratic behavior, he knew you wouldn’t go unless we were the ones who took you.”

You looked away, arms falling to your sides.

“Please give it a try, please… you know that Mikey wouldn’t want you stressed out like this…”

Your chest tightened, “I… I don’t know what Mikey would’ve wanted anymore.”

Amanda called your name as she began walking over to you, making you quickly rub your eyes and look at her, “Hey you two, how are you feeling about possibly coming to a session?”

You shrugged and looked to the floor, “I’ll have to think about it but… I might.”

Amanda smiled and nodded, “I know this is a huge first step and I understand that you need time to think about it. Our next session will be in two days, you're free to join us if you would like to. And, you're free to bring someone for support.”

You nodded and glanced at your mom, seeing her smile at you from the corner of your eye.

You soon found yourself back in your car, packed haphazardly full of your stuff, and looking out of the passenger’s seat window.

You leaned your head onto the glass as your eyes looked out the window at the way the sky started to turn from blue to orange. By the time you got home, the sky was filled up with colors similar to the ones you saw while sitting on the hood of your car all those months ago.

The car slowly pulled into the driveway and standing on the sidewalk, with his hands in his pocket, was your dad. He waved and smiled sadly, making you sigh and look away. You could feel the way your cheeks began to burn and your chest tightened.

Silently, he approached the car and opened the trunk. You passed by him, watching him begin to start to unpack the trunk that held the boxes of your life, one by one.

The three of you, in silence, emptied the entirety of your car. Any of the boxes and other belongings you had previously kept there were now placed in your room, each getting a designated spot and most getting unpacked completely.

The way that everything just seemed to fall into place in your own childhood bedroom made you shiver and walk away as your parents continued organizing.

In the dark hallway, you paced. Your fingers busied themselves with picking the skin of your bottom lip, leaving it raw and sting whenever your tongue ran over it. It wasn’t until your parents came back out that you managed to get yourself to pause, ignoring the way it stung.

Your mom smiled sympathetically and passed you, placing her arm comfortingly on your shoulder. You dad though, he paused and let your mom get downstairs and away from the two of you before he spoke up, “Some habits are hard to break, I know that, but staying here for a while will be good for you, okay honey? I love you so much, we all do, and we want you to stay.”

Your eyes stung a bit, making you flutter your eyelids to stop any tears from forming, “Okay… I think… okay.”

Your dad wrapped his arms around you and hugged you. His arms squeezed around you, tight, as if you were going to fall into pieces if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough. You winced and he did so, but let him hold onto you.

“Your my little girl and I would,” He began to speak again, pausing as his voice cracked to clear his throat before continuing, “Your mother and I would never be the same if anything happened to you. We love you so much.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

As you watched him go down the dark hallway and down the stairs, you felt your lips sting as you began to taste a salty wetness. The decision was done: you would stay here for however long it took to heal and would attend the Al-Anon meetings in the meantime.

Now that this major decision was made, it was time for another.

“Time to fix my fuck up,” you mumbled to yourself.

Later that night, after you had dinner and began to unwind for the night, you went over and sat on your bed. After washing the day’s bad choices and tears down the drain, you had changed into something comfortable for bed. You hummed, feeling satisfied with the soft clothes you wore that you completely forgot you even had, thankfully your parents’ unpacking and organizing allowed you to find them easily and happily.

With an exhausted groan, your back hit the plush mattress. You bounced softly for a second before wiggling around to get comfortable before pulling the blankets onto your body. With a glance to the ceiling, you began to think.

You had messed up majorly with Carmy, Sugar, and Richie; well, with the entirety of The Beef. You knew that you definitely needed to apologize and try to make things right, especially considering that you would be staying here now and could run into them. You might be the type of person to flee in the face of trouble, but you knew that not apologizing would sour your relationship with them even more than it already is.

And while it was a bit overwhelming to be around them now, you did miss them.

