#character: chuck taylor
Note
Hello there!
i wanna request just..The best friends, Orange, the whole group just in a hug pile...for some reason I'm very soft when it comes to hugs
819 words
best friends (orange cassidy, kris statlander, trent baretta, chuck taylor)
ssssoooo i may or may not have finally rewatched stadium stampede from all in 2023 and i still have A LOT of feelings about that match. so this takes place the day after that. i just wanted them all to be very sweet to the suffering little clementine 💜 i hope this is anything, enjoy!!
can be read as platonic or shippy poly friends, whichever floats your boat
theres minor mentions of blood but thats about it, other than that its just friends supporting friends and fluff
@midnightpretenders0 @stormbornpirate
on ao3
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Everything ached. Cassidy was awake, but refused to open his eyes, feeling the pounding on the side of his head, followed by the stiffness in his neck. Even trying to move his arms as he rolled to his side on the bed hurt, putting any strength into the movement made him feel like he was going to throw up from the sheer pain alone.
He was very aware how rough last night had been, both physically and mentally, but it had been such a long time since Cassidy had last felt it like this that he had almost forgotten how bad the pain was. Getting battered, bruised, and bloodied was one thing, watching his friends go through it as well mostly because of him was another, him shoving his hand into glass and getting cuts and blood everywhere was a whole another suitcase he didn’t want to unpack.
Cassidy winced a little at the sound of the hotel room door opening, even the quietest sound feeling like rumbling in his ears. Even the stadium he had performed the night before didn’t sound as loud as that in his head.
He wasn’t obviously going to get any more sleep so he forced his eyes open, it taking a second for his vision to focus, watching as a familiar looking hand lowered a small bottle of painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand next to him. Cassidy carefully moved his head, eyes looking up towards Kris, who only smiled back at him as the pain was so obvious on his face she didn’t want to make it worse. He watched as she turned away from him, a finger rising on her lips, clearly shushing the other people in the room on his behalf.
Cassidy was thankful, but it wasn’t like it was going to make that big of a difference.
Without a word he slowly sat up, the painful moans and groans following every movement until he was finally able to throw his legs over the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes to steady himself for a moment, trying to push the painful headache away for at least long enough until he got something to relieve it in him. Reaching an arm for the bottle of painkillers was equally as painful, and Cassidy wasn’t going to lie if someone asked how he was holding up.
Barely.
He struggled for a moment trying to get the bottle open, followed by a defeated sigh as after a few weak attempts he wasn’t making any progress. As Cassidy was about to give up, another hand joined in, carefully taking the bottle from his hands, easily rolling the top of it open and pouring two pills out of it into the palm of his hand. Cassidy watched them, quietly, without a word popping them into his mouth before he was offered the glass of water. He glanced up at Trent, who only nodded back to him and continued to hold the glass for him even after Cassidy reached for it, making sure it was in much more secure hands than in the blond’s trembling ones, carefully tilting it so Cassidy could get a proper drink out of it.
Getting even slightly hydrated was doing him some good, but Cassidy had to admit he still didn’t feel much better. He knew it was going to take some time for the painkillers to kick in, and he just had to wait. Unfortunately for him he was an impatient one, but the soft brush of a hand against his arm soon caught his attention, Cassidy glancing over his shoulder back towards the bed, seeing the familiar face of Chuck smiling back at him as he carefully took a hold of the blond’s arm, nudging him softly back to the bed.
With a little help from Trent to try to help with his aching body, Cassidy was soon positioned in front of Chuck who was sitting up against the headboard, hands carefully running over the tensed up upper back of the blond. Cassidy tried to keep quiet as he felt the jolts of pain through his body, but little by little the hands carefully massaging his back were starting to have the desired effects. Cassidy could feel himself slowly relaxing, his breathing easier, the headache beginning to fade.
After a while the hands stopped, Chuck just steadying him a little as his arms wrapped around Cassidy’s midsection, pulling him against his chest. Cassidy didn’t resist, feeling comfortable for the first time in hours, even more so as he felt the bed shift on either side of them, more arms pulling them into careful, comforting hugs as Kris and Trent joined in.
There was a hint of smile on Cassidy’s lips as silence fell back into the hotel room, all of them just settling in comfortably in each other's arms. These truly were his best friends.
#drabble#character: orange cassidy#character: chuck taylor#character: trent baretta#character: kris statlander#wrestling fanfiction#aew fanfiction#request
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Pairing: Chuck Taylor/Trent Baretta
Quote: It wasn’t a dream, father. I really did meet her.
Verse: Mafia
This one is a continuation of this
Chuck Taylor was a fighter.
He always had been.
Growing up in Kentucky, he had always had to fight. Chuck fought for a place at the table, both for food and for the respect of the rest of his large family. As soon as it was evident that he’d never get that respect, he had taken himself away from the norm and familiarity of his home state for the excitement of New York City. In New York, it had been a fight that introduced him to Trent Baretta. It had started with the two men arguing and fighting with each other as competing thieves before setting everything aside and fighting for each other in the trenches of war.
Once they returned home, Chuck and Trent had begun to fight the law.
It had started small, petty theft as they had done before. That had simply gotten the two in trouble with a bigger entity, a mob boss named Benjamin Slatterly, a man the streets referred to as The Bastard. They had attempted to pick his pocket and, when caught, were compelled to make a deal to save their hides. Chuck had offered his family whiskey recipe, offering to still and deliver it with Trent and new friend Jamie Cassidy, who they referred to as Orange. Slatterly had accepted that seeing as his wife Raemona ran a speakeasy of her own.
That would have been easy enough had Chuck steered clear of his main vice: his own love for the drink. The vice was small enough in the beginning, but after the war, it had only gotten worse. In the end, it was what had led to his current situation. Chuck had cost Slatterly too much money and Slatterly had laid a hit out on the man. Had it not been for the love of Slatterly’s daughter, Cherry, and her help with getting out of town, the boys knew that they would have been dead sooner rather than later.
And still, Chuck had ended up in this situation.
Chuck had trusted an old friend from the war, Bryan Danielson, enough to go out to meet the man. He was unaware of Bryan’s allegiance to Slatterly’s father, William Regal, until it was too late. He had gotten sicker and sicker over the course of their dinner, Bryan poisoning the other man over time. Bryan had finally dropped Chuck off with Trent and Orange as a warning to the trio not to get too comfortable.
But Chuck Taylor was a fighter.
With a wheezing breath, the Kentucky gentleman opened his eyes, only barely, to look around the room. His bedroom, its safety, was more well kept than he remembered. A vase of brightly colored flowers sat on his bedside table. His normally shut bedroom window was open, allowing a breeze of fresh air. But his eyes were drawn to the man who sat at the bedside, hunched over with his head in his hands.
There was no mistaking his Trent.
Chuck had always loved the fashionable man. His suits were always well pressed, his tie always the brightest colors and tied proudly around his neck. Everything seemed to hug his muscles in a way that Chuck Taylor couldn’t ignore. But now? The suit was disheveled and his tie was loose, almost as if it weren’t tied at all around his neck. Trent must have been worried and Chuck could only just hear his voice. He was praying. “Never been a man of faith, but…please don’t take him. I…I couldn’t dream of a world without him, a world where I never met him…”
“It ain’t a dream, father. Ya really did meet me,” Chuck teased, his voice hoarse from lack of use. A soft smirk took the young man’s lips as he watched Trent’s head pop up from his hands. His eyes were red, tears streaming down his cheeks bearing a scruffy beard. Trent let out a surprised gasp, jumping to his feet.
“Chuck…Ch…” Trent stammered, before practically running to the bedroom door. He tossed it open quickly, shouting down the hall, “He’s awake! Chuck’s awake!”
