#He's already established to be constantly left out and lonely because of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jeonbunnie · 9 months

Text

promises

pairing: reader x namjoon

summary: marriage life with namjoon hasn’t been the same lately. he’s been cold and distant, always whispering on the phone. and you can’t help but notice…

genre: angst

content/warnings: established relationship; married!au; idol!namjoon; cheating/infidelity; implied sex; eventual smut; explicit sex

soundtrack: lemonade by beyoncé

a/n: this used to be a series but I decided to rework it into a oneshot. The plot is mostly the same, however now the reader gets to choose the big decision at the end (kind of like a choose your own adventure).

word count: 18k

Pray you catch me

♪ you can taste the dishonesty/ it's all over your breath, as you pass it off so cavalier. but even that's a test/constantly aware of it all/my lonely ear/pressed against the walls of your world. ♪

. . .

Something is wrong.

You don’t know how or when things changed, but something shifted between the two of you. There is a distance now, more tangible than the miles that separate you from him when he’s on business trips. Farther than the long-distance phone calls that became less and less frequent. Even now, as you lay in the same bed with him only a few feet away you can tell.

Something is wrong.

Because you can’t remember a time when you and Namjoon had ever been so far apart.

He would always come home late at night. Languid footsteps trailing towards the bedroom. Eyes tired and red from too many hours spent awake working on the newest album. Gravity pulled him down in a slump that could only be from the heaviness of leadership, from carrying the weight of the entire group.

And though he was exhausted, he would still find a way to come and take care of you. Even dead-tired, his warm brown eyes would light up and his lips would curl at the sight of you. He’d make his way over and pull you close, until your bodies became an entangled mess of arms and legs, chests pressed together as you curled into each other's warmth. His fingers would run soothingly through your hair and he’d ask you how your day went. The moments you spent within his arms seemed to make even the bad days good.

But it's been a long time since your husband held you close and melted away your bad days.

The clock on your nightstand reads 1:23 AM in angry red letters when his phone goes off in the middle of the night. You can hear the sheets rustle and feel whatever is left of his presence slip away as he sits up, answering on the second ring. “Hello?” Before you can even stop yourself the words are flying out of your mouth. “Who is it?”

The woman who speaks sounds nothing like you. Her voice is broken and fragile, spiked with worry and fear. He shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes because, “It’s just Yoongi.” The lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly. You are already hurting and the way he brushes you off tears right through you.

It’s not Yoongi. You know better. Your husband’s best friend loves his sleep and would never stir in the middle of the night. You want to confront him, put all your thoughts out in the open but before you can even gather the courage, he stands up, makes his way across the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone.

Again.

Somehow you can’t decide what’s more unsettling: the loneliness you feel when your husband leaves or the loneliness you feel when he’s around.

You are too unnerved to go back to sleep. Not that you are sleeping anyways. Now that you are truly awake to the situation before you, sleep does not come. You’ve been staying up for days, eyes wide open. But it was more than just insomnia. Your mind is awake with all the possibilities, visualizing every single scenario. You can’t close your eyes because in an instant you are there. Thinking about it all over again. You can't ignore it, nor pretend not to see it. You are not blind anymore. And so sleep does not come.

With every nerve on edge you throw back the covers and swing your legs out of bed. You can’t just lay there trapped within your own mind. You need a distraction—any distraction from the truth. Even if the only release you can find is putting your body into motion. You find yourself pacing back and forth, frazzled energy bouncing from one point to another.

Until you hear him laugh. It’s a deep and throaty noise that breaks through the walls and interrupts your racing thoughts. You find yourself tiptoeing closer to the sound, trying to be as quiet as you possibly can so you can creep up and press your ear up against the door to listen. How desperate you are, eavesdropping like this. You feel ashamed for sinking this low, but that shame does not stop you from wondering if you should get the glass from your nightstand so you can hear him better. If you could only hear what he was saying! But the words are muffled, like he’s talking underwater.

He used to talk to you all the time, share his innermost thoughts, his nightmares, his dreams. Talk to you about everything and nothing. Work and play. Past and present. But now, nothing.

Now all you got were glimpses of his world.

You used to be his world.

The realization leaves you cold and you press yourself closer to the light trickling through the cracked door. You can see him now. His back is turned towards you and he’s hunched over, phone clutched to his ear like he’s trying to keep all his secrets from spilling out of it. In that moment, you pray he will turn around so you can read his lips and decode whatever it is he’s whispering huskily into the receiver. You pray he will turn around and catch you. You wonder what he will do. Will he jump? Will he be angry?

Ironically, out of all the times you’ve prayed for God to answer you during your marriage, this is the prayer God answers because it happens. He turns around.

You expect to see the face of a cruel man. You could not have prepared yourself for what you do see. Because when he finally turns around, it’s not the face of a monster, but the face of your first love. Namjoon is smiling. Smiling. This is the moment your heart breaks. When was the last time he smiled at you like that? Pink lips pulled back, pearly whites gleaming. Dimples flashing in his cheeks. The way his eyes squint into tiny crescent moons.

When was the last time he smiled at you like that? You can’t remember. Your mind flickers through the memories filed in your head, though each image never seems to be quite right. Maybe because they are now clouded with suspicion. Was that last smile real? Or merely a mask?

The fact that you can’t be sure made you anxious. You can’t tell the difference because you didn’t know him anymore. Where was the man you loved? This person you do not recognize. His eyes are dark, lit with the desire you once thought was only reserved for you. You watch as his lips curl from a smile into a wicked grin.

Something is wrong.

You tried to fix it. The problem. You. It had you be you, didn’t it? Maybe he wanted someone more gentle. You tried to be meek, mild, and kind. Soft spoken, as you were always previously so assertive. You didn’t want to chase him off with harsh words or accusations. You wanted to be what he wanted. You thought that maybe he wanted someone sexy, so you tried to be that too. You made your eyes smokey and put on red dresses, even though you hated the color red. You wanted to be enough. You tried everything to get his attention, but it made no difference. You still ended up in this exact moment.

A sigh slips past your lips, almost a whimper. It’s the sound of loss.

This is when he sees you.

His smile disappears. Then he walks forward and closes the door in your face, shutting out the light and leaving you in darkness.

. . .

When he comes back to bed—wearing a scent that is distinctly not yours—it’s 5AM. He kisses your forehead and climbs underneath the sheets, yet the distance between you remains. Maybe you already know the answer to the questions that keep swirling in your mind. You don't want to believe that he broke his vows. But that hope does not stop the doubt you feel every time you look at his face.

Are you cheating on me?

Don’t Hurt Yourself

♪ I am the dragon breathing fire. Beautiful man I’m the lion Beautiful man I know you’re lying…. ♪

. . .

It is quiet in your house. The sun and it’s warm amber glow have long since disappeared, fading into black. The stillness is unusual. Normally you hate such things, always needing some sort of noise playing in the background like the tv or the radio while you clean up and do work, but not today. You need the silence so you can collect your thoughts and prepare yourself for what you are about to do.

You are done being passive. Sick and tired of sitting and waiting around for a man who did not so much as blink an eye at you. You are done crying. You already cried so much. All your tears have dried up and gone away. You can’t bring yourself to be sad anymore. There isn’t any room for you to hold inside two emotions. Especially when all you can feel now is anger.

You are mad as hell.

So you came home from work and sat down on the couch, waiting on him for one last time. Head held high, poised and collected. Muscles coiled and ready to pounce.

Just like clockwork, keys slide into the door and Namjoon comes in at a quarter to three, completely unaware of the situation he just stepped into. Looking up he stops, surprised to find you sitting in the living room. He can feel something is off. Sense it in your body language, see the difference in your eyes. For a minute, he wonders if you know what he’s been doing all night long...but that’s impossible right? How could you possibly know?

But you did know.

You watched nonchalantly as he flashed a casual grin your way. “Hey babe...what are you doing up so late?“ You didn’t respond right away, taking the time to examine him closely before you decide to speak.

“Where were you tonight?”

The second the words leave your mouth there’s a shift in the atmosphere. Thick silence fills the space between you, but your eyes never leave him. You see him blink, catch the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows down a gulp, note a flicker of emotion pass in his face too brief to figure out the expression. Was that fear? Was he nervous?

But then he laughs. It’s almost a scoff as his eyebrows pull together he shakes his head in what masks as confusion. “What?”

“I know you heard me Namjoon, I’m not going to ask you again.”

“What are you talking about? I was with the guys tonight, we—”

“Don’t,” you stop him, holding up a hand. ”Don’t do that. Don’t lie to my face. I am so tired of you lying to me, please for once just be honest.”

