#I drew this while waiting for therapy to start

[kittehbiscuits]

I was asked to draw him wrapped in a blanket like a burrito

#beetlejuice #my artwork #beetlejuice fanart #lydia deetz #beetlejuice the musical #I drew this while waiting for therapy to start #I'm getting changed to a different depression/anxiety med again #It better work this time I swear #I drew him sitting alone but I didn't want him to be lonely... so he got a sleepy Lyds to sit with #not ship art

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

masterlist || next || playlist

Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in. 

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza. 

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver. 

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime. 

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back. 

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves. 

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked. 

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up. 

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else. 

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap. 

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday. 

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice. 

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

 Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch. 

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out. 

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up. 

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full. 

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty. 

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream. 

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season. 

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest. 

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me. 

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master. 

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man. 

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat. 

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that. 

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh. 

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart. 

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them. 

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar. 

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself. 

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November. 

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother. 

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade. 

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently. 

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself. 

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips. 

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

 That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer. 

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others. 

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway. 

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment. 

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices. 

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me. 

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible. 

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled. 

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job. 

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched. 

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself. 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again. 

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company. 

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease. 

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more. 

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up. 

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out. 

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice. 

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family. 

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that. 

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags. 

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage. 

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long. 

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely. 

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down. 

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him. 

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same. 

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it. 

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

#park jimin fanfic #park jimin fanfiction #park jimin #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin smut #bts angst #jimin angst #bts fluff #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #bts x fem!reader #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #min yoongi #older reader

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Arachnophilia: Part Twelve

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Plot. Plot. Plot. Plot. Confrontation. Plot. Culminations. Confrontations. Lets go. The storm is brewing. (Also fluff at the start).

Notes: There was meant to be more in chap 12 but that gut punch will wait for chap 13, apologies in advance I'll be paying everyones therapy bills I promise. P.s shout out to the person who saw the foreshadowing hehe

‘I feel like it’s gonna storm soon.’

Your idle chit-chat floated through the nest as you lounged on the bed, your eyes fixed on the nearby window. With the shutters open you could see the full expanse of the forest in the distance. The sky was a pale and endless blue, dotted with a single motionless cloud, perfectly highlighting the stillness of the pines below.

‘Hmm?’

Mig looked up from the fire he was tending and glanced towards the same window, his eyes wide and peeled.

He was busy cooking breakfast over a small fire you’d built in the middle of the nest, one with a closable chimney that kept the nest free from smoke. Your shared home now looked like a giant chicken in the woods, a big white oval on two stumpy tree legs slowly puffing smoke into the empty air.

‘Is this your, senses, mi arañita? Because I don’t see a storm.’

‘Yeah, sure. Call it uh- intuition.’

Miguel grunted in response. He tapped his feet, feeling the vibrations, before shrugging and returning to the food. ‘Mm. Fascinating. Well, I trust your judgement, arañita. If you say storm, I will expect a storm.’

‘I feel like it’ll be a big one’ you added with a yawn. ‘Should be interesting out here.’

‘I’ll shutter up the nest, you won’t be harmed in any way’ he said, instinctively trying to soothe your worries.

‘You gonna spin a big tarp to cover the whole thing?’ you teased. He let out a snort of a chuckle.

‘Mm. That’s not necessary, it’s just you that needs protecting. Besides, I don’t think I can produce that much silk.’

‘Oh shh- come on, you wouldn’t let your home get destroyed just to cover me’ you scoffed. Despite your ribbing you were surprised when he turned, as his face was absolutely serious.

‘I can replace my home, arañita, I could not replace you. Your life will always matter more’ he said. He waved his little crude-cut wooden spatula in your direction as if telling you off, and slowly your smile returned.

‘Pff, okay, fine. When you put it like that you sound noble, and not- you know, obsessive.’

‘A man can be both’ he replied, and as he turned you caught just the hint of a teasing smile on his face. You were glad to see it.

‘Mm, sure. A man of many sides.’

You didn’t see it, but his smile drooped just a little. His eyes turned glassy over the burning fire. ‘So, many sides, yes’ he murmured.

‘What was that?’ you called, your body now spread wide over the mattress in a starfish position. Mig shook his head and forced the smile back on.

‘Oh, ah- I was just saying the food is done.’

‘Oh thank GOD, thank you thank you, I thought I would pass away from starvation.’

Mig drew back and carefully crawled across the floor to your side. He used the stool he’d built for you as a table to balance both of your plates. This proved mildly anxiety inducing for you, considering half of the plates seemed to be hanging over the edge, but it somehow held steady.

He took a quick sniff of your forehead as he sank down to join you. It would have been an odd or even off-putting behaviour to you even two weeks ago, but you were used to it now. You knew it was him checking your condition, smelling for your health and hormone balance.

As he sank down and folded his fluffy legs, he looked pleased. ‘You smell good this morning, little spider’ he noted.

‘Like, health wise? Are all my organs functioning nicely?’ you asked while grabbing your plate.

‘Yes, but- no.’

You blinked, clearly slightly taken aback by his response. You had to juggle your plate to avoid the food spilling as it tilted. ‘I’m sorry what? What’s wrong with me, what did you smell?’

‘Oh, no. Nothing is wrong, arañita. I just meant, you smell good. You smell nice. Literally.’

You made a soft ‘oh’ sign with your mouth as your brewing panic burnt out. ‘Oh. Oh! Oh! Aha- well, thank you, Mig, you- smell good too.’

Miguel chuckled to himself again as his abdomen vibrated. ‘I highly doubt that but, thank you anyway.’  

With his body now settled he grabbed his own wooden plate, one that he’d absolutely piled with rare cooked venison. It turns out that carrying such an enormous body required a lot of sustenance. Usually you were happy to just sit and eat with him, comfortable in your domestic silence, but as he clawed up the first piece you abruptly put a finger to his open lips. His eyes rolled to you while his head stayed still, his eyes wide and curious as you rubbed his bared fang.

‘Can I get my morning kiss, before you get all messy?’ you giggled, gently tilting his chin with one hand.

He quickly pushed his plate aside. ‘Oh, yes- of course, arañita.’

You closed your eyes as he leaned in and kissed you firmly on the mouth. You couldn’t help but giggle again as a low, soft moan vibrated from his lips at just the faintest brush of skin, his eagerness oozing out of every little movement he made.

The heat at this point was basically over, but god, he was still insatiable.

He held onto your waist until he’d gotten at last six kisses, his lips moving slowly and tenderly as they enveloped yours, but you were forced to part when his tongue started brushing yours.

‘Mm- Miggy, sweetheart, food’ you panted as you pulled away. ‘If you go any further it’s gonna get cold.’

He met you with that sweet and awkward smile, his lips parted and breathless. ‘Ah- what? Oh, yes. Food. Okay, just— just one more—’

You squeaked as he launched forward and dragged out one more kiss, holding you for as long as he could, before finally letting you go. You had to wipe your lips on the back of your hand as you coyly watched him shuffle back.

‘You big dork’ you mumbled affectionately. If he heard you, he didn’t answer. He began ripping his food apart with his massive canines while you snacked beside him.

It was strange how easily and quickly you’d adjusted to living alongside Mig. Perhaps it being your first time living with someone gave you less to contrast, but whatever it was, you kind of liked his eccentricities.

You were getting used to him waking you up early so he could patrol his territory, where he’d kiss you before letting you go back to sleep. You were getting used to him carrying your sleepy body down to the spring in the morning so you could brush your teeth and wash your face. You were getting used to him preening himself and then preening you, combing your hair with strands of silk, and to his quiet presence around you while you read or checked the news or did chores.

You liked being around someone who could just sit in silence with you and not treat it as strange. You liked being around someone who was so blunt, because when he didn’t complain you knew he was genuinely comfortable around you.

As you finished up your meal you gently nudged him with your foot. ‘Hey, I was thinking. When we’re done with the full fireplace do you want to build anything else?’

Miguel grunted and turned mid-bite, his teeth terrifyingly bared around a red piece of meat. He aggressively tore it aside before speaking, desperate not to speak with any food in his mouth.

‘Ah- well, I had thought about building a second story. A den section, in the ground perhaps. I thought it, might be warmer.’

You hurriedly swallowed your last bite to reply. ‘In the ground? Are you sure? It’d have to be another bedroom right, if its all dark?’

Mig shrugged. ‘Yes. Or a second study. Or, we could, as you said, make it the main bedroom and make this a study. I just want to be sure that you’re comfortable here.’

‘Hey, I’m fine’ you said with a wave of your hand. ‘I’m good, I still don’t want to take over your home like that. I’d want it to be something that benefits you too. But, hmm… Now that I think about it, when the next heat comes, you dragging me down into your dark little nesting hole could be fun, right?’

At just the suggestion you saw his abdomen bristle. He tried to keep a neutral face, but his legs had begun gently tapping with excitement.

‘That… could be, fun’ he said slowly. You giggled at how strained he sounded.

‘Could be lots of fun’ you said, your voice dipping softly. ‘So warm, and safe, away from the outside world.’

He bristled even further, his spine physically arching. He had to bite his lip to keep his resolve. ‘Mm- it is, ideally, where nurseries are made’ he murmured. ‘In a safe burrow, in the ground. It would be… quite, evocative, for me.’

‘Oh my god Mig, you’re so—’

‘Miguel?!’

Your body went still as a voice echoed in from the forest outside. A voice that wasn’t yours, nor his. A voice that was new and yet painfully familiar. As the voice called again you heard the nearby birds flee.

‘MIGUEL? Are you here?’

‘That- that’s Jess’ you whispered. The words squeaked out of your mouth.

Miguel met you with the same look of horror. ‘Why would she want to speak with me?’ he hissed. You violently shook your head.

‘I don’t- I don’t know! I don’t know! Does- do you still talk to the HQ?’

‘No, I—’

‘HEY! Newbie!’

You felt a tightness in your gut that made you sick. It was as if everything suddenly stopped moving, like something had physically punched you in the stomach. ‘She- no, no I never said I was here—’

You scrambled out of bed and across the floor as Mig tried to calm you down.

‘Shit… shit! Why… why is she here?! Oh god did she see you on the call?’

‘Arañita, shh, it’s okay.’

Mig crawled across the floor and drew you back towards his chest with his forelegs. He rocked you like a baby with his claws in your hair, trying his best to show you the same gentle physical care you showed him when he panicked. ‘It’s okay’ he repeated. ‘I will- speak with them.’

‘NEWBIE! I need you to come out!’

Jess’s voice made you physically jolt in his grip. You let out a low whine as your anxiety tripled over. ‘Shit- I, I have to go out, right?’

‘No, no. I won’t let them take you out—’

‘Miggy they could take my watch’ you whimpered. You both simultaneously glanced at your watch on the floor, its screen blank but glowing. Your eyes rolled back to each other, and your arms tightened.

‘They could take my watch and my membership if they think I’m rogue. We have to go out’ you repeated.

Mig swallowed hard, almost gulping, his Adams apple rocking hard in his throat. You could see his mind working overtime from the way his eyes were darting back and forth, back and forth, desperately searching for a way to get out of this.

‘MIGUEL!’

You saw him physically deflate as Jess’s voice sounded for a third time. She was getting closer.

‘Okay’ he murmured. ‘Okay, um- okay. I’ll go out with you though.’

‘Are you sure?’ you whispered. ‘I mean won’t they know—’

‘Mi tesoro, they’re calling for both of us. They know. They knew we’re- together, at least to some capacity.’

You pursed your lips. It was uncomfortable but he was right, as always. They clearly knew.

‘Okay’ you croaked back. ‘Okay, ah- shit. Let’s go.’

You slipped into your new suit and crept your way out of the nest first, with Mig following close behind. You began to follow Jess’s distant cries.

The first steps you took were agony. Each crunching leaf beneath your boots was like a stabbing pain. As strange as it might be to anyone else, the one thing keeping you stable right now was the enormous shadow of Miguel’s spider form as it eclipsed your own.

God, why hadn’t you planned for this? You’d spent so long with this exact nightmare scenario haunting the back of your head, niggling at your conscious mind like a rat, and yet you’d just continued to push it down. Now you were paying for it. You had no idea what to say, what they’d do.

You sucked up a breath as you marched onward. Your feet were dragging at this point, desperate to just stop, but Miguel was at your back and his presence was forcing you to continue.

You had no idea what he was thinking. He seemed so calm on the outside, but his face was stony and drawn. When you glanced up at him you saw nothing, though he did make sure to keep his foreleg on your shoulder so you knew he was with you.

‘MIGUEL!’

Her voice was so much closer now. You’d definitely found her. You sidled up against one of the larger pine trunks and peered around it.

Sure enough, there she was. You could see Jess in her spider suit slowly trekking through the muddy earth, hands held up to her lips so her voice travelled further.

You took in one more deep breath, hard and sharp, and finally stepped out of the trees.

‘Ah- Jess, over here’ you called.

‘Hey, there yo- OH, JESUS CHRIST!’

Jess jumped out of her skin as you appeared alongside Mig, his enormous spider body slowly emerging from the dead brush. She was forced to look at you both from behind her hand, eyeing you up in the same way one would glance at roadkill. You felt your skin prickle at the strange reaction.

‘Sorry- shit, he- Miguel told me what he was but it- my god, that’s freaky’ Jess said, awkwardly stammering the last part to herself.

‘What- what is going on here?’ you asked.

As you emerged you realized with some horror that Jess wasn’t alone. It looked like the entire elite squad had been summoned. You could see Jess at the front with her head in her hands, flanked on either side by Spider Byte and Ben Reilly. They’d even brought Peter B. in the back. None of them looked happy to be here.

‘Look, I- if this is about me and—’

Your attempt to pre-emptively apologize was cut off as one final figure emerged from the back of the group. He parted the spiders like the sea, and with a single swish of his hand he removed his holographic mask.

It was Miguel.

He had a stony expression as he approached. You noticed his eyes scanning Mig before flitting down to you, and there they stayed for an uncomfortably long amount of time. You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze.

Miguel sniffed the air and immediately his cold expression turned violent. You saw the way his nose wrinkled in disgust, his eyes burning the colour of congealed blood. You even saw the flash of a fang.

Shit, you thought, he could smell it. He could smell what you’d done.

‘What- what is this?’ you stammered.

Right as you edged onto the cusp of anxiety you felt Mig pressing in at your back. The brush of his foreleg as it touched your shoulder helped to ground you in the moment, giving you a little piece of your courage back.

‘I- Look I need to ask again, what is going o—’

‘We’re here on code violation’ Miguel blurted.

You scrunched up your face in confusion. ‘Code violation? Look, if this is about me seeing Mig, I know you said not to but it wasn’t technically in the code—’

‘So you’re aware of the fact that you lied?’ Miguel snapped. You jumped at his tone.