“Hey, hey not too loud,” Chuck chuckled, wincing in pain. His head still pounded and his chest felt tight, painfully so. “How long have I been out?”
Trent sat on the edge of the bed, his hand placed over the top of Chuck’s, “Too long, Chuckie. Don’t you ever scare me like this again, capiche?”
“Trent, you know I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
#aew imagine#aew#chuck taylor imagine#chuck taylor#trent baretta imagine#trent baretta#character: chuck taylor#character: trent baretta#verse: mafia
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Chuck and Taylor !! this is one of my best drawings :3
Ignore the quality AGHH I HATE TUMBLR STOP KILLIN MA QUALITY
#papa louie#papa louie fanart#flipline studios#flipline chuck#flipline fanart#flipline taylor#I KNOW THESE ARE BASIC ASS CHARACTERS im not a poser guys i know every papa louie character and their information in the flipdecks/srs 😔😔
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I agree with your thoughts regarding Trent and Chuck.
Eventually Trent would grow to resent Chuck, as he has with Orange. Especially if they never win “the big one”.
He would start believing that Chuck is the one holding him back. Chuck’s the reason they keep losing.
Chuck is deadweight, etc.
In the end, Trent will always blame others for his shortcomings
This!!! Definitely this!!!
Besides, Chuck & Orange have something unbreakable in their bond : always have. Trent and Chuck were forced together and have just been a team ever since. That's not to say a real bond didn't develop! Trent has said there was a time they were really close, but apparently, that hasn't been in a while.
I think Trent is too scared to look inward and really see himself. He wants to blame everyone around him when, in reality, he's had this lurking inside of him the entire time. Orange has adored Trent all five years they were together, even going so far as to fill in for Chuck during the tournament right after losing his title in a brutal defense.
Now that we've seen what's lurking under the surface, Trent doesn't have to mask anymore. He'll cut out any and everyone he sees as dead weight.
#to everyone ; this is all KAYFABE and CHARACTER speculation#let's have fun with it#chuck taylor#trent beretta#vex answers#I LOVE GETTING MESSAGES KEEP THEM COMING
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it is 2am and i am feeling so much sam winchester love rn so here is a list of taylor swift songs i think resonate with him:
1. Anti-Hero
I feel as tho all the lyrics work towards his character.
Mr. Samuel “It’s me, Hi, I’m the problem it’s me… everybody agrees,” Winchester
I should not be left to my own devices -> Dean constantly implies that Sam shouldn’t be left to figure things out on his own. He does this so much that Sam actually confronts him about it, multiple times.
I wake up screaming from dreaming -> Sam used to wake up from his visions freaked the hell out.
The second verse is also very fitting; he always felt like a freak or monster compared to everyone else.
2. Clean
DEMON BLOOD !!!!!!
I think it works really well for his addiction arc because the song is about toxic relationships (aka RUBY).
The drought being the worst -> Being locked in Bobby’s panic room.
The flowers that we grown together died of thirst -> The powers that grew and developed during his addiction and slowly disappeared when he was sobering.
I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing -> Sam was shouting and banging for hours down in the panic room and no one came to check on him until he was quiet.
Ten months older, I wont give in. Now that i’m clean, I’m never gonna risk it -> He never went back
3. Nothing New
Honestly, the whole reason this song is on the list is because of the lyric:
How can a person know everything at 18, but nothing at 22 -> Sam left for Stanford at 18. That was his first taste of freedom; it was his first time deciding something for himself. He was his own person. He had finally escaped. But, then at 22, Dean came and brought him back in. Jess dies. Everything feels lost again.
In general, I think Sam has lost of teenage girl vibes to him tho. This is probably self projection, but I think its true and this is MY analysis so <3.
4. My Tears Ricochet
This song is about Sam and John’s Stanford fight, and general dynamics that they share.
This one is going to get it’s own in depth, dedicated post <3 but some highlights are:
Even on my worst day, did i deserve, all the hell you gave me -> Sam was a child. No matter how arrogant or frustrating he could be, John should have never been so harsh on him. Telling your kid to never come back just because he wants to go to college is INSANE.
And I can go anywhere I want, just not home -> THIS LINE IS SO AHHHHHHH SAMMY.
Cursing my name, wishing i stayed -> John. John. John. Cursing Sam to never return, while simultaneously wishing he had never left.
Cause when I’d fight you used to tell me I was brave -> Parallel, John telling Sam he being brave on a hunt VS John condescendingly saying Sam was being brave for standing up to him.
You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same -> John realizing that Sam might have to die if nothing changes. John giving that responsibility to Dean by giving his life for Dean’s; selfless selfishness.
5. Mirrorball
Mr. Samuel “And when I break, it’s in a million pieces” Winchester
I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me -> Sam continuously tries to do his best under every circumstance. Even though most of the people around him have such little faith in him. He won’t stop trying.
And I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why -> His faith is God and the stereotypical Christian religion in general throughout the series fascinates me. He has very little reason to keep his faith, but he does. Even in later seasons, I think it was s11, when he prays and believes that Lucifer’s visions are actually messages from God.
I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try try try -> Sam doesn’t actually know what he is doing. He uses his training, but that only can get you so far in mental battles with Lucifer or physical battles with God. He does what he thinks is right. He just wants to help.
6. This Is Me Trying
This is also in the works of developing its own post. Highlights include:
I didn’t know if you’d care if i came back, i have a lot of regrets about that -> Sam never got to know if Dean wanted him back. All that time spent at Stanford he had to wonder if his father and brother actually missed him or not.
Could’ve followed my fears all the way down -> This just screams Lucifer trauma to me
THEY TOLD ME ALL MY CAGES WERE MENTAL, SO I GOT WASTED LIKE ALL MY POTENTIAL -> *violently screams and shakes* The visions, Demon blood, Hallucifer, literally anytime Sam is struggling it is brushed off as him being too worked up about it. Dean literally COMPLAINED to Bobby about how much work it was that Sam was mentally ill. LIKE DUDE.
AND MY WORDS SHOOT TO KILL WHEN IM MAD, I HAVE A LOT OF REGRETS ABOUT THAT -> Sam does say shit that is hurtful. He does shit that is bad. It’s usually out of frustration from someone else’s actions towards him. AKA it’s usually towards Dean, when Dean belittles him.
pouring out my heart to a stranger, BUT I DIDNT POUR THE WHISKEY -> Sam vs Dean (this is NOT me belittling Dean’s alcoholism bc i get he has an issue)
That this is me trying, AT LEAST IM TRYING -> Again, Sam is just doing his best.
And it’s hard to be at a party when I when i feel like an open wound -> Sam has to just behave and go through his life normally even when he is struggling with abandonment, addiction, 180 years of every abuse imaginable and unimaginable, guilt, and just so much suffering.
It ’s hard to be anywhere when all i want is you, you’re a flashback -> Sam’s feelings about Jess. I constantly think about that scene in the impala when he tells Dean that he still thinks about her. It had been like twelve or more years. Its so painful.
—
please excuse my typos
i am yet but just a girl
<3
#im so insane about sam#i lovelovelove his character#i don’t understand people who don’t#i am such a sam fan i cannot understand hating him#supernatural#sam winchester#spn#castiel#please talk to me about supernatural#dean winchester#sabriel#sastiel#chuck shurley#sammy#sam winchester to me is pspsps to cats#sam spn#sam antis are crazy <3#sam and dean#taylor swift and supernatural#sam girl#sam posts#sam winchester hurts me#jared padalecki
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Happy one of three birthdays to my main man Dick Grayson. My fixation on this character started in August 2022. I had just left a career in nursing after having started as a brand new nurse when the pandemic hit. I was burnt out, tired, and needed a break from everything. My partner had recently started rewatching Teen Titans and one night as we were watching together he said "aren't there like a few Robins? I wonder which one this is." And my deep dive into Dick Grayson began. He is a light to Batman and for so many other heroes, but he also became a symbol and a light for me in a really dark period of my life where I was living for other people and not for myself. I have a tattoo of Nightwing and a little chibi Robin on my arm to remind me that this is my life and I can follow whatever path that I choose. Things aren't always going to be easy. There is always going to be darkness creeping up ready to swallow me, but there always will be a light.
