#later on a group of lids came by and this maybe 6 year old decided He Wanted to get to the sweets so be pushed past the other three kids

[charrchan]

I drew faces on the oranges we got to give out (along side sweets)

[justasparkwritings]

Illicit Affairs: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 1

Previous: You Made Me

Pairings: Namjoon & Reader (Barely)

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life 

Ratings: PG15

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Therapy and Swearing 

Summary: Namjoon arrives in LA to begin the work he promised he would do. 

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

           Namjoon lays in his plane-bed, headphones blasting D-2, Daechwita, on a blind loop. The sky is dark, 30,000+ feet in the air, he knows he should be sleeping, resting at the bare minimum. But he can’t, melatonin not kicking in just yet, and his mind is too wired, filled with concerns.

           Over a two months ago, after the reckoning, Namjoon put his plans into action. You can’t take managements King, and Queen, and bishops and rooks, without having a plan for total annihilation. Namjoon decided, though without much discussion with Jungkook, what they both needed. What would be the best for both of them, and the rest of Bangtan, was guarantees in their contracts that Bang and Co wouldn’t manipulate them anymore. No more calorie counting, no more extra pay for working out more, no more using Namjoon as a weapon against Jungkook or the others. To do this, Namjoon brought in other lawyers who negotiated with Bang’s team, and in the end the seven men amended their contracts. Gone were the clauses about who they could date, gone was the clause that they couldn’t date, period, gone was Run BTS and the trickery management went through to get the men to perform. They would have ownership of their work going forward, and ownership of their work all the way back to the first Love Yourself album.

           Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi and Jin were shocked when their contracts were handed back, careful to read through the changes. They’d been floored, wondering how Namjoon and Jungkook’s brawl could’ve resulted in this swift change in their deals. Namjoon had put it simply: change or we sue. Big Hit knew that if BTS sued them, they’d take the house, the plastic plants in the lobby, the stock options and the futures of every person on the label. They had the option to lose everything, or to surrender, tails between their legs, to the gods that are BTS.

           Namjoon knew that if this had happened three months prior, even two years, he wouldn’t have had the weight needed to push the deal through. But, in their decade plus at Big Hit, their level of power and influence, the fact that they had never signed NDA’s coupled with Namjoon’s intricate diaries, Namjoon recognized he had the power to take everything. Bang and Sejin were scared. They knew that they had a limited amount of time before BTS revolted, and if they were revolting with evidence, there was no possible solution that ended in Big Hit’s favor.

           With their new contracts came one request from Bang, Sejin and the five other members of Bangtan, one request that was truly a demand: fix Jungkook and Namjoon.

           Fixing Jungkook meant fixing Namjoon’s relationship to the maknae, which is how he finds himself flying across the globe to LA. Getting Jungkook help, away from prying eyes, was his idea. He and his love had brainstormed what would help Jungkook get through this, and this was the solution:

Jungkook would spend 3-6 months in LA undergoing rigorous outpatient therapy

Jungkook would be booked for exhaustion, body dysmorphia, alcoholism, and a host of other issues Namjoon could’ve spent his entire flight listing

Jungkook would rehearse in LA and fly back for specific stages but would otherwise record and work in LA while he went to therapy five days a week

Detox would come first, followed by a month of inpatient treatment

Then, Jungkook would be settled in his outpatient apartment, with a few Big Hit bodyguards around 24/7

Jungkook would have a sponsor in Korea and in the states, whom he reported to,

Jungkook is required to attend AA meetings twice a week for the first three months

Namjoon, would attend therapy twice a week in Korea,

Namjoon would fly to LA to spend a month going through treatment with Jungkook

           To this, they signed their names, to the promise of something better, to the hope they would find common ground. Jungkook was packed and on a plane 48 hours later. The two men had some contact through music and through their group chat, but otherwise, Jungkook kept to himself. He loved LA, the sun, the ability to exercise outside every day of the week, the blue skies… There was a level of health that came with LA, and of course the seedy underbelly of diet culture, but for Jungkook, it was a welcome change. Everyone breathed in LA, they weren’t rushing to meet deadlines or get anywhere on time, they didn’t have the next five years planned on a detailed spreadsheet. LA was relaxed, it was breezy, and with its endless supply of green juice, it was the exact place Jungkook needed to be.

           He diligently went to therapy, working exclusively with Dr. Aarons on the years of abuse he’d endured. Wrapping his mind around what had happened to him, not as love, not as building his character or strengthening his work ethic, but as a traumatic state of emotional abuse, was harder to swallow than two horse tranquilizers without water. Dr. Aarons gave him books and pamphlets on trauma and emotional abuse, which in his off hours, he read. His first month in treatment was spent in therapy sessions, a weekly Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) session, monitored exercise to help reteach him how to use his body, and reading to discuss. Some days felt like high school, or training days, when he was required to both train for debut and be a high school student. He hated it, hated studying, hated school, but to get better he had to do the work. All he could hope was at the end of this he’d feel better, maybe he'd be better too.  

           Dr. Aaron’s agreed, for the two men to make progress, to find common ground again, they needed to work through their Kilimanjaro sized problems.

           A month into treatment, Jungkook was ready and willing to begin working on repairing his most treasured relationship.

           “Namjoon, thank you for joining us here,” Dr. Aarons says, eyes darting between Jungkook, who was freshly showered and bouncing his leg up and down, and Namjoon, stoic, perched on the edge of his chair. Dr. Aarons can tell that Namjoon is less prepared than Jungkook, which is why she is in full control of this session.

           “It’s, yeah, glad to be here,” Namjoon says, head bowing.

           “I am first generation and am fluent in both English and Korean. My maiden name is Park,” Dr. Aarons smiles, letting Namjoon into her stratification of both cultures. “We can flow from English to Korean at any point.”

           “Thank you,” Namjoon bows again.

           “This first session is just to create a welcoming and safe space for Jungkook to see you again. Soon he will be off, and you and I will have a bit of time to talk. I have been in communication with your therapist back in Seoul, and he has given me his thoughts as well as points that we can continue to work on as a triad. Jungkook, is there something you wanted to say to Namjoon before you go?”

           Jungkook looks at his brother, irises rising to meet his sun-twin. Namjoon’s eyes are tired, heavy, his lids weighty as he continues to battle some jetlag. Jungkook looks fucking fantastic, the sun and balanced eating working wonders on him.

           “Thank you, hyung, for being here, and thank you for being willing to work on this with me. I still hold love for you in my heart, though I don’t have to. We’ve both fucked up. I am sorry for punching you, well, beating you up, and I hope you can forgive me, if not today, at some point. And again, thank you, hyung, for fighting for me,” Jungkook’s voice breaks as he utters his last words, eyes dropping to his hands.

           “Jungkook, you did great,” Dr. Aarons reassures.

           “Thank you, Jungkookie, for being, forgiving, for still wanting to speak to me, to work with me, it,” Namjoon clears his throat, that familiar lump forming. “I know I let you down. I will always be sorry,”

           “I know, me too,”

           “Jungkook, thank you for being here today. I will see you tomorrow for our first session as a group.” Dr. Aaron’s gave the go-ahead for Jungkook to leave, and he did swiftly, giving Namjoon the chance to confide in Dr. Aarons.

           “Thank you, for doing this,” Namjoon spoke.

           “This was your idea, correct? The therapy, detox, all of it?”

           “Yes,” Namjoon feels the blood rush to his cheeks.

           “From what I understand, you’re kind of a genius, right?”

           “In music, I suppose,”

           Reaching for her notepad, Dr. Aarons’ glances down. “Mm, I spoke with Dr. Cho,”

           “Yes?”

           “He was very insightful, gave me lots of great notes and things to discuss. I wanted to start by saying that I understand the levels of abuse you went through,” She raises her head to meet his unsteady gaze, clocking the flustered expression.