Showing up and just apologizing en masse made you cringe a little. You knew that Carmy probably wouldn’t receive that well, he was stubborn and held onto anger so this wouldn’t just be an easy thing to forgive for him. Richie would be a bit hesitant to show vulnerability in front of everyone so the tough and funny guy act would be brought up, and that wouldn’t feel like you properly apologized to him. And Sugar… she would take your apology in a heartbeat but… you didn’t want her to. She was tough when she wanted to be but was always too kind with you. You didn’t just want this to be a forgive and forget moment for her, you wanted her to be upset with you and let you work on gaining her forgiveness.

“I can’t let her be a doormat…” you whispered to yourself.

But while you laid there, on the soft mattress of your childhood bedroom, the cocoon of blankets and fresh air that made it perfect to get all snuggled up started to work against you. The warm plushness made your thoughts get blurrier and your eyes droop and while your breathing got deeper and deeper, your body gave in to sleep.

You narrowed your eyes at the orange sun, letting yourself blink until your eyes got adjusted to the room. You then looked around and gasped when you realized where you were.

You were back in the kitchen of the place you and Mikey lived in together. The bright setting sun had come from the giant window of the kitchen, the window that overlooked the streets and had a view of the city, the exact window that made you and Mikey decide to rent this place in the first place.

Everything looked and felt hazey, half drowned in the warm yellow lighting of the sun. As you looked down at your hands, you saw them also overlaid with the sun, feeling warm and looking… healthy.

Someone started humming behind you, voice deep. You whipped your head around to see who it was and was faced with the back of a tall, broad man.

He wore a black shirt that stretched over his muscular body. As your eyes wandered up his form, you noticed the attractive and slightly messy dark hair that was on his head.

“Baby?”

Your heart stopped.

You began to stumble backward, gasping giant gulps of air as your eyes zeroed in on the man in front of you. Slowly, he began to turn around, and give you a good look of himself.

His dark brown eyes focused on you. His eyebrows creased together as he watched you reel back, almost falling to the floor.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You let out a strangled cry as he began to move forward, reaching his toned arm out to grab you. You froze, eyes trained on his large hand as it came closer and closer to your skin. You squeezed them shut, terrified.

His hand felt warm as it gently wrapped around your own.

You felt yourself being gently guided up and forward. The hand then let go of you and an arm wrapped around your body, resting the hand against the small of your back. Another hand wrapped around you on the opposite side and you were pulled close against a broad chest.

You could feel the way his relaxed heart was beating, unlike your own racing one.

“Mikey…” you whispered in a broken breath, eyes still clamped shut.

Your entire body was stiff as a board as you stood there, but it began to betray you and give in to the person in front of you.

“Look at me baby,” The voice said, rumbling but calm.

With a sharp inhale, you began to blink your eyes open. You looked at the face in front of you, your own eyes connecting to those dark eyes you missed so much.

“Mikey… is it really you?”

You felt a deep rumble in his chest, followed by the twinkling of his laugh. He threw his head back, letting his unruly hair flutter as he moved.

“Yes baby, it’s me. Who the hell else would it be?” He smiled at you, letting his eyes half lid as he looked at you.

“But… but you…” you began, but were quickly interrupted.

“Come here babydoll, come try this for me.”

He moved away from you and ushered you forward with one arm, but regardless, you had no choice as the other arm that was still wrapped around your waist pulled you close into his side. Your body slotted against him, as if the missing piece to his puzzle.

You watched as Mikey dipped a finger into the giant pot of sauce that was bubbling on the stove and you slowly began to smell the scent of roasted garlic and fresh basil, straight from the pot you had growing on the windowsill.

He gently blew on his finger as steam rose from the sauce, he slowly brought it up to your lips, pausing just before he would touch them to look at you in the eyes again.

“Go on baby, try it and tell me what you think.”

You gulped and parted your lips. Leaning forward, your mouth encased his finger. As your tongue hit the sauce, your eyes shot wide open.

A multitude of flavors exploded in your mouth, all so familiar. That made your knees buckle.

With a laugh, Mikey caught you before you went down, taking his finger from your mouth and wrapping both arms around you again. He carefully lifted you up and placed you on the empty kitchen island to sit.