PSA: Travis Moore draws the most beautiful Dick Grayson. I don't make the rules, your honor.
#dick grayson#dc comics#nightwing#dick grayson birthday#he's my babygirl#and just so pretty#it's a crime your honor#total comfort character vibes#tom taylor#chuck dixon#travis moore#bruno redondo#born on the first day of spring#robin#batman and robin
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Sleepover Saturday!
Favorite wrestler interview moment?
Oh, wow. This is a good one - thanks Lizzy! Off the top of my head for what are explicitly interviews (so not just people goofing around in vlogs or whatever)...terribly on-brand but I just really love the entire Best Friends interview with Roddy. Here's a clip I probably won't GIF but is super cute:
RS: [about his match versus Jerry Lynn] I was actually getting that fiery babyface comeback...
CT: And then you hit 13 moves in a row?
RS: ...four. Y'know? Four at that time!
CT: Oh, yeah, this was years ago.
RS: No, no, no...right now, I'm about two apiece.
CT: Come on...I love you, Rod-dog.
RS: I'm not 13 now...
T?: Dropping l-bombs just five minutes in?
CT: Should I not go three words?
T?: Not yet...
#mel's asks#adding the character tags to my asks cause I included the whole clip#roderick strong#chuck taylor#trent beretta#trent?#highspots
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Accent - Chuck Taylor/Best Friends x Emery
Part of my Dark Angel of the Bullet Club series.
When I watched this interview segment on Dynamite I noticed Chuckies accent start getting thicker and it was the CUTEST thing. So... I made this.
This directly follows: 'Worried'
Word Count: 1,481
Tag List: @katries @summertimefun1982 @blxxckheart
(if you want added to the tag list, let me know)
(divider by)
Emery stands beside Orange as the Doc takes a closer look at his wrist once more. After the grueling match with Buddy that he just had, Orange was in pretty bad shape, especially with his already injured limb. She was very worried about his current state but kept her mouth closed as Emery had already voiced her concerns on the way backstage. Trent and Chuck had been at the bottom of the stairs waiting when Emery and Doc Sampson escorted Orange to the back, worry evident on their faces too.
There was no time to rest though, as Renee came up to them and stood in the middle with a microphone. Emery warily side-eyed the other woman, before stepping to the other side of Orange, putting some distance between the two women. Renee wasn’t blind and saw what Emery had done—but she couldn’t blame her. Everything Mox and the rest of BCC had done recently warranted the mistrust, though it still stung slightly.
When she got to the other side, Cassidy motioned for her to give him his backpack. Frowning slightly, Emery unzipped the bag and pulled out the t-shirt she had crammed inside of it, making the bag a little lighter and less bulky. Draping the white t-shirt over her arm, Emery carefully looped the strap of the backpack around Orange’s outstretched arm and placed it gently on his shoulder. He gave her a pained smile as the doc continued examining his wrist, his breathing slowly evening out.
It took everything in Emery to not let her eyes drop down his body; shirtless, glistening slightly with the sheen of sweat after his match—
‘Get ahold of yourself’ Emery frowned to herself, averting her attention by reaching up towards Orange’s face. Gently, she nudged the glasses up his nose a bit more, as they had been slowly descending towards the end. Looking across at the other two guys, Emery noticed their expressions were now that of annoyance and worry. He gave her a gracious smirk as the doc continued and Renee began the interview after the cameraman motioned to her.
“Backstage with Orange Cassidy, the Best Friends, and Emery. Orange Cassidy, you just successfully retained the International Championship—"
Orange nodded, taking over with holding the ice pack as the doc leaves. Emery gave him a small smile of gratitude before returning her attention to Orange.
“--However, I do have to ask if there’s any medical update on your hand.”
Trent chimed in before Orange spoke, a firm smile on his face, “His hand is fine. Renee! Still the Champ!” He motioned over towards Orange and Emery before continuing, “Orange Cassidy! Defending his belt every week. On the run of his life.”
Chuck gives a smile as Trent continues to hype up their friend, and while Emery smiled, a feeling in the pit of her stomach gave her cause for concern. Was he upset? They weren’t going to turn on Cassidy, were they?
“And to be honest—" Trent motions between him and Chuck, “--Makes the boys… a little bit jealous.”
The feeling in her gut intensified, a worried expression on her face as she looked at the two friends. Orange looked towards them as well, his eyes primarily on Chuck, before grimacing and looking away as the pain in his hand and wrist hit a high note.
Chuck saw the concern on Emery’s face and decided to clarify quickly.
“Yeah, speaking of titles. We heard what happened in Japan,” Chuck pointed over his shoulder, in a direction off camera, “Aussie Open IWGP Tag Team Champions. How ‘bout. You guys fly on over here, to Milwaukee, and fight us Friday night on Rampage.”
The longer he spoke, the more his southern accent came out—and upon hearing it, tingles raced down Emery’s spine. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tore her eyes off Chuck, hoping that it hadn’t looked to anyone like she was ogling. Unfortunately, someone did notice, the corner of his lip twitching up for a split second.
“Hands in boys,” Trent says, stretching his hand to the middle; Chuck followed, placing his on top of Trent’s.
“Renee… Emery…,” Trent amended, and Renee looked a little uncertain.
“Oh..kay…” she muttered, putting hers on top of Chucks. Mentally kicking Trent, Emery carefully slid behind Orange, one hand on his shoulder as she placed her other one on top of Renee’s. Instantly, Trent lifted their hands to the sky, and Chuck turned, walking off camera as Renee speaks up.
“You didn’t count to three…” Trent stands there, staring into the camera with his arms crossed; Chuck is still off camera; Emery turns her attention back to Orange, whispering to him soft enough the camera doesn’t catch her words.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He softly shakes his head as Renee ends the interview, “Back to you guys.”
The cameraman walks off as Chuck comes back into the area; Trent notices Renee seems to want to talk to Emery, but the brunette isn’t paying her any attention, so she nods to herself and walks away.
“You gonna be good man?” Chuck asks Orange, coming to a stop beside his friend as Trent walks to the other side, facing Emery and Chuck.
“Yeah, should be. Just need to be careful,” Cassidy shrugged, grimacing slightly at the tug in the muscles.
“If you need anything, just let me know, okay?” Emery told him, “I mean it.”
“Yes, Mom,” Chuck muttered, looking away as she quickly turned her attention to him, eyes narrowing playfully.
“Sush you--!” Emery gave him a soft smack on the arm as Trent watched in amusement. Even Orange cracked a small smirk at their antics.
“So why the IWGP titles?” she asked Chuck, “Why not the Ring of Honor ones or the AEW ones?”
Chuck gave a shrug, “We’ve tried getting those AEW ones for a while, and the ROH ones have alluded us as well… figure might as well try the IWGP ones. I mean, it can’t hurt right? We got close to it a few years back, I figure we could easily get them now because—”
The longer he spoke, the more passionate and enthusiastic Chuck got about getting a title match and winning some tag gold—and in turn, the more his southern accent popped out. Just as Emery had planned. She stood there, gazing up at him as she listened, the tingles ripping through her spine continuously. To her, when his accent came out, it was one of the best things ever, and she loved hearing it. From beside them, Trent started chuckling under his breath, getting Chuck’s attention.