           “Yes,”

           “The manipulation, the invalidation, the pain. Namjoon, no one should have to experience all of that, and yet, here you are. You are strong, you are powerful, you are dedicated to your brothers. None of it excuses what you have done, but what I want to convey to you, is that a lot of your actions were not your fault.” Dr. Aarons’ runs through the list of compliments she had jotted down, notes of what to say to create a safe space for Namjoon.

           “I, I know,”

           “I know you do; I also know that isn’t how you see it.” Dr. Aarons’ sets her pen down and recrossed her legs, eyes never straying from him. She’s formidable, honored and esteemed throughout the community, domestically and abroad. Namjoon knew, he helped picked her, she was the reason Jungkook was here.

           “I still did the actions,” Namjoon sighs, “I still followed through with the plan,”

           “Yes, but the cost to you and your life was exquisite. You were a pawn,”

           “Now I am the victor,” He mumbles.

           “Tell me, Namjoon, how old did you feel when you and Jungkook fought?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Jungkook’s recounted his memory of that night, but how did you feel? In that moment when he hit you, what age specifically did you feel?”

           He takes a moment to think, but the answer is in front of him immediately. “Fifteen,”

           “What happened at 15?”

           He shifts nervously, the rapid speed of his speech slowing as he spoke. “I was still being scouted by Big Hit, no contracts, just negotiations. My parents were, unsupportive.”

           “Within the Seoul rap community, you were making a name for yourself,” Dr. Aarons’ didn’t have to be living in Korea at the time to know who he was, everyone in the first gen community who still had any ties back home knew. You couldn’t listen to music without his mixes coming through.            “Yeah, but that only gets you so far. I was talking to Bang about these big plans for a super group, a group that combined rapping and pop, some bridge between the two and other genres… the places were going to go seemed endless.”

           “How did you feel in those negotiations?”

           Joon smiles. “I felt, ten feet tall. I mattered in those meetings,”

           “And to your parents?” Dr. Aaron’s questions.

           “I was just their high schooler, hormonal, with dreams bigger than my mind could hold. They, they didn’t want me to do it,”

           “But you went for it,” She smiles gently.

           “I did, yeah,” Namjoon, hates flattery. Call it his sun sensibility, his rays unable to shine under the humility of the grey cloud he kept above himself.

           “What else happened around that time?” She presses.

           Namjoon nods again, knowing exactly where she’s leading him. “That’s when I started receiving a lot of hate,”

           “Mm, tell me about that,”

           “Do I have to?” He asks, voice no longer strong and steady.

           “Not if you don’t want to,” She replies.

           “It’s just,” Namjoon sighs. “It still hurts.”

           “I expect it to. The comments were very personal,”

           “About how I look, about the shape of my nose, the sound of my voice, that I’ll never amount to anything and BTS is just, complete trash passing off as music.” He rattles off the ones that plague him, when self-doubt creeps in, the comments that still rise to the top of the pack.

           “They escalated, didn’t they?”

           “Don’t they always?”

           She smiles softly, a precursor to the next blow. “Did you internalize them?”

           “Yes,”

           “When Jungkook hit you,” She starts.

           “It was like every internet troll finally getting their chance to swing,” Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to finish the thought.

           “Ahh, there it is.” Dr. Aaron’s allows Namjoon a minute to sit in the realization. “What hurt the most? The physical pain, or the emotional weight you put behind it?”

           “I haven’t thought about it like that,” He realizes.

           “Well let’s think about it now,” Her voice is kind, leading him to the pasture but never feeding. No wonder everyone raved about her.

           “It was the emotions,” He concedes.

           “Can you describe what those emotions were?”

           “Anger, frustration, inadequacy, disappointment, like I had just shattered the entire world I’d given every bit of myself to creating.”

           “That wasn’t why Jungkook was hitting you, though,” Dr. Aarons’ informs him.

           “It wasn’t?”

           “You tell me, why would he be hitting you?”

           “I,” Namjoon exhales, “I betrayed him.”

           “Did you let him down?”

           “Yes,”

           “But did he view you as inadequate?” She pushes.

           “No,” Namjoon whispers, voice caught between his vocal chords as the waves of tears start to gain on him.

           Dr. Aarons’ smiles again, “No, has he ever?”

           “No,” Namjoon shakes his head, hand wiping the tears that have fallen.

           “It seems to me like it’s quite the opposite. Jungkook loves you, pure and simple.”

           “I betrayed him,” Namjoon argues.

           “Betrayal and inadequacy are often put together, at least in our minds. We betray someone, or a relationship, because it’s either not enough for us, or because it’s too much. The dissonance between you and Jungkook is that his anger is misplaced, he can claw at you because you are there, you are present, you are with him every day. He’s shooting the messenger, but you didn’t write the messages, Namjoon.”

           “I don’t know if he understands that,”

           “There’s only so much I can do to separate what he feels towards you, and what he realizes isn’t your fault. In our time together, as a trio, we will hopefully work towards understanding these complexities within your relationship. Sound good?”

           “Yeah, sounds good,”

           “Great! I don’t have any work for you, other than, well, a major piece of homework,”

           “Bring it on,” Namjoon loves work. Pure and simple.

           “You can’t have dinner with Jungkook tonight, or engage with him in a private setting,” Dr. Aarons’ instructs.

           “Makes sense,” Namjoon agrees.

           “We’ll begin work on it tomorrow, but until then, you have to stay apart,”

           “I can do that, we’re staying in separate places,”

           “Great, Namjoon, I am really looking forward to working with you,” Dr. Aarons stands. “I hope you enjoy your day in LA,”

           “See you tomorrow,” Namjoon smiles gratefully before exiting her office, his phone at the ready, texts from Yoongi and Hoseok, Taehyung and the rest of Bangtan to check in on him. And then there’s the text from his love, who as he steps into the sun, is waiting for him.

           “Joon of my eye, what a pleasure it is to see you,”

           Though the smile is clearly plastered across his face, it’s the way his arms circle your waist, head nuzzling into your neck, lips pressing firmly to your skin.

           “I fucking missed you,” He mutters.

           “You’re being so affectionate, in public,”

           “No one’s here,” Namjoon says, head still resting against your shoulder.

           “That eye opening, huh?” Your hands move up and down his back, the comfort radiating from your familiar embrace.

           “Mm, can we go?” He asks, standing to his full height.

           “To your place?”

           “Anywhere,” He slips his sunglasses over his eyes, the mist beginning to cloud his vision.

           “Of course,” You respond, hand finding his, fingers intertwining. With his baseball cap pulled low on his head, Namjoon is barely recognizable. He doesn’t hesitate to move his free hand across your shoulders, holding onto you as you guide him to your rental car. He might’ve been the messenger of Bang’s threats and manipulations, but a pawn is still a pawn. Namjoon had taken the board in his game against Big Hit, but in Jungkook’s universe, under Jungkook’s rules, he’s still a piece in motion.  

Next: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 2

[kennedycatherine]

04.27.21

We were thirteen and I knew enough to know that was absurd.

We still inhabited a school yard with children learning their ABC’s. Girls our own age hadn’t yet graduated out of training bras.

Aren’t our brains like, too underdeveloped for this?

A few nights I just watched.

They came in fun colours, like the vitamins my mom still set out with my breakfast.

I found the whole thing anxious and boring. Anxious because it was drugs, and we were thirteen and what if we got caught or what if something happened. Boring because they bored me.

Nothing happened.

I made sure they had water and popsicles and candies to suck on.

“You’ll bite your tongue off,” Kallie had said one night.

A small trickle of blood came from her mouth awhile later and she looked pleased. I knew she’d done it. When I looked at her, I wanted to call her a liar.

“I know,” I wanted to say, “I’m sober. You just did that to yourself.”

I felt very young and very old all at once.

They asked for lotion. Lotioned themselves from head to toe.

One night one of the girls did a runner. Just opened the front door to suburbia and took off down the street in nothing but skimpy shorts and a tank top into the chilled night air.

I worried about her, but I didn’t go after her.

There were babies to look after, real babies. 6 years old and one year.