‘Ah- I, I know, I—when I said I was sick, I wasn’t trying to lie, I really did need to—’

‘Being in heat is not being sick.’

Your face was burning up. This was mortifying. You could see the other elites glancing at each other, all either trying to discern what he meant or trying to hide the fact that they already knew. You gripped your own hands for support.

‘It- did, impact my ability to work, quite severely. I just didn’t want to discuss that kind of stuff with anyone, it—’

‘Hey, look—that’s fine’ Jess said. She’d put a hand on Miguel’s shoulder to stop him before he interrupted you for a third time, and while she still looked unnerved, she was clearly trying to be nice. ‘We don’t care about that stuff. I promise. You’re totally right that telling us would have been weird, and we don’t need to know why members are gone, we just gotta know that they are gone. You understand?’

‘Yes. Yes, I know, I’m sorry’ you repeated. ‘But- so, that isn’t why you’re here?’

‘No’ Miguel said bluntly. You watched him steady his hands on his hips. ‘We’re here because we do not facilitate or permit any reproduction across universes.’

His voice was unnervingly clear as he spoke, almost monotone. It was obvious that he’d memorised those words. It took you a good ten seconds just to verbalize one thing in response. ‘Wh- what?’ you stammered.

‘I’m sorry, newbie, but—it is a rule now’ Jess added. ‘We don’t know what this could do, if its dangerous, so- we just have a blanket ban.’

‘No, no, but- we’re not— I’m not, reproducing with him’ you exclaimed.

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. He looked exhausted. ‘Lyla, scan them’ he barked. Immediately your hands flew up. ‘NO- No, don’t, scan me—’

As you stumbled back in horror Mig finally stepped forward. Having been silent until now he could no longer stand back, and with his front legs reared he violently spat a line of smoking venom across the dead grass, separating you and him from the elites. They all immediately fell back.

‘Do not step any closer’ he seethed. The spiders all took defensive positions as his eyes transformed, the whites turning red and his pupils dilating. You remained hunched up against the fur of his abdomen.

‘Hey! Woah, woah, hey! Everyone chill!’ Peter cried, his hands raised and outspread as if he was trying to herd back a group of snapping dogs. You kept close to Mig as the other elites struggled to de-escalate.

‘Do we need a light cage?’ Spider Byte whisper-shouted across the group.

‘Nah, I can take him’ Ben drawled. At this point it was you and Peter trying to calm everyone down.

‘He’s not dangerous!’ you cried. ‘Just stand down, you- you came onto his territory without warning—’

‘Territory?’ Jess repeated back.

‘Yes, he- he’s a spider!’ you snapped, your voice finally cracking over the point of annoyance. ‘But he won’t hurt anyone if you just don’t scan my body without consent!’  

The group hesitated for a moment, but the stalemate couldn’t hold forever. When Mig failed to do anything aggressive the group began slowly shifting out of their defensive positions, and when he continued to be still, they dispersed. Mig gave the group a curt nod.

‘Fine. No scan’ Miguel snapped, his jaw tense as his struggled not to hiss. ‘Bring up the lab results then.’

Despite your fears you recoiled at his suggestion and immediately snapped back. ‘Are you serious? You can’t scan me without consent, so you’ll just show my doctors notes without consent?’

At this point even Jess seemed concerned by Miguel’s actions. She was sharing looks with Spider Byte, speaking without words.

‘Miguel, you can’t do that’ Jess hissed.

‘I will do what I have to do if it puts the multi-verse at risk.’

‘But you—’

‘STOP. Enough’ Mig yelled, his monotone bark causing even Miguel to stammer. He glared at the elites one by one as one of his forelegs slipped over your shoulder.

‘We do not need a scan, and you don’t need their records’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, we mated. We have mated multiple times. They are my… partner.’

The words sparked such joy in your heart, and yet everyone else gave equal looks of discomfort or disgust. You saw Jess hang her head in her hand and mutter something you couldn’t hear.

‘Aha, oh boy, uh- well hey, as much as I love a good love story, uh… That’s kind of the problem then’ Peter said as he awkwardly sidled forward. He seemed to be the only one unconcerned with your relationship, as his cheery demeanour was seemingly undampened by your confession. ‘If you two are…. Doing, things, ah—well, birds and bees, you know, that sadly is our jurisdiction now.’

‘What Peter is trying to say is that this puts you at risk of conceiving a child with parents from two different universes, which is exactly why we’re here. We can’t permit that kind of behavior’ Jess added.

‘Wh- but, wait, why? That wasn’t mentioned in my induction’ you argued.

‘It’s not something we considered until, recently’ Jess admitted with another awkward shrug.

Your eyes narrowed, and with a grunt you stiffened your lip. ‘You mean Miguel just suddenly brought it up, right around the time I said I was sick, I assume?’

Jess didn’t look guilty at being called out. To your surprise, she looked confused. Her eyes flitted from you to Miguel as if she hadn’t expected you to guess such a thing.

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘That doesn’t matter. It’s still an issue, and we can’t allow it to continue. We’ll need to enforce a separation’ Miguel said, quickly cutting Jess off before she could reveal the now painfully obvious fact that he’d been looking for excuses to enforce this.

Immediately your stomach fell. Regardless of Miguel’s intentions, he was the society leader. He had control over everyone’s multi-verse watches. He could impose whatever he wanted, so long as he could justify it for the greater good.

He could take you away.

‘No! No, no, wait, we um- I’m on birth control’ you blurted.

The elites all glanced at each other. You saw, for a moment, panic in Miguel’s eyes. His plan hadn’t accounted for that.

‘You can- fuck, I can prove it. Jess, I give you consent to view my medical files. You’ll see it there, I had a scan done after the first- well, first few times we had sex, I was not pregnant, and- and I got 3 months’ worth of patches. We’re not having little spider babies, at least- not right now.’

While Miguel struggled to not openly fume Jess took up the mantel of checking your files. She drew up a smooth holographic screen from her watch and began to scroll with her finger, her eyes moving quickly over each little bit of information. You saw her lip curl slightly with discomfort, and you knew for sure she’d found your records.

‘Ah… well, they’re telling the truth’ Jess said with a sigh. She smoothly swiped the file away. ‘They’re on birth control. They ain’t pregnant. There is no immediate threat.’

‘But they’re still claiming to be in a relationship’ Miguel hissed beneath his breath. Jess shrugged; she seemed indifferent to his continued anger.

‘I mean yeah, but, that isn’t against the rules’ she said. ‘We’d need to ensure the rules are followed but, we don’t have any reason to restrict relationships.’

‘What about the mark?’ Miguel insisted. This time his finger was pointed directly at you.

‘The, mark?’ Jess repeated back.

‘Yes. The mark. On their neck. The bite.’

At first you were horribly confused, but then you remembered that Miguel had bitten you that one time you mated in the woods. Your hands frantically went to your shoulder where the scars remained.

‘He’s caused damage to one of my members, that’s—’

‘The biting was consensual’ you called back. It was a little scary to interrupt Miguel, but also secretly thrilling in a way. It felt good to fight back. However, you quickly learned to eat your words, as Miguel’s nose scrunched up with disgust.

‘What do you mean, consensual?’ he hissed.

‘Uh- Miguel, buddy, some- people are, into that stuff’ Peter whispered in his ear. You watched Miguel’s face contort even further. ‘I can explain to you later—’

‘I don’t need an explanation!’ Miguel snapped. The force of his voice pushed Peter to stagger aside. ‘I need—’

‘Everything I’ve done with Mig was by choice’ you asserted, cutting him off for the second time. Miguel’s rapidly decreasing patience was clear in the bloody stare he shot you, and while it caused you to shrink you had Mig there to hold you steady. You could feel his pride as he purred.

‘I- Look, I’m here by choice’ you explained. ‘I’m with Mig by choice. It was an accident that we met, but, we’re- friends. Well, we were friends. We’re, more than that now, and- that’s it. I’m not getting pregnant, I’m not- in any danger, so… please, just, go.’

‘Well then what about the newspaper?’ Miguel exclaimed, his finger still raised as he paced.

Jess audibly groaned at this point. She refused to even turn. ‘Oh my god—what are you talking about, Miguel?’

‘There was a story published. Some hikers ran into a monster, in the woods, a 10-foot spider that they saw eating someone alive. That was clearly them.’

‘And?’ Jess asked.

‘They’re at risk of revealing their secret identities!’ he snapped.

Jess sighed, her hand going up to rub her temple. You couldn’t see her face, but she sounded exasperated. ‘Miguel—Miguel, I don’t wear a mask! What are you talking about?!’

‘It—if people, know, about the giant spider—’

‘It’s not our problem’ Jess stipulated. She had her finger now pointed at his chest. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not interested in enforcing any rules which suddenly put me and half the society in the doghouse. This is his universe, his problem. If he’s not causing damage he’s not a threat. If he needs help ‘cos he’s in danger, we offer help. Otherwise, its not my problem. Now let’s go.’

Despite their leader still seemingly fuming, the other elites were just as tired as Jess was. They’d been brought out here to argue relationship drama instead of fighting bad guys, and nobody wanted to draw this out any longer.

Jess shot you one last awkward wave as she turned. ‘Look, to be clear, we will need to organise this officially. You’re not pregnant now, but we will have to enforce that going forward for yours and your universes safety. Until we know what it does, you’ll need to be monitored. Okay?’

Your stomach turned at the idea of your relationship being authorised and overseen by the society, but right now you just wanted to leave. You decided to play along.

‘Fine. Okay. We’ll- discuss that soon’ you murmured.

Jess nodded, curtly, to both you and Mig, before turning on her heel. The other elites all turned to follow.

‘No!’

Miguel refused to move, even as the others began walking away. He had one claw raised and his hand was shaking, his face contorting into a mask of disdain.

‘No, no. No. No. You.’

He pointed his claw towards Mig, who met his vitriol with a neutral expression. The two locked eyes.

‘You. I cannot, permit this. I have tried to be nice, I have tried to give you an out, but you’ve given me no choice. I know, you know, that this is not safe. You can’t trust them that they’re safe!’

‘Miguel, come on, they—’

‘NO! No, Jess. I have one more thing that needs to be brought up.’

To your surprise, Mig’s stony façade suddenly cracked. Something about what Miguel had just said seemed to cause him significant distress, as his abdomen began to shake as his paws scraped at the earth. You tried to hold his forepaw but he didn’t even see you.

‘YOU!’ Miguel yelled as he turned, both hands now pointed at Mig. ‘What, about, Da—’

‘I plead section 1675.’

You were surprised to see Miguel go stiff, almost as if time had stopped around his body and his body alone. It was eerie the way he froze up, his fingers still raised and his mouth half open.

You glanced between the two, and inch by inch your expression went from scared to confused. You expected Mig to say more, to explain, but he didn’t. He just stared straight ahead with that same cold face.

Miguel began to lower his hand. ‘No. No, you can’t—’

‘Pull it up.’

You balked as Mig called for Miguel to act, seemingly without concern. It was like he’d done this before.

Miguel looked like he might explode. He was physically shaking, unable to comprehend how he wasn’t getting his way, but to your surprise he folded. He raised his watch.

‘Lyla. Come here.’

For the first time Lyla flitted into existence and walked across the open air, noting the strange new surroundings as she went.

‘Hi! What’s u—’

Lyla froze in a comedic parallel to Miguel as her eyes fell upon you, your hands still wrapped tight around Mig’s foreleg. Her glasses fell off and fizzled into tiny holographic pixels at her feet.

‘Oh my god you’re kidding me’ she murmured. Her voice was unnervingly monotone.

‘Lyla, I said come here’ Miguel snapped. She continued to ignore him.

‘Is this- oh is this your variant? Is this—WAIT!’

You jumped as Lyla drifted down to stand in front of your face, her eyes wide and starry. ‘So on your scan, when it showed—It was HIM?! Oh my GOD you’re KIDDING ME—’

‘LYLA!’ Miguel barked, quickly drawing her attention back. ‘Pull up file 87. NOW. RIGHT NOW.’

The AI shot you a slightly disgruntled look behind Miguel’s back, but she did concede, smoothly manifesting a file with her hands. She flicked her fingers and the holographic sheet flew towards Miguel and Jess, the latter of whom was now standing behind his back with a curious expression. The two glanced at the file together.

You saw Jess’s eyes widen, and then, she withdrew.

‘Okay. That’s—okay, never mind. Miguel, come on. He has a 1675. You can’t bring that up.’

Miguel looked so strangely defeated as he swiped the file away, and behind you Mig let out a sigh of relief. The elites moved to depart once more.

You were utterly bewildered. What just happened? What was Miguel about to say, what was that file? You glanced at Mig, expecting an answer, but to your horror he refused to look at you. He stared straight ahead at nothing, his face dark and shadowed.

‘Mig?’ you whispered.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing.’

You spun around as Miguel spoke. He was glaring at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t discern. Was he disappointed? Angry? Or, perhaps, sad? Whatever it was you didn’t get to find out, as he was dragged away by Jess when she grabbed his arm. The elites created a portal and departed without another word.

The moment the portal closed you felt something wet on your cheek. You blinked and glanced upward, only to find that the once clear blue sky was now dark and grey. A foreboding rumble echoed from across the hill.

‘Storm’ you whispered.

Mig promptly gripped your suit in his teeth, and like a cat with a kitten he carried you back into the woods.

Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #drider #miguel o'hara fanfiction #smut #smut with plot #spider man 2099 #monster human relationship #miguel angst #miguel smut

[morganbritton132]

I remember a while ago Steve wasn’t letting go of hope for his Mom showing up because he said she’s always late. Does he hit a point after that where he starts to admit maybe she isn’t coming? How does Eddie handle it?

@mcneen asked: Was there ever any further discussion between Steve and Eddie when Steve’s Mom didn’t show up, and Steve was like “oh she’s going to be late, she’s always been late”? I love love this series and check for more updates every day, thank you so much for writing it!

I’m going to kill two birds with one stone here since these two are asking for similar things

—

He always knew that she wasn’t coming.

He has known it every time he’s extended an olive branch just to watch it wilt and rot, and he knows that his friends and family think that he’s in denial about it. He knows that they have worriedly whispered conversations about him, but they don’t get it.

Yeah, it would be less heartbreaking to just give up but it wouldn’t be easier.

The Buckley’s are amazing parents that still send care packages to their daughter and call her every day for a month leading up to her birthday. Wayne took in his nephew when he didn’t have to and stood in defense of him against an entire town. Joyce – Jesus, Joyce Byers went to hell and back for her son. Hopper, Claudia, Sue, Karen… they’re all amazing parents, and you know what?

His mom was amazing once too.

And he knows. He knows. He knows. He knows how untrue that statement really is. He’s been in therapy long enough to know that he had a bad childhood and his parents were neglectful, but he cannot rectify that with the little boy inside him that loves his mom to pieces.