“What’s funny?” he asked his friend, looking at him with a confused expression; Emery frowned as she looked to Trent, inwardly annoyed he had stopped Chuck’s rant.
Trent shook his head, smiling as he glanced down at the floor for a second, looking back up as Orange shifted the ice pack on the back of his hand.
“Your inner south came out during the interview—” Trent explained, his eyes boring into Emery’s; her brown eyes widened in slight horror and embarrassment at being found out so quickly. Looking back to Chuck, Trent continued, “—I think—Emery wanted you to go off on another tangent about titles to bring that accent back out. Our little friend here… has a liking for accents.”
Emery’s breath caught in her throat, her head bowing as her eyes darted to the floor quickly. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire from the level of embarrassment she was feeling at that moment. Chuck blinked a few times, processing the information that Trent had just told him before realization dawned on him. Looking down at her shorter form, a huge smile crept across his face, a soft blush on his own face at the fact she adored his accent so much.
Chuck was speechless for a moment, but after dusting the cobwebs, he laughed softly.
“Well, if you want me to continue ranting about shit—”
Without warning, the tall Kentuckian leaned down and gripped Emery’s waist before hoisting her up over his shoulder. The sudden action caused a yelp of surprise to escape her lips, and her arms flailed momentarily to keep her balance. Splaying her palms on Chuck’s back as she felt his arm lock around her knees, he carried her off, heading towards their locker room with long strides.
Trent watched them disappear with an amused look on his face, chuckling to himself before looking at Orange. He could see a smile on his face as well, and with a shrug to Cassidy, the two walked in the direction Chuck had disappeared. Neither were in any hurry to get to the locker room; they knew that now Chuck was aware of it, he’d talk Emery’s ear off all night.
#dark angel of the bullet club#oc#all elite wrestling#fanfiction#imagine#oc emery#aew#original female character#Best Friends#Chuck Taylor#Orange Cassidy#Trent?#Trent Baretta
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You Wanna Wish Away Your Sins (1/3)
After losing to Best Friends at Arcade Anarchy, Kip undergoes shoulder surgery. One person reaching out to him afterwards sends Kip spiraling, turning all the pain and suffering in him into… Flowers? Flowers growing in his lungs?
Kip Sabian/Chuck Taylor.
Hanahaki disease. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. One-sided attraction.
Marked Mature on AO3 for general content. Warnings for mentions of hospitals, surgery, medical stuff. Described feelings for choking and vomiting.
Other characters include Penelope Ford, Trent Beretta. Kris Statlander and Orange Cassidy are mentioned. Background ship of Penelope/Kris is heavily implied, but never specifically shown.
part 2 || part 3
On AO3
I reeeeally only wanted to start posting this after it was all done, but seeing how I'm two weeks behind on what I wanted the original publishing schedule to be, I need heavy motivation to actually finish this (its about halfway done as of posting this), so! Here's the effort to hopefully help with that! Cause I am planning on finishing this, I have full plans for all three chapters and the epilogue (that'll be tacked onto the final chapter), I just need the energy to realize that its worth finishing so.. I'm getting this up now. To maybe hopefully see its worth it and people want to see this through. Idk.
I have been thinking maybe this concept would have been better with another ship, but I started with this and its very fitting for them, and I need more of this propaganda in my life and seeing how I'm the only one making it… Yeah we're sticking to Kip and Chuck. Sorry not sorry.
(also tag list might change a little as i post the rest, tho this should be it generally. i tried to keep it spoiler free for now)
@midnightpretenders0 @stormbornpirate @ss-trashboat
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Beep.
Kip tried to ignore the heart monitor to the best of his ability, and yet his brows furrowed, irritated, at the sound. The soft groan was barely audible in the hospital room that was empty aside from him, as Kip came to witness as he forced his eyes open, returning back to the real world from the sleepless rest he had been attempting to get for the last few hours.
Some would have guessed that sleeping would have been easier when you lost feeling from one of your four limbs, especially from the one going through the extreme levels of pain. But what those same people didn’t understand, was that the medication they put him under with, was amplifying most of his other senses to the point where it was almost painful to just even listen to certain sounds.
Beep.
Kip glared at the monitor, watching the little line on it beep an extra time, almost as if it was mocking him and the hatred raising his heart rate. Kip leaned back on the bed, turning away, eyes landing on the window across the room. The soft rays of sunshine indicated early morning hours, which wouldn’t have surprised him a bit. After coming to from the surgery Kip had been in various states between high alert and sleeping like a log, dozing off whenever he felt like it. Not that it mattered, they didn’t let him go home yet anyway, so he was just taking advantage of sleeping away as much of the irritation and pain he could while he was alone.
Beep.
Slowly Kip’s eyes dragged away from the window, landing on the little drawer next to the bed. Some nice nurse, was his guess unless it really had been Penelope, had left his personal belongings on it on a little tray. Honestly Kip was slightly surprised they had been just left for him like that, out in the open. While sure, he wasn’t sharing the room with anyone else, anyone could just walk in at any time while he was out cold and grab his wallet, keys, and phone and just bail out.
Or even worse, he himself could have used the phone before he was fully aware of himself and his surroundings yet, being under the influence of the painkiller and/or anesthesia. Almost as bad as some of his younger days of drunk dialing.
Beep.
Kip closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried not to get irritated at the sound piercing his ears every couple of moments. As he calmed himself down, he slowly opened his eyes again, landing them back on the phone on the tray. He observed it for a moment, trying to count in his head how long it had been since he was wheeled into the operating room, how long it had been since he had last checked anything.
Really all he could remember was the little kiss Penelope placed on the top of his head, whispering him good luck before he was wheeled away from her too.
Beep.
Kip’s hand slipped away from under the thin covers of the awfully medical feeling blanket thrown over him, reaching for the phone. It was easier said than done to be honest, having to navigate the world now mostly with his non-dominant hand and everything. Kip fumbled a little, almost letting the phone slip from his fingers, letting out a string of quiet curse words from under his breath as he barely caught it again before it managed to fall to the floor, where he most definitely wouldn’t have been able to grab it without getting some help first.
With a sigh he lowered the phone into his lap, brushing a hand through his hair. Everything was just so bothersome and irritating to him, he could barely do things by himself. And every single little bit that he required some kind of help with, Kip hated even more. He understood the situation he was in, absolutely, but that didn’t mean that he was going to enjoy being so dependent on others when he could just as easily do all of this, and more, by himself before.
Beep.
His eyes landed back on the phone now sitting on the bed in his lap, the fingers of his right hand carefully drumming against the dark screen. It felt cold to the touch, clearly not having been turned on for a while or being held in a hand using it. Kip had no idea if there would even be any messages for him to return to, sure there were people like his family, friends, and co-workers who knew he was going through the surgery, but most people he felt like had already been in touch the day before, wishing him luck. He vaguely remembered Penelope telling him she would send him reminders about things he needed to take care of after surgery, but that was all he was expecting.
And yet, there was some sort of odd feeling of hesitation in him as Kip’s fingers kept drawing circles on the screen, only mimicking opening apps and scrolling through them.
Beep.
It was almost as if the sound was mocking him at this point, screaming at him to do something. Kip glared at the monitor on his side, eyes slowly returning back to the phone. He carefully took it back into his hand, weighting it for a moment, his thumb navigating on top of the power button almost on instinct. Kip barely stopped himself from pressing it down, taking a moment to ask himself if it was worth it.
As far as he knew, nobody was going to need him while he was gone. He was going to have to turn it on later to get in touch with Penelope about getting out of the hospital as she had promised to pick him up, but apart from that… Kip didn’t really know what to expect. On the other hand though, this kind of silence gave him a good chance to catch up on other important things he might have missed, if there weren't people he needed to get back to.