I don’t remember their names, but I remember loving them. I remember feeling sad for them.

Every weekend their mom would leave. She was pretty and young and had a thirteen-year-old she trusted to handle things.

“Where does she go?”

“To the bars in some small town. I think a guy lives there.”

They had family photos in the house. She had a husband. I remember wondering how things had fallen apart so quickly? They’d had a baby only a year ago and now they were getting a divorce?

Except they weren't. He just worked out of the city for months at a time and neither of them cared, I suppose.

I sat on a bed with the 6-year-old once, playing a game or reading a story and I heard laughter downstairs and I was so angry.

I was angry that no one cared that there were children upstairs. I was angry that I was going to put a child to bed who had a mother but seemingly didn’t. I was angry that I had to do it at all, that I was expected to. That it had come to mean relief when I walked in the door. If I was there, it was handled. I didn’t want to handle it.

I wanted to call my mom.

I wanted to tell her what was happening, tell her that someone needed to hold these babies or feed them right and love them. Because surely, I didn’t know how.

But I didn’t want to ruin the fun. I didn’t want Kallie’s mom to be in trouble. I didn’t want my mom, who also had a seventeen-year-old who just couldn’t seem to keep it together, to realize that a house she’d deemed safe by proximity in our good neighbourhood probably wasn’t.

“Give me one.”

No one teased or questioned it. They just handed over the small plastic bag.

I don’t remember what it felt like, only that I didn’t care for it. I didn’t understand it. I was bored by it.

I stopped going. Those girls decided they hated me. I worried about those babies and over 10 years later, I still do.

I started to see my childhood best friend, Maddy, a lot after that. She was pretty and athletic and loud and adventurous and young, my age but, young.

She lived a few blocks away, in the opposite direction from Kallie.

Her mom was in the midst of a divorce. She was older than most of the moms because Maddy had been a “surprise.” A blessing, she’d say, but a surprise. So, the rest of her kids were grown and gone. She’d done it all, seen it all.

We were in the eighth grade, just a few months away from high school when she offered to buy us booze.

She promised it would stay within the walls of the house, my parents wouldn’t have to know. She just wanted us to get a feel for it so we could test our limits, learn our boundaries.

When she presented us with those sickly-sweet orange coolers, I winced. Alcohol had never really interested me. I didn’t feel mystified by it or interested in it.

We drank them anyway.

We had one each. Then shoved two more under our thick sweaters and walked to the nearby park.

There were always kids there, in that strange age range where you have some sense of freedom without actually having any and you crave it, always. You know how to sneak alcohol, ask people outside the convenience store to buy you cigarettes.

Uncool teens, acting very cool leaning against slides and monkey bars we earnestly used only a few years earlier.

By then I’d decided I liked Logan. He was in high school already, two years older than us, seemed nice enough and attractive enough to like, so I guessed I did. I showed him the stashed coolers under my sweater and shivered when the air hit me. He offered me his jacket.

I was only wearing it maybe a minute, not even long enough to brag, when the sirens hit and the park was lit up with red and blue. Everyone scattered in different directions. We hopped a fence and then another and another until we collapsed on her lawn, one cooler lost to our epic and brave journey.

The patrol car circled the block.

“It’s almost 2am,” they told us. We nodded.

They asked how old we were and I told them we were 16.

Maybe they believed us because it was dark but maybe they didn’t because we weren't.

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Go inside.” We did.

I didn’t drink much after that. All we could get our hands on were drinks that seemed to be a half pound of sugar and something that tasted like mouth wash. The group favourite was Troika which smelt like hand sanitizer and cost about $25 for more than a litre. Everything was vodka.

Every time I drank any of it, I was immediately and violently ill.

My entire body would flush, an ache in my collar bones that radiated and buzzed down my arms and go on and on and on until I’d have to peel my clothes off and stick myself to the coldest surface, let my body wretch and wretch until I’d vomited everything.

I’d find out a few years later that I’m alcohol intolerant with a vodka allergy.

But I’d given up trying long before then. Found my way to pot.

I loved it immediately. It calmed me down, it made me laugh. It made me hungry.

I suffered far fewer embarrassing stories and hallway whispers than most.

I had a starring role in only one story that would go down in infamy.

There’d been a birthday party, someone had made an ice cream cake that was immediately forgotten in favour of solo cups and bongs. I smoked my own joint and remembered that cake. In a haze I found myself alone in a tiny storage room, in front of a deepfreeze. Opening the lid, there it was, creamy and beautiful.

“Fuck yes.”

Then the door opened.

I turned and there he was. The hottest guy in our grade and he’d been calling me a dirty hippie for two years. I closed the lid.

“What are you doing?” He asked

“Waiting.”

“For?”

“You.”

He looked confused. He should've. I had no reason to be waiting for him, I hadn’t even spoken to him. I was 16 and stoned and I wanted to eat an ice cream cake at this dumb birthday party by my fucking self. I pushed myself on top of the freezer.

“Come here.”

He did. We made out on top of the freezer until I felt he was sufficiently distracted, and my job was done and then I pushed him out of the room.

Then I ate some of that cake alone as I’d intended.

Upstairs my best friend sobbed in a bathroom. Even now that we’ve long outgrown teenage angst and hormones she can be prickly, angry, deeply unaffectionate. Then, she was slightly volatile. She wanted to be alone, but I stayed – shoved myself into a corner of the bathtub as she refused to look at me or tell me what she was so upset about it. I waited her out. Mostly because I was stoned and relieved to be in a room away from a throng of sweaty, horny 16-year-olds.

Suddenly, she confessed something to me quietly. She’d made out with that same guy - the hot one I’d been with on top of a freezer - at a party the weekend before. I hadn’t known and she hadn’t stopped thinking about him, and he hadn’t looked at her since.

“I just want him,” she whined.

“I just made out with him on top of a freezer.”

She turned her startling green eyes on me. “You what?”

“I don’t know,” I felt deeply guilty, “there was a cake inside.”

She choked and then she laughed and then I laughed. We left and we laughed the whole walk back to wherever we slept that night.

I went to a performing arts college that had less than twenty students which became lesser and lesser as we viciously vied for the same thing. There were no parties or binge drinking or even any outings. We worked quietly and quickly, most kept to ourselves.

If school really was a competition, I won.

My instructor called me into his office, “I want you to go to this interview. You’re ready.”

I wasn’t supposed to be graduating for at least 3, maybe 4 months. I wasn’t ready. But I went. I got the job and I left, the school and the city.

I was alone and I was terrified, and I was working most hours of everyday and waking up every morning feeling like I’d made a massive mistake. I hadn’t. I was just 19 with no idea what I was doing, only that people seemed to believe I could, and I didn’t know why.

My sister and my grandfather became sicker and sicker with addiction.

I stopped smoking pot almost completely. I’d found alcohol that didn’t upset my entire system, but I never drank by myself. I was afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t stop. I’d fill the hole and then just like them, I’d never learn how to be whole on my own. I went for runs and I journaled and worked and tried to make friends.

I drove home for graduation and realized a few things. These people had three more months together. They were closer, most of them resented me for being given an opportunity that most days I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

There was a party afterward and I felt 13, lonely and bored. I wanted to leave.

My sister was really sick by then.

The best friend I’d made in school, Elliot, he cornered me in the empty kitchen. Most people had settled into the living room for conversations or the basement for beer pong and I hovered in the kitchen, feeling entirely silly in my cheap white dress. Elliot smelled like whiskey while he hugged me, and I wanted to cry. I'd missed him.

We’d had plans to get jobs together. We were going to become a morning show duo in some city we’d never been to, rent a house together. Spend our afternoons drinking beer, planning our show content and break into big markets before we were 25.

I cried when I took the job that meant those things wouldn’t happen and he’d hugged me then too. He was happy for me.

He pulled out of the hug in that kitchen and looked at me for a long time, with big open eyes. A nearly childish, wide stare. He took a deep breathe.