In the same way that he will always be sixteen years old and scared of the dead girl in his pool, he will always be small, waiting by the door for a mother that always eventually came home. Though, he knows.

He knows that seasons change and old injuries never heal quite right, and it never really mattered if his mother came home because she was always leaving but… But she was never outright cruel.

His father was a mean man that demanded perfection and belittled anything less than that. He was a unhappy man that fostered an atmosphere so hostile that his only son barely dared to breathe in his presence, and his mom. Well, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know how to be a mother.

But she was there. Sometimes as the silent observer, sometimes disinterested, but always the one to say, “Enough.”

“Enough,” she said after Barb’s disappearance, after the phone call from the police, after the lecture that turned physical. She stood between them with her hand pressed against her father’s chest and said, “That’s enough. Steven, go to your room.”

“Enough,” she said after the final rejection letter, after the job at his dad’s company was rescinded, after he was told to get a job or get out. “Enough, James. What is all this yelling going to do? It will not get him into college.”

“Enough,” she said after Steve stood his ground and took back nothing when he told them that Eddie was not just a friend, that he loved him and for the first time ever, it felt like someone loved him back. After the fighting, and the yelling, and being kicked out, she finally uttered, “Enough.”

About insurance.

His father stripped him line by line of everything he has always known, but insurance was where his mother drew the line. They all new that he would never be able to afford his medication without it and, “God forbid, he have a seizure and get another kid killed, Jay.”

The last conversation Steve had with his mother was at his father’s funeral. He said she looked well given the circumstances and she said that he should really do something about all that gray hair.

So, no. He’s not expecting her to show up. He never really is, but he wants it. He wants it so bad and it all kinda comes crashing down around him one evening after Eddie casually mentions that Wayne called earlier, “He said you’re getting better at speaking on camera.”

“What?”

Eddie explains that Wayne caught Steve’s interview about his YouTube math tutorials going viral. Steve asks how a man living in Florida manages to watch a local news broadcast from Illinois, and Eddie says that he looked it up online. Steve asks, “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s proud of you,” Eddie says simply.

Something just cracks and the next thing either of them knows, Steve is crying. It’s kinda funny how wide Eddie’s eyes go, but Steve can’t even laugh about it because he feels like he’s going to drown inside himself.

It takes time and a lot of coaxing for Steve to get to a point where he tell Eddie that he’s sad. He just doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do to make her want to see him. He doesn’t know what he did that was so wrong that she can’t forgive him and why – “Why can’t she just love me?”

Eddie tells him firmly, “Stevie, baby. I want you to listen very carefully to me, okay? I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, okay?”

Steve nods.

“You did nothing wrong,” He says, and Steve just – he can’t believe it. He can’t believe that because then there’s nothing he can do to fix it and he – “Tell me this, Steve. Tell me what Erica Sinclair – Lady Applejack herself. Tell me what she has to do to make you consider cutting contact with her? What’s the least she’d have to do? Think about it an give me an answer, sweetheart.”

Steve things about it and eventually settles on, “Open the Upside Down on purpose.”

“Have you even opened a portal to a hell dimension on purpose then, babe?”

“Ed-“

“No, I want an answer,” Eddie says. “Have you ever purposely ripped a hole in the space-time continuum to an alternate reality?”

“No.”

“You ever do something worse than that?”

“I- no? Eddie-“

“Then it sounds like the problem is with your mom and not you,” He answers. “It sounds like she needs to get over her own fucking issues, and I know. I know that fucking sucks, Steve, but you cannot spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for her unwillingness to grow as a person.”

Eddie wipes the tears from his face and kiss the tip of his nose, and Steve admits, “I’m still sad.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie tells him. “That’s okay.”

Steve doesn’t know how much time lingers between them in silence, just that he’s tired the way he always is after he cries a lot. He’s about to tell him that he’s going to go to bed when Eddie states, “Joyce still lives in Hawkins, right? I’m gonna call her and see if she’ll beat your mom up.”  

#this is rambly and I don’t even know if it makes sense #I do know that Joyce Byers would fight Steve’s mom on his behalf #also I went with Erica because I think Dustin is more like a little brother to Steve and he would see Erica as more of his kid #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Under The Stars and Stripes - One (Capt. Syverson x OFC)

a/n: look at your girl coming up with two multiparters at once!!! i wanted to write something sweet for capt. syverson (who moving forward, i have named luke, fyi), and my partner sort of suggested this (i mean, kinda, he thought it was what i was writing - turns out he was wrong but gave me a v good idea).

pairing: Capt. Syverson x Joanna Blake (OFC)

warnings/content: injuries, medical discussions, age gap (38 + 26), mentions of military service, inaccurate descriptions of physical therapy + military life.

word count: 1.9k

The unforgiving glare of the overhead lights in the medical center cast a harsh radiance over the waiting room. Luke's cerulean blue eyes squinted against the artificial glow in the room, his gaze wandering in search of anything remotely captivating. Opposite him, an infographic poster touted the virtues of physical activity and mental health, a message that seemed incongruous with the knee brace he begrudgingly wore. The irony of contemplating jogging or hitting the gym while nursing a wounded knee did not escape him.

"Luke Syverson?"

He swiveled his head in response to the melodic call of his name. In the doorway stood a woman, her blonde hair secured with a claw clip, a clipboard balanced gracefully in her hand. A warm, friendly smile adorned her heart-shaped face. With a half-hearted wave, Luke acknowledged her.

"Present and accounted for, ma'am."

Internally, he winced at the self-consciousness his response provoked. Rising to his feet, Luke attempted to distribute his weight favorably, minimizing the strain on his compromised leg. A sharp pang shot through his knee, confined by the rigid embrace of the brace. Collecting his crutches, he navigated his way toward the young woman, focusing on maintaining a semblance of grace. The crutches, tools of mobility he had resisted vehemently at home, now betrayed his struggle.

As he drew closer, Luke observed that she was notably younger than he, the realization of his own impending forties sinking in. Her olive-green eyes sparkled, framed by honey-colored strands that cascaded like molten gold. A sun-kissed radiance illuminated her complexion as she beamed at him.

"I'm Joanna. I'll be your physiotherapist moving forward. Let's head to the exam room; we can go over the paperwork together."

Her voice possessed a cheerfulness that could rival a weather reporter or red carpet interviewer. Luke nodded in understanding, trailing behind her as they entered the room. The once sterile lighting had mellowed, casting a more agreeable ambiance.

The examination room emanated professionalism, each piece of equipment meticulously arranged, and charts displayed with precision. Joanna gestured toward the examination table, indicating for Luke to take a seat. Settling into a chair nearby, she balanced the clipboard on her lap.

"Alright, Captain Syverson, let's delve into the paperwork and gain a betterunderstanding of your situation, ok?" Joanna initiated, her focus shifting to the documents before her. 

“Let’s start with the basics, full name and date of birth?”

“Right,” Luke began, “"Full name's Luke Everett Syverson, ma'am. Ain't much use for the middle one, but it's there. I was born April 15, 1968, ma'am, interrupted my ma’s Easter dinner. Home base is Fort Bragg, North Carolina, hence why I’m here in Durham. Otherwise woulda’ probably gone to the centre in Tennessee, closer to where I’m from and all..” 

“You know, I never use my middle name much either, but, just in case there’s two Luke Syversons in the armed forces, gotta include it to make sure I’ve got the right one.,” Joanna nodded her head, humming as she jotted down her notes.

The room embraced a quiet tension as Luke settled onto the examination table, his eyes following Joanna's movements with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The dimmed lighting cast a softer glow, alleviating the clinical starkness of the surroundings. Joanna, her gaze focused on the paperwork, began with a series of routine questions about the nature of Luke's injury.

"So, Luke," she started, her tone gentle yet professional, "tell me about when the injury occurred, and how has the journey been since then?"

Luke took a moment, his gaze drifting to a framed landscape photo on the wall. The distant mountains seemed to echo the weight of his thoughts. "Iraq. Torn ACL," he said, sparing the details but acknowledging the source of his struggle. "Routine patrol, turned into anything but routine."

Joanna nodded, recognizing the understated weight in his words. "I see. That's a significant injury. And you had surgery to correct it?"

Luke shifted his weight uncomfortably on the exam table, nodding his head. “Sure did, m’am, three days ago. Still hurts somethin’ fierce, but I guess that’s what I’m here for.”

He sighed, his focus on the knee brace that had become both a literal and symbolic constraint. 

“To be completely honest with ya, m’am, I just wanna get back on my feet so I can figure out what to do with my life now, you know?”

She nodded, understanding the complex emotions wrapped around his military service and the path to recovery. "Recovery and returning to civilian life is a process, Luke. We'll take it one step at a time. Do you have any idea what you’d like to end up doing in future?”

“I haven’t really thought about it. Never went to college, so a lot of stuff’s off the table now. Plus, I’m getting old. Not sure where that leaves me either. Thought about maybe becoming a police officer or an EMT, you know? I wanted to do that when I was a kid, but then joined the military on my 18th birthday instead.”

Joanna smiled warmly as she made a couple of notes on her paperwork, before continuing to further establish the details of Luke's history, the conversation shifting to one about his daily struggles and the impact the knee surgery had on his life. With each exchange, a bridge of understanding formed between them, an unspoken alliance forged in the pursuit of healing.

In those moments, Joanna glimpsed the man behind the military façade. Luke rarely dwelled on his time overseas, focusing instead on the immediate goal: shedding the brace and moving forward. The physical therapy sessions ahead were not merely about mending a knee; they were about reclaiming a life after two decades of military service.

As the examination progressed, Joanna outlined a personalized rehabilitation plan, detailing exercises and strategies to rebuild strength and mobility. The room, once filled with tension, now held a promise of progress and recovery.

"Alright, Luke," Joanna said, concluding their discussion, "we something to start with at least. Let's work together to get you back on your feet."

With the paperwork completed, the clipboard now resting on the desk, Joanna moved seamlessly into the practical aspect of Luke's rehabilitation. She began guiding him through a series of light exercises designed to gradually rebuild some of the strength in his knee that he’d lost. The atmosphere in the room shifted from contemplative to purposeful as Joanna demonstrated each movement with precision, her instructions clear and encouraging. 

Luke, though initially reserved, found himself following her lead, a quiet determination in his eyes. As they progressed through the exercises, Joanna observed the subtle signs of discomfort and adjusted the routine accordingly, ensuring that the session struck the delicate balance between challenge and progress. The room resonated with the rhythmic hum of therapeutic effort, a shared endeavor toward a future where the weight of the brace would be a distant memory. As the session neared its end, Joanna offered a reassuring smile.

"Great work today, Luke. We'll take it step by step, and before you know it, you'll be moving freely again."

“Thanks m’am, I appreciate it,” Luke replied, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“It’s what I’m here for,” Joanna nodded as she held the door open for him in an effort to make it easier to exit as he hopped on his crutches, “And Luke? I wanna hear that you’ve been using the crutches at home as well, or you’ll just injure your knee further.”

“Yes, m’am,” He chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way out of the clinic.

Later that night, Luke settled into the worn-out couch in his living room, the dim light casting a soft glow across the room. He dialed his younger brother Travis’ number, the anticipation of sharing his day evident in the subtle smile that played on his lips.

After a couple of rings, Travis’ voice came through the phone, lively and teasing.

“Well, well, if it ain't the elusive older brother himself. What's new, Luke?"

"Not much, just had my first therapy session today,” Luke chuckled softly as he took a bite out of his slice of pizza. 

"Therapy? Never thought I'd see the day, Luke. What's the world coming to?"

"It's for the knee, not my sanity, Travis."

"Alright, alright. So, how'd it go, Captain?"

"Surprisingly good, actually. The therapist, Joanna, she's something else. Got me doing all these exercises. Says I'll be back to hiking those Arkansas woods in no time."

“Joanna, huh? Luke, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a little bit of a thing for her. Florence Nightingale effect?"

"You watch too many movies, and besides, idiot, that’s when the therapist falls for the patient. Ain’t gonna happen. She's just good at her job, makes me feel less uncomfortable, I s’pose."

"Sure, sure. So, what's the verdict? She cute? Should I tell the kids they’ve got a new aunt?"

"You'll be waiting a long time for that. But seriously, it felt good, productive. And, she asked me about what I wanna do now. Got me thinkin’ about my options."

"Really? Did she smell the smoke? Set off a fire alarm?"

“Funny. I’m thinkin’ maybe becoming an EMT, you know? Can still help people, use my military training, just…stayin’ stateside and less sand.”

“You did always have a thing for helping people, I’ll give you that. Now, about Joanna…”

“Travis, forget it.”

“I’m just saying, Ma’s 60th birthday is coming up, and you know you’re in for a grillin’ about when you’re giving her grandbabies.”

“She has two already,” Luke protested, laughing as he took another slice from the box of pizza, “Besides,” he said with his mouthful, “I don’t know if I even want kids at this point. I’d be dead by the time they had kids”

“Well, if they take after you, maybe. I had kids at a reasonable age.”

“I s’pose, how are they anyway? Bet ya Hannah’s grown like a bad weed since I saw her last, and Maddie? She was knee-high to a grasshopper last time I saw her.”

“They’re good. Maddie’s almost 5 now, gettin’ quite feisty, like her mama, and Hannah’s taken up cheerleadin’, now I gotta become well-versed in making perfect pigtails in her hair if her mother’s busy with the little one.”

“Better you than me, Trav. Don’t think I could figure out how to do those tiny lil elastics.”

As Luke engaged in a heartfelt conversation with his brother, the echoes of family life stirred a contemplation of his own future. The tales of parenthood shared by his brother left a lingering thought.

 Did he, despite his usual reserved nature, harbour a desire for a family of his own? 

Love and romance had often found him awkward and uncertain, but when it came to showering affection on his nieces, those barriers melted away effortlessly. His musings naturally gravitated towards Joanna, her radiant smile replaying in his mind, illuminating the corners of his apartment like a beacon. 

The playful teasing from Travis planted an idea in his mind, one he never expected to be considering, which prompted Luke to consider whether there might be something extraordinary about his connection with Joanna.

Setting the cordless phone down on the table beside the couch, he sighed heavily, the weight of his newfound solitude settling in as he savored a third slice of pizza. His eyes roamed around the room, the empty expanse of his apartment feeling almost suffocating. The hush of the house, disrupted only by the dull roar of football highlights on the TV, intensified the solitude. In that moment, amidst the quietude, the prospect of companionship and a shared future became a lingering ember in Luke's thoughts.

#captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #cpt. syverson #cpt. syverson fanfiction #cpt. syverson fic #cpt. syverson x ofc #cpt. syverson x oc #captain syverson x oc #captain syverson #capt. syverson #capt. syverson fic #capt. syverson x ofc #capt. syverson x oc #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction

[starlightandfairies]

Leg injury -Austin Butler~

Description: Reader injures leg filming a scene and Austin takes care of you.