What could go wrong?
Beep.
Kip held down the button, watching as the screen slowly lit up, greeting him with the familiar opening screens. His eyes narrowed a little at the sudden bright lighting hitting him, but soon enough he was booted in, allowing him to adjust the screen brightness to his liking. Kip was still trying to get used to being awake and feeling like himself in his own body, and coming off from heavy medication, even if it had been a day since then, it was like a dark cloud hanging over him. He didn’t enjoy it in the slightest, but Kip knew it was a necessary step if he wanted to get through all of this. Unfortunately.
As he got himself back into his phone, Kip absentmindedly scrolled through some of the messages that were popping up little by little all over the place. Mostly it was just few remaining co-workers and friends that hadn’t reached out earlier wishing him speedy recovery and hoping that the surgery goes well, the usual things you’d message to someone you didn’t talk to more than occasionally but who you knew was going to go through something heavy like this and you had their contact info at hand. Kip scrolled through the well-wishes, smiling occasionally a little more as he watched the different names and profile pictures he recognized, wondering how many of these people actually cared or if this was just a cleverly arranged mass ruse so he would maybe feel a bit better after being under the knife.
And then.
Kip’s eyes locked onto one of the messages, starting with a word he didn’t expect to see.
‘Sorry’.
He didn’t notice his grip on the phone getting tighter until holding it actually hurt his hand, but Kip pushed the thought aside. Unblinking eyes stared at the phone screen as it burned the images of the words on his retinas until they were hurting too, but he was too deep in his own head to look away, to stop reading the message he didn’t think he would be getting. Not now, not ever.
Not from Chuck.
‘Sorry about your shoulder. Heard from Kris you were getting surgery. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad. Hope you heal well. If you need something, let me know.’
Kip’s mind was nothing but static. The phone light hurt his eyes, his grip hurt his hand, reading and processing the words in his head. The pain shooting through him was almost comparable to the jolts he experienced going through the structure Chuck had thrown them both down to from the stage, only this one was even worse somehow.
‘If you need something, let me know.’
He didn’t read that right. He couldn’t have read that right. There was no way Chuck Taylor out of all people would say something like this to him. Or even text these kinds of lines to him. To Kip.
To the man that had been looking at Chuck from a distance with a mixture of interest and admiration for so long without saying any words out loud, without making any moves, without taking any actions to realize the thoughts and feelings he had. There was no way Chuck was doing this, offering help to him if he needed it, without knowing that there was something going on in Kip’s mind that he wasn’t sure was going to be able to handle daylight.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad.’
Chuck didn’t know Kip was already on his way out when Arcade Anarchy was announced. He had already been told he would require surgery on the torn shoulder, but this match was approved even with the ending spot as it wasn’t going to make his condition any worse than it already was. Kip hadn’t dared to say anything to the Best Friends, in fear that it would hinder their performance; he wanted them at their best, not feeling sorry for him, not trying to be careful with him. Miro knew, but he kept his promise and didn’t say anything either.
For better or worse, Kip wasn’t sure anymore.
Beep. Beep.
He finally tore his eyes away from the phone screen, letting it drop from his hand. Kip curled the fingers a few times trying to ease the pain, eyes blinking as rather painful tears stung in the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of emotional distress or just a side effect of staring at the screen, but it didn’t matter to him. Whichever it was, he didn’t want it, and it was making him feel awful.
Beep. Beep.
Kip slowly looked over at the heart rate monitor, watching the little line make extra jumps and letting out more irritating noises than necessary. His eyes trailed one of the cords leaving from it, watching it being attached to his chest with a little patch. Kip snorted at it, turning away.
Stupid. It was all so fucking stupid.
Beep.
His eyes landed back on the phone, hand reaching for his face as he wiped away a couple of tears. He wasn’t sure why he got so worked up over this, it wasn’t like this meant anything. Chuck was just worried, offering him his condolences and a little help if he needed it, just like everyone else did. That didn’t mean anything, no more, no less, than that he was being a good co-worker. Not even a friend.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Beep.
Maybe that’s why he took it so hard, to be honest. Kip inhaled deeply, almost frightened over how shaky his breathing sounded. He hadn’t expected this to hit him so hard, but something about seeing Chuck Taylor out of all the possible people reaching out to him after hearing about the surgery just sent him spiraling. Short circuited his brain. His thoughts were all gone. Kip’s mind blank, nothing but a newly debuted white canvas ready to be painted on.
And the only visual that appeared on it was Chuck, the moment he held onto Kip seconds before throwing them both off from the stage.
The words he whispered to Kip when the camera was pointing the other way.
“Are you sure?”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
In that moment he had been, only for the fact that he knew Chuck would prevent him from hurting further. At least, in the physical sense. Mentally at that point Kip was already so far down the rabbit hole that it didn’t matter. He would have said yes. Not only to that, but to anything that Chuck asked him.
Was Kip sure? Yes.
Was Kip going to be okay? Yes.
Did Kip want him?
…
Yes.
Yes he did.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He looked back at the monitor, watching the line make extra jumps again. It apparently wasn’t a concerning enough feature, considering how long it had been going on and not a single nurse had gotten in to even check on him yet. Kip understood it though, in a hospital full of patients in worse conditions than what he was in, he was merely a second thought to anyone passing by his room. He didn’t make a sound, he wasn’t in pain, he didn’t exhibit extreme amounts of discomfort.
At least, not on the outside.
Beep. Beep.
Kip leaned his head back against the propped up bed, eyeing the monitor. If he wasn’t thinking about the phone that was still quietly buzzing in his lap, his heart rate slowly went back down. Of course he couldn’t keep this up forever, eventually he would probably have to reply to Chuck, and who knew what kind of fresh hell of wounds that would open on him. How awkward it would make everything if he dared to actually take on Chuck’s own offering and ask him for any help. Of course Kip didn’t need to do that, knowing that Chuck hadn’t actually caused any of this like he was thinking that he did, but…
Maybe it would be a way to get a step closer. To spend time with him. To figure out if Chuck could possibly feel the same way Kip did.
Beep.
Kip closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. It would be all fine, he lied to himself. It wouldn’t matter if Chuck said no, it wouldn’t matter if they became just friends. Another lie. Kip could live with it if he could just tell Chuck how he felt, and whatever came out of that was just perfectly fine with him.
Kip was such a masterful liar sometimes.
Beep.
He hummed at himself a little, obviously satisfied with the way he made himself at least on some level believe everything was going to be okay. A small smirk tuck the corners of his lips, but Kip resisted it, thinking it was a step too far. He allowed himself to be proud of himself in this situation, but showing it outwards was a little too much.
Instead he yawned, followed by a cough as Kip could feel something scratching in his throat.
Beep.
He tried to gently cough it out, only making the scratching worse. Kip opened his eyes, glancing around him, trying to see if there was even a cup of water somewhere close by, but no such luck. Instead he coughed again, the burning in his throat just growing stronger and feeling grosser the more he tried to physically force whatever was stuck in his airways out of his body.
With a few more coughs the feeling was turning unbearable, Kip rather violently jerking forward as he coughed loudly, hand flying on to cover his mouth as he could feel something dislodging in his throat, attempting a forceful exit out of his mouth.
Beep. Beep.
Maybe he wasn’t as over the side effects of anesthesia as Kip thought, or nausea was a side effect of the painkillers. As the thoughts raced through his mind, Kip tried to keep his mouth covered by his hand, eyes shooting around his limited moving space, trying to find something he could safely vomit into. He could feel another scratch on his throat, knowing that he just had to take it and let it all out, Kip shoved the phone from his lap to the floor in a semi panic, barely hearing it landing with a loud thud before he allowed his insides to empty themselves into his lap.
Beep. Beep.