Then he told me he was in love with me.

I startled backward away from him and hit my hip hard against the stove. I was angry immediately. Because I was gay. Because people had been telling me he was in love with me. Because I chose not to believe them. I felt my trust had been broken. Because why? What can I do with that? I loved him. I couldn’t be in love with him. If I could, I would’ve wanted to be. He was so good.

And I was so mad because he was drunk.

I was sick of whispered late-night confessions and people telling me things that weren’t true. I was tired of people making promises to me and telling me they loved me and none of it mattering. I was just so fucking sick of everyone being wasted on something all the time.

It wasn’t his fault. I’d always felt loved by him, I appreciated him, I loved him. I wanted to be gentle with him. I should’ve been. It was just… there were so many things.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him.

“I just needed you to know.”

I left. He called me so many times, he left voicemails I deleted, and I never answered. I went back to my small town and my small job the next day. I re-read his texts, “I’m sorry, I was drunk” over and over and felt no relief in his excuses.

I didn’t drink for a long time.

A man I thought I knew told me he was in love with me.

I found my sister cold and blue on a floor, medically dead, though she miraculously survived.

My grandfather vomited on himself in the back of a van as we took him to the dry out centre where he'd eventually become sober for a brief time.

I was so tired.

When I moved back to the city, I found comfort in things again. I could drink and be fine. The world didn’t end. I didn’t crave it in the morning or when things got hard. I started smoking pot again. It calmed me down, it made me laugh. It made me hungry.

I took mushrooms a handful of times with my friends. I cried the first time because I felt like me. Present and responsible and in control and so deeply, disappointingly myself. I’d wanted drugs to be a void, even if I never took them. I wanted to believe that somewhere there was a way to just not be myself for a while.  

I was bored of myself.

I wanted to escape, and it wasn’t happening.

But the second or third time I learned to enjoy them for what they were and felt all too proud for simply having a nice time.

I begged my roommate to come to this EDM show with me. It was my co-worker’s birthday and she’d always been excessively, exceedingly lovely to me. When she sheepishly asked if I would be interested in going to this live show to celebrate her 37th, I swallowed down the price of tickets and said yes. Emphatically.

Matt, good natured and so easy, said yes. He liked live music and whiskey and leaving the house.

We got there and she was alone.

I asked about her husband. He stayed home with the baby. And her friends?

Coming, she said.

There were three of them. I thought back to days she’d cried to me in the bathroom and the coffees we’d shared in her office. I’d always thought of her as a sort of leaky faucet, spilling out without control. I hadn’t realized I was actually just in her circle. One of five.

She got adorably drunk. “Mom’s night out!” They all chanted and Matt and I stood off to the side a bit while I apologized to him on a loop for painting this night as an in and out affair.

“We can just leave whenever, I'm sure she won’t notice.” I’d said.

Eventually she asked me if I wanted to “score” in the alley. I laughed because it sounded so seedy and suspicious coming from the mouth of this quintessential suburban mom who I only knew as a woman sitting in a blazer, in an office, next to her family portraits.

I asked Matt if he wanted any. No, he’d brought his vape pen.

We went outside, me, her and her curvy friend with the insane curly hair. Some guy was already there, and the exchange was quick. She turned back and announced, “to the bathroom.”

The bathroom? Fuck.

It’d seemed seedy and suspicious because it kind of was. “Dumb stoner,” I thought to myself as we marched back inside with the bag of cocaine I’d thought would be a Ziplock of weak weed.

I don’t like coke. It makes me angry.

She lined it up, wide eyed, on the hard back of her red wallet. She yammered and mumbled and stumbled over her words quickly and excitedly. It’d been years, I couldn’t tell anyone at work, her husband could never find out, was I sure?

Once again, I felt bored. “I’m sure.”

The friend took her bump and turned back to me, “what’s your sign?”

“Cancer.”

Her eyes were frenzied, like I’d said something important.

“I knew it, I’m a Scorpio.” She wound her fingers into the hair at the back of my neck and whispered to me, “we’re like sisters.” Then she kissed me, hard and square. Her breath was sour, her lips were chapped and she pulled away with a toothy grin before offering the wallet up to my nose.

I looked at them, their excitement, I felt the overwhelming emptiness in my chest. I felt sad for someone, them or me, and how dull I found the whole thing to be.

I sniffed it through a receipt from a kids play centre and wondered, idly, if there are people who think mothers don’t behave this way.

I wiped and sniffled and felt the light burn in my twice broken nose, now irritated by thin white powder.

“Well, that took for-fucking-ever,” Matt yelled over his whiskey.

“It wasn’t pot.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed, slung his arm around my shoulders and we moved into the crowd of dancing bodies. Mostly I felt sober and a little annoyed about the money I’d spent.

I found the group, buttoned one of their torn open shirts and hugged them goodbye.

Matt checked his watch in the cab, “we have to be up in like, less than 5 hours” he groaned and then called the wing place to make sure we could have some delivered.

He’s a sneaky drunk. You never know until it’s too late. As he poured himself a whiskey at our bar cart, I knew it was too late.

We settled into the couch, waiting for our food. He kept dozing off and I kept saving the glass tumbler he refused to relinquish, from falling to the floor and sloshing all over our new carpet.

When the food arrived, I ran to get it. I had the energy.

I decided to take the stairs and took a turn too sharply, smashed myself against a railing and yelped in pain. A bruise blossomed on my arm before I got back to our apartment.

I tried to sleep and kept waking with my knees knocking and my thighs wobbling. Matt came to my door, bleary eyed and dull. It was 6:30am. I hadn’t slept for more than seven minutes at a time.

“We gotta go, G.”

I looked at my packed bags on the floor. We were driving to his moms, 2.5 hours away.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

He turned away and called over his shoulder, “Happy Easter.”

Jesus, I laughed, it is fucking Easter.

And while I sipped my third mid-afternoon coffee over a card game with his mom and sister, I thought - I guess if there’s a day to decide I probably n​ever have to sniff anything through my nose ever again, Easters as good as any.

[christinky]

Help | Part 9

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | DONE!

Summary: They have rescued you, its going to be hard. Two years of pain of being under hydra did a toll on you. (Y/N) has to decide what she has to do next.

Pairing: Dad!Tony x Stark!Reader (by this point you should know the relationships)

Warnings: Crying? PTSD Symptoms? Maybe? I say bad words. 

A/N: This one is almost 3.3k guys. Its the last chapter in the series, thank you to everyone who read it. I had a fun time writing it. Please let me know what you all thought! I may write one shots with this as the backstory too as kinda a continuation. 

You slowly start to open your eyes; the light starts to peak through the crack between your eye lids. Still in a daze, you can feel your entire body aching. You decide to rest longer, not moving so no one can know you are awake. You are confused, you are more comfortable than normal and it’s brighter than usual. Suddenly, you remember what happened. You jerk awake, sitting up in a panic. Trying to wrap your heads around the memories of the events that happened, not being able to remember how it ended. You look around, your breathing is heavy, heart is pounding. You recognize this place, this isn’t the room that Hydra kept you in. No, this is your bedroom.

You try to calm your breathing, calm down, you are home, Hydra isn’t controlling you. You are safe. Even though you are safe at home, you can’t seem to feel relieved. You are still nervous, scared, you feel guilty for everything. You fought your friends, you hurt them, you got kidnaped, you made them all worry about you. Your stomach starts doing flips, it’s a waiting game, knowing someone will walk in at any moment. F.R.I.D.A.Y probably alerted them when you woke up. Sooner or later you are going to have to face them all again. It sucks, even though you weren’t in control of your actions, you had no say in the matter, the memories of everything are still there. You are forced to remember everything you have done to them.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, worrying about when someone will walk in and trying to get your thoughts together, there is a quiet knock at the door. Your heart stops. You start preparing yourself for who will be walking in. In your heart, you know exactly who it is, everything in you knows your dad is about to walk in, the real question is if someone will be with him. The door knob starts to turn, the door slowly creeks open. Once there is enough room a head pops in, it is your dad.