He doesn’t say a word, only sighs and runs his fingers through silver locks and as unsatisfactory as it is, you realize this action is the closest you’ll ever get to a confession. But it’s not enough. Your hands come up to rest on your face almost like prayer before you ask your next question.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“God (Y/N), are we really doing this right now?”

Anger presses up against your chest and before you know it, you’re on your feet. “Yes, Namjoon, we are really doing this right now. Because I can’t stand one more minute of this fake marriage. I’m not stupid. I see you! And I’m not going to pretend like I don’t anymore.”

“Fine. Fine! What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want?”

“I want the truth!”

He fixes his gaze, eyes locked on you. “Oh, you want the truth? Ok here’s the truth. Yes, I was with her tonight, and yes I fucked her, and it was the best goddamn fuck I’ve had in months. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

His words hit you like a bullet to the heart. No, you weren’t happy. You wanted his candor but not this. His tone...the way he was talking to you...You almost couldn’t believe it. How could he? The man you called your husband would never so much as raise his voice towards you. Yet here he was, spitting out cruelty. The brutality of his words mixed with his contempt was too much. Your nails dug into the couch as you tried to steady yourself, tried to push through the pain.

Your mind was swimming with information, trying to come to terms with the new knowledge but one question still lingered. You had to ask:

“Why?”

“Fuck, why? I’m on tour all the time, It’s not like you’re around?”

Are you kidding me?

Whatever pain you felt quickly turned to anger and you whipped around to face him.

“Who the fuck do you think I am Namjoon?! You didn’t marry one of your little groupies. I have a job and a life! I can’t just drop everything and follow you around the world like some love-sick puppy!”

“Yeah well, maybe if you did I wouldn’t have needed to find someone else.”

The nerve of this man!

“So you want my entire world to revolve around you? You are so selfish! As if I don’t already do everything for you. I cook, when you come home at night there’s dinner on the table. I keep this house spotless, but it’s not like you’re even here to notice--”

“I’m not here cuz I’m too busy working the job that got you this house in the first place!”

“Wow. So it’s ok for you to be away from me on your job, but if I can’t be there for you then I’m the problem?” You stared him in the face, only to be met with a glare to rival your own.

“You’re a real piece of work Namjoon.”

How is it that he could look at your relationship and see only your flaws, but never his own? You should have known better than to put all your faith in a man with a god-complex. He only ever cared about himself and his own career. All he had were excuses. You started to walk away from him when his next words stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re so perfect. It’s not like you haven’t done it.”

You cast an incredulous look over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Just what is he trying to imply?

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Now who’s playing dumb. I’m not stupid either, I know you’re seeing him behind my back.”

This again? “How many times do I have to tell you, Jackson is just a friend.”

“You’re a fucking liar. He doesn’t look at you like ‘just a friend’, I know you slept with him.”

Now you were furious. You took several steps towards him till you were so close you could feel his heated breath on your face. “Let’s not get it twisted, I’m not the cheater—You are!” you said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to put this on me! You and I both know I’m not the one who’s unfaithful!”

By the end of your sentence you found yourself out of breath, panting. You were shouting the entire time. Unable to keep the fire inside; your fury, abated. You looked at your husband, finally eye to eye and sighed.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” You spoke, your voice coming out much softer than either of you had expected. “I wouldn't do anything to disrespect you like the way you disrespect me.”

Once again silence swelled within the room and all you could do was look at him and wonder how you had ended up here. The two of you never used to fight, not like this. It was never this bad. But things were different now.

“W-why did you do this to me? To us?” On your wedding day you both took vows to be united as one in this relationship. He was hurting himself just as much as he was hurting you but he was so wrapped up in his own pride that he couldn't see it.

“Are you even sorry?”

Namjoon didn't say a word.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, trying to find some kind of peace. But by the time you finished counting your anger still hadn't subsided. You couldn't find peace because there was no peace here.

Everything in this relationship was so, so hard. You couldn't pick up the broken shards of your relationship all by yourself and he wasn't even trying to fix it.

“I can't—I can't do this anymore”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes. “Can't do what anymore?”

“This!” You yelled, throwing your arms out.

“You. Me. Us. I can’t do it anymore and I don't want to.”

And with that you spun on your heel making a direct line for the bedroom. You could hear him follow behind you, but you didn't care. Your mind was focusing on something else now.

All you cared about was getting the hell out of there. You went into the closet and pulled out an overnight bag, snatching clothes off hangers and stuffing them inside.

“What are you doing?”

You had to laugh at his question. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving you.”

You didn’t stop packing. After taking out enough clothes you grabbed your bag and walked out of the closet. On your way you caught a glimpse of Namjoon with a blank expression on his face.

“Don’t tell me you're actually surprised?”

Brushing past him, you made your way to the bathroom. “I was so blindly in love with you that even when I knew—I knew what you were doing, I tried to stay. But I deserve better. I deserve so much more than you.”

After gathering the rest of your stuff you turn around to walk out the door only to find Namjoon leaning against the frame. Taking in his image made your steps falter.

He looked strong and athletic in a white muscle tee. His arms were crossed over his chest, a gesture built out of displeasure, but only served to highlight the curve of his biceps. When you finally tore your eyes away from his body and up to look at his face, you sighed. He was clenching his jaw, showing off all his angles while his lips pushed out into the perfect pout. His eyes as always were dark, intense, and fixed on you.

Well, not always fixed on you.

He was so beautiful and you hated him for it. Or rather how he made you feel. He could still make your heart skip a beat even as it was breaking.

Yes, you still loved him. But clearly his love for you didn’t run quite as deep.

“So what now? You want a divorce? You signed the prenup. You're not going to get any money out of me.” He growled, voice deep and raspy.

There he goes again, always so damn arrogant…..His words served as a reminder. This is why you had to go. You broke eye contact, concentrating on zipping up your bag. “You can keep your money. I’ve got my own, and I can take care of myself.”

You crossed in front of him, swiftly taking a pair shoes then sitting on the bed to put them on. It dawned on you that he didn’t even ask you to stay. But then again, although it hurt to make this decision, you didn’t have to blink away any tears.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

You laced up your shoes, pulling the strings tight. “I don’t know.” You snapped. “Since you seem to think all I do is sneak around behind your back, maybe I’ll go see Jackson. Or maybe I’ll go out and find me another man. All I know is, I’m never coming back to you. I can promise you that.”

You weren’t playing nice but you were honestly so done with his attitude, mistreatment, and all the pain he caused you. Confident in your decision, you got your bag and stood up, striding towards the exit.

“Hey!”

You ignored him.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

“Kiss my ass, Namjoon!” You sassed, walking out the door and out of his life.

Resentment

♪ I may never understand why. I’m doing the best that I can. And I tried, and I tried to forget this. But I’m much too full of resentment…

. . .

Kim Namjoon knew you would probably leave him if you found out about his affair.

You weren’t the type of woman to let yourself be walked all over, and honestly he was surprised you’d let him get away with it for so long. For months you put up with the late night calls, the sneaking around, the constant lies...And he watched the light dim in your eyes as he broke his vows. It wasn’t like he wanted to cheat on you—not at first.

But anytime he was away from you on tour he just got so lonely.

Sure he had his bandmates and his fans but when the stage lights turned off and the cheers died down none of that was enough to keep him going. Whenever he got by himself it’s like the floodgates opened up. And all the pressure, the high expectations, the push for success, the hate, all of it came washing over him.

And Namjoon felt like he was drowning in it.

As much as he wanted to tell you what ailed him, he didn’t wanna put you under any more stress. You were already constantly worrying about his welfare, filled to the brim with your own concerns. He didn’t think it fair to make you shoulder his burdens as well. But holding all his feelings inside only made things worse.

The helplessness, the anxiety...he just wanted to make it go away. Even if only for a moment. And that’s all it was. A moment of weakness.

The first time it happened he regretted it immediately. He stayed up the whole night, staring at the ceiling, consumed by his guilt. It was the biggest mistake he had ever made. He planned to go home and just come clean, tell you everything that happened. Then beg and beg for your forgiveness.

All he could do on the plane ride back home was pray to God you would somehow take him back.

But then he saw your face. The bright smile you gave him when he walked in the door and heard the joy in your voice as you greeted him. Felt your love as you curled into his embrace, nudged your head in the crook of his neck and whispered “I missed you so much”.

How could he tell you the truth then? How could he tell you what he had done, that he’d broken his promise and given himself to another? He wasn’t even on stage, yet here you were, looking at him with stars in your eyes. You were the only person who truly knew him, flaws included, and despite it all you still loved him.