With his eyes closed to bear the pain, Kip could feel the burning in his lungs, but it all felt different than usual. It was an odd sensation, it felt more like something was scratching and crawling its way up his lungs rather than his throat, pushing painfully out of him rather than flowing in the liquid form like usual. It still burned, but in a softer, almost calming way compared to what Kip knew it should be.
Fearing the mess he had made, Kip slowly opened his eyes, thinking that he might have to call a nurse over to help him out, as much as he hated it. But instead he froze in place, eyes widening in shock as he tried to process the small pile of purple shaded rose petals sitting on his lap instead.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kip carefully reached a hand towards the petals, shaking fingertips tracing along one. It felt soft, like it was freshly plucked from a flower, the kind of fresh petals you’d spread on a bed for a romantic surprise to a loved one. But the moment was nothing but romantic, it was surprising for sure, but it was more making Kip internally freak out than giving him any sentimental feelings over the sudden pile of petals in his lap.
They had come out from inside of him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kip had no idea why. No idea how. He could feel something crawling in his throat again, letting out a soft cough, watching a single petal flowing out of him, landing on top of the pile that had already formed.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kip’s hands slowly grabbed a hold of the petals, squeezing them in his fists. He froze for a moment, feeling the soft petals against the palms of his hands, against his exposed skin, almost tearing wounds onto him despite their petite appearance.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kip screamed.
#fic#aew fanfiction#wrestling fanfiction#character: kip sabian#character: chuck taylor#ship: chuckkip#fic: you wanna wish away your sins#setting: hanahaki
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every time I feel down I wear the Hawkeye chucks and I become unbeatable
#parker talks#purple chuck taylors I bought in the midst of my hawkeye obsession my beloved#honestly hawkeye obsession never quiet went away#character of all time tbh#hawkeye
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Pairing: Orange Cassidy/Cherry James
Quote: There was only one thing to do. Lock the poor chap in his chambers and keep him there until the poison worked out of his system.
Verse: Mafia
Mentions of character death
Cherry James wasn’t sure how she had ended up in this situation.
She had always been a good kid. Straight A’s, never getting in trouble at school, let alone with the law. Cherry had never wanted anything more than to be the child that she thought her mother and father deserved. Of course, as she got older, Cherry found other pursuits. She loved to read, mostly poetry, and had even written a few pieces of her own. And as she had gotten to a point where she was ready to date, she had found her interest in boys.
That’s where everything started to go wrong.
Cherry had met the three older boys through her mother Raemona’s bakery. The leader of the trio, a young man whose friends affectionately called Orange, was everything she could have ever wanted. He was handsome, though a bit scruffy with his beard, the nickname of Orange coming from the color of his beard and hair. His soft blue eyes were under thin-rimmed glasses, a certain air of savoir-faire to everything he did. The taller of his friends was a southerner who had moved to New York, Chuck Taylor. While Orange was quiet and laidback, Chuck was anything but. He was a fighter, quick to defend his friends. His shaggy brown hair was almost always unkempt, almost as unruly as the look behind his brown eyes. Then, finally, there was Trent Baretta. Unlike the other two, Trent had been born and raised in New York. He was a pleasant blend between the two men he called best friends, his quietness often becoming a worked-up rage if he needed to protect his friends. Trent kept his black hair extremely short, the same as he did his facial hair. The look in his caramel eyes never betrayed his calculating thoughts.
Cherry had become enamored with the three and often tagged along like a little lost pup. She loved to spend her time in the park with Orange, reading him poetry with his head in her lap underneath the trees. She loved learning to ride horses with Chuck upstate, having never had the honor before. She loved seeing the picture shows with Trent, who always seemed enamored with the larger-than-life characters on the silver screen. Still, there were times when the three men would disappear for days at a time. They never told her where they were going, but when they came back, the boys always seemed to bring her presents to make up for their disappearance.
That’s when the truth slipped out.
Orange and Trent had been arguing over something Chuck had done the night before, using words that Cherry had never heard before. Something about Chuck staying too long at a juice joint? That he had gone on another toot? That their boss would be mad?
And so she had asked.
The boys, she found out, were bootleggers. Chuck had the recipe for the stuff, the whiskey, and despite the illegality of it, Trent and Orange helped transport it over town to supply speakeasies. Speakeasies like the one that, apparently, her mother Raemona helped run. Her world wasn’t as good as she had always believed it to be. The mother she had wanted to impress so much? The owner of a speakeasy. Her father? A crime lord that the men she loved had cheated out of a significant amount of money because of Chuck’s bender.
In an instant, and for love, Cherry had decided to turn her back on her good girl image to help the three men hide their secrets. For a while, it had gone well. She helped the boys evade her father’s grasp in a little apartment of their own. She had protected them for months.
Until today.
The boys had carried Chuck in, which she assumed meant that he had drank too much again. But the look in Trent’s eyes as they carried him in? He had been crying. The color that Chuck’s skin seemed to take on? That was unnatural. Orange and Trent laid the man in his bed and Cherry could see how shallow Chuck’s breathing was. Something was desperately wrong. “Boys! What…”
Trent licked his lips, though he didn’t look at Cherry. His eyes were trained on Chuck, “Jamie…Orange I…”
“Stay here with him. I’ll…I’ll go talk with little fruit,” Orange nodded softly. He took Cherry’s hand, leading her to the small den of the apartment. He didn’t sit, pacing instead as Cherry did so. “Cherry…uh…they found us…”
The color drained from her face and the grip she had on Orange’s hand tightened, “No. No, we were careful. H…how…”
“Chuck went out to eat with someone he thought he could trust. A friend from the war,” Orange’s voice was even, slow. “Trent and I were on our way to…doesn’t matter where. A buggy drives by and tosses him at us. He’s…”
“He’s been shot? I didn’t see a wound. And what friend?!” Cherry protested loudly, standing and glancing towards the bedroom. “He…”“Poisoned, not shot or stabbed. It’s the only way,” Orange enveloped her in a hug, “Name Bryan Danielson carry any weight?”
The name did carry weight, a heavy amount of it, but not because of her father. “He works with…with my grandpa at his gym. He…he’s a good man. He wouldn’t…”
“He did,” Orange confirmed, “Trent rang a doc, but…”
“Is he going to die?” Cherry whispered, tears brimming her emerald eyes.
For a moment, Orange didn’t reply. His silence was usually something Cherry loved about him. He usually didn’t need words to communicate how he felt. Now? Now his silence terrified her.
“Until the doc gets here, there’s only one thing to do. Lock the man up in his room and keep him there until the poison works its way out of his system.”
#aew imagine#aew#orange cassidy imagine#orange cassidy#original character#chuck taylor#trent baretta#character: orange cassidy#character: original character#character: cherry james#character: chuck taylor#character: trent baretta#verse: mafia
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I don't want whatever the threat is. I dont eanna live in fear
Your ocs. Hand em over
OKAY i know it has been. weeks. months, even. however, I considered how I wanted to say this because too many characters too little time. but here we go:
A Penchant for the Ordinary
Jamie Caldwell is everyone's favorite character and by that I mean she's chaotic as hell, makes knee jerk reactions, definitely unknowingly has ADHD, extremely low self control, and her stress relief is punching people who (probably) deserve it. She's a gay mess in every sense of the word and has seriously tried so hard to get her life together and it's just. it's not working out for her. so, after accepting that fact, Jamie begins to embrace the chaotic and darker sides of herself. if her life is going to hell, she may as well take a free trip down as well and see what it's all about
Chloe and Gus together, because they're so codependent we quite literally never see them apart except for a single scene near the end where Gus hangs around to say one last thing before following her. As mentioned: codependent as hell. Not romantically involved but they know every single in and out of each other- moreso than most couples. While Jamie feels regret for her sudden reactions, Chloe basks in them and has never once wished she made a different decision. Gus typically has the braincell, but usually not for long- he's as much of an adrenaline junkie as everyone else.