Instantly, his eyes light up at the sight of you. He walks in keeping his composure, he is calm and gentle. Making sure not to startle you and make sure you are comfortable. However, you look like a deer in headlights, not really knowing what to do. “Hey kiddo” His voice is soft and gentle and she shuts the door behind him, “Everything is okay, don’t worry. You are okay now.”

You remain silent, bringing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. Your dad walks over, he sits at the end of your bed. Making sure to keep his distance until he can see your reaction, make sure the transition is smooth for you. He turns to you, you can see the worry in his eyes, looking at you as if you are broken. Noticing the way he looks, it makes you feel bad. Thinking of what he must have gone through, he doesn’t deserve this. You remember the look on his face when you were fighting them, remembering how he never gave up, how hard he fought to get you back. The guilt starts to overwhelm you, staying strong you hold it inside so he doesn’t see your breakdown.

“Can I get you anything?” Your dad breaks the silence in the room, you shake your head, looking down at the blanket to avoid eye contact, “Do you want to talk at all? It can help you?”

You stay quiet, focusing on the pattern of the blanket. “Or I can give you some more time, I can come back later.” His tone has gotten sadder, you can tell he isn’t trying to push you, just trying to help. He presses his fists down onto the bed to help him stand up.

Before he can start walking you speak up, “Is everyone okay?” it came out as a whisper. You look at him from the corner of your eye, not turning to look at him. You can see a sigh of relief from him.

“Everyone is fine (Y/N), don’t worry.” He comes back and kneels on the floor next to you, “Everyone is just so happy to have you back home safe.”

Looking over to him for the first time, your heart shatters. You can see the worry you caused in his face, not only his expression but the lines on his face, the bags under his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in months. When you make eye contact he gives you a soft comforting smile. Letting you know that it’s okay. “I, I didn’t mean…” All of a sudden tears burst out, pouring out. You can’t hold it in anymore, “I’m sorry.” You manage to mumble out between sobs. You bury your face in the blanket covering your knees.

The feeling of a hand on your back causes you to jump, instantly the hand returns to your father’s side. He is devastated that he scared you like that, he didn’t mean to. Instantly you feel bad about it, you weren’t expecting it and it caught you off guard. Maybe you are more damaged than even you thought.

“Sweetie..” He sounds heartbroken trying to find the words to say to you, “There is nothing to feel sorry about, this… this is not your fault.” You can tell by his voice that he is crying as well.

It takes every ounce of courage you have to look over at him, his eyes red and puffy are focused on you. You force yourself to try and smile for him. “Listen (Y/N),” His voice cracks, “We know it will be hard for you, we know it will probably take some time. We are all here for you, and we won’t give up on you. Now, there is a group of people waiting outside this door who love and care about you. They are waiting for me to walk out and tell them how you are doing, I’m not going to lie to them. They want to help you, they are willing to do anything they can for you. I just want you to know that you are not alone in this.”

You know exactly who he is talking about when he says it. Instantly you picture the group standing out in the hallway, knowing that they do still care about you, the fact that they aren’t mad at you helps you feel better. It helps, but it doesn’t take the pain and memories away. Your sobs have settled to a silent cry.

Taking a deep breath, you make the decision to lean over and wrap your arms around your dad. You don’t realize how much you needed a hug until you got one. He wraps his arms around you, making you feel safe, like everything will really be okay. It helps calm you down. Resting your head on his shoulder you start to feel relaxed. “Everything will be okay, I promise.” He whispers to you. 

Pulling away, you sit on the edge of your bed, wiping away the tears on your face. Your dad gets up to sit on the bed next to you. You manage to smile at him, trying to lift up the mood in the room, to show that you aren’t as broken as he may thing. Yes, you have some issues but they don’t need to walk on broken glass around you. That’s all he needed, just to know that you have hope as well.

 “You know, I think you really hurt caps feelings,” Your eyes widen, looking your dad in the eyes, you feel your stomach drop in fear of hurting him, “Yeah, it has to be pretty embarrassing for him to get his ass kicked by an 18-year-old.” He lets out a little laugh, you lightly smack his arm in anger.

“I thought I really hurt him or something!” You say with slight annoyance, but you can’t hold back a laugh. Thinking that you little (Y/N) Stark beat up Captain America, and the rest of the Avengers actually. 

“So heres the thing,” He switches from joking around back to serious, “A doctor is going to be in in a bit to make sure you are okay medically. Now, I know you will need someone to talk to as well, a professional.” He pauses, “Its your decision but if you would want Sam is willing to help with that as well, its your choice if you want to talk with him as well. However, I want you to talk with Barnes, Steve’s friend, he went through the same stuff you did. He wants to help you and I think you should take it.” 

“I thought you hated Barnes?” You ask in confusion.

“I did, but he is willing to help you. Anyone who is willing to help you is okay with me.” Suddenly a look of joy is expressed on his face, “Also, I had FRIDAY search the internet for the best emotional support dogs available. Once you give me the okay you are going to meet all of them to pick your favorite.” 

He looks so happy telling you about the dogs, knowing how much you love dogs. “Are you serious?” The idea of getting one gets you a little excited, “Anyone I want?” 

He laughs, “Of course, only the best for my baby.” There is a knock at the door, “Oh, that must be the doctor. Before I let them in do you need anything? Want me to get anything for you? What can I get you to eat? I know you must be hungry, anything you want. You can eat alone, just us, or with everyone?” 

The burst of questions gets you off guard. You realize that you are still in your Hydra clothes, this makes your skin crawl. “Can I please have some new clothes? Are my sweatpants and hoodies in the same place?” Looking around you notice that your room is exactly the way you left it. Its a bit cleaner but everything is still in the same place. 

“Of course, if you want I can go wash them first,” He stands and walks towards the closet to get you a hoodie, taking it out he smells it, “It has that closet smell, I’m going to wash it first.” 

“Thanks.” You can’t help but feel bad making him do so much for you, “Is it okay if I shower after the doctor leaves? and I really want a cheeseburger. A good cheese burger sounds really good right now.” 

Your dad lets out a scuff, “Of course you do.” He smiles as he shakes his head. “What?” Confused, not knowing what he is talking about.

“Remember when I was taken hostage?” you nod, “That’s the first thing I asked for when I got back. I’ll make sure you have a good one though, not fast food shit.” 

He goes to walk out, “wait,” You quietly call out before he opens the door, “Make sure you make enough for everyone.” You say looking up at him. You don’t know why you said it, its not like you are in the mood for a big ‘family’ meal. The idea of getting back to normal as fast as you can sounds nice to you though, and you do really want to see everyone. You miss them, and you do love having them around. They always cheer you up and bring out the best in you. Plus, you know they are all really hoping to be included.

Opening the door, you can’t hear much, he makes sure not to open it all the way so everyone can easily look in. However, you can hear, “Tony, this is Doctor Reid” It was Pepper. Hearing her voice struck you hard, it makes you smile. Remembering the last time you saw her, how she wanted to officially adopt you, how the two of you were over joyed when you accidentally called her “mom”. 

Before thinking you call out to her, “Pepper?” It was shy, not too loud but just loud enough to catch her attention. You stare at the slight opening from the door, heart pounding wondering if she even heard you. Nervous, but a little excited to see her, you need her right now. 

The door starts to open, you stare to see who it is. You instantly light up seeing Pepper walk in the room. Not much a surprise that she is crying. Her hands over her mouth and nose and tears roll down her face in happiness in seeing you. Seeing her cry made you start again, you stand up to walk towards her. “Oh (Y/N),” She pulls you into a tight hug. Which hurt you but you didn’t mind. “You have no idea how happy and relieved we are to have you back home. I’m so glad you are safe.” 