He couldn’t watch the love and devotion in your eyes turn to hatred and disgust. He couldn’t cope with the reality of the situation. The fact that your heart might close to him forever, that you might leave him.

And then he’d really be alone.

No, that couldn’t happen. If you left..? At the time, he hadn’t wanted to even think about it. So instead of doing the right thing and being honest he closed himself off. If only to keep himself from breaking down. Everytime he looked at you he felt ashamed of his actions. It didn’t feel right, lying to you. Maintaining a distance was the only way he could keep his secret a secret.

The second time it happened, it wasn’t a mistake. A mistake repeated more than once is a decision. And when temptation swept by, manifesting itself in long legs and a warm body to hold at night, Namjoon couldn’t resist.

The guilt hit him just as hard, if not harder than the last time. If he had to face you in that moment without a doubt he would have spilled out all the ugly truth. But it didn’t happen that way. He was on tour for an even longer time than usual, and the separation gave him more than enough time to compose himself, to bury the guilt far enough where it would not resurface. But in doing so he had to become a different person to you. Hard. Cold to the touch.

It affected him as much as it affected you. With every shrug and look of indifference, every evasion he could feel himself slipping further and further away from the man he wanted to be, from the man that you deserved.

And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

The third time it happened, you knew. Even now he couldn’t figure out what tipped you off. He knew there wasn’t any lipstick on his cheek or lingering perfume (Namjoon was stupid for cheating, but he wasn’t that stupid). Nothing tangible to hold your suspicion but you felt it. You questioned him, asking things like ‘what’s wrong?’ and ‘did something happen tonight?’, each inquiry only put him on edge and he snapped at you, starting a fight to distract you from the truth.

That night he left home, seeking comfort in the arms of the first girl he cheated with. He crossed a line that night. He knew he shouldn’t have met with her. But she already put her number in his phone and he was too much of a coward to be left alone with his thoughts in a hotel room. But in doing so he opened up pandora's box. He lay in her bed as she stroked his ego, telling him how important he was, how much better he deserved.

And soon enough he started to believe it. That he was better than you and that you were somehow, not enough for him. His superiority somehow justified him stepping outside his marriage. He found himself faultless, thinking it was your job to keep his interest and if he wasn’t happy, it was only his right to seek out happiness elsewhere.

But now, sitting alone in this dark house, all Namjoon could see was how wrong he was. So very, very wrong.

Months. You’ve been gone for months now. At first, he barely missed you. He didn’t have to. The very next day he had to fly out to Tokyo for a concert and he went back to his regular routine. Practice. Performing. Parties. The occasional girl to keep him satisfied. He didn’t need you then. And why would he? When he had all the people surrounding him, screaming his name. Singing his praises. He had no need to miss you until he went home. And that's when reality sunk in.

He came home to more than just an empty house. As the days rolled by he came to realize just how much you took care of him. Not just as a homemaker but as a mate. You were his heart, the sun and moon, his entire world. Namjoon could have killed the man who said you don’t know what you have until it’s gone because as cliché as it was, the expression couldn’t have been more accurate and the truth stabbed him like a knife.

The loneliness he felt when without you was ten times worse than when he was with you.

Your presence had a bigger impact on him than he could have imagined. Something about your ambience was instantly calming. Even if you weren’t doing anything together, whether it be just sitting on the couch or laying in bed beside him your being there gave him peace.

He tried to fill the void, find your image in the millions of girls that threw themselves at him, the women he led to his bed deep within the night. But there was no recreating you.

Namjoon hadn’t known peace since the day you left.

If it was possible he was even more restless than before. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a full night's sleep. It had to be retribution for all the nights he kept you awake with the creeping thoughts of his betrayal. You, the love of his life, who he took for granted.

He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him, for his own selfish desires.

All because he lied.

And now all he wanted was a chance to get you back.

He pulled out his cell phone, trying to reach you again. He couldn’t keep track of all the times he called your phone, only to be met with your voicemail.

When he watched you walk out that door…a part of him hadn’t really recognized it as real. He was too full of himself to see it happening. His ego told him you’d be back, that you wouldn’t—couldn’t—really leave him. You’d cool off for a couple of days, then come back and try to make things work because that’s the type of person that you were.

He knew you were strong. Strong enough to move past his mistakes. He just didn’t know you were strong enough to move past him entirely.

Namjoon runs a hand across his face, dials your number, and prays. He’s not necessarily sure who or what he’s praying to, but he could really use a miracle right now. Because that’s what it would take for you to actually pick up the phone.

“(Y/n) please, please pick up.”

The phone rings once, twice, three times and then—

"We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

He hangs up, angry.

He doesn’t have the right to be angry, that much he knows. Mercy and grace from the woman he scorned is far too much to ask for, but he needs you, and he’s desperate, so he’s asking anyway.

Namjoon foolishly made the mistake of thinking that you couldn't live without him. But it was he who was the one who couldn’t live without you.

So he’ll keep calling. Even if it only goes to voicemail. He’ll keep leaving message after message after message.

Whatever it takes.

…

♪ I may never understand why. I'm doing the best that I can. And I tried, and I tried to forget this. But I'm much too full of resentment...♪

…

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You didn’t have to check caller ID to know who was on the other side of that line. Annoyed, you sighed and rolled over onto your side. Curling up into the couch, you choose the warmth and sweet bliss of sleep over another argument.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?”

“No.” You answered without so much as opening your eyes.

Behind you, you could hear Jackson moving around, presumably to shut off your phone (you didn’t care enough to look).

The ringing grew louder and louder and soon enough you could feel your phone vibrating against your back. “(Y/n), answer the phone.”

“No.” You repeated, throwing the cover over your head. It’s entirely too early for this. Didn’t he have something to do? Wasn’t he busy? You didn’t understand it. Now that you were separated, he suddenly had all the time in the world to call you?

You could hear Jackson sigh behind you. “I swear if I have to hear your ringtone one more time—I’m going to lose my mind. Just answer the phone!”

“If it bothers you so much, why don’t YOU answer it!”

“M-me! Me?” Jackson sputtered. “Do you want me to die? Do you know what that man would do to me if he found out you were staying with me? He would kill me.”

That much was true. Namjoon would be furious to find out you’d been staying with your male best friend, which is exactly why you went to Jackson’s place when you left him.

Was it petty? Yes. Was it worth it? Hell yes.

If his feelings and pride were hurt than good, that made two of you.

“I mean, I could probably take him. But Namjoon when he’s angry is a totally different person. Actually no, he wouldn’t just kill me. It would be murder in the First degree. I’m not answering.”

“Then put it on silent. I don’t care, I’m not talking to him.”

Suddenly, the warmth of your blanket was ripped away from you, forcing you out of your bubble of comfort. “Did you—did you just snatch my cover off? Jackson!”

“(Y/n),” He said, coming closer and taking your hands in his. “You are my best friend and you know I’m only saying this out of a place of love, but this has to stop. You have to go.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Look, it’s not like I don’t want you here, I love having you around you know that. It’s just—you’ve been hiding out on my couch for a couple of months now—”

“—Hiding! I’m not hiding!!!”

“And I refuse to harbour a fugitive anymore.”

“I’m not a fugitive…” you grumbled.

Jackson shot you a cross look.“Namjoon is searching high and low for you and you’re avoiding him here, in my apartment.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ok, AND?”

“And! I really don’t think staying here is doing you any good. You are not dealing with what happened. It’s not healthy. He’s calling for a reason, you need to talk to him. You can’t run away from this…”

You bit down on your lip, contemplating everything he said. He wasn’t really wrong. But you were far too exhausted to deal with Namjoon again.

You couldn’t go through another fight.

You weren’t angry. At least, not in the way you were before. The last of your anger had been exerted in a fit of rage when you returned to your home to pick up some things you left behind. This is what you told yourself. A lot of damage had been done. Broken dishes, shattered glass, photos ripped out from picture frames. Tiny vengeful acts that piled up to one huge mess. After all of it you were only partially satisfied. But that time had come and gone, you didn’t think you had any more fight in you.

You were filled with too much bitterness, too much resentment for any of that.

No matter what, you still couldn’t wrap your brain around it. How could he do this to you? You thought that having him speak the truth and actually admit to what he did would give you peace of mind but all it did was give you more questions than answers. Now just the thought of talking to him made bile rise up in your throat.

“I...I don’t even know what I would say to him.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything. He’s the one who fucked up, he should be doing all the talking.” His expression softened. “But...I think you should listen. If this is really over, you need closure.”

“And on that note, you’re gonna pick up the next time that phone rings or I will revoke your couch privileges!” He said, standing up with a smile on his face.

“I hate you for this.” You growled at him.