Warnings: Broken leg, fluff, implied female

Key: POV = Point of view, Y/N = your name

Word Count: 989

*Please send through requests!*

2nd Person's POV

Austin had met you at a photo shoot, you weren't originally meant to be the model standing in with Austin but the other model had dropped out and chose that she didn't want to do the photoshoot. So going through the books, looking for anyone that they thought could be a good match against Austin, they found your headshot. At the time you were an actress trying to get any sense of work. So, you ended up doing the shoot with Austin, the two of you finding an interest in each other and that created the pathway for your relationship. 

Across the next three years later your friendship turned into a romance, and you started to gain more roles as a guest in tv shows, having a couple of episodes before being written off as there was no longer any use for your character and had also been placed in movies for ten minutes before your character was either or you were playing the younger version of the main character so once you had filmed your scenes you were sent off. 

So, over the last two months, you auditioned for a movie, got the lead role and began filming with the others that had also been cast in the movie. You didn't do some of your own stunts, some of which made you uncomfortable. This current stunt was not meant to be a difficult one, you had been strapped into a harness, a suspension-like bungee wire hooked onto the back. All you had to do was stand on the edge of a tall platform, jump to a lower one and then switch with the stunt double who would be thrown off and onto a crashmat. 

Normally, Austin would be there, watching you perform your scenes, however, he had to do some interviews that he had been requested to attend. After the whole process of being hooked up to the wire, getting into position and making sure everyone else was ready. Getting into character, you ran and jumped where the marking previously was. You had no clue how it happened or what happened to begin with. 

The wire snapped before you could reach the other platform, you fell and just missed the crash mat, a scream escaped your lips as pain raced up your left leg. 

You had been raced to the hospital, an obnoxious plaster cast placed on your leg, resting in bed while you waited for Austin to come home. Austin raced into the hospital room, looking panicked and worried. 

"Sweetheart, how are you doing?" He whispered, sitting at your side as he placed a hand on your face and rested a couple of kisses across your face. 

"I can't feel the pain, I'm on a lot of painkillers." You explained, smiling at him and holding his hand, Austin was glad to know that besides the broken leg, you were otherwise okay. Austin rested a kiss on your lips, holding your hand and looking over your form. 

"They won't be mad at me?" You asked, Austin shot you a look and brought your hand to his lips and rested a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. 

"No, sweetheart, they won't be mad, if they are I'll yell at them. Y/n you're the one that should be mad at them for not checking that wire." You nodded at his words, taking a breath and smiling as he handed you some water. 

"Thank you." He nodded and grabbed a marker out of his pocket. 

"Can I draw on it?" You nodded happily at his words, Austin chuckling as he moved the chair he had been sitting on closer to your leg and lightly began drawing over the plaster. You watched some sitcoms on the tv, ate the food that was brought in for you and talked with Austin as he drew cute little pictures on his new canvas. Austin placed the marker down, moved back to you and rested another kiss on your forehead. 

"The doctors were saying that I would need to be in a wheelchair for a while, then be placed on crutches and then I'd also need physical therapy in the end." You explained sighing at how drastic it all sounded. Austin caressed your cheek, resting loving kisses on your forehead and gave you a caring smile.

"I'll be there with you, all the way. I promise." He reassured, grabbing something from his bag and smiling at you before showing you a teddy bear. 

"You brought me Cookie!" Your teddy bear from your childhood was named Cookie, it normally sat on your bedside table and Austin didn't call you childish for keeping the childhood comfort. You cuddled the sentimental item close to your chest, smiling happily at the boy and rested a kiss on his lips. 

"I love you."

"I love you too." He whispered, sitting back in the chair and watching as you fiddled with the ears of the loved but well-maintained toy. 

"They're talking about returning to filming two weeks after I'm out of here, they just film me from the waist down or do scenes where my leg isn't showing. They don't want to use CGI unless they have to." 

"We'll see how that goes. We don't want you pushing it too much." He stated lightly, standing up and closing the blinds as the sun was pouring in violently. He switched the lights on, smiling as you looked more relaxed from being able to see properly. 

"Thanks for taking care of me." 

"Always. I'll look after you. You're my girlfriend and I'd be a pretty shit boyfriend if I didn't." Austin reassured, resting a kiss on your lips and tracing patterns on your arm. Austin discovered it to be a way to soothe or calm you whenever you needed it. 

#austin butler x y/n #austin butler angst #austin butler #austin butler gif #austin butler icons #austin butler x reader #austin bulter x female reader #austin elvis x reader #austin butler fluff #austin butler x you #elvis 2022 #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis fluff #Austin Butler #austin!elvis x reader #austin x reader #elvis movie #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis x oc #austin!elvis x female redaer #fluff #angst

[themummersfolly]

Nonverbal Art

alt. title: Art Nerd's Origin Story

Anyone else ever wonder why Thrawn's interest in art focuses so heavily on sussing out the backstory of the artist? Yeah.

I have no idea how pediatric therapy works in real life.

-----

Vurawn doesn’t need a doctor to tell him he’s different.

There’s the whole talking thing, for example. Vurawn doesn’t remember learning to talk, even though he remembers Vurika and Mom says he didn’t start talking until after that. A lot of people still think he can’t talk, apparently, because he doesn’t do it very often. He’s not sure what the point is. He understands just fine, and besides, half the time when he does talk people get mad or start acting funny.

A lot of grownups think that not talking means he doesn’t hear either; even Mom and Dad forget sometimes. He overhears them talking about him. For a long time Mom thought he was stupid. It seemed to make her happy, for some reason. He doesn’t feel stupid; but then, he’s not sure if stupid and smart are things you can feel like. Vurika was smart, and they took her away and Mom was sad. Maybe if he’s stupid, he’ll get to stay and make Mom happy.

The army man said he was smart, when he gave everybody that test-thingy at school. But then he got into a fight with Teni the next day and afterward everybody said he was stupid. At least until the teacher made them stop.

No, he doesn’t need a doctor to tell him he’s weird, but here he is anyway.

He kicks his feet back and forth under the chair while he waits and thinks about the marker set Dad said he’ll get if he’s good for the doctor. He hopes there’s lots of orange markers. Orange is his favorite color right now. At school, there are fourteen different kinds of orange marker in the marker bin; he knows because he counted. First he lined them all up in order, then he put them in groups of markers from the same set and lined those up in order. Or he tried to, before the teacher yelled at him for hogging the orange markers.

He hopes he can be good enough to get the markers. Even when he tries to be good, he always does something wrong without meaning to.

“Kivu’raw’nuru?”

That’s his name. He hops out of his seat and follows Mom into the back office.

He likes going to this doctor, honestly. She never gives him shots or gets mad when he does the thing with his hands to feel better. There are toys, and neat pictures to look at, and lots and lots of markers.

He wanders around the room, looking at the toys while Mom talks to the doctor.

“-test scores are high, but the teacher says he’s behind in his social development. He rarely talks, he never looks me in the eyes-”

Dad thinks Mom wants there to be something wrong with him, at least he said so last night. Vurawn doesn’t know why everyone wants him to look at their eyes; it makes him as uncomfortable as when he has to not fidget.

The grownups finish talking and the doctor comes over to where he is.

“Good morning, Vurawn.”

It takes him a moment, but he remembers there’s something he’s supposed to do when people greet him.

“Hi.”

The doctor asks him questions; he’s supposed to answer with his big kid words, and he does. The doctor is happy, he’s doing it right. Maybe he will get that marker set.

“Vurawn, I’d like you to draw your family for me. Will you do that now, please?”

He’s not sure why she needs him to do that, but then he’s not sure why she asked all those questions, either. He does like to color, though.

It doesn’t take him long to draw everyone who’s important to him. When he’s done, the doctor sits down next to him.

“Tell me about your picture. Who’s that?” She points at the picture that is pretty obviously Mom. One by one, she points to each figure he drew and asks about it. Mom. Dad. Himself. The neighbor’s tooka. Vurika. He doesn’t know why she wants him to talk about them; most of the time when he talks about things he likes, people act like he’s doing something wrong and he doesn't know why. But the doctor lets him talk, so he does. It feels good to talk about things he likes.

When he’s told her all about his drawing, she picks it up and takes it over to Mom. He listens to them talk, and with no one to tell him not to, dumps out the markers and begins sorting them.

“-normal cognitive development for a child his age. But I think part of the issue is he misses his sister.”

That gets Vurawn’s attention. He’s not supposed to talk about Vurika; whenever he does, Mom gets sad and all the other grownups tell him he should be happy she gets to serve the Ascendancy. The doctor keeps talking.

“You see how much detail he put into her portrait; he clearly still remembers her, and remembers her well. Even as young as he was, her removal had a profound effect on him. That might be why he’s having difficulty adjusting socially.”

She can tell all that from his drawing?

“And here- this is your neighbor’s pet. She turns up in a number of drawings he’s done for me, so she’s clearly an important figure in his life. He may benefit from a therapy animal. If you can’t have one where you live, there are programs you can sign him up for-”

Every time he talks about Flower the Tooka, people look at him like he’s crazy! But the doctor had looked at his picture and understood immediately. Is that the secret? Can he really get people to understand him by drawing pictures for them?

And if it works that way, maybe it works the other way around, too. Maybe if he looks at pictures other people draw, they’ll seem less weird. Maybe the world makes sense if you draw it.

It’s like he’s spent his whole life in a dark, scary hallway, and suddenly, someone in a room nearby turns on a light. He decides to move toward it.

“Mom, I’d like you to draw a picture for me. Will you do that for me now, please?”

He’s been good all day, not just at the doctor. When Dad comes home, he has the marker set in hand, and the first thing Vurawn does is take it over to Mom.

She looks surprised, and he’s not sure she’ll go along with it. But then she takes the markers and flimsi and starts drawing. To keep himself busy, Vurawn picks up the pieces of the gadget she was working on and starts arranging them in order. They’re all very different, and it’s hard to figure out what order they should go in. Vurawn likes puzzles like this.

He’s just figured out where the big shiny piece should go when Mom slaps a marker down hard, puts her face into her hands, and starts shaking. Vurawn jumps. At first he thinks she’s mad at him for playing with her project. Then he sees that she’s crying.

“I’m sorry, Vurawn- it’s ok. I just can’t. You’re ok.” She doesn’t look up from her hands. Vurawn stands on his chair to look across the table at what she’s drawn.

It’s a grownup kind of drawing, much more complicated than his sensible stick figures. The face that stares out from the page is that of a little girl, about his age. It’s unfinished; Mom put the marker down before she colored it in.

“I’m sorry I got upset, Vurawn, I don’t know why I did that.” Mom wipes her eyes. Vurawn is still looking at the picture.

“It’s cause you miss Vurika.”

Mom freezes. He’s not sure if that means she understands, so he tries again.

“You’re sad cause Vurika had to go away. You’re scared that I might have to go away, too. But if I’m stupid, I get to stay with you, cause stupid people don’t have to serve the Ascen’a’cy.” He frowns at the tabletop, choosing his next words. “I can be stupid for you, Mom.”

He expects her to be happy at the offer, but instead she starts crying even harder. Vurawn feels the panic start to well up in his chest. He’s done something wrong again. Mom is upset, and Dad will be mad, and he doesn’t know how to fix it because he doesn’t even know what he did wrong-

Mom leans over and scoops him up in a hug.

“You’re not stupid, you’re a brilliant, brilliant little boy. I love you so much!” Her tears are getting his shirt wet, and now they’re both crying. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re stupid! I just- I just want what’s best for you, even if you have to go away. My brilliant little boy!” She takes his face in her hands and makes him look at her. “If they chose you- I need you to remember. I love you so much, I’m so proud of you, and I don’t want you to ever look back.”

Vurawn doesn’t understand, but he nods his head because Mom needs him to. Then he leans into her shoulder and cries.

#i was trying to write something cute and then That Happened #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #grand admiral thrawn #kivu'raw'nuru #vurawn #thrawn/art #cw: child loss #grief #child character #thrawn is autistic coded

[guy-busleeness]

⚠️!!TRAUMA POST!!⚠️

TW: S/A, neglect, mommy issues, trust issues, etc.

(This is really just my last resort to getting all this shit off my chest. Also this will mention my deadname so yeah)

So when I was 8, my mom met this guy named Josh, he was okay. He tried to be like the dad I wish I could’ve had, but one night, he snuck into my room and locked my door. Then he told me I was dreaming and for me to put my face in my pillow, so I did, then I felt my pants going down and something rubbing against my… “tunnel.” I asked him what he was doing and he told me not to worry about it and to keep my face in my pillow, or he’d make me keep it there. I got scared and put my head back in my pillow and he put his hand on my back, gripping my pajamas. After what I could only assume was half an hour or so, he left. I told my mom about it but she didn’t believe me, not only that, but she guilt tripped me into talking about it with him. He started crying and saying stuff like “I’d never do such a thing” and “I see you as my own daughter, Emery” and so on and so forth. My grandma and aunt Lys believed me though, so I’m grateful for that.

The S/A went on for four years (it stopped when I was 11) the last time he did it was when his 5 year old son was visiting. He had him stay in my room while he took me to his and my mom’s room, sitting me in his gaming chair and wrapping my mom’s bandanna around my eyes, he told me we were gonna do a taste testing thing, he said he didn’t have a spoon though so he’d have to use his finger. He told me to get all the peanut butter or whatever it was on his finger off it. It was normal til the last time, he put, what I can only assume, was his dick in my mouth which obviously caused me to choke and pull away. I went to take the bandanna off and he told me to wait, I heard a zipper and then he said I could take it off. He asked if I was okay and I started crying a little and asking “What was that-?” He reassured me that it was just his finger (but I didn’t feel any nail SIR.😒) A few weeks later and he was put in jail for selling edibles at home or something.

After he was put in jail my mom was like “Well, now I hope you’re happy. Now your brother doesn’t have a dad to look up to! Does that seem fair to you, Emery?” As if all he did wasn’t just leaving my little brother in my room to watch TV and leaving me to take care of him while he just sat in his room playing video games. My mom has been a big fear of mine since I was 6, she has rarely been a good mother to me , or to anyone for that matter. Because the moment I was born, she left me to be my grandparents responsibility just so she didn’t have to worry about me. Even now she still expects my trauma to have just *POOF* vanished! As if that’s how it works.

And just a couple hours ago, her and ex boyfriend number 13 (yes, I keep count) got into a pretty heated argument and broke up. And because I’m emotional and a fucking crybaby, I obviously started crying in my closet, so I called my best friend and drew some quote art. But seriously, trauma doesn’t just resolve itself if the problem is away from the victim/victims. It takes time and effort to help the person get better and find a good coping mechanism for it (like therapy, drawing, writing, crocheting, writing, reading, etc.).