The doctor walks in, Pepper pulls away. She gives you a smile as she walks out of the room. You sit on the bed as the doctor examines you, he doesn’t stay long. Just checks your injuries to make sure nothing is to severe or infected and nothing is broken. The only thing bothering you really is your muscles, they are just sore and everything nothing you haven’t felt before.

Your shower helped you feel renewed. Now you are in freshly cleaned clothes, you feel clean, your hair is brushed and you feel refreshed. You are alone in your room, everyone is getting ready for dinner in the kitchen and common area. Sitting on the edge of your bed you just think. Your thoughts wander. What now? What happens next? How much did you miss? Can you be normal again? You have new powers, what can you do with them? 

About 10 minutes pass when F.R.I.D.A.Y comes over the speakers in your room, scaring the shit out of you, “Ms. Stark, dinner is ready whenever you are”. That makes you realize that you have to get used to having that around again. Taking deep breaths, you stay calm as you stand to make your way to dinner. You still haven’t seen any of them since you beat the shit out of them. You don’t know if you should be embarrassed, happy, sorry or scared when you walk in. Your nerves are driving you insane.

Walking down the hallway your stomach is in knots and palms are sweaty. You walk slowly, trying to calm down before you walk in. Then you find yourself at the end of the hallway, just out of sight from everyone. Taking one final deep breath you walk in. You quietly enter the room, obviously nervous and shy. 

Everyone turns to you instantly. Instantly they all seem happy to see you. You are blown away seeing them all. Steve, Nat, Sam, Wanda, Bruce, Thor, Peter, Rhodey, Bucky, and even Clint are here. Looking around, seeing everyone’s faces, you can feel the love in the room. It helps settle your nerves, making you forget why you were so nervous about seeing them. 

No one says anything, you just stand there for a moment. “Lady Stark!” Thor’s voice booms throughout the room in excitement as he walks towards you. He rests his hand on your shoulder, making sure that he was careful with you. “It is great to see you again, I have missed you.” It’s been so long since you have seen Thor, longer than anyone else. Without realizing what you were doing you go to hug him. Thor’s hugs have always been the best, and you really needed one. 

“Where have you been?” You ask, looking up at him. Before he can answer Bruce catches your attention, “And where have you been?” You had a hint of anger in your tone, thinking about how both of them just disappeared without saying anything, with no contact all those years ago. 

Bruce is taken back in surprise of your tone, “Oh, well you see (Y/N)...” He is trying to figure out how to explain, “It’s a long story, we can discuss this later.” He was rubbing the back of his neck looking away. Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

One by one everyone starts walking up to you so they can hug you. You manage to make fun of Steve a bit for kicking his ass. His defense was he didn’t want to hurt you but no one was buying it. Peter walks over to you, you are instantly struck with guilt. Looking at him you notice that he has a nasty black eye. “I did that, didn’t I?” You say shyly. 

Peter nods his head, “Yeah but it’s not the first time a super soldier gave me a black eye.” He looks over to Steve he tries to look away pretending not to notice. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. You were calm with Peter, just like everyone else. Your feeling from before all this happened seem to have faded. There are more important things to worry about, you were just happy to have him as a friend. Having a boyfriend, a date to the dance or worrying about a crush wasn’t that important anymore. Eventually it will be but there are more important things to think about. Maybe once everything calms down you can see if that spark is still between the two of you. “What was your excuse to May for this one?” You ask jokingly to lighten up the mood in the room.

“Oh, um yeah. I just told her the truth. I was trying to save you and you got really strong and punched me in the face.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. You however are in shock. 

“You told May the truth?!” You blurt out, “Did she not question why you were with the Avengers? Fighting?!

Peter laughs, “Yeah um she knows I’m Spiderman now.” 

Your eyes widen, “How did she find out?” You ask with concern.

“Yeah, well after the whole homecoming incident and Mr. Stark gave me back my suit. I wasn’t paying attention and she walked by as I was taking my mask off.” He was so calm with the story like it didn’t faze him at all.

“What homecoming incident? Why did he take you suit?” You are now getting irritated needing to ask so many questions to get the full story. Everyone else thought it was funny though.

“Well you see.. my homecoming date’s dad was a bad guy selling dangerous weapons so I had to fight him, a building fell on me, and I saved the day and happy’s job.” 

“A building what?!” You yell in shock.  He brushes it off like it was nothing, you are obviously confused and very concerned. You look around to see everyone else’s faces, none of them look even remotely concerned.

“So, Lil’ Stark,” Sam gets your attention, “Now you need a cool superhero name.” He smiles as everyone starts thinking of a cool name. You walk over and sit at the table with everyone, dinner is already on the table.

Everyone sits and eats, during the entire meal everyone is shouting out cool names for you. You had always wanted to be one of them, and now you can. That’s when you know what you are meant to do, this happened for a reason. You are meant for something special. This isn’t the end of your story, it’s the first page.

Please tell me what you thought of this series!! It means a lot, I love this series and I want to know what you all thought. 

Reblog please, you have no idea how much it means to me! 

Requests are open if you want more, I’m all for doing one shots based off this story, look at my prompt list!

Help Taglist: @m4shtyx @spiderlingsweb @mackvanstan @bookgirlunicorn @rubygalaxyvh @littlephoenix-fire @cococola-cocaine

Permanent taglist: @saturn-aka-six

@starksparker @spideyfield @noshitstark I know this is the last part of the series but if you are bored and want to check it out I would love feedback. (If not its a series so I understand, your cool. I wont be upset at all) 

[letters-and-lemons-blog]

New Year, Old Us

Summary: there’s nothing like being in the same room as your ex on new years but kissing another when the clock strikes midnight.

2.5k

Warnings: mentions of attempted rape

The thing about being in the same industry as your significant other is that if--or when--the breakup happens, you're seeking comfort from the same circle of friends. The news will travel faster than your mouths can speak, concerned messages assaulting your phones in endless streams of so I heard what happened…want to talk about it?  In the months that follow, your friends will do everything in their power to make sure the two of you don't cross paths. Someone's got a birthday? Might as well throw two parties instead of one, where things could quickly go south if the ex-lovers make a scene. You used to work in concept design for his group? You’re now swamped with the upcoming trainees’ debut.

But a lot of things can't be avoided. Company gatherings, for one, are an attend-at-all-costs type of thing. This year, the event is taking place on the rooftop, a throwback to older days when the company only consisted of a small, close-knit group. Nowadays, just the makeup and hair department gets its own floor. But despite the distance, everyone knows one another, staff meetings often times ending with trips to the restaurants and bars nearby.

An hour into the party and drinks are flowing smoothly, projects and deadlines pushed aside as everyone rejoices on the past year, accomplishments and awards brought up in conversation with wide smiles and encouragements for an even better year to come. You're feeling the buzz yourself after being roped into downing some liquor when your coworkers started taking shots at the bar.

Not a dancer most of the time, you can't find it in yourself to refuse tonight when your coworkers are dragging you to the makeshift dance floor. In this time of night, it's hard to make out who's who. The only thing you're sure of is that you're going to get blisters from the way your heels are rubbing against the back of your feet, and you chastise yourself for wearing the shoes you purchased last weekend. Who were you trying to impress, anyway?

And maybe the answer comes in a tap to your shoulder.

It's the new hire, Kim Sungmin, accepted on the spot with a masters in marketing and a charming personality. He's got an eye on you, so you've been told, and with the way the night was structured, you figured you'd be talking to him tonight.

"Noona," he begins. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good," you reply, quickly noting that your coworkers have suddenly disappeared from your side.

"Can I get you a drink?" Sungmin tilts his head toward the bar.

You pretend to look surprised and say, "Are you finally repaying me for all the times I helped you out?"

He plays along. "And to pay it forward, because I'll need your help in the future, I’m sure."

"Well then," you say. "You better hurry along. The drinks aren't going to walk here themselves."

Sungmin flashes you a smile before heading to the bar, and you scan the crowd for any sign of your coworkers. The search proves futile, but before you can be disappointed, Sungmin returns and hands you a glass.

"Just beer tonight?" you ask after taking the drink from his hands.