He smiled back at you, “I love you too.” He kissed your cheek, placing your cellphone in your hand, then left for his bedroom.

You looked down at the piece of metal in you hand and sighed. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t talk to him. And yet...there was still this small part of you that wanted to hear his voice. Determined to ignore that emotion you stood up from the couch, headed straight for the kitchen. Stress eating had become a terribly bad habit of yours, but you couldn’t help it. You were the type of person who ate her feelings (and honestly, food does make everything better).

You were shuffling through last night's leftovers, trying to decide if you should heat up a plate of dukbokki or humor yourself with dessert for breakfast when Jackson’s home phone went off.

You waited a bit, figuring he would pick up eventually, but he didn’t. “Jacksonnnn~”, you whined. Nothing. Whatever, you thought. I’ll just let it go to voicemail.

You turned back to the fridge, taking out a pint of ice cream when the beep of the machine sounded and a voice broke through the apartment's silence.

“Hey (Y/n),” At the sound of your name you immediately stopped everything and froze.

“It’s me, Hobi. I know you’re crashing at Jackson’s right now,” Your jaw dropped. How could he know that? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going.

You could hear him giggling on the phone. “Don’t worry I’m not gonna tell. I know you don’t wanna hear anything that I have to say but I’m still gonna say it anyway.”

“Namjoon’s a mess...We've been through a lot together—I’ve never seen him like this before. He made a mistake. A big mistake, and he knows it. But he loves you more than anything. Just hear him out okay? And not for him, but for you...I know you still love him too. Call me back, yeah? If you want, you can ditch him but don’t ditch us! We all miss you over here…..Take care of yourself.”

By the time the message ended you had teary eyes, only half a pint of ice cream left, and a decision to make. Suddenly, you didn’t have much of an appetite.

And then the phone rings. Your phone.

You let it buzz for a bit. Fully determined to ignore his call once again. But you couldn’t stop looking at the phone. Everyone’s words were circling in your head. What if your friends were right? Were you making a mistake? Would you regret this in the future?

The phone just keeps ringing. You wished it would stop so you didn’t have to think about any of this. You closed your eyes and decided to let fate make the choice for you. If he called back, you would use the last bit of fight in you to answer the phone. But if the phone call ended and he didn’t call back...then you’d really be done and let everything be.

Your ringtone died and you held your breath, waiting.

There was a long pause. Nothing.

Maybe he'll give up. Maybe he’s sick of all this too.

Expect—the phone rings again. Namjoon was still fighting for you.

So you pick up your phone, press the answer button, and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

…

♪ Loving you was easy once upon a time. But now my suspicions of you have multiplied. And it's all because you lied. ♪

…

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I......I didn’t think you would actually pick up the phone.”

“Neither did I…”

Silence is a funny thing. It’s nothing, and everything at the same time. Somehow the emptiness is still able to fill a void. Nothing is said aloud, but a thousand words are said in the silent space between you and Namjoon. It’s probably only been a few seconds, but it feels like minutes have gone by, or maybe even hours. In those moments of suspended time you decide you don’t want to listen to anything coming from him. Not even this silence.

It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts. “Don’t hang up!”

His voice is rushed, desperate…..and soothing. Though you’ll never admit that you miss the sound of his voice. Your intellect tells you not to listen. To block him out. Hang up the phone, and move on with your life, you don’t need anything from him...Maybe that was true. But underneath all the hurt, and the deeply buried anger, there was a part of you that wanted something from him.

What that something was you couldn’t tell, but it was enough to make you linger.

When you didn’t hang up, Namjoon spoke. “I called you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for months now.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” His voice was strangled, raw. If you didn’t know any better you would think him to be holding back tears. But you couldn't even remember the last time you saw Namjoon cry.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready to talk. Everything isn’t always about you.”

You can hear Namjoon take in a breath on the other side of the line and you imagine him clenching the phone in a fist, the way he always does when he makes an important phone call. The silence stretches on for a beat too long and you’re two seconds away from hanging up again when he speaks. “I don’t wanna fight. I didn’t call to argue with you.”

His words are soft, yet you still find yourself on edge. “Then what do you want, Namjoon?”

“I want to see you.”

“No.” You said, shaking your head. Not gonna happen. You find yourself pacing against the kitchen floor. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Why not?”

His words are a match, igniting your fury and immediately all of the anger you worked so hard to keep suppressed comes bubbling up to the surface. “Why not? Are you serious?!”

“After everything you’ve done you really think I wanna see your sorry face again?” Tears filled your eyes—but you were frustrated—not sad. You were letting him get to you. Namjoon always made you feel too much. You knew you’d get worked up if you talked to him, it’s why you put it off for so long. You worked too hard to try and keep yourself together for him to tear you apart again.

You want this to end. “I have nothing to say to you. Goodbye, Namjoon--”

You take the phone from your ear, ready to press end call, and you would have, if you didn’t hear his faint voice through the speaker say: “If you feel anything for me at all, don't hang up!”

You can’t do it. Hang up. You won't lie to yourself. But you can’t force out a response either. Instead, you lean against the counter, letting the silence take over as you wait for Namjoon to form his next sentence. “I don’t blame you for wanting nothing to do with me. I didn’t call you to make you upset. I just want to talk about us.”

Us. What a foreign concept. You try picturing it in your mind but no matter what, you still can’t form a full image with the two of you together. You’d been apart for so long, and if you really thought about it, the separation began long before you ever left home.

“There hasn’t been an us for a long time. I tried to talk to you before—look what happened. I’m tired Namjoon. I just—I can’t keep doing the same thing over, and over again.”

“It’s not going to be the same.”

You frown. “How can you say that?”

“Because...I’m not the same. I’ve had a lot of time to think things over. I know I fucked up (Y/n), I’m so sorry.” You scoff at his poor attempt at an apology. “I’m supposed to accept that? You think you can just call me up, apologize over the phone, and everything will be okay?”

“No, of course not.” You hear him exhale sharply. “I know it’s going to take more than that. But it’s not gonna get better if we don’t talk about it. We can’t move forward if we don’t talk.”

“What makes you think I want to move forward?”

“You didn’t hang up…”

You hate that he’s right. You want to pretend like it didn’t mean anything but it did. It would be so much easier to just let it go—to let him go. Beyond all reason, you’re still hanging on to this relationship.

“Can we just talk, please. Just...just come home.”

“That’s not my home. It’s not. So much shit has happened in that place…” Your voice cracked and you couldn’t even finish your sentence.

How could you call that place home? Nothing felt right there. All it held were bad memories. Thinking of it only brought back the nights you spent alone, those times you cried yourself to sleep, and the worst fight you ever had with Namjoon. There was no peace there. You couldn't go back to that broken place. You feel a tear roll down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. This time you knew the tears you cry come from pain, not frustration.

Dammit, I said I wouldn’t cry for him anymore!

“It is your home. It’s our home. You can come back anytime.”

“I don’t want to!”

“Okay, okay.” he said, his voice gentle. It was the same voice he used to use when he used to talk you down from your bad days. You could tell he was trying to calm you down, and it made you angry that it was kind of working. He suggested an alternative: “You don’t have to come home. Let’s just meet up somewhere.”

You don’t want that either. “Namjoon...Do you have any idea what you put me through?...W-why would I want to see you? Why would I want to hear anything you have to say?”

“I..I don’t have an answer to that. But I know you deserve an explanation.”

That made you quiet. These past months all you did was ask yourself why. Why did he do it? What reason did he have for breaking your heart? And there were so many more questions. You knew you wouldn’t get any peace of mind until they’re answered. It was what you wanted. No, needed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it,” You conceded. “Where should we meet up?” You were not going ‘home’. You don’t feel comfortable there. There was a lull on the other line as Namjoon thought of a location.

“Can we meet at our place?”

. . .

You knew exactly what Namjoon meant when he said “our place”. When the two of you first started dating, it was really hard for you to be together. You work as a stylist at a fashion magazine and you met him and the other boys while working at a photoshoot. Namjoon caught your eye with his intuitive gaze and cool persona. He spoke to everyone on set with a natural esteem you found attractive. You were so surprised when you actually got the chance to speak to him and he turned out to be nothing like he appeared.

Gone was the calm, collected image you saw in front of the camera. Namjoon stuttered when he asked for your name, his cheeks bloomed into a rosy red. His nervousness charmed you, and in that moment, somehow you knew you would end up falling for him hard.

It didn’t take very much for you to give him your number. But finding a spot to go on a date with the famous rapper proved a bit more difficult. You never liked the idea of sneaking around, but you understood why. Namjoon wanted to keep things private to protect you, just in case the news of him dating didn’t go well with the public. For a long time it seemed like there was never going to be a place where Namjoon wasn’t recognized.