Madison did not sign up for any of this shit. When my dad read my book, one of the things he told me was that it was so not necessary to put her through everything that I did. And although I agree, it was sadly necessary for Jamie's questionable character arc. Sorry Madison- but trust me, you're better off with a different girlfriend
Kat absolutely signed up for everything she gets herself into, even if she claims that she didn't. She goes around saying "I'm not involved with any of these people :|" and then actively hangs out with them and invites them to her apartment. for multiple days. She's the type of person that would claim to want to have a relaxing life but she literally chose not to. girl what
Davy tried his best. kind of. he could've done a hell of a lot better, but he also genuinely tried to do well to fix his mistakes. He's the type of person who will feel genuine regret for what he's done and try to rectify his mistakes, even if it takes uhhhhh a lot of time :)
Evelyn is a bastard. absolutely mad woman and in not a fun sexy hot way. Power hungry, unfazed by hurting anyone else in the process of getting what she wants, and yet she still sees herself as benevolent (she's not). Believes she's the main character of the book (she is not).
James did not deserve any of that. I'm sorry dude. That being said, your coping mechanisms were a little subpar. Sorry we still don't know exactly how you died (it's not a spoiler okay it's happened like ten years ago).
Daniel and Edward are absolutely in love but neither of them realize it and it's not a standard love. think qpr. think: they've known each other since elementary school and have gone through all of life together. loyal to a fault but would change on a hat to keep the other safe.
Obligatory Did these characters interest you? Do you want to read a subpar book but support a young author? You can buy A Penchant for the Ordinary here! Thank you in advanced for your support :D
and now: Paradigm
Delilah's trying her best except she makes about a few wrong turns, which ends up shaping her life for the next decade. Surprisingly little self esteem for a person in her job market, though she acts the opposite. She doesn't have enough of a filter but manages to charm her way past a lot of things that should've ended badly. The queen at pushing things down and pretending it never happened. Is aware that she's pretty much trapped, but doesn't believe she can get out.
Charlotte is still Delilah, but she's determined to change into someone else. A new woman who's better, stronger, more confident than Delilah. She becomes the femme fetal that Marcus had wanted since day one, and embraces it. She likes being the bad guy, relishes the feeling of knowing she's in the wrong, and pretends that she doesn't have a nagging feeling that she is, in fact, in the wrong.
Taylor is still Delilah, and parts of Charlotte bleed through to her as well. A changed woman. Mature, who believes that she's seen so much of life that she's immune to anything else that could be thrown at her. Truly believes that she can't change and was created to be bad. Acts like she couldn't give a damn about other people when in fact the opposite is true and she's just afraid of having weaknesses. Aren't we all.
Marcus is pretty much the worst person you can imagine. Runs a cool home business called "assassins for hire :)" (paraphrased). Although he used to do the dirty work himself, he now has employees that he keeps on a tight leash to do everything. Always has multiple contingency plans in case something goes wrong and the authorities get wind of him. If any employee screws up, Marcus gives them zero chances to fix it, and will round up everyone who fucked up last quarter, shoot them, and give them a shallow grave in the Nevada desert. Has an insanely creepy infatuation with Delilah.
Sid is quite possibly the only employee of Marcus that is somewhat on the genuinely good spectrum. ...or at least the "not actively trying to do bad" one. Ex-military, classic "never really left [insert place of war]." Hates Delilah until he begrudgingly doesn't hate Delilah. He knows that everything Marcus is doing is screwed up, but Sid's just going through the motions of life at this point. What's one more life for one more paycheck?
Lainey's name is still pending, but it'll probably end up as Lainey. Smarter than anyone in the world gives her credit for, and is very calculating. She knows more than she lets on as well, and uses that to her advantage. She's probably more forgiving than she should be, but that makes Lainey who she is. Eventually, the only one who knows the most about Delilah (and that isn't just because she sleeps with her. oops)
Rebecca is the classic TV CIA agent except she's actually real. She has poorly controlled OCD but pretends like she has everything under control at all times. After spending over half of a decade attempting to track and take in Marcus, she's eventually promoted to a higher up position, where she gets to create her own team, to finally, once and for all, bring in Marcus. Is pretty much willing to sacrifice it all for the job with little hesitation.
Carter is somewhere between Rebecca's second hand man while also being the worst (affectionate) gay hopeless romantic there is. He thinks he can juggle a relationship and CIA work but let me tell you. He's never learned how to juggle. Keeps Rebecca sane in every way you can think of, and the two often spend nights at each others' places because that's just what they do. Like Rebecca, he's on thin fucking ice with every higher up in the CIA. However, unlike Rebecca, he's excellent at damage control with their supervisor.
Unnamed Classic Hacker Character is still unnamed because no name has truly suited or worked with her. Trusts literally no one, especially not Taylor. Hates her guts, actually. Probably the only one who's actually confident about things, though she knows the least at any given time because she's a junior agent. Rebecca immediately was like "I want her" despite the fact that she graduated worst in her class. Opinionated and full of spite, in the way that every person in a fandom would fucking hate. Absolutely, without a doubt, a character I would love to write an 11 book series spin-off with
finally: Lou is for Lavender
Lou, originally Louisa, is going through it. The book is a journey on her life- or rather, the three months after escaping somewhere between an abusive boyfriend and being trafficked. With little identity, she finds herself constantly trying to figure out who she is, who she should be, and if there even exists a woman beyond the girl she used to be. She's genuinely trying her best, but fuck if it isn't hard. I love her. I love her so much. She is so lost but she's trying so hard to find her way back on a path. I could write five more paragraphs about her at any given time.
Maria is a six year old with far too much energy for someone her size. Absolutely infatuated with her grandmother and the way she used to read to Maria every single day and night, Maria begged her grandmother and Dana to teach her how to read by herself, which quickly morphed into writing. She'll write pages of six year old nonsense for hours without getting bored, and is absolutely thrilled to have a new friend around the house! never mind that she's an adult- Maria sees Lou as a built-in summer friend.
Dana has been putting on the best face for nearly five years. Although it wasn't her intention, after her mom got sick, she moved back to her family's ranch along with her three kids- Maria and two older boys. After her mom passed, she stayed, unable to bear the idea of leaving once more for good, but she's great at hiding that fact. The youngest of seven, Dana is caught somewhere between constantly feeling the need to prove herself while also knowing that no one's waiting and watching for her to grow anymore. Six kids came before her, and Dana genuinely believes that she simply slipped under the attention of everyone.
The Flowers are how Lou refers to the other women she met along the way. The girls who all had an intimate understanding of what she was going through, and yet nothing at all. The flowers are constantly living inside of Lou, always on the edges of her thoughts, nearly controlling her at some points. They stay with Lou, sometimes causing guilt, sometimes causing pain, sometimes just to remind Lou of the dandelions that used to sprout up in between cracks in the sidewalk.
The Journal that Maria gives Lou (after declaring them best friends forever), isn't technically a living character, but it may as well be. It's where Lou's thoughts reside. Where her fears and regrets and memories live so they don't have to live in her head. The journal is an extension of Lou, and the scariest thing she could think of is losing it, but the journal was never meant to stay against her chest for the rest of its life.