If any of you, a friend or a family member have gone through S/A or anything like that I am so, so, so sorry that happened and I hope you’re healing well.

#squishy rants #non tickles #trauma dump #rant #vent (???)

[slothspaghettiwrites]

E for Thor

e...sp (soulmates can sense one another’s presence and feel each other’s exact emotions even when miles away).

Shocked

Warnings: Traumatizing emotions at a young age, therapy, age gap (I mean Thor is ancient and you're mortal), GN!Reader

Your soulmate feels a lot. Whoever they are, they have experienced the full spectrum at a billion miles an hour. Grief, sorrow, joy, fear, triumph, love, loss, they've felt it all. And you've felt it all, since the day you were born you've felt these complex emotions that aged you, in mind and spirit. It scared your parents, who weren't sure how to handle all these complex emotions pouring from your five year old mouth.

Therapy helped a bit, family therapy until you were 18 so your parents could learn how to manage your fits of rage or hyperactivity. You've been going on and off since then for a while. Sometimes there were long spurts of time where you felt nothing, like they were so far away from you couldn't connect. Other times their grief drowned you, suffocated out everything in your life until you were clawing your way out of their emotions and trying to help them.

It wasn't until recently, when you were out with friends for drinks that you felt a new emotion from them.

Lust.

You've felt desire before, the little tingle that starts at the base of your skull and travels all the way down between your legs. But it was never more than that. Your soulmate seemed to control that part of themselves very well.

But right now you burned. Your body ached with a need that felt otherworldly. Every breath you drew in was ragged. You clutched your bottle of beer in your fist.

"You okay, babes?" Your friend asked, their head tilting to the side to look at you.

"I-" you swallowed the drool threatening to dribble out of your mouth. "I think I need some fresh air."

"Do you want one of us to come with?"

"No," you rushed. "No, can you watch my stuff?"

You didn't wait for them to respond. Sweat dripped down your spine as you wove through the crowd to the smokers area. Fresh air was relative, all that mattered was the cool night breeze hitting your over heated skin. You took a long swig of your beer. Just as the lust thundering through your veins cooled, a new sense of panic replaced it. You leaned against the brick wall, begging your soulmate to calm the fuck down for one night. You just wanted one night.

"There you are," A voice called out, deep and rumbling. "You move very fast for a mortal."

Through the cigarette haze and dim lights, a golden haired man stepped up to you. A god. The God. Thor.

"Holy shit."

"I can feel how shocked you are, but-ha a pun." He grinned as though he had never felt that soul destroying things you fought off as a child. Like he had only felt this warm you were feeling now. "I can assure you, I have felt everything for as long as you have lived. When I came to earth, our bond grew too much to ignore. I had to find you."

"Oh my therapist is going to love you."

#sloth asks #wakingbeauty #soulmate prompts #thor odinson #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #soulmate au

[paisley-print]

Chapter Four

Rating: 18+

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader X Ezra

This is a sequel to the MIDNIGHT Series

Rated TV MA. Heavy trigger warning. Infidelity, miscarriage,couples therapy, domestic violence, pregnancy,  spouse death.

Note: Sorry about grammar / spelling I wanted to get this chapter out and I had almost no time to edit how I usually do. Please point out if something is super not correct.

Tag List: @just-here-for-the-moment​ @sherala007​ @jediknight122​ @pintsizemama​ @kenbechillin @elegantduckturtle​ @hearttbreak​ @tintinn16​ @showbuckysomelove​ @somenerdyuser​ @kesskirata​ @littlemisspascal​ @athalien​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @littlemisspascal​ @sheresh0y​ @pjkimrn​ @i-ship-it-ironically​ @fictitious-little-stitious @curiouskeyboard​ @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @murdersheghostwrote @fictitious-little-stitious  @voteforpedro09 @greeneyedblondie44 @feel-it-on-the-way-home13 @galaxyofmando @kravitzwhore @solemnlyswearss @gooddaykate @sherala007 @aliwritesfic @athalien  @amneris21 @manuymesut @toxicfrankenstein @deadhumourist​ 

The car ride to the therapist’s office was rather awkward. Jack had a nervous habit of talking in order to fill uncomfortable silence, but you simply had no desire to speak with him. Once he figured out that you were not a willing participant in the conversation he would turn the radio on; and the two of you would go the remainder of the ride in silence. 

You looked over at him now, sitting opposite of you in the waiting room. You watched as he bounced his leg nervously and scrolled through his phone. Work emails probably. 

The door opened. You looked up to see Rose, your therapist. She was wearing a floor length poncho dress with a chunky necklace. Her long grey hair was held up by reading glasses on the top of hr head. 

You smiled when you saw her and stood. 

“Y/N,” she said, greeting you, “and you must be Jackson.”

“How do you do, ma’am?” Jack smiled, taking the hat off his head out of curtsy.  

“Do you prefer Jack or Jackson?” Rose asked.

“Well, most everybody calls me Jack.”

“Jack it is,” Rose said with a cheery voice. “Well won’t you two come in? Take a seat wherever.”

Rose ushered you into her office. Small lamps gave the room light. There was a sofa and in front of that an armchair. You and Jack took your seats on opposite sides of the couch while Rose chose the armchair. 

You watched as she settled in, picking up a notepad and a pen from a side table, then resting them on her lap. 

“So, before I begin, I would like to say that whatever information you tell me will stay between us. Do you understand?”

The two of you nodded.

“Now” she continued “would you please tell me what brings the two of you here today? I know a bit, but I want to get a full picture.”

You looked at Jack; he was hunched over, one arm crossed in front of his body, the other resting on his chin. 

You took it upon yourself to answer, “we are newly divorced and are having a baby.”

Rose looked at Jack and waited for a moment before speaking, “Jack may I ask why you look so stressed right now?”

Jack cleared his throat and sat back a little, “I’m - just not used to this is all.”

“Not used to what?” Rose asked.

“Well, ya’ know talking about all this.”

“You mean about your feelings?” Rose asked.

Jack nodded and scratched his cheek awkwardly. The 007 cowboy finally met his match, and it’s name was therapy. 

“Well, this is just the first session” Rose pointed out, “I would encourage you to be as open as you would like. Why are you here today, Jack?”

He drew in a breath “to make amends with her before the baby comes.”

“Why is that important for you to do?” Rose asked.

“Because, I don’t want - my mother and father didn’t quite get along when I was younger and I don’t want to repeat the cycle. I know I need to become a better man before I am a father and I’d like to start with the person I feel I’ve done the most wrong too.” 

You looked at Jack. This was only the second time you had ever heard him speak about his father. You knew Jack’s father was absent for a portion of his life, but you never knew why - that was the one subject he had always refused to share with you. 

“In what way do you feel like you’ve done her wrong?” Rose asked.

He drew in a slow breath and sat back in the chair, his hands rumbling along his thighs. “Well, you see that, is uh, there’s a lot too that question-”

“Then why don’t you start from the beginning? How did the two of you meet?” Rose asked. 

“A new year’s eve party,” you responded. "We had a sexual relationship for about a year and we were- I guess exclusive.” 

You looked over at Jack, who nodded.

You continued, “I found out I was pregnant and he proposed because of that. We got married, and I had a - we lost the baby soon after.”

Rose nodded and jotted a few things down. “I do want to touch on that, but let’s go back for one moment. Did you two do other things outside of the sexual component of the relationship?”

“Yes,” you said, “we would do stuff together all the time.”

“Would you have considered that dating?” Rose asked.

You looked at Jack, letting him answer this one. 

“I didn’t want to call it dating,” he said. 

Rose jotted more things down. "And why not?”

Jack scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not sure.” 

“Jackson is a widower,” you offered. 

“I see,” Rose said, “so in a way, you felt like you were disrespecting your first wife by acknowledging your commitment to Y/N?”

Jack nodded.

Rose crossed her legs and looked up, lifting her glasses onto her head. “So we have quite a bit to discuss here, actually.”

“Your first wife. What was her name?” Rose asked. 

“Emily,” Jack responded. 

“And how long has she been deceased?” 

At that question a look crossed Jack’s face that you couldn’t quite place, embarrassment.....irony.....disgust perhaps? You weren’t quite sure.

“Coming up on twenty-three years in September,” Jack said, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. 

“And you never had a serious relationship between that and meeting Y/N?”

“No,  ma’am” Jack said.

“And you and your first wife, you were the same age?”

Jack nodded “yes mam.”

“Okay,” Rose said, addressing you again, “so the two of you got married.”

“We got married,” you repeated, “and we lost the baby at nineteen weeks.”

Rose’s eyebrows knit together,  “you were fairly far along”

You nodded.

“That must have been a very traumatic experience for the two of you,” Rose acknowledged.

You felt tears well in corners of your eyes and your throat constricted as you tried to speak. “It uh, wasn’t good. He just - shut down completely after that. I mean, I get why, I think it dug up feelings from his son, but I really needed him, you know? And he wasn’t there. So I felt like I did something wrong and he hated me and I had to go through it alone.”

Jack reached for a box of tissues that were on the side table next to him and handed them to you, refusing to meet your eye.

Rose regarded Jack, speaking in a soft voice, “Jack?”

Jack shook his head. “I I wasn’t upset with you, ever, I just…. everything was so.... I apologize I made you feel like that..... I just couldn’t.....” he trailed off.

“Acknowledge it?” Rose chimed in, offering him a conclusion to his sentence.

Jack nodded.

“Would you say you have a habit of doing that? Not acknowledging situations that hurt?” Rose asked. 

Jack let out a bitterly amused huff. “I guess so.”

“What happened after that?” Rose asked.

You looked at Jack, tears still streaming down your face, this was his part to tell. You watched as he hesitated, sat up and pulled a hand across his face. 

“I had an affair,” Jack said finally.

It was the first time you ever heard him speak those words...and it tore your heart open all over again.

“So you were intimate with another woman?” Rose asked.

Jack swallowed hard. “I never slept with her, but I did have physical contact with her once before Y/N knew about her.”

“If you knew you were having an emotional affair that was leading to something physical, why didn’t you ask for a divorce prior?” 

“Because... I” Jack stuttered trying to formulate a response. 

You chimed in, “I think it was because of my business. I had a bakery that burned down a few months after the miscarriage. I had sunk my entire savings into it. He was doing me a favor I guess.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Jack said. “I still loved you and I didn’t- It was more complicated than that.”

“I remember,” Rose said, looking at you “from our first session, you mentioned that you also had an emotional affair?”

You nodded. “We kissed once. That was the extent of it, but I did have feelings for him.”

“When did the two of you finally decide to get divorced?” Rose asked.

You sniffed and wiped your eyes, then looked at Jack. You watched him close his eyes and wince as if the memory was inflicting physical pain.

“I hit her,” he finally said, not opening his eyes.

“He slapped me, and I shoved him first,” you chimed in. 

“Y/N-” Jack said in protest.

You kept on “no Jackson, she needs the complete story. We can’t fix this until we both can own up to what we did wrong. There was this box of things from his first wedding. He had it out, and I ruined it - threw it up against the wall.”

“Lets not minimize,” Rose pointed out. "Putting hands on someone in anger is a pretty serious offense. One that I am not sure can be redeemed even in a co-parenting sense. The two of you need extensive one-on-one counseling to control these reactions to negative emotions.... Because if there is domestic violence in the home, whether that be the two of you to each other, or one of you to another spouse, the first thing they will do is take the child out of that situation. The two of you need to be very clear about the fact that if this happens again, legal action will need to be taken. There is no way around this.” Rose paused, sighing. “Now I understand you are pregnant again?”

You nodded, feeling very ashamed and embarrassed by all of this. 

“How is that?” Rose asked. 

“Hard,” you confessed, “very hard. “I don’t think I even feel like I’m pregnant outside of the physical symptoms. I don’t even think about it... I don’t even consider it a baby.”

“Why do you think that is?” Rose asked. 

“because I’m scared” you said simply “If I get attached to it and something happens... I think Jack does the same thing, but to be fair he lost two...” 

“Well, the two of you have months to process this. In the short term, it is a normal reaction. However, in the next few months I do want to work with you on forming that bond with the baby. I think It would help you feel less alone as well.” Rose said. 

She pushed her glasses back down on her head and took up her notebook again, looking it over before speaking. “I want to circle back a bit to acknowledge that the two of you have a pretty substantial age gap. How does that affect your relationship with each other in a platonic sense?”

You thought for a moment “it was only a problem sometimes.”

“In what way?” Rose asked.

“He would tell me I was acting like a child as an insult,” you said. 

“How did that make you feel?” Rose asked. 

“It pissed me off, because it was literally the one thing I had no control over,” you said.

“Jack?” Rose asked. 

“It was a poor choice of words” he confessed,  “I was trying to point out that she was acting irrational in those moments - I don’t view her as younger than me or less than me. Never have. One of the things that drew me to her in the first place was that she was so independent and driven. She had a plan for herself.”

“But” Rose said  “do you acknowledge that there are inherent power structures within these types of relationships, even if they are platonic?” 

He nodded “yes ma’am I do.”

“Are the two of you in relationships now?” Rose asked.

“I’m not,” you said.

Jack cleared his throat. “I’m married.”

“To the woman you had the affair with?” Rose asked. 

Jack nodded “yes.”

Rose drew in a deep breath. "Okay, so there are many layers here. Some are very concerning, may I say. I do have hope that the two of you could co parent effectively, but it will take work. I need to have one-on-one sessions with the both of you as well. Is that something the two of you are willing to do?”

You both nodded. 

In the next part of the session, Rose talked about establishing effective communication, boundaries, and de-escalation tactics for arguments. In all, it was a productive meeting and went much better than you had imagined. 

It was dark by the time the two of you were driving home. His car was the only one on the road. 

“Thank you,” you said, breaking the silence. “I appreciate that you participated.”

“You don’t have to thank me, we both know I shoulda’ went a long time ago.” 

Another silence fell over the car. He had on a country station that the two of you would listen to often. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” you confessed.

“Me either,” he laughed.

“Hows statesmen?” You asked, the name tasted bitter in your mouth. They had known about your existence and still let all of that take place...... Still, though, their achievement was admirable. 

“Champ is stepping down by the end of the year,” Jack said.

“Do you know who is going to replace him?” 

Jack shook his head. “I stay out of that kinda stuff.”

“Yeah, I know.....but I mean, it could be you.”

Jack shrugged. “Ehh,… I’m not sure if I’d want that job anyway.”

You knew he was lying, he wanted the job very badly. Jack just couldn’t let himself seem excited by the prospect in case it went to someone else. You knew he would get it, he was one of the best agents they had. 

Another lengthy silence followed. That familiar sense of loss took hold of you once more. You did not want to be with him anymore but a part of you wondered what your life would have been like if Emily had not entered the picture. You drove yourself mad thinking about it sometimes, usually late at night before you surrendered yourself to sleep.