All the face masks and hats in the world couldn’t hide his fame. You grew tired of being swarmed in coffee shops and restaurants. You just wanted a place where you could talk, maybe hold his hand, and be at peace. Ironically, you found it when you stopped looking. It ended up not even being in a building, but instead an empty park.

Its lush greenery held quiet beauty. Not very many people knew about it, which made it perfect.

Some of the biggest conversations you ever had as a couple were spoken out here, and today was no different.

You walk up to a table nearby, tugging on the hem of your white summer dress. Fidgeting like this makes you feel stupid. You shouldn’t be nervous. If anyone should be nervous for today’s meeting it would be Namjoon. But ever since you agreed to see him, a bad feeling formed in the pit of your stomach. You didn't want to be nervous. You didn’t feel like you’d make it out of this alive if you were. You had to be steel. Strong, unbreakable. You couldn’t allow yourself to get hurt again.

It did not surprise you to see him there early. He was the type of person who liked to be punctual. Or at least he used to be. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t the same person you married. You didn’t know anything about him. Hell, after the last few months you were still trying to figure out some things about yourself.

Under the shade of the table's umbrella, Namjoon sits, bouncing his leg up and down. The only other time you’d seen him this nervous was during BTS’s first dome concert. His head faces down, staring at the ground with a look so intense he doesn’t even notice you approach him. The daze is broken once you sit down on the bench.

Namjoon jumps up, eyes wide as he looks at your face. “Y-you came?!”

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes. Obviously...you thought.

He clears his throat, quickly sitting back down. “Thank you.”

For a while you just look at each other. You have to calm your heart as you take in his appearance. He’s just as handsome as you remembered. But something was different. He changed his hair. His silver locks were now a honeyed blonde. The warm glow of his skin had disappeared. And his once bright eyes now hold dark circles underneath them. He looked like shit, but you were still attracted to him, what logic was that?

The air tenses with silence, the way it always seems to do when you’re around him now. This is a mistake. Neither of you know where to begin. You hate it, but you know this conversation will never get anywhere if you don’t initiate it. “You said you wanted to explain. So explain.”

Namjoon looks tense. “I-i don’t even know where to start.”

That irritates you. You came all this way, and he didn’t even plan what he was going to say?

“What about the beginning?”

Namjoon sighed. He licked his lips, folded his hands, and then he did it. He told you everything. He told you about his anxiety, and the loneliness he felt. The desire to make it all fade away even for just a few moments. How he almost came clean the first time around. And the guilt that festered inside him for keeping the secret for so long.

“I wanted to tell you. But I knew I couldn’t tell you I cheated and keep you I—” Namjoon stopped. He looked away from you, biting down hard on his bottom lip before returning his gaze to yours.

“I was selfish. And I was wrong. There is no excuse for what I did. I’m so sorry, (Y/n).”

Your lips parted in shock. Going into this situation, you expected things to go a whole lot different. You expected him to try and defend himself, or at least blame you for the reason he cheated…but that wasn’t happening. Namjoon wasn’t trying to justify what he did, but instead taking full responsibility for his actions. Those words weren’t coming from the same man you walked away from. That man was filled with too much pride to even acknowledge his own actions—let alone apologize for them.

His actions surprised you. It was almost enough to make you drop your guard. Almost.

“I know you have questions. I’ll answer anything you ask me honestly, I swear.”

You paused. This is the moment you've been waiting for, and now that it was finally here you didn't know what to say. There were so many questions you wanted to ask. But you want to be sure you'll ask the right questions. And that you're prepared to hear the answers. Once you got the information you were dying to hear, you couldn't give it back. You’d have to live with it.

Finally, you spoke. “How’d you do it? How’d you keep this a secret for so long?”

“I kept a second phone hidden.”

The answer came with some relief. You knew you weren’t crazy, that there was some secret method to his deceit. The idea had come once or twice to go through his phone, but you knew Namjoon would never be that messy. “Did anyone else know?”

He nodded once, and a wave of aggravation rippled through you. “Some of the members knew.”

“Are you serious?” You laugh, but the sound felt hollow coming from your lips. “They must think I’m so stupid….”

“You know they don’t think that, they love you.”

You grimaced. Yeah, right. “Not enough to let me know the truth.”

Briefly you wondered which members knew and what kept them from coming to you, but you tried to push those thoughts away. You came here with questions for Namjoon. Nothing else mattered.

“Was it emotional?” You asked. “Did you love her?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. No, it was just physical. They didn't mean anything to me.”

All the blood in your body went cold. “They?”

Namjoon opens his mouth. Then closed it again. “Shit.” He hoped to leave that part out of this meeting. A part of him knew it wouldn't be fair to you but would the truth really be any better?

“.....There was more than one girl?”

He ran a hand down his face then nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Yes.”

Through gritted teeth you ask, “How many?”

You wait for an answer but this time Namjoon keeps quiet. “You said you'd answer anything.”

“I know—”

“So that was a lie?”

“No.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Then why won't you tell me?”

Namjoon tensed, jaw clenching. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You narrowed your gaze on him. “Well it’s too fucking late for that don’t you think? ‘Honestly’, huh? You’re so full of shit Namjoon. Being honest means telling the whole truth. All of it!”

“How many?” You press. Part of you is afraid of the answer but you still need to know.

You wait, staring him down but Namjoon looked away. He can’t say it looking you in the eye, instead he buries his face in his hands then mutters out the word three.

“Three?” You repeat.

You lean back from him, gripping the edge of the table. It felt like the world was spinning around you. Wow. Three girls. Three different girls.

Sensing your distress Namjoon quickly added. “They're just girls. They don’t matter.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept that for an answer. “Of course they matter. You made a choice to go to them, instead of me. I have to know why. What did they have that I didn’t?”

“Everything.”

Ouch, okay. You close your eyes as the pain from that statement washes all over you. The pain you feel isn’t new, but familiar. Like reopening an old wound. But Namjoon isn’t finished. Before you can even process his words he speaks again. “They were selfish, demanding, and manipulative...the complete opposite of you.”

You feel your brows pull together. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? The fact that all the women you slept with are somehow lesser than me?”

Namjoon looks confused and hurt. “(Y/n), I don't know what you want from me. I can’t change the past, all I can say is I’m sorry.”

For so long all you wanted was for him to apologize. Really apologize. No excuses, no bullshit. But now that you finally heard it, sorry just didn’t feel like enough. Instead his words make you feel empty inside. Sorry, isn’t enough to stay. You want to leave now.

Clearing your throat, you got ready to go. “I don’t know what to say to that and I don’t have anymore question so—”

“Can I ask you a question?”

You huffed out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Why did you leave? You said you'd never leave me.”

You feel yourself flush with frustration. “And you said you'd never cheat on me. Promises mean nothing. Words, mean nothing. The only thing that matters is how you act.”

“Besides,” You said, looking away from him to the beautiful summer landscape. “You didn't try to stop me. It's like you didn't even care.”

“Of course I cared. I made a mistake—”

Standing up, you slam your hands down on the table. “It was not. A mistake! Oh my god! How can you still not get it? Cheating is a choice! You made a choice! You think I didn’t get lonely all those nights I spent by myself? You think you’re the only man who’s ever approached me???”

“Of course not—”

“No. Of course not! Because I’m a catch, Namjoon.” Not caring how loud you get, you raise your voice. “I am kind, I am smart, I am ambitious, I am beautiful. You had to be out of your fucking mind to cheat on me!” You said, pressing your index finger against your temple.

You’re crying now, hot tears streaming down your face.“Why can’t you see that? Everyone else can.”

It’s the only question that goes unanswered. Namjoon stares at you, eyes glistening, but he doesn’t say a word.

“I can’t do this,” You wiped at your wet face frantically, standing up to leave.

(Y/n), please.” Namjoon moved to stop you but you ripped out of his grasp.

“I have to go.” You say reaching for your bag, ready to walk away from him, from your marriage, and all the hurt he just laid at your feet.

Love Drought

♪ Nine times out of ten, I'm in my feelings. But ten times out of nine, I'm only human. Tell me, what did I do wrong? Feel like that question has been posed. I'm movin' on.

. . .

You haven't seen Namjoon but that doesn’t stop you from thinking about him.

You think about him almost every single day. What was he doing? How was he moving on without you? Was he moving on at all, or was he just sitting around somewhere...waiting for you to come back?

All these questions only fueled your anxiety and your determination to stay as far away as possible from Namjoon. If you didn’t see him, if you went away...Then those questions would go away too, right? You were going for the whole ‘out of sight out of mind thing’. But it wasn’t working. Because even though you said you were done—Namjoon still had pieces of you. Literally. Your things still remained untouched at the house.