“Was it that good? How come you don’t react like that every other time I make it, hmm?” Teasingly, he smirked at you and turned away to wash his hands.

But all you could do was sit there, stone cold, and in shock. No matter how many times you swallowed, the taste of fresh sauce with a ton of garlic, basil, and San Marzano tomatoes would still linger on your tongue. A sauce that Mikey would make, claiming to be a recipe that only he could make perfectly, for family spaghetti night.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, bringing you back to where you sat, “Do you think it needs anything? I wanna make sure it’s perfect before Carmy, Sugar, and Richie get here.”

You coughed and shook your head rapidly, unsure what to do but along with it, “Yea it’s, it’s perfect, my love.”

You paused, eyes wide again. A slip of the tongue. You hadn’t said “my love” for such a long time that it felt foreign coming from your mouth, despite it being a nickname you commonly used for Mikey.

But Mikey either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care when you said that. He just beamed and turned back around to stir the pot for a second.

As you gathered yourself on that counter, you looked around again. Everything was… everything was exactly like how you left it. The pots and pans were in their usual spots, the curtains were drawn just the way you liked them, and every framed photo in the house showed you and Mikey, grinning and holding onto one another.

You were home.

But you knew you weren’t supposed to be here.

“Give me a second babydoll, i’ll be right back.”

Your head whipped around to look at Mikey as he stood in front of you. He smiled and reached over, kissing your temple, before walking off in the direction of the bathroom with a hand in his pocket.

Once he disappeared, you immediately threw yourself off the kitchen island.

Your hands immediately went to the back of your neck, holding onto it as your eyes raced over everything.

“What the fuck am i doing here?!”

Everything around you was perfectly in place, as if untouched by time.

The world around you spun as you threw your body around, desperately trying to find something that would prove that something was wrong. But alas, everything seemed okay.

You were too terrified to open any drawers or touch anything, so all you could do was hyperventilate and turn around over and over and over, scanning the walls to see the photographs you knew you buried under boxes and decorations you tried but failed to throw out.

Suddenly a phone began to ring.

You froze.

There was no phone in the kitchen, nor the living room, or anywhere else in the house. But there was a phone whose ringing sounded exactly like this one’s; the phone in your parent’s house.

It was an analog, rotary style phone that rested on a table in the hallway of your parent’s house. This hallway led the front door to the living room and had picture frames of you and your family throughout the years. Next to the table with this phone was a small, single sofa chair/

A chill went down your spine as tears began to sting your eyes.

This was the phone you found out about Mikey’s death. And that chair was the one you collapsed on before screaming.

The ringing stopped. Then, Mikey’s voice echoed from the other room, calling you.

Hesitantly, you turned to the direction you heard his voice.

He called your name again, but this time, he beckoned you over.

“Come here for a second baby!”

You stared at the empty doorway where you watched him leave. From that direction, his voice called your name out again.

As your foot slowly inched forward, you held your breath.

“I just need you real quick, come over here!”

Your footsteps were silent as you stepped forward, closer to the sound of his voice and to the doorway that led from your kitchen and dining room to the hall.

His voice got louder and louder as you slowly rounded the doorway, continuing to call you.

Down the hall and in front of you was the bathroom door, wide open. There stood Mikey, back towards you, standing in the dimly lit hallway and dark bathroom.

Now, he was silent and still.

With a quiet and shaky voice, you managed to whisper out, “Mikey?”

You heard a click coming from him, coming from his hand. When you looked down, you saw metal.

“I'm sorry babydoll.”

Your body jerked up with a strangled cry. You ripped the blankets from your body and threw yourself out of bed, falling straight to the floor with a loud thud.

Your knees ached and your palms did too as you hit the floor, but you didn’t care. In that moment, all you could think about was what you saw. All you could think about was the shine of the metal.

As a loud cry escaped your shaking body, your door swung open to reveal your alarmed parents. They called your name, rushing forward to hold you as you sobbed and screamed only for their alarmed questions weren’t heard as you continued to see the glint of the metal, despite it not being there.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto imagine #mikey the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #richie berzatto imagine #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto #the bear fx

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