You would often construct full worlds with him that you could escape into to take away the hurt, this started long before the divorce though….

When he finally spoke his voice was just above a whisper “I feel like I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for everything I’ve done but never come close.”

“Yeah,” you said, “you probably will.”

#agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fanfic #jack daniels x y/n #jack daniels x you

[random-imagines-blog]

Unlock It {Bucky Barnes x Reader Oneshot}

Wordcount: 3827 Summary: Bucky has his kind of therapy. You have yours. Only - yours tends to be a little bit more eclectic than his.

Bucky Barnes was in therapy. It took him a while to admit that to you, that he had been forced into going after everything that happened with The Avengers saving the world against a big bad Titan. Actually, it was easier for him to talk about the big battle and losing Steve than it was to tell you about Dr. Raynor. You didn’t judge him for that. How could you? In this world where it seems like men would do literally anything to avoid therapy, even go on the run rather than open up. You thought it was a good thing, even though he told you that he hated her, hated it and didn’t really talk about anything. So in an act of showing him how good it can feel, how it can really free the soul, you started going to therapy too. Not Dr. Raynor. That would have been too weird. No, you found another therapist. More of a hippy type, truth be told. But you liked her vibes. And she had liked yours.

The office was furnished with macrame and wicker. Even the coasters on which you could rest your water-bottle or the mug of herbal tea that she liked to supply were macrame feathers. Home made from the looks of it. And old. A little frayed. But still very loved. You had liked that about it all - it wasn’t clean and sterile. It was comfortable. It felt like you were visiting an eclectic aunt who just wanted to give you some advice and guidance rather than someone that you were paying to listen to you. It wasn’t for everyone - but it did the trick for you.

You opened up to your Doctor - who refused to let you call her Doctor. “My name is Vicky. That’s who I want to be with you. Doctor is too clinical. Too cold. I want to be your friend, I want to be someone that you feel like you can turn to, that you can talk to.”

That had been exactly what drew you to her - which was weird because it was the same kind of pull that you had towards Bucky when you first met him. Two years ago today. You were walking out of the grocery store, carrying the couple of bags that you got towards the sidewalk so you could catch the bus home. It was New York after all. Driving was just an insane idea. It would have taken you three times as long to get home. Just as you stepped off the asphalt onto pavement, one of your bags ripped. That’s what you get for using plastic bags, forgetting your reusable ones at home. Apples, oranges, they went sprawling down the street. A couple into traffic. A truck ran over one. A cabbie yelled at you over one of the apples. Like you had meant for this to happen.

You gave the cabbie the finger and he went off with another honk. You tried to gather together what you could off of the sidewalk, but it began to make your other bags feel overloaded. You didn’t have much of a choice. Your bus was going to be at the stop soon. If you missed it, you were going to have to wait another half an hour and the heat was sweltering.

The cackles of some teenagers reached your ears. Just what you needed. A group of dumbasses haha and heehaw’ing at you dropping your vitamin C. And not doing a damn thing to help you.

“Oh, yeah, it’s so funny,” You called out to them, annoyed. “Laugh it up. What would you do if I was your mother or your sister huh? Would you just stand there and laugh?”

“Thing is -” One of the teenagers spoke up. Sports jacket. Probably some big shot on a football team somewhere or something. “- they wouldn’t use those cheap ass bags.”

You sighed. Fair play. How were you even supposed to argue with that? You managed to get what was around you and was chasing after a rogue orange when it hit somebody’s shoe. A black sneaker. A gloved hand picked it up. You followed the line of the dark jeans, up over the broad chest of the long sleeved-shirt with sweat marks around the collar, up to the handsome face above. “Ignore them,” The man said, slipping the orange inside of your bags. “Boys don’t know what to do when there’s someone good looking around other than to laugh and fuck it up immediately.”

“Thanks,” You said,  “I thought I was going to have to chase that thing up to Manhattan or something. Rogue orange.” He chuckled at your comment, showing off a set of near-perfect teeth behind those pink lips. Whoa. “I’d - better get going,” You said, reluctantly. As much as you wanted to stand there and stare at this handsome man, it might get a little odd.

“Your bag looks like it’s going to break,” He said. He reached into his back pocket - men tend to have those pretty deep, lucky lads - and pulled out a folded up cloth bag. “Here. You can borrow this.”

You weren’t going to argue. These cheap bags - especially with the added load of the other bagful of things. “Thanks again,” You said, gratefully, putting what you had on the ground and started to transfer some of the things over. You were able to fit about two bags worth of stuff in there, thankfully. That made it so much easier. “I have a couple at home, I’m just always forgetting them,” You explained, not wanting to seem like you were entirely stupid.

“Happens all the time,” He nodded, handing you the things to put into the bag until you were able to lift it. Not too heavy. A real convenience.

“Oh, well - I’m that way so...” You said, pointing over your shoulder in the direction that you had been heading before the big split.

“I said you can borrow the bag, not that you can have it,” The man said with a gruff-looking smile, the corners of his blue eyes getting crinkles. “I’ll walk with you, make sure you don’t have anything else spill on you.”

“I don’t usually bring home men I don’t know the name of," You quipped. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell you his name. But he looked at the bag and sighed, finally admitting to it.

“Bucky Barnes,” He told you.

You looked over his face, and then, “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you Bucky.”

That’s how it started. A rogue orange. Some jeering teenagers. You never forgot the reusable bags again. Bucky kept them near the coat closet for you, ready at a moment’s notice. He was always taking care of little things like that while you took care of him on the days and nights he had trouble sometimes. You told your therapist all about him. You wondered, sometimes, if he told his therapist about you. Things weren’t perfect, nothing in life ever is. You sometimes had little spats where he’d grab his coat and go out for a walk because he couldn’t handle the stress of seeing you upset. Sometimes you would leave, and come back to see him fixing something that he had broken. Even after so long, he wasn’t used to the metal arm. He’d grown accustomed to not having it in Wakanda - which he had opened up to you about a little. Sometimes he thought about just taking it off - and you told him to do what made him feel good, not what might make him appear normal to the outside world.

You were bringing up the recent argument to your therapist. “I know he’s holding back and I know he thinks it’s for good reason, all of that control but - I’m terrified of losing him. I just sometimes get the feeling that ... I’ve lost him before.” You didn’t know how to fully explain it but there was this fear, every time that he walked out the door.

“Have you given any thought to what we talked about last time?" The therapist asked. You played with the fringes on one of the pillows, running it between your fingers and nodded, slowly. “Would you like to give it a try?”

“Past-life hypnotherapy,” You muttered aloud. That’s what the therapist thought the reason for your anxieties were. There was nothing in your own life that might have made you feel that way. You’ve been lucky enough not to have feelings of abandonment. You were close with your family. Your former relationships, though they had fallen through for reasons, didn’t end with them ‘leaving you’ so to speak. So this was the outlandish theory of your therapist. To unlock your past life and find out the trauma and move on, somehow. It did sound insane. It sounded absolutely crazy. But in this world with people like Dr Strange, with aliens, with immortal Norse God, super soldiers, did reincarnation really sound so silly? “Okay. Let’s try it.”

“Excellent. Now, I want you to lay out on the couch. Don’t mind the shoes, love, you can keep them on if you’re more comfortable like that, I’ll be vacuuming later anyway.” You did bring your feet up, in whichever way you felt the most comfortable, and laid your head down on the pillow. Your arms were at your sides. You closed your eyes.

She started to talk. The words slipped in and out of your head. Like you were half asleep. You started to feel heavy. You tried to concentrate on the individual words but they slipped right out of your head.

The way that you had slipped -

There were so many people around. It was a wonder that you hadn’t been bumped more than once. But it was this one time that really got you. Two giggly women holding onto one another had knocked you clear over and kept on going without looking back. You had stumbled into someone who had helped you get back up onto your feet. “You alright there, doll?”

The voice was smooth, jovial, but concerned. He didn’t seem to be laughing at you. The lady he was with did, though. You saw her face before you saw hers, thanks to the height difference. A pretty little brunette in an embroidered dress. She let out a high pitch laugh and then tried to tug the man along. But he let go of her arm, unhooked, just to put both of his hands on your upper arms and made sure that you were stable.

“I’m fine,” You said, attempting not to glare at the woman who had laughed at you. You straightened up your back and then finally looked at who it was that was touching you. The dark green of the military was the color of all of his clothes, from his trousers to his shirt, jacket, tie and hat. A military man. How very kind of him. His date, however, seemed not to be the kind sort. She kept on walking. She looked over her shoulder expectantly, like she was waiting for him to follow. But he didn’t, he kept looking over you. “Like I said,” You repeated slowly, “I’m fine. There’s no need to leave your date waiting.”

“I tried to find the girls that knocked you over but-” Another friendly voice. A skinny little blonde boy. He had a nice smile though. But you had the oddest feeling of deja-vu ... but for something that hasn’t happened yet. “Are they okay, Buck?”

“Looks like they’re alright,” ‘Buck’ said, speaking for you.

“Really, I’m fine,” You assured the both of them, but found yourself looking back up at Buck. He was a handsome man - but leaving, and apparently taken. “There was no need for you to go chasing them down. I know not to expect an apology. Thank you though. I think you’d best be chasing after your own girls now.”

Buck looked over your head and then shrugged. “Our dates are malcontents,” He said with a shrug. “They’re just here to try to get a look at Howard Stark, I’d wager.”

“His technology is really advanced, I’ve heard,” Buck’s friend said.

“And I’m here for the fun,” Bucky finished. “What are you here for, doll?” He called you the name again. It didn’t go over your head the way that his eyes did.

“The fun,” You admitted. “But I was thinking about leaving. My sister was supposed to meet me here and she’s just not to be found. Probably found herself a handsome man like you two fellas to keep her company,” You laughed. “It was a pleasure, Buck and - Buck’s friend.”

“This is Steve,” Buck said, immediately, bringing his friend forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The size difference was astronomical. “And he’s the only one who ever calls me Buck. It’s Bucky. Well, James Buchanan but I prefer Bucky.”

“Well hi there Bucky and Steve, names for both faces. It was nice to meet ya. Maybe I’ll see you around,” You gave a wave and turned to walk off. It was hard to take your eyes off of Buck’s face. Everyone else around seemed so bland in comparison. But before you took two steps, a hand clasped yours and you spun around back into him.

“You never gave me your name,” Bucky said, smiling charmingly.

“I-” You barely got a word out before you suddenly found yourself waking up. You were holding the fringed pillow up against your chest, squeezing it tightly.

“Y/N, Y/N,” A soft voice kept repeating. As you were coming out of your dream state, you began to notice the colors on the walls, the macrame. It was all so bright and so vivid. So colorful.

“Where am I?” You asked, feeling like you were coming out of a daze.

“You’re in my office, y/n,” The voice said. “Vicky. Let’s sit up now, and get you a glass of water.”

She explained to you that you had gone into a trance easily enough. You were not explaining what had happened but you were saying some things out loud. Buck. Buck’s friends. It all came back to you. Not just the trance, because for a moment or two there, you really did feel like you were back there. Back in the nineteen forties. Where you had a sister and you attended The World’s Fair where Howard Stark was presenting some of his inventions or something. Tony Stark’s father. What a world. What a life you must have lived then. But then an ache hit your heart, hit your stomach. Bucky had left you then. He would have gone off to the war. He would have been deemed missing, fallen from the train during the fight against The Red Skull, fell down and down and down when he was taken by the Russians and turned into The Winter Soldier.

You had cried for a while on that couch. And Vicky had broken her protocol and sat next to you and rubbed at your back until you felt well enough to go home. You made another appointment. You felt like you were going to need it. Because you had promised Bucky that you’d make dinner tonight and you were going to tell him all about this.

-

He came home late. Late and grumpy. As he peeled off the gloves that he used to make himself more normal and took off his coat, the smells of spices from the tacos that you had made seemed to make him not slouch as much as usual. “That smells good,” He seemed to say reluctantly.

“Tastes even better,” You hummed from where you set out the different ingredients. “I couldn’t wait. I was dipping into the salsa. Come on, Buck, take a load off.”

“Okay doll, okay,” He said, giving in. The use of that word. That name. It sent a shiver up your spine. Because it was the first time that he had said it to you today - but it was also the third time that you had heard it from you today. He must have noticed your reaction. Damn those sharp eyes of his. “Everything alright?” He asked, looking around the apartment. Looking for anything off, or any sort of threat.

“No one is here,” You assured him. “Everything’s fine. Just - something very odd happened at therapy today.”

“Your therapist is just odd in general,” He said. He picked up a spoon and started to put the filling in his taco shell. “What was it this time? Were your chakras off? Were you not able to open your third eye wide enough?”

You cracked a smile at that. “Vicky means well,” You said, adding some of your favorite toppings onto your own shell. “But I have a uhh - a bit of a weird question.”

“Okay....” Bucky eyed you over the table. His hands were still moving but his face remained expressionless. No- not quite. There was a puppy-like curiosity in those beautiful eyes.

“Do you remember the World’s Fair that you and Steve went to - where Howard Stark was presenting some sort of flying car type thing?”

“I never got to see it,” Bucky said, a smile spreading as he remembered it. “It was right before I got sent out. Got a little err - distracted. Why?”

“You met someone that night. A couple of girls tripped them up and they nearly fell down -  you saw the whole thing. Your little date laughed at them, kept walking - did you, did you blow her off for this person?”

Bucky looked conflicted as you caught his eye. His hand was gripping so tightly, the taco shell broke apart in his hands, sending bits of cheese, sour cream and taco shell all over his metal hand. “How do you know that?” He asked, his brow furrowed. His eyes were narrowed. You went to get a napkin to help him clean up but he held you away with his flesh and blood hand. “HOW?” He yelled, making you flinch.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t go about it in the right way. With that accusing look, you realized your mistake. You waved the napkin in the air like it was a white flag of surrender.

“Past life hypnotherapy,” You said. “That’s what Vicky and I tried today.” He snorted. He still had trouble believing that you called her Vicky. He couldn’t ever imagine calling his therapist by her first name. Absolutely ridiculous. “Because we couldn’t figure out the source of this anxiety that I have about-” You froze up, realizing that you had never actually revealed that part to Bucky. You didn’t want to put pressure on him. He had enough of it as it was.

“Anxiety about what?” Bucky asked, his tone still harsh. “About what, y/n? About me? About being around me?”