You meant it when you said you didn’t want to go back home. But you needed to come get your belongings. It takes all of your strength to make the drive over without stopping to throw up, or cry. Stepping inside the place where your marriage died was the last thing you wanted to do on your day off. You put off the inevitable for months but it’s time now, you’re moving on, and you’re moving out.

So why was it so hard for you to move past the front door?

You stood there, frozen at the threshold. Heart aching at the thought of what you’re about to do. Fuck (Y/n), you cursed at yourself.You’re a grown ass woman, you can do this. Get in there. It was dead quiet in the house, as you hoped. You’re too much of a coward to call Namjoon and let him know you’re coming to take the last of your things. Couldn’t even text him. No message you typed out felt right. Anything you had to say you already told him. At this point, you both know your marriage is at its end. All you can do is pray that he won’t be there the same time you are. It’s why you chose to come in the evening. Namjoon wouldn’t be home until very late at night because of his schedule. It would give you enough time to get most of your things packed up.

Bawling your hands into fists you gripped your door key tightly, slid it in the keyhole, and unlocked the door. You take two steps inside, close the door behind you, and it feels as though you’ve stepped through time. It’s like nothing’s changed. You don’t quite know what you were expecting. You didn’t have any expectations coming over, but now looking at the space before you, you decided this isn’t it.

The house isn’t spotless, but it’s tidy, neat. In stark contrast from the last time you were here, and the fit you threw. Somehow you expected the house to look exactly in that state: broken. But nothing’s really changed. Soon your feet take on movement of their own, walking you towards the bedroom. Being back in that room is strange. It's almost as if you never left him at all. The sunset pools through the window, drowning the bed in light that looks like honey. The space has the essence of your home. The only difference you feel now is the emptiness. You spent many nights home without Namjoon but it never felt like this.

This time you’re really all by yourself. You don’t live in the same house anymore, but you're not completely alone living off your bestfriends couch. It’s been years since you’ve remembered what it feels like to be without a partner. You wondered...This emptiness...Is this what it would feel like to live without Namjoon?

You swallow down a sob, trying not to drown in your loneliness and turn and walk into the closet. Remember why you're here. Get your things, you just have to make it through these next few minutes. You reminded yourself that the hard part, the confrontation (and the leaving) was already over. All you have to do now is pack.

Strange enough your heart still aches, though not in the way it did before. This is not the ache of betrayal. You truly believed that pain would never subside but it did. Not by time but by choice. You had to choose to let go of the anger and the hurt, choose to free yourself from resentment. No. This ache was something else entirely. But you couldn’t put a name to it.

You step inside your closet, eyes studying your hung up clothes and the suitcases hidden underneath them. Not wanting to spend any more time than needed here, you got on your knees and started pulling out suitcases, folding up clothes, and putting them away. It all went much quicker than you’d expected (you got most of your clothes out during the beginning of your separation). You were picking off hangers at the end of the closet when you came across a garment bag. The garment bag.

Right away you knew you shouldn’t. Only a masochist would unzip the garment bag to their wedding dress when they’re currently living apart from their husband. And yet, you still did it. Tentatively your fingers reached out to grab hold of the bag. You pulled it into your lap and slowly undid the zipper. Then you saw your wedding dress, and you melted. As your eyes traced over the lace detail the memories of that day flickered through your mind.

It wasn’t at all what you expected. When you were younger, you always dreamed of a big wedding, everything you've ever heard about in fairytales. You wanted it to happen early in the morning, in a beautiful church with stained glass windows, surrounded by all your friends and family. You expected there would be flowers everywhere, and something else, something special. The romantic in you hoped for doves or maybe butterflies. And your dress? Only the most regal ball gown would do as you walked down the aisle to the man of your dreams.

Of course, fantasies rarely become reality. The issue of privacy is important when marrying a celebrity. At the time, just getting married seemed impossible, let alone doing it big. With the group's growing fame and Namjoon’s busy schedule, how could you find the time to get married? Or find a venue where fans or media couldn’t find you? You’d have to plan every second, every detail. Nothing could be left up to chance. Both of you were so in love but also, so very stressed with the situation before you until Namjoon made a second proposal.

“Why don’t we just elope?” he asked.

It was late at night. You lay in the comfort of his arms, head resting on his chest and mere seconds away from blissful sleep, so it took you a full minute to process that sentence. You lifted your head to look into his eyes. “What?”

Namjoon smiled down at you, thumb rubbing slow circles against your back. “Let’s just do it. Get married, I mean. Who says we have to wait or plan? I love you. I wanna marry you now.”

You sat up in bed, propped yourself up on your arm, and searched his face. “Are you serious?”

You watched amused as he narrowed his sharp eyes at you in a mock glare. “Why would I joke about this? Of course I’m serious! Let’s do it.”

You looked at him hard for a minute, but when Namjoon didn’t flinch you knew he was for real. Then of course the panic kicked in. “Baby, what? Let’s do it? It’s not like we can just walk into a church and say ‘I do’ !”

“Technically, we can.”

You shook your head, “No. What about all the plans we’ve made? I already booked the venue, and our caterer—”

Namjoon rolled over onto his side, facing you. “So we’ll cancel. The date’s still months away, that's more than enough time to give notice that we’ve changed our minds.”

You laughed,, but your shaky breath came out like a scoff. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get those reservations?! That cathedral is wedding heaven! It is stained glass perfection. The wait time is usually up to a year. A YEAR. And our cake, it’s being made by Giovanni Bianchi—world renowned pastry chef—Giovanni Bianchi. It’s a seven-tiered baked dream. And you want me to cancel?”

To your disbelief Namjoon simply shrugged. “Do we really need all that?”

He reached out, taking your hands in his. He looked down, stroking them with his thumbs in an effort to soothe you. “Grand cathedral or not, as long as we’re together, I’m already in heaven. Our wedding will be perfect no matter where we are because we have each other. And the cake? Well, why would I need a dream cake, when I can have my dream girl?” He said, winking at you.

Your heart swelled at sweet words. As much as you wanted to roll your eyes you couldn’t help but smile. God, he was so cheesy. But isn’t that why you loved him? Still...you felt anxious. He might have melted your heart, but you weren’t fully convinced.

“Yeah okay, very smooth. What about our families? They’ve been looking forward to this so much. Our mothers will murder us!” You made a face, suddenly remembering your wedding party. “Oh the boys…..Jin will be so disappointed if he doesn’t get to be your best man” (you distinctly recalled him rejoicing at the news knowing he’d be “the most handsome” best man ever).

Namjoon brought your fingers to his lips and kissed the tips in between explanations. “It’s not about them”. Kiss. “Jin will get over it”. Kiss. “Our families will forgive us”. Kiss. “We’re not getting married for anyone else but us, we can do it however we want.”

You nodded your head in agreement, though you were still unsure. You knew all these things. Of course your marriage would be just for the two of you. You had no interest in simply performing the act for others approval. You loved Namjoon, you loved your relationship together, and you wanted to do what felt right for the both of you. Still, you couldn’t help but worry about the public’s opinion.

“What about your fans?” you asked. “What if pictures get out?” The whole point of all this planning was for privacy. The world knew BTS was dating, many fans suspected they had secret girlfriends, but a wife? How would they react to that? You didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all Namjoon and his image. You know how hard he and the rest of Bangtan worked to be respected in the music industry. What would happen if the world found out their leader was dating a nobody like you?

Namjoon looked you straight in the eyes, and spoke in a calm voice. “I don’t care. I’m not ashamed of loving you. Let the whole world see that I’m marrying the kindest, loveliest, soul I’ve ever known. I don’t care what they think, or what they say. I just want you. All I want is to be your husband, and for you to be my wife. Nothing else matters.”

You felt another wave of love pass over your heart. His sincerity stunned you. You glanced at him with glistening eyes. “Namjoon…Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He grinned at you, letting go of your hand to reach up and cup your cheek. “Are you done yet?” He teased. “Despite all your protests, I haven’t heard you say no…?”

You took a second to think through your conversation. Namjoon was right. You never said no, because as crazy as it was, you agreed with your fiancé wholeheartedly. You wanted this, you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, and you wanted to get married as quickly as possible. With a new resolve you shifted in the bed straddling him, then wrapped your arms around his neck. “Okay,” you said.

Namjoon raised both eyebrows up. “Okay!? Just like that? Anything else I need to assure you of? We have our marriage license. I have a tux. You already have your dress. I know you’re concerned but we have everything we need.”

You nodded. This time you were sure. “Let’s do it.”