Anyhow, if you'd like to support some of my original work, I have a Ko-Fi! Covers are expensive as h e c k -
But also, reblogs support me as well :D a chaotic way to spread the chaotic characters 'round these parts
#pizza feverdream. i. sincerely apologize for this response#but here you go [chucks all of my characters at you and runs]#me; staring at all my neurodivergent gay main characters: huh. no correlation there#but for real delilah and charlotte and taylor are absolutely different women. (lies. she's just desperate for that to be true :))#sometimes i'll write some lifl and then need to actively lay on the ground and hug a stuffed animal and cry#i always feel like i'm not doing lou enough justice and then i'm like ''girlie. you are doing fine i promise. it's okay. take a breath''#another fun fact about lou is that she's fucking terrified of horses#dana shows her the stables super early on and lou is like ''WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT'' and dana's like ''a horse?''#and lou is like ''WHY TF DO THEY MAKE THE NOISE. WHY ARE THEIR EYES STARING INTO MY SOUL. SIGN ME UN-UP''#anyway good times. i have soooo so many stories in my head. they consume all of my thoughts :)#ask me about my books at any time any place anywhere#i promise i will have multiple essays geared up ready to go at any given time kfdskjdfkj#in which vi thinks about writing#a penchant for the ordinary#paradigm#lou is for lavender
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WENDY: You’ll probably do the right thing. And when the day comes you get one wrong, that’ll be good, too.
TAYLOR: Because I’ll realize I’m mortal and it’s not so bad?
WENDY: Because it’ll be fucking horrible and you’ll do anything you can to avoid that feeling again.
—————
CHUCK: You know, there’s something you’ll have to learn going after the important ones: really fucking hurts to lose. Chips away pieces of you each time. Pieces you don’t get back. And it leaves you with no choice but to… go forward incomplete.
AMANDA: But… what? You’re all the better for it? Stronger and whatnot?
CHUCK: No. You just go forward like that, missing pieces. Because that’s the way you are now and there’s no other choice.
3x02 the wrong maria gonzalez // 7x03 winston dick energy
#billions#3x02#7x03#taylor mason#wendy rhoades#chuck rhoades#amanda torre#incidentally both episodes named after characters who get put in the spotlight just to get kicked around the whole hour#though very different magnitudes of kicked-around-ness
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actually why do you think that modern batman comics writers are so bad at compelling 6-8 issue comic arcs? (obvi TT's current nw run is just robbed of any conflict that isn't straight up good guy vs bad guy and is didactic as hell to boot but i haven't really felt grabbed by anything bat-related dc has put out in the last three years). is it an unwillingness to really shake anything up?
a general lack of engaging storytelling is an endemic problem at dc that i think can be partially attributed to a bunch of bad editorial decisions — green arrow for example was only greenlit as a series because williamson was determined to write it amid all his other projects. the pacing and character work suffers as a result. it’s suuuper slow to try and read
taylor is an interesting example though because he’s a terminally online liberal gen xer who seems to write comics like he wants panels to go viral on twitter. there’s no stakes because he’s too centrist to actually put an opinion on paper that might trigger some internal reflection. he tried to call out chuck dixons violent homophobia but thanked him in the same tweet. it’s bad. he should not be in charge of a character like nightwing who’s historically had issues with authority and like….. is defined by his passion. there is a total absence of nuanced interpersonal conflict because like fanon, everyone in comics seems too afraid to have characters be actually wrong about something.
when we read sincerely interesting comics — especially main events like knightfall or murder + fugitive or no man’s land or even utrh — those comics remain interesting because the writers had a perspective and a story to tell. some of those perspectives are bad, mind, but at least there was something there. now, all these writers are online and getting both blind adoration and violent hatred which i think makes them too self conscious to legitimately try. i don’t think it’s a coincidence that the most engaging writing jason todd’s had since 2005 was written by gretchen felker martin in the furry comic, aka someone who has actual things to say.
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our beloved summer | jjk (06)
You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.
pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader
genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes
rating: PG-13
word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)
note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update
series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist
— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
I can see you starin', honey
Like he's just your understudy
Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me
Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)
The picture is fucking terrible.
“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”
Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.
“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.
Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.
“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.
You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”
Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.
It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good.
The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it.
One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.
“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.
You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”
“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”
You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”
You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.
It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship.
What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?
Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.
Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.
Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?
You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.
“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”
You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?
“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”
“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”
“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”
Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”
“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.
“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”
You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.
You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.
“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”
You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.
Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”
“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”
“And say what?” you ask.
“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”
You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.
“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.
“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”
There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?
“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”
You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.
After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”
“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.
“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.
“You are literally sitting across from me.”
“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”
“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.
Aaand he’s back.
You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”
“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.
“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”
“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”
“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”
“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”
“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”
He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”
Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”
“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.
“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”
“You want me to do it now?”
“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”
“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”
Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”
You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi.
[12:59] You: got a minute?
The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again.
You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.
[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)
You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.
“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.
You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”
“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”
When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.
Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.
“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.
“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”
“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”
“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”
“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”
You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”
You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.
“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”
“Yes,” you say again. “To…”
The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.
“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”
“...Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.
“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.
“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”
He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.
“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.
“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”
“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”
“You’re being overly confident, Min.”
“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”
“Shut up.”
When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.
“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him.
“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”
“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.
“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”
“My place?”
“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”
This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.
Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection.
You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.
But you remember the last time.
College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.
No.
You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.
You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.
You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard.
Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.
In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual.
Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.
You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.
You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi.
“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.
You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”
“Just sit down. I got this.”
“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”
“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.
You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.
When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.
You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.
“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.
“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”
It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.
For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.
You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.
When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.
Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol.
You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.
“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”
Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”
“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.
You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.
Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.
“The what train?”
“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”
With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”
“What?”
“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”
You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.
Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.
Yoongi is… stable.
You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.
You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.
That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.
Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.
Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.
When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.
“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”
“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”
He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”
You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.
“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”
“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”
“Yeah? And where would we go?”
Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”
“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”
“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”
You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again.
It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written.
Wait.
Back up.
A kiss?
A kiss?!
With Yoongi?
You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!
Fuck.
Fuck?!
It’s the wine.
Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.
You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.
The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.
Baby steps.
You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.
“Goodnight, princess.”
You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened.
Déjà vu?
It’s oddly reminiscent.
You’ve been here before.
Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.
He doesn’t.
Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.
He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.
Something is happening.
He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.
Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.
Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.
Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.
An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.
Like you’re stamping him out.
Like he was never there at all.
Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.
It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.
A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.
And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.
But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.
It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there.
But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.
What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?
You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.
“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.
“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”
At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.
“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”
This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.
“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.
Because he broke things off with her?
Because he gives you more attention?
Ugh. Attention?
This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.
“You said she acts differently toward you.”
“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”
Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up.
You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.
“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.
He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”
It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.
Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.
He took initiative, right until the very end.
You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”
Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.
Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.
He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”
At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.
You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.
It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.
If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.
He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.
I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.
You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.
You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out. When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.
But at what point does it stop?
At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?
All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?
You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.
Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.
Until someone else does.
“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”
Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.
There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.
In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.
Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.
You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”
The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.
Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.
He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception.
That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.
Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.
You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.
These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.
It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.
But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.
You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.
But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.
It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now.
You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.
You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start.
Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.
He takes a step closer, you take no step back.
“You know what I’m about to do, right?”
You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.
“I might have an idea…”
“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”
You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.
“Words, princess,” he reminds you.
Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”
He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter.
Then it happens.
The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.
Yoongi is kissing you.
You’re kissing him back.
He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.
You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.
The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.
When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.
Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile.
The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.
“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.
Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.
He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.
He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you again.”
You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”
He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.
You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once.
You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.
You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.
It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.
Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.
The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.
You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.
You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day.
You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.
remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌
— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted march 27, 2023]
#jungkook x reader#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#jungkook x you#jungkook fanfic#jungkook imagines#bts x reader#bts x you#bts fluff#bts angst#bts smut#bts scenarios#bts imagines#bangtanbathhouse#btscarnivalnet#btshoneyhive#clubzerooclock#52hertz#fic: our beloved summer
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