“The opposite,” You said, knowing that you had dug yourself into a hole and the only thing you could fill it with was the truth. “Whenever you go off for more than a couple of hours, even going and seeing Sam, it makes me worry like crazy that you’re just not going to come back. That either you were going to leave, just decide not to come home or - or that something bad was going to happen to you.” He didn’t answer to this. He kept looking at you. He didn’t soften up in the slightest. “We hashed through everything. My family life, childhood, my exes, my friends, but nothing before you had ever given me this reason. So she had an idea and I went with it because what could it hurt right? And then I saw it all. Well, not all of it. Just some of that night. The falling. You helped me. You made sure that I was okay. You called the girls that you and Steve were with malcontents. Steve tried to find the girls that knocked me over but he couldn’t and I was going to leave but you took hold of my hand and - you called me doll. Steve called you Buck,” You said, going over it in your mind like you had the entire ride back home. “I swear, I’m telling you the truth. The reason why I get so afraid of you leaving is because - you did. You left for the war. And you never came home."

“But I did,” Bucky said. “Eventually. I’m home now.”

That was true. He was. He had come back both missing a part of himself and being overfilled - a broken teacup from Alice in Wonderland that is spilling over. “Yeah, you are, love. You’re home. It’s - it’s been a crazy day, if it stresses you out we don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay. Just - give me a minute.” He turned it over in his head as he went to the corner of the room, opened up the closet and brought out the broom. He swept up his mess into the dustbin, threw it out. Throughout all of this, you just watched him while trying not to show it, trying not to seem like you were staring. But you were waiting for another reaction, anything.

He washed his hands at the sink. Dried them on a paper towel. Crumpled it up, threw it into the garbage can. Perfect score. It went straight in. The man had aim. He picked up another taco shell. Started to fill it. You took a small bite of your own, the hardness of the shell cracking against your mouth. The zestiness of the salsa.

“So you’re clumsy in all your lives then?” Bucky finally said, nearly making you choke. You had hardly been expecting his comment. You swallowed it down and then started to laugh.

“That does seem like a common theme, doesn’t it?” You chuckled.

He finished making his own but before he ate it, he walked around to your side of the table and put his arm around your waist. “That’s two lives you fell for me in,” He said, confirming your earlier suspicions. He was just so damn charming, so easy to fall in love with. Even if he often denied that he was worth loving, he had to know what that smile and those eyes did to people. “How about we just live in this one as long as we can, and not worry about a third?”

“I like the sound of that,” You agreed, leaning in towards him. His lips grazed against your cheek, and then closer to your own. Closer - closer - closer - past?

His teeth closed around your food. “Oh no, oh no no no,” You said, pushing him away as he wiped crumbs from his mouth. He had that grin on his face. That sneaky one. “You keep that up and you’re going to your next life sooner rather than later, Buck.”

“Let’s see you try, doll.”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes oneshot #Marvel #Marvel oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #buckyb #nonrequest

[livfastdieyoung69]

Bones, Body, Soul.

A Jeff Hardy Story. (Ch.5)

“Jeffrey Hardy?” A nurse yelled into the hospital waiting room. In response, Jeff quickly walked over to the woman and began following her as she started to walk him to Lemmy’s room. “Dallas is all set to go home. Will you be the one staying with her?” After earning a nod, she began to speak again. “Well, that's good. Poor kid’s been asking for you the whole time.”

“Really? They doin’ alright?” The nurse let out a giggle, not at his concern but the reminder of Lemmy’s behavior.

“Oh, they're doin’ just fine. I gotta say though, they sure are a funny one. Hasn’t stopped talkin’ sense the moment they woke up. Here, see for yourself.” She pushed the flimsy door aside after a quick knock, revealing a fuzzy-eyed Lemm talking to the nurse fixing some kind of equipment next to them, before their attention was moved to the creaky door, the dopey smile pasted onto Lemmy's face greeting Jeff.

Lemmy's hand reached out to him as he drew in closer, reaching under his shirt and wrapping around his waist before he could take it into his own hand. Giggles spilled from his chest, a blush rising up his neck to match while attempting to push Lemmy's head away from the spot they had claimed on his stomach.

“Lemm…” His voice was sympathetic, and maybe a little teasingly, understanding that Lemmy was searching for comfort in him but also knowing they would feel a lot better out of the hospital. Lemmy did nothing but smile into his skin, making no effort in moving.

“Missed you. All the pretty ladies told me you were gonna be here real soon but it didn’t feel like real soon. Felt like forever.”

“Yeah?” Now he was definitely teasing them.

“Yeah.” And they definitely couldn’t tell. Their silence returned like it always seemed to do, each enjoying the blatant happiness that coated the both of them in bliss. Lemmy's free hand latched behind Jeff's back with the other while Jeff's own moved to settle on their neck. “You should get a belly button piercing.”

“What?” Jeff's giggles returned at Lemmy's absurd request.

“It would make you even prettier and you always got your stomach out in those little mesh shirts anyways. Give everyone somethin’ to look at.” They explained as if it were completely reasonable. because it is.

“I think we should get you home before you decide on some other body modifications,” Jeff joked, but he couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at Lemmy's compliment. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to Lemmy's forehead, feeling their fingers tighten on his back in response.

The nurse cleared her throat, drawing their attention away from each other. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we do need to do some routine check-ups and monitoring before Dallas can be discharged. It shouldn't take too long."

Jeff nodded in understanding, not wanting to leave Lemmy's side but knowing they needed to follow the hospital's protocols. "Of course, whatever they need."

As the nurse began her work, Jeff pulled up a chair next to Lemmy's bed and took their hand in his once again. They spoke about nothing in particular, just happy see eachother again after Lemmy's lengthy surgery.

Eventually, the nurse finished her tasks and gave them the all-clear to leave. Jeff helped Lemmy get dressed into an old Pearl Jam shirt they had definitely stolen from him and a pair of sweatpants, probably also his before making sure they were comfortable and ok to start the journey home.

They settled in on the couch together after the long ride to the Hardys’ and a quick phone call to Steve, Lemmy snuggled into Jeff's side, as they watched the much promised Hellrasier trilogy. "Thanks for being here, Jeffro."

"Always, Lemm," Jeff replied, pressing a kiss to their temple. Lemmy's smile was soft, filled with genuine, natural love.

Months had passed, yet still not enough. Physically therapy was tiring and left Lemmy aching yet in the best ways knowing that every session improved their knee and their ability to wrestle once again. The uncomfortable cast turned into a slightly more bearable brace as time went by. Though they still weren’t all the way recovered, they had gotten to the point where it was time to start discussing their future in WWF.

Lemmy walked into the confrence room, their brace clicking with every step. They tried to keep their head held high, despite the nerves that were starting to creep in. Vince and many others, including the creative team, were sitting around the large table, quietly conversing as they waited for Lemmy.

“Sorry about the wait, still a little slow with this thing.” Lemmy pointed down to the clanking brace as they spoke, moving over to the only open seat.

“No worries, Dallas. Let's get right to the point, yes? This is the company's very own creative team, I’m sure you've met a few of them. I’ll let them take over for a few while I get all sorted out.” Lemmy nodded and moved their focus over to the group of creatives at the table, interested in hearing their ideas.

“Well,” An older man, at least in his late 40s, spoke up first. “We know that the fans already love Stone Cold, so we were thinking of doing some sort of story line to bring you into the WWF universe as his unassuming kid, and maybe have another wrestler flirt with you so that Steve gets mad at him and starts a whole thing. That way, fans would already know your gimmick and be more interested in the character.” Noticing the uneasy look on Lemms face, Vince spoke up.

“And of course, after that story, we can always pull you away from the Stone Cold gimmick. It will simply be a way to introduce you to the fans.”

“No.”

“….no?”

“No. I’m not going to just be Stone Colds kid. I love my dad, and I love Stone Cold but that’s not who I am or how I wrestle. And I’m certainly not going to stand back and let you make me into another nice body for fans to fawn over. I wrestle. I have worked to wrestle, I have the body to wrestle, I am going to wrestle and I’m going to do it my way, not my dads.”

“You think you’re going to get whatever you want because your father works for me?” Vince was clearly angered at Lemmy putting up a fight, and even angrier at the way they were talking to him.

“I understand that I am here because of who my father is, but I don’t want to profit off of him. I want the fans to choose if they like me based on my gimmick, not my father's.” Vince leaned back further into his chair at their worlds, crossing his arms.

“And how exactly do you plan on doing this?”

“It's my dream to wrestle, do you really think I haven’t thought about this? I know exactly what I want to do.”

i still cannot believed that i wrote all of this today. well most of it, i wrote like probably three paragraphs last week. anywyas, i love it and im super excited to introduce lemms gimmick and ive already got them a theme song picked out im so excitedd there gonna be so cool 😁😁 couldnt stop myself from metioning jeff in those slutty little mesh shirts 😋 i also could not stop myself from making him such a bbg and makin him giggle hes just so cute

also if i ever take 3 months to start writing again, yell at me you mfers!! like seriously i dont have any concept of time i fr thought i posted like a few weeks ago or something @joeyfilth <3

#bonesbodysoul #jeff hardy #jeff hardy x reader #jeff hardy x oc #also realized why im on ch5 the other ones are embarrasingly short #by other ones i mean the first few but im not retyping that so #LIV Writes;*!

[isawken]

so the thing is

the thing is i think about my sorry 20 year old ass taking dozens of mgs of stolen barbiturates in my one bedroom apartment luxuriously paid for by an excess of student loans playing spyro the dragon on my 11 year old playstation 2 slim living the young artist's dream just me and a cat and and memory loss skipping class to make mediocre art too high to self harm in the old fashioned "burn or cut myself" way so i didn't think the other stuff i was doing was all that bad and trying really hard to be a mediocre waitress at a mediocre faux-high-brow restaurant and finally after a month being honest with my therapist and her recommending, not telling, me to self admit to Forest View Psychiatric Hospital and i actually did because i didn't know what else to do and i got in there and they took my shoelaces and i cried for about 36 hours straight because what the fuck did i just do, until they finally gave up on the trazadone that just straight up was not working and gave me seroquel and i finally slept for a while and then just sat in the bedroom i shared with an 18 year old anorexic (who would soon ask to get transferred to the minor ward and they'd let her for reasons i'm still not clear on other than the assumption of empathy on the part of her assigned psychiatrist which is frankly hard for me to believe) because they didn't actually care if you went to the group therapies as long as you were somewhere visible for their regular 15 minute check ins but after the 3rd day of now-intermittent crying and 6 new medications and mediocre forced sleep i asked if i could take a nap in one of the quiet rooms and they let me and it was one of the best naps i ever had in my life and when i woke up i was in a great mood and my whole perspective had somehow shifted and suddenly this was a good thing i was okay with being here (i still have no idea how this happened) and i went to group therapy and i tolerated the others in therapy telling me the solution to my immense self hate was to trust that god loves me and i went to the art room and drew in coloring books with the others and chatted and a 19 year old taught me about the chemical compounds in mucinex that get you high and i got a new roommate who was also my age also bisexual and she was an opera singer and she knew danish and we chatted up a stereotypically intimidating-looking biker man who had a voice as beautiful as my roommate's and he told us as he was waiting for the single-shower room about the benefits of MDMA for trauma and how the best thing you can do when you're rolling is "the airplane" and a 48 year old pill popper mother of 4 taught me how to jam a plastic spoon into the shower button in your room so you don't have to keep pressing the button for water and a guy named zander told me a bunch of pun jokes and we started sitting together at lunch and one day it was chicken wings, like actually decent chicken wings, so he ate a bunch and then left the bones piled on his plate as he left to get another round and the woman sitting across from us leaned over, eyes honed on my face, and very gently asked if it would be okay if we could cover up the bones on our plates because it reminded her of her captivity by two men and subsequent torture, specifically when they shoved a broken handle through her foot and

and

and my reaction was, of course, to say yes yes, of course, it's no trouble at all, zander won't mind either, and he came back as we were talking, and i simply told him let's cover up our bones as i unfolded a napkin and draped it over his plate, and he nodded in immediate understanding, and i switched conversation topics to something light like oh where are you from what did you do before this what drugs did you take and it was an otherwise fine lunch as we all commiserated over our substance abuses and

and

and ever since then, even during subsequent life-changing mental breakdowns, it's never been as bad as that first one, because i think of her (i can't remember her name i wish i did she deserves me to remember her name) and i am grateful that i can look at a pile of chicken bones and be okay

as far as psych ward experiences go mine was pretty much as positive as one could get and i'm so lucky and i'm so grateful but

it wasn't until way after my experience that i learned that other psych wards gave their patients fun grippy socks.

i never got grippy socks. and even worse than that.

i never got my fucking shoelaces back.

#kenposting #this is hyper-personal stream of consciousness garbage i apologize in advance if u try to read this. there are like. four periods at most #cw for mentions of torture/self harm/drug use

[nerd-at-sea5]

the last s2 chaos dump post. spoilers ahead

also i think i just lost my shit while watching this ep

oh all of his joy is abt to go away SO FAST

FUCK WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY????

LOTTIE BABES PUT DOWN THE POISON-

shauna. shauna. SHAUNA.

van tai nat the judge-y lesbians of all time <333

yeah lisa's dying.

TAISSA'S LITTLE THUMBS UP IM DYING I LOVE HER SO MUCH

hate to say it but misty's right lottie pls get some therapy

nat defending her wife (kinda?)

'we got over it' *taissa's head tilt* oh nat honey none of you got over it

oh my god the look of terror when misty tells lottie nat drew the queen

MISTY STOP FUCKING SMILING WTAF

SHE NEVER WANTED THIS!! THEIR MAKING A GOD OUT OF A GIRL WHO DOSEN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING!! AAAAA

ok technically shauna started the cannibalism

nat....MISTY STOP LYING WTF OH TAIVAN :))

#letnataliescatorcciodecksomeone1996

ok no give him time to greive.

....at least their taking off his clothes first?

thank you natalie

HAND SHAKING HAND SHAKING. REMORSE OR WANT???

do not. do this. while fucking. blindfolded.

and after all of it, van is still squimish about blood....gonna sob

van is making some painfully good points rn

she's dulling down the knifes...SCRATCHED OUT EYES.

jeff YOU are on tv...callie's facial expressions alone i love her-LMFAO SHE KNOWS EXACTLY WHERE THE GUN IS-

KILL THE CREEPY COP!! LET THE WILDERNESS DECIDE IT.

nat's trying to protect lisa....she's so dead!!! oh my god nat and lisa im gonna s o b

BEN BAD FUCKING TIMING ALSO GOOD GOD THATS A LOT OF BLOOD-

he wants to go with her because he think she's not like them but she wont let herself go with because she thinks SHES WORSE.

van's minor case of insanity should not be as hot as it is.

ok she's phrasing it weirdly but she has a point

walter's gonna kill kevyn.

HAHA I KNEW IT

'are you one of the cult people' 'no i'm from the shire'

HA JEFFREY.

his heart is so small....OH SWEET FUCKING LORD.

yeah ok ive gotta fast forward that. DUDE IT WAS RAW.

misty i'm rlly not liking you rn

van just kicking the fire ily

FUCK CALLIE NO RUN. OH SHE HAS A GUN. SHOOT HIM.

vannnnnnnnn OH she wants to die-nvm.

it's gonna be nat i stfg and im gonna die

this gives me to much anxiety oh good god. lottie??