Namjoon hesitated, then his face broke into a smile that was so bright it gave life to one of your own. In that moment you realized what you thought to be nerves earlier was really just excitement. You brought your hand to his shoulders, squeezing tight. “We’re getting married,” you whispered, voice full of awe.

“We’re getting married!” Namjoon echoed.

Before you knew it, you were walking down the aisle. You let him plan it all. You got married at night, in a small church, without stained glass windows. There was no big guest list, but neither of you could stand the thought of going through the ceremony completely by yourselves, so you allowed for your immediate family to be there (that included Yoongi, Hoseok, Jin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk). Flowers did not adorn every pew, but the space was illuminated by soft and warm candlelight. No butterflies or doves. It wasn’t like what you imagined in your head. Life rarely coincides with those kinds of plans. But Namjoon was right. Because you had each other, it was perfect.

In the end, the only part of your wedding that lived up to the fairytale was your dress. It was everything you wanted in a gown. All white with a sweetheart neckline, crystal embroidery and layers upon layers of tulle. The dress felt a bit heavy, but you can still remember the look on his face when he lifted your veil. In one glance, he made all that weight disappear. You felt lighter than air. “You look like an angel.” He whispered, voice sweet and low, so only you could hear. In that moment all you could feel was love.

So how did you end up here? Clutching your wedding dress on the closet floor, desperately wiping away tears. God, what a mess you are. You pushed out a breath and started shoving the white, fluffy fabric back into the garment dress. It was a mistake taking this out. You couldn’t get it back in again. Your fingers slip as you try to grip the zipper, and you can’t tell if it’s because of your sweaty palms or your wet tears, but it won’t budge. Why won’t it zip? You pull up hard, snagging the dress in its teeth.

Shit. Frustration flushes through you as you snatch the zipper back down only to hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing in the process.

You shut your eyes tight, shoulders slumping with defeat. When you opened your eyes again all you could see was the rip in the dress, threads straining and unraveling all at once. It looked as torn up as you feel inside. Part of you is falling apart at the idea of leaving Namjoon, pressured to leave all of this pain behind and let go of the relationship. Call it mind over matter. It didn’t make sense to stay with a man you had broken your heart and your trust. All logic told you to divorce him and never look back. You know this. And yet? There is a part of you aching to repair what’s been broken, pull out the sorrow from this home, and heal all the hurt.

You were so busy wrapped in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard the door unlock, or footsteps tread into the bedroom. From the corner of your eye you saw a glimpse of blond hair, wide brown shoulders. It was Namjoon. You couldn’t help the startled gasp that fell from your lips.

“(Y/n)”, he breathed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Namjoon kept his distance. He didn’t look at you and didn’t cross the threshold of the closet door, generously leaving space between you. Instead, his eyes were glued to the floor. “I saw your car out front, but I didn’t think it’d actually be you here.” He reached up a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just...confused.” Namjoon glanced up at you from underneath his eyelashes then slowly, his smokey eyes rose to meet yours. “Why are you here?”

“. . .” You faltered. Once Namjoon laid his eyes on you, you softened, even after all this time he had that effect on you. You were still consumed in thoughts about your marriage...feeling that again, you didn’t know what to think. You almost preferred it when you felt anger or pain at the sight of him. Instead you felt something else. You looked down at your lap, fingering the dress. Was it longing? You started again, making eye contact. “I came back to get the rest of my things.”

A look passed across Namjoon’s face but before you could identify it, it was gone. Namjoon nodded, looking away from your face. His gaze shifted to your hands. “Is...is that—”

“—My wedding dress? Yes.” You tried to think of an excuse, some reason for you having it out but nothing came to mind. You shrugged, settling for the truth. “I just wanted to look at it I guess.” Both of you ignored your tear stained face.

Namjoon bit his lip, the silence stretching between you until he said, “I’ll leave you to it,” and abruptly walked away. Finally alone you breathed out a sigh.

You felt a tinge of disappointment. And you were angry with yourself for it. You don’t know what you were hoping for, or what you wanted to get out of that conversation. What’d you expect? Did you really think after everything that he’d lower himself one last time and beg for you to come back? Again? The man you married you would have, but the man who cheated on you? No, he had too much pride. This wasn’t a romance movie where the couple fights and breaks up but somehow everything magically fixes itself and they get back together. It was really over.

The finality of it all stunned you. You sat there, numbing yourself to the pain for a minute. Then you striantened out your wedding dress, and zipped up the garment bag. This time it went up without a hitch. You were just getting up off your knees when Namjoon whipped back into the room, surprising you.

“I know you could care less about anything I have to say right now,” he began, raising a cautious hand. “You probably hate me, and I understand that. I hate myself for what I’ve done to you.” He looked up in thought then pressed his hands into his eyes. When his hands fell away you braced yourself for what came next. “I’m asking you for a second chance. I’m asking you for a second chance because I love you more than anything. You are the love of my life, and I’m sorry I forgot that. I know you don’t owe me anything, least of all your forgiveness.”

He stopped, voice thickening as he gulped down tears. “But I’m asking for it.”

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing I didn’t do everything to get you back.”

Tears filled your eyes. “Are you saying that, because you love me? Or are you saying that because you want me back?”

His gaze never wavered. “Both. I want you back, because I love you. Knowing you and loving you has been the biggest blessing in my life. I don’t regret it. I'd do it all over again, just to have you in my life. Even if it meant losing you. ”

All at once it hit you. That feeling, the one you struggled to identify when you held your wedding dress in your arms. It wasn’t longing. It was love. You were still in love with Namjoon.

And so you did the unthinkable. You kissed him.

Sandcastles

♪ We built sandcastles that washed away. I made you cry when I walked away, oh. And although I promised that I couldn't stay, baby. Every promise doesn't work out that way.

. . .

It only takes seconds for you to cross the space between and press your lips to his. For a moment, Namjoon doesn’t move—doesn’t even breathe. Then his arms wrapped around you, brought you flush against him and you melted in his embrace as he kissed you, his lips softer than ever. Deep down, you know you shouldn’t. It would be too painful to become wrapped up in Namjon again only to tear yourself away from him. But your body has a will of its own. When his tongue swept across your bottom lip, you parted for him like the red sea and every emotion you’d ever felt for him came flooding back.

Every kiss you’ve ever had, every whisper of “I love you,” all of it ignited in your mind the second Namjoon kissed you back in a moment so intense you felt your body tremble at his touch. His lips moved gently over yours while his hands came up to cup your cheeks, and before you know it, you find yourself in the middle of the most sensual kiss you’ve had in your life. Namjoon kissed you like he was hungry, tongue rolling into your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan, arching into his embrace.

It was shameful how your body responded back to him. You could feel your heart rate increase, the heat rushing to your cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted him like this. Your thoughts traveled back to the words that sparked your desire: “I want you back, because I love you. Knowing you and loving you has been the biggest blessing in my life. I don’t regret it. I'd do it all over again, even if it meant losing you.”

All this time you’d been fighting against your love for Namjoon, convinced any feelings he had for you were long gone. But everything he said proved otherwise.

It was confusing to you. You spent so much time thinking that Namjoon didn’t want you anymore, you’d even come to accept it but now? You didn’t know what to think. Your mind was screaming for you to pull away, stop before it went any further. That everything you were doing right now was wrong. Except, it didn’t feel wrong. It almost felt...good. Right.

The truth is you feel exactly the same. Despite everything you’d been through, you still loved Namjoon. He was the love of your life and you wished with everything in you that you could turn back the clock and start over. If what he said was true—if there was even a possibility of Namjoon still loving you, you needed to feel that.

Namjoon’s touch made you desperate. You found your hands tracing the planes of his body, running down his muscular arms before coming back up as you linked your arms around his neck. He kissed you deeper, groaning low in his throat, and the sound was enough to drive you wild. Even this close, you couldn’t get enough of him. All you could feel was the compulsive need for more. More of his touch. More of his kisses. More, more, more.

You could feel Namjoon’s body backing you up to the bed. Your knees hit the mattress and you allowed yourself to fall back against the soft sheets. But Namjoon didn’t fall with you. You opened your eyes, instantly giving way to panic. His pause alarmed you. Your anxiety reared its ugly head, speaking cruelty into your mind. How could you be so foolish? What were you thinking, kissing Namjoon? He didn’t actually want you. He was leading you on, playing with your feelings. That’s why he stopped.

You pulled yourself up, leaning your weight back on your elbows to look into his eyes. You expected to see cold rejection on his handsome face, but what you saw in his gaze wasn’t at all what you imagined. Instead, when you looked into his eyes, all you could see was raw, unfiltered desire. And strangely enough, uncertainty.