He shakes his head. "S'got whiskey."

"Hm," you hum. "My favourite. How'd you know?"

He hides a smug grin behind his glass. "You looked like someone who'd enjoy a good drink."

You smile, and bring your glass to his. "Here's to a wonderful year."

"A wonderful year," he echoes.

As the night drags on, you find yourself dancing with Sungmin for most of the songs. He's been telling you stories about his previous workplace, where he was in charge of creating ads for toothbrushes that doubled as hair combs.

"At one point, I was sure that if the company didn't go under, I was going to sabotage the sales myself," he confesses. "I mean, how was that supposed to sell? If someone wanted to brush their teeth, the toothpaste ran down to the comb, and if someone did their hair, there'd be hair in the toothbrush!"

You're having a hard time standing upright with how hard you're laughing. It's been a while since you've laughed so hard, and just when you're about to tell him that, the DJ stops the music.

"Alright, alright, everybody. Don't worry, we'll be back real soon. But it's 11:59pm and we've got 20 seconds until the new year. Who's ready?"

The crowd cheers. Sungmin wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You take a moment to look around, seeing the excited looks on everyone's faces. Correction: everyone's faces except one. You recognize his eyes almost immediately, dark orbs behind hooded lids.

10…9…8…

With five drinks in your system as you stand in the arms of another man, there's nothing like seeing your ex at a New Year's party.

7…6…5…

The clock will soon strike twelve and all the couples in the room will be sucking each other's faces.

4…3…2…

And it's like he knows exactly what you're thinking because the look he sends you then is the devil himself, criminal and finding its way straight to your loins.

1…

You turn to face Sungmin, and when the cheering begins, you're tugging him to your lips.

The sky is still dark outside, but it must be morning given the traffic you can already hear down below. You reach for your phone, but stop when your hands come up empty. There's no nightstand there. A wave of panic washes over you right before you hear the duvet crinkle behind you.

"Mornin'."

You let out the breath you've been holding. Memories of last night, of Sungmin, come back to you and you turn around to find him still under the covers, tips of his hair peeking out. Reaching over, you card your fingers through his hair, and he hums in response. The blond strands bend stiffly under your touch, brittle fibers bearing the mark of bleach and chemicals.

Wait. You swear Sungmin's hair was brown last night.

"Don't stop," he protests, and this time, you hear the drawl in his voice that points you to a certain someone. Just to confirm, you lift your head and sure enough, you're met with the designs of a familiar curtain.

"…Yoongi?"

A hand shoots out from under the covers and pulls your wrist back to his scalp. "I said don't stop," he grumbled.

"Yoon--what the fu--" you jerk your hand away from him, using the other to prop yourself up.

"We'll talk later, just come lay down for now."

"What? No, no we're not talking about this. I can't bel--this can't be happe--fuck." You rub your temples, your hangover catching up to you.

"There's Advil and water on the floor beside you."

You mutter a thanks, grateful for anything that will relieve the pounding in your head.

"Lie down, Y/N," Yoongi pats the bed where you were before. "Come on, I've seen you naked before. I've got nothing to gain from this."

You send him a skeptical look (which he probably can't see anyway) but relent nonetheless.

Five minutes go by in silence.

"Yoongi?" You begin, knowing he was too quiet to be asleep. "Can we talk?"

He sighs. "Thought you weren't talking about it."

"…Please."

He brings the duvet down from his face and rubs his eyes, a small yawn leaving his lips and you unconsciously study his features. When he opens his eyes, he begins. "We didn't fuck."

"Yoongi!"

"Hey, I know you'd want to know that so don't pretend like you don't."

You purse your lips, unhappy that he still knows you so well. "Well then, why am I here? All I remember is that I was with Sungmin the whole night."

It's his turn to look displeased. "Why don't you ask him then? I'm sure that boy toy of yours has got plenty to say for himself."

The dark tone of his words take you by surprise. "Wait, Yoongi. I didn't mean that, sorry. But … what happened last night?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. "Promise me, Y/N, that you'll listen to what I say, and only that. Just listen, don't start thinking about other things, don't go blaming yourself. Okay?"

Warily, you nod.

"He tried to drug you," Yoongi pauses when he hears you gasp, and grabs your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. He waits until you give him the go-ahead to continue. "It was around 1 A.M. and getting pretty loud. I was about to leave because we had a busy day and I was tired, so I went around to say bye to some people. As I made my way around, I noticed you two weren't dancing anymore, and it looked like you guys were getting ready to head out too."

You nod along, flashbacks of last night returning with what Yoongi was telling you.

"But for some reason he left you and was walking to the bar by himself. I found it weird so I stayed behind in case he was up to something. I couldn't see clearly but he got two glasses of something with vodka, and came back to give it to you. I would have just left if it ended there, but I guess you gave him a look or something because all of a sudden he was telling you that it was water, and that was when I knew he was up to no good."

You let out a shaky breath, and Yoongi squeezes your hand. It's not until you see the drops on the duvet that you notice you're crying. He takes his hand out of yours and reaches around to pull you towards him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Yoongi gently kisses the side of your head.

When he snatched the drink out of your hand last night, you were furious with him. Even though you were already drunk at that point, words slurring together meaninglessly, he had to put up with you knocking your fist against him as he dragged you out of the party. In the car, it had been a test of a lifetime to drive safely while you were screaming in the passenger seat. Your apartment was on the other side of the city and he didn't trust you to yourself, so Yoongi decided that one night with him wouldn't kill either of you.

By the time he reached his apartment, you had fallen asleep, looking so cute and peaceful that Yoongi couldn't help but smile. Hauling you up to his unit was by no means a piece of cake, but with the way you pouted and grabbed at him, Yoongi wondered not for the first time if things had truly been bad enough to warrant the breakup. It was only when he laid you down onto his bed that he noticed your tear-stained cheeks, and if Yoongi was mad at himself whenever he used to make you cry, his fury was multiplied hundredfold last night. Gritting his teeth, he sent very stern, carefully-worded emails to the company, repeating over and over again that it had not been your fault and that you were not to suffer from the consequences.

"Yoongi?" your sniffling interrupts his train of thought.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

He says nothing, but pulls you closer. With your back flush against his chest, you let out a deep breath, letting everything sink in.

"You know, we never spent a New Year's together," you point out.

He winces. It's true. This year was the first year they'd been given a day off on this day, whereas usually they'd be rehearsing for some show tonight.

"Do you have a New Year's resolution?" you ask.

He knows what you're doing: distracting yourself so it doesn't hurt so much, and he goes along with it. "Yeah. I'm going to grow taller." The chuckle it brings you is worth the kick he receives. "How 'bout you?"

"I wanted to be more daring, to try new things and," he sees your lips quiver. "And…to meet new people."

"Hm," Yoongi pretends to ponder. "Statistically speaking, you should have better luck with the next few."

You laugh at this, but Yoongi notices the light tone in your voice slowly leaves and the laugh transitions into something else. You're crying, he realizes.

Yoongi had never been good at comforting people, and even when the two of you were dating he was still unsure of what to do when he was faced with your tears. So imagine his surprise when you pause to say, “Just … stay like this, Yoongs." He quietly lets you know that he's heard you, voice choked in his throat and he's not sure if it's because that you still know him so well, or that the old nickname just slipped past your lips and it's been so long since you’ve called him that.

It's still dark when you wake for the second time. This time, however, you're not surprised when you find an arm wrapped around you, soft snores landing on the back of your neck. It's comforting, actually, and note that you haven't slept this well in a long time.

Yoongi wakes to the sound of the door closing, and he’s out of the bedroom in a flash. To his relief, it was only the delivery guy, and you were carrying the bags to the kitchen when arms came behind you and Yoongi, in the quietest of voices, whispered stay the night, too, okay?

You object at first, telling him that you've got nothing to wear and it's going to be weird to wear his clothing, but he stops you when he pulls out a drawer full of your belongings.