NO NOT AGAIN.

SHAUNA????????????

fucking hell.

WALTER KILL HIM.

CALLIE SADECKI GODDAMN

'it was vans idea' *the face of bitch pls*

AYE VAN PRINCESS BRIDE NERD CANON.

ben?

oh lottie-wait i wanna hear van's story....

it's van or nat. nvm it's nat. CALLED IT.

FUCK NATALIE OK-

lottienat pls makeout NOW challange. BOTH timelines.

IM SO SORRY NAT BABE THAT IS THE FACE OF GAY PANIC

ben watching like: i do not understand lesbians, also. i want to die.

nat you want to kiss her so bad, ur also having a midlife crisis at 17

omfg akilah's little curtsy and the way she and nat smile at each other

misty it was cute but the way ur looking at her makes me think you want to kill her

fuck. damnit lisa.

misty if you do this i will forever hate you.

SHIT NAT'S DYING-

yep. misty i hate you. idgaf if it was an accident.

JAVI??

just when she wanted to live. SHES NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

pls tell me shes got like a tolerance to this stuff?? pls.

SHIT HELLO SOPHIE THATCHER.

IM SHAKING OH MY GOD

'this is exactly where we belong' no, no you deserve to live you just haven't realized it yet.

LOTTIE?!?!!? IM HAVING A FUCKING STROKE

jesus the way she's smiling at her. she just wants to help!!

fuck she's actually dead.

i am so fucking furious right now.

god van's entire face is just 'it's supposed to be me.'

FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WAHT THE FUCK BEN WHAT THE FUCK IT WAS BEN

van palmer i should not find this hot.

VAN GET THE FUCK OUT

hey at least their warm now right

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets spoilers #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #van palmer #vanessa palmer #taissa turner #shauna shipman #misty quigley #travis martinez #javi martinez #ben scott #lottie matthews #gen yellowjackets #akilah yellowjackets

[weer02]

25. Ramble about anything, everything you are dying to tell the world of your WIP.

Sorry you had to wait so long for me to answer your ask, but I held off answering it until I'd have chapter 20 posted. It's the part of my WIP I'd like to ramble about 'cause I feel like quite a lot has happened in there. It will make more sense after reading the chapter, sooo I'd recommend reading the chapter first (it's posted now) then this post!

Max&Nathan doing jigsaw puzzle on the visits

I'm gonna start with a fun one, not really important to the plot . I wondered about the things they can do at the visits, have something that would help them bond as friends. I went for jigsaw puzzle, inspired by my own inexplicable need to assemble a jigsaw puzzle (which I did btw, bought myself a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle and assembled it alone within like a week haha). While I was doing the puzzle, I thought about the size, what kind of assembling strategies they'd have. Yeah, that starts to sound like "method writing" 😂

Nathan getting worried about Max's emotional state

Ok, I'm gonna ramble a lot about it, 'cause that's one of my fav things in this chapter,! I love to write nice and sweet scenes with them after so many angsty scenes! One thing that I love about my very slow build is how they slowly warm up to each other, start to trust themselves more to share certain stuff, how they begin to notice odd behavior in each other.

Max being quiet on the visits is something alarming, because she was always rambling about random stuff, so he asks her to tell him about how is she. He's the first one to know about what's bothering her lately, what makes it more easy for her is that he is/was dealing with more severe emotional issues than her, so she assumes he'll understand + won't judge her. And what she assumes turns out to be true.

Surprise, now it's Nathan who's helping Max! How the tables had turned! Yeah... at some point of writing this fic, I think I was writing chapter 6? I figured out that Max will develop some kind of mental issues because of the trauma she went through. One of the tropes? in the caulscott I'm writing is that they both somehow bond over their issues, and the help part (that in many caulscott fics is often one sided) is reciprocated here. It's gonna be explored more in further chapters!

The other patient's breakdown

Something that I came up with to show more of the hospital environment; that it's a relatively calm space for Max and Nathan to form their friendship, but there are also moments when something unnerving can happen, because it's still a psychiatric hospital. It's also for the plot's sake, the breakdown adds some action to a scene, but also serves as a some kind of a parallel to Nathan's situation, in his group therapy he has people who committed crimes like him; and his line "Yes, I did fucked up shit and that's why I'm locked up  here with other people who also did fucked up shit. I don't know why are you so shocked." is a great summary to what I was trying to achieve by introducing that OC (? idk if an episodic character counts as oc)

The Nightmare

I decided to do more "Nigtmare Sequences" because of the feedback I've got for it (and because of one of your reviews Kris @kpchrs :DD)

-For the hallway part I have to say that I drew some inspiration for the setting from my interest in dreamcore/liminal spaces -For the second part with flashes were inspired by the nightmare sequence from the original game, the visit scene floating in the void by the Max&Chloe "memory lane" -The part that happens after the "blood red flash", the "worst outcome of that day/alternate universe glimpse" is actually an angsty thought I had once, that "what if things in chapter 1 went not in favor of our protagonist(s)", "What if Jefferson's plan worked?". That's just plain angst(tm) for all the readers from me :")

I really enjoy considering "what if" scenarios, and because LiS' universe heavily connected time travel/parallel worlds, I took the opportunity.

But is it just a nightmare and her brain fearing the worst or a glimpse of an alternate universe? "Our" Max thinks she got to see a glimpse of another universe, mostly because of her alter-ego's implication, but what's the truth is up to the reader's interpretation. I had so much fun writing in the dreamlike, nightmarish setting, and I'm not done with it yet!

The therapy session

An attempt of a rational explanation of Max's powers, one of things that can be found in one of my first outlines. It was supposed to go like she went through multiple therapists, and from the last one she'll hear she made up the powers to cope with a traumatic experience. I think it's a plausible explanation of her powers, especially for like a realistic approach. It's not the typical "character wakes up and realizes everything (supernatural) that happened was a dream" (though "Staying Vertical" by midnight_neverland on AO3 does it SO well), but something in between. I'll see where that will go in my fic 'cause I have a few ideas how to wrap up the Max's powers part, even though it's not a main focus of this fic. But some kind of explanation about why Max had got her powers is something I wish was more explored in the game.

Speaking of the therapist scene, there's a funny thing in context of my new obsession, THG. I named Max's therapist Dr. Collins, because that was what the name generator came up with, before I even started watching THG and got into it. The authors' name is Collins too. I'm gonna leave it like that 'cause I love a funny coincidence 😂

Oh, so many things happened in this chapter but at the same time I feel like nothing happened at all 😩 I sometimes feel like going in circles with this fic, even though I'm satisfied with my outline and I'm following that outline! Ugh, writing struggles once again! As of right now I have around 10 more chaps planned so the fic would have a nice number of 30 chapters. No one knows what will be left of these plans, 'cause in the original it was supposed to be 20 chapters 🥲

For anyone that stayed up until now, thanks for reading!💖💖

#ask game #fic: ambivalence

[the-delta-42]

My Gift to You

My gift to you

Marinette pressed her forehead against her desk, her mother’s birthday was coming up, her grandparents were going to be there, and she didn’t have anything to give her mother as a present. Any questions she’d asked had received the same response.

“I’m old enough to not need gifts, Marinette.”

Tikki was dozing on top of her head, as Marinette gnawed on her pencil. Her phone pinged, a reminder for her to attend a therapy session her dad had set up. Marinette accidentally knocked a box over and she got up, making a violin she hadn’t touched in ages to fall out.

Marinette paused, her eyes going between the notification and the violin, an idea formed in her mind.

MGTY

Marinette waited for Kagami to finish with her fencing lesson. She saw her walking out and talking to Adrien.

“Kagami,” Called Marinette, making her way over, “I need your help with something.”

“Hi, Marinette.” Greeted Adrien, looking at her, “How can we help?”

“Actually, I just need Kagami for this,” Responded Marinette, “Sorry.”

“What is it?” Asked Kagami, while Adrien looked put out.

“A few years ago, I used to play the violin, before I stopped,” Said Marinette, “then I found it and I was hoping you could help me get back into playing it.”

Kagami and Adrien stared at her.

“What?”

“I never knew you could play the violin.” Said Adrien, surprised.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, I used to be able to speak Chinese.” Stated Marinette, getting a frown from Adrien and Kagami.

“Why’d you stop?” Asked Adrien, tilting his head to the side.

Marinette froze, she didn’t want to explain the whole situation to Adrien, not in public.

“That’s…personal.” Replied Marinette, nervously looking around the room.

Kagami frowned, before looking Marinette in the eyes, “I’ll bring it up with my mother and see what I can do.”

Marinette grinned, “Thank you!”

Kagami grunted as Marinette pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

“Sorry!”

MGTY

Marinette scratched at her leg, while Phillipa, an Asian woman, sat across from her.

“Marinette, if you’re not comfortable at the speed we’re going, there’s no shame in admitting that you’re struggling.” Said Phillipa, gently resting a hand on Marinette’s shoulder.

“*Hello, my name Marinette Dupain Cheng, my parents named me Xiuying, and I am 16 years old.*” Said Marinette, in broken Mandarin.

“Okay, that’s great,” Praised Phillipa, smiling, “You come really far, Marinette.”

Marinette nodded, taking deep breaths.

“Are you ready to tell me why you stopped speaking Chinese?” Asked Phillipa, as Marinette took a deep breath.

“I-I was attacked in a park because I was speaking it.” Said Marinette, quietly and her leg starting to bounce, “This, this man came out of nowhere and started kicking and punching me. The, the babysitter that my parents hired was talking to her friends a-and didn’t notice until my brother tackled the man. I, I was scared I was going to die a-and t-thought that if I didn’t speak it, t-then nothing bad w-would happen.”

Phillipa frowned, quietly making notes on a pad, “Then the whole business with Li happened, didn’t it?”

Marinette gave a shaky nod.

“Marinette,” Sighed Phillipa, “it took you a lot of strength to tell me that, and a lot more to survive it. I’m certain that your parents are proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

Marinette hiccupped and gave a small smile.

MGTY

Marinette nervously tugged at the cheongsam she was wearing for her mother’s birthday party. The room was dark, with everyone hiding behind anything they could find, in the hopes of surprising Sabine.

“Why do I need my eyes covered?” Asked Sabine, as Tom guided her into the room.

“You’ll see.” Said Tom, as he drew to a stop, “Now, I don’t want you to open your eyes until I say, okay?”

“Fine.” There was a bit of frustration in her tone, as she folded her arms.

“Three. Two. One.” Tom counted down, “Now!”

Sabine opened her eyes as the lights came on and everyone yelled, “Surprise!”

Sabine placed a hand over her heart.

“Happy birthday, love.” Said Tom, kissing her on the temple.

Sabine looked around the room, spotting Marinette in her cheongsam and her parents off to the side.

“Mother.” Gasped Sabine, making her way over to them.

“Qilin,” Smiled Lin, grasping Sabine’s hands, “how are you?”

“I’m fine, how?” Sabine trailed off, catching sight of her three eldest, “Let me guess, Skye and Michael brought you here.”

Lin chuckled, “No, Xuiying did that, but Qiang and Suyin did help us get here, although, Tao only offered to help after we got here.”

Michael was waving a hand in front of a camera he was setting up, while Skye quietly interrogated Marinette’s friends. Sabine noticed that Toby was in a corner quietly talking to something.

“Are those…?” Sabine trailed off, as Michael walked over to Toby, flicked him in the forehead and picked up a pair of one-year olds and carefully balanced them in his arms.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say, ‘you’re too young to be a grandmother and I’m too young to be a father’, but these two little terrors are Briana and Sam.” Introduced Michael, handing his two children over to Sabine, “Bri likes to make a lot of noise, hence the dummy,” Briana suckled on a pacifier staring up at Sabine, “and Sam likes his sleep.” Sam was dozing against Sabine, drool dribbling down his chin and onto Sabine’s arm.

Sabine stared at her two grandchildren, before looking up at Michael, “Are these…?”

“Marlene’s?” Finished Michael, wincing, “Yeah.”

Sabine carefully adjusted the two, with Sam gurgling in his sleep. Briana reached up and grabbed onto Sabine’s hair, before giving it a tug.

“Okay,” Michael intervened, picking Briana up, “We don’t pull hair.”

Briana giggled and grabbed a fistful of his beard and gave it a tug. Sabine adjusted Sam, before looking at Skye. She appeared to be laughing with Nadja, probably discussing a case that she was working on.

“Xuiying,” Said Lin, making Sabine look at her, “why don’t you bring your violin down and play us something?”

There was a sudden silence as everyone looked at Marinette.

“Wait, Marinette can play the violin?” Asked Alya, still trying to hide the box of party supplies behind her.

“Mother, Marinette hasn’t played in a while,” Started Sabine, as Marinette vanished up to her room, “maybe we should let her get more comfortable with it again, before having her play for an audience.”

There was a crashing sound, followed by a small scream, before Marinette came back downstairs with her head wrapped in a towel.

“What happened?” Asked Sabine, as Marinette winced.

“You know what you said about not storing my fabric scissors while they were open?” Started Marinette, making Sabine frantically check her ears.

“Well, I knocked mannequin over and accidentally gave myself a hair cut.” Rushed Marinette, getting an exasperated look from her mother.

Sabine rested her head in her hands, sighing, “Alright, let me see the damage.”

Marinette smiled, before pulling the towel off her head. Sabine stared at Marinette’s clearly not accidental haircut. Marinette’s hair now hung loosely, unrestrained by the hair ties that used to keep them in pigtails. Her hair was a mix between a pixie cut and the bob that Sabine had. Sabine frowned and looked closer at Marinette.

“You’re not wearing your contact.” Murmured Sabine, noticing Marinette natural grey eye-colour.

“I’ll be honest, things are a bit blurry.” Responded Marinette, holding her violin and bow in her hands.

Marinette smiled at her mother, before slowly making her way into the living room, “Apologies if I deafen anyone.”

Without another word, Marinette placed her instrument into position and started playing. Sabine frowned, recognising the starting of the theme for a soap opera she liked to watch, before slipping into a piece from a video game she played while pregnant with Marinette.

Sabine felt herself getting choked up, as Marinette finished the piece she was playing. There was a smattering of applause, before Marinette looked at Sabine.

“*Happy Birthday, Maman.*” Said Marinette, making Sabine breakdown and pull Marinette towards her.

“That was sickening.” Mutter Alya, wiping her own eyes.

Nino hummed, opting to watch Sabine and Marinette.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #kagami tsurugi #sabine cheng #tom dupain #nadja chamack #Caline Bustier's Class #Original characters #Michael Dupain Cheng #Brianna Dupain Cheng #Sam Dupain Cheng #Skye Dupain Cheng #Toby Dupain Cheng #Lin Cheng #delta writes #War Circle AU