You raise a brow, and Yoongi scratches the back of his head. "I never threw these out."

The implication behind his words makes you blush, too, but you agree.

It’s not the last time you spend the night at his place, either. The two of you find yourselves settling into familiar routine, the comfort of each other’s company drawing you closer and it’s not long before you find yourselves spending almost every night together. Of course, eventually that leads to an awkward conversation about what exactly is going on. The question that hangs in the air is a walk on the tightrope between forgiveness and second chances. The answer, thankfully, tips the scale.

"So," Namjoon begins as the maknaes finally sit down at the table. "Are you and Yoongi hyung back together?"

"Hyung!" Jungkook exclaims. Jin knocks Namjoon on the head.

"It's an important question," the leader defends himself, rubbing the side of his head.

"Show some tact, will you?" Jin scolds. "But he's right, Yoongi. Are you and Y/N…"

The entire table turns to look at you both.

"Well if not, why the fuck would she be here?"

The room erupts in cheer, with hugs given all around.

"About time, actually. Hyung was terrible to be around when he was moping." Jungkook offered helpfully, only to be met with his hyung's middle finger.

Yoongi tries to keep up an indifferent expression for the rest of the night, but fails miserably when the rest of them don’t let up their teasing, and he ends up hiding his red-tinted cheeks behind you.

[milaw89]

It’s Alright. (9/?)

Team Captain America x Reader - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1377

Story Summary: Reader is being chased by someone, not knowing who and why. She’s determined to find out. A group of superheroes is helping her, but as they are helping out, they find out more about her. A secret that they don’t know how to bring to her. Can they secure her safety and tell her the news.

Author’s Note: Sorry about the late upload. I have been busy. If you want to be part of the It’s Alright fan club (tag list) feel free to ask me. :D

Previous parts: Part 1. - Part 2. - Part 3. - Part 4. - Part 5. - Part 6. - Part 7. - Part 8.

Waking up in the same bed and the same room. Y/N decided that this time it’s better to stay in bed until someone told her, she was ready to get out of bed. She was alone in the room, the nurse was nowhere to be seen, so if she jumped out of the bed, fainting right after, there was no one there to catch her as Bucky did. Bucky? He was so strange, when she looked into his eyes, the only thing she could clearly see is pain and confusion, but also as if he had seen her before but she had never seen him, maybe he was the man in her apartment but maybe he was not. Y/N hid her head in her hands, rubbing her face. This was all so confusing, why didn’t they leave her at her own apartment. Gerard would have found her because she didn’t come to his lesson, he would have worry about her. This is so messed up.  

The door opening Y/N pulled her hands away from her face to see who came in. It’s Wanda, that popped her head into the room. Y/N gave her a small smile, wondering when she would visit.

“Is the coast clear?” She asked, looking around, clearly searching for someone. Y/N nodded. She opened the door wider and walked in with a tray of food, putting it down on a bedside table. She smiled.

“Hey gorgeous, do you think you can eat something?” Wanda asked. Y/N pulled up a little bit. “Oh hold on. I’ll help you.” Wanda settled the tray with food on a bedside table and helped with the bed stand. “Thank you. What kind of food did you get me?” Y/N asked, eyeing the tray.  

Wanda pulled the side table towards Y/N and she looked at the plate. “A sandwich, some water, an apple and applesauce.” Y/N hovered her hand above the tray.  “I’ll grab the applesauce for now. It seems like the safest food on the tray.” Grinning, she opened the lid and grabbed a spoon from the table, taking small bites. Wanda chuckled and took the other apple sauce and a spoon.

“So are you rested enough?” Wanda asked Y/N frowned. “For what? I have this controlling nurse around somewhere watching me like a hawk.” Wanda started laughing. “That’s funny, hawk. I should tell him that.” Wanda grinned. Y/N looked around, giving Wanda a questionable look. “Real hawk? Tell me you’re not talking about the real bird, are you?” Wanda shook her head. “No, you know Hawkeye right? Clint Barton. The guy on the roof, short dark hair, in an all black costume with a bow and an arrow.” Y/N frowned at the description. She also had no idea they had nicknames. “Do they all have nicknames. Is that why you call Steve, Cap?” Y/N asked surprised. Wanda nodded. “Well, I don’t know if Hawkeye is exactly a nickname, I think it has something to do with him never missing a target with his weapon. He is a master in archery.” Wanda explained. Y/N nodded. “Do you know what kind of building this is?”

Wanda looked around too before she answered. “This is the new headquarters for team Captain America, Steve. We received it after the whole clash between Stark and Steve. It belongs to The King of Wakanda also known as the Black Panther.” Y/N nodded. Now that they were talking, she could ask a couple of questions about the whole team Captain and who Bucky is, what he does in the team. He freaked her out but then again he didn’t. Wanda put her empty cup and spoon on the tray and eyed me an expression that said. You did something fun without telling me. Before Y/N could question her, Wanda beat her to it.

“So what was going on with you and a stunt you pulled earlier?” Wanda held her head to the side, her long dark hair fell from her shoulder. “You know, we’re here to help you and protect you. We have everything here, everything you need.” Y/N chuckled.

“If you mean that I tried to outrun Bucky and Steve, I didn’t come further than the bed. You have everything here? Do you have a boxing ring in here as well?” Wanda snorted, laughing. “Of course we do, Bucky and Cap go wild on those bags, there is not one day that goes by without hanging up a new one or several new ones. Bucky is probably down there now.” Wanda smiled at Y/N shocked expression.

“I’ll have to go there as soon as I can get out of this bed. What do you do here on a normal day? You’re the only girl here?” Wanda sighed. She pulled the bedside table away as Y/N tossed her cup and spoon on the tray. Wanda was about to tell her daily routine when they got interrupted by a knock on the door. We both turned our heads to the door. Steve and nurse Akila walked in.

“I see you had some food and company. Wanda, could you leave us alone for a moment, you can wait in the hallway.” Wanda nodded, mouthing later to Y/N as she left the room.

Steve sat down on Wanda’s seat. The nurse moved the machines and the bedside table away from the bed, she didn’t return which meant, it was not about my health. Y/N turned to Steve. He smiled. “We have a room for you upstairs next to Wanda’s room. We have decorated it a little bit with her help. It’s much more comfortable than this bed and the beeping sounds from the machines.” Y/N raised her eyebrows. “You’re giving me a room? For how long?” She asked. Steve frowned. “Y/N. You have to understand that if you go out, back to your old life, they can find you. They will take you and do horrible things to you. Here you are safe, we can protect you.” Steve stated.

Y/N chuckled. “You all tell me you can protect me but you don’t tell me from what? I have been protecting myself for over five years on my own. Now you suddenly want to play the big hero because someone sends you a message about me being in danger? Where were you in those five years that I fought off the same kind of men that are after me right now! Steve, I appreciate your help, I really do but I need to get back on my own feet, I can’t stay here locked up.” Y/N gazed down at her hands.

“Please listen and reconsider. You are not strong enough, stay here, get your strength back, train with Bucky or me in the gym, till you have everything under control. Then we’ll find you a safe place.”

Y/N glared at Steve. “You want me to train with Bucky? He is freaking me out and now you want me to train with him? Steve, please leave. Wanda can come back in and she can help me to my new jail cell.” Y/N growled. Steve pulled up with a sigh and walked to the door. There was no right way to talk to her. Her mind is made up but he wasn’t going to let her go. He stopped and turned his head to me. “He remembers your real mom. He saved her back in the days and he saw her in you. He’s also freaked out about this memory that is so clear to him. You might want to give him some slack, Bucky is a good man. He is a victim, just like you.” Steve opened the door and disappeared. Y/N fell back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling as Wanda walked back into the room.

Steve closed the hospital door behind him, he sighed and looked up. What is he supposed to do with this girl? “Steve?” He turned his head to where Sam’s voice was coming from. “We got something you got to see.” Sam gestured Steve to one of the meeting rooms down the hall.

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