Namjoon had a million thoughts racing through his mind, all of them questions.

How did he end up here, with you spread across his bed when only minutes before you seemed worlds apart? The situation didn’t feel real, more like a fantasy, like he dreamed you up. But if this dream was real—if this dream was really coming true—should he let it?

Of course he wanted you. If you kissed him like this a couple of months ago, Namjoon wouldn’t hesitate to take you; he’d have his way with you until you screamed his name. But tonight, the last thing Namjoon wanted. He’d spent months craving your touch; the feel of your lips against his, how the heat of your body felt flush against his. He caused you enough pain acting on his lust. He didn’t want to hurt you further by taking advantage of the situation.

Both of you got caught in an emotional whirlwind but this kiss was a mistake, wasn’t it? He looked down at you, waiting for you to push him away but you didn’t make a move. Instead, you stared at him, desire burning in your eyes. God, that look alone was enough to arouse him. Still, he didn’t make any move to kiss you.

You took a moment to look at Namjoon, really look at him. Trying to uncover the emotion swirling behind his dark eyes. The longer you stared, the more you felt like your heart was going to burst from your chest. You could see his uncertainty but the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Was it insane to sleep with your soon to be ex-husband? Yes. Did it make you want it any less?

Not even in the slightest.

I must be losing my mind. You couldn’t explain it yourself, but kissing Namjoon opened up something in you. Feelings you didn’t know you still had swept all over you. Heat washed over your body. You could feel your skin flush, passion stirring in your blood.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice taut with apprehension.

Your body was practically screaming yes. But Namjoon’s hesitation made you pause.

Reading the confusion in your eyes, he quickly backtracked. “I’m not saying I don’t want to—believe me I do—I just don’t want you to do something tonight that you’ll regret in the morning.”

Your mind wasn’t there. That moment seemed so far off from the ever-present now and the rapid beating of your heart and the warmth of Namjoon’s body. You knew you had to make a choice. Yes or no. There was a small voice in the back of your head cautioning you against this. But tonight you were following your heart. Consequences be damned.

You looked up at him and nodded. “I want this.”

Namjoon leaned forward to kiss you, and you shivered at the feel of his lips against yours. This time, there was no hesitation. You couldn’t remember the last time Namjoon kissed you like this. Slowly, tenderly, like this kiss mattered. Like you mattered. Any inhibition you had melted away as you leaned into his touch. You felt yourself lower back down onto the bed. Namjoon’s hands passed over your body, slimming down your waist, before coming to rest on your thighs. You let them linger there, savoring the feeling of his hands on your body.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. You were so into the kiss, the feel of him you didn’t notice his hands pry off your clothes until you were left in only your underwear.

He stopped then, pulled away from your lips to look at you. Then the only thing you could feel on your body were his eyes drinking you in. The eye contact alone had you squeezing your thighs together. You watched the heat build in his dark gaze until his eyes lingered just a little too long, until your skin tingled all over from the intensity.

Then he was all over you, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Hands cupping your breasts. The feel of him against your thigh. It was an assault to your senses, but instead of overwhelming you, it only made you crave him even more. You arched your back as Namjoon kissed your collarbone, slowly making his way down the valley of your breasts. You moaned at the sensation of his tongue moving down your body, closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Namjoon,” You breathed, body humming with pleasure. He looked up from between your thighs, dark eyes connecting with yours for a split second. You watched as he hooked his fingers into your underwear and dragged them down your legs. Then he gave his complete attention to your body, licking a long strip straight down your center that had you moaning his name again.

Namjoon gripped your thighs firmly in his hands, pulling you closer towards him. He wanted you to know that this meant more to him than just sex, that he loved you, and that he was more than willing to show you just how much. He takes his time tasting you. Each lick languid and loving. He didn’t want to tease you, all he wanted to do was to please you. To touch you and erase the pain he caused--even if only for a second. Namjoon swirled his tongue across your clit. Once, twice, a third time, drawing sweet moans and gasps from your lips.

You couldn’t keep yourself quiet. It’d been so long since anyone touched you. Throughout everything, you still remained faithful to Namjoon. And even if you’d been with another, no one could ever make you feel like this. Have your toes curling, back arching. It was almost embarrassing how easily you melted under his touch. Some part of you still wondered how you could give in so easy. Shouldn’t you be feeling some resistance? All you felt was longing.

You found yourself rocking your hips against him, and crying out as his tongue delved deeper.

You wanted to bring your hands up to your face to muffle the sounds but before you could, Namjoon stopped you.

“Don’t,” he said. He took hold of your hands and threading his fingers through yours. All the while his tongue was still swirling against you, making lewd sounds that had you feeling hot.

You could feel your body heating up, the rise and fall of your chest coming faster and faster. When you felt him slide tongue inside you, pressing up against your sweet spot—it was enough to push you over the edge. You came, squeezing Namjoon’s hands tight.

Namjoon lapped up your juices, enjoying the taste of your slick on his tongue. Even then he didn’t stop, coaxing a second orgasm out of you with soft licks against your center.

“Joon,” you whimpered, body humming with oversensitivity. “Too much.”

Only then did he pull away, moving to place a tender kiss on the inside of your thigh. He sat up, and you rose on your elbows ready and willing to return the favor, but Namjoon gently pushed you back down on the bed, shaking his head.

“I just wanna be inside you right now,” he rasped.

God, you wanted that too. They way Namjoon ate you out had your body begging for more. You weren't going to argue with him.

Namjoon sat up and placed a hand around your neck, guiding you back to his lips. It started out slow. Soft, sweet kisses against your lips. It wasn’t until he slipped his tongue inside your mouth that he found himself suddenly desperate for you. Even more surprising was your reaction to him. You kissed him back with just as much fever, completely captivated.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. When you finally pulled away, you looked at each other, panting, the air thickening between you two. Namjoon’s dark eyes stared down at you with an intensity that pierced your soul. You knew he felt it too. This energy...There was still love between you. But you’d already made your decision. You wanted this moment, this passion but you couldn’t trust him with your heart and be sure he wouldn’t break it. I can’t fall for him again. I can’t. You wanted him badly but wanting him, and trusting him were two different things.

“Namjoon,” you started. Then stopped, trying to find the right words to explain. “This isn’t—I can’t—”

“—Stay? I know.” Namjoon knew what he was getting into the second you kissed him. He knew this was goodbye, and that it would hurt like hell come morning. He didn’t care. If only he could change the past, he’d take it all back.

But he couldn’t. The damage was already done. This was the last time he’d ever hold you in his arms again. If he could have you, even for this short time, he’d take what he could get. He wasn’t going to fuck it up trying to make this into something it wasn’t. He loved you too much to be selfish at this moment. If this were the last time, he would make it well worth your while.

“I just need tonight.”

Namjoon pulled you tighter against him, molding you against his body. Before making any sudden movement, he pulled back a little to look in your eyes, to make sure this was still what you wanted.

You cupped his cheek and kissed his lips, reassuring him. Then he aligned his cock against your entrance and pushed inside you with one smooth move. You tensed, freezing in his arms. The feeling of your walls clenched around him made staying still absolute torture. But Namjoon wouldn’t dare move.

You close your eyes and breathe out a shaky breath, familiarizing yourself with the burn of the stretch. He’s so thick it takes a minute for your body to adjust to the size. Though the sensation of Namjoon nuzzling into your neck helps turn the pain into pleasure. You hooked your leg around his waist nudging him forward.

The small act made both of you moan in unison. “Namjoon...please,” you breathed.

He moved, starting out with a pace that had your insides feeling molten. His hands gripped at your hips as he pulled out almost all the way, then slowly slid himself deep inside you. You were so wet, so tight he couldn’t help but groan. The feel of you taking all of him, giving him this pleasure and the look in your eyes...Namjoon was sure he’d never love another the same way.

This wasn’t just sex. Namjoon knew the difference now. What it really meant to be intimate with a partner. To share his body with someone not for a distraction or stroke his ego but for love. To draw closer with one another. This was it for him. You, it was always you. There would never be another. He started to rock into you, deep and slow, desperate to make you feel that.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself to the sensation. Needing more, you raised your hips to meet his thrusts and Namjoon took the hint, snapping his hips to meet yours faster. You cried out as he filled you again and again and again. Right now, you don't have to worry about future decisions. You didn’t have to think about all the conflicting feelings you had for this man.

Not that you could think about that anyways. Your senses were all wrapped up in how good Namjoon was making you feel. His pace was brutal just how you liked it, but his touch was nothing but kind. His hands trailed up to the small of your back keeping you close. Namjoon cupped your face as he kissed you; he only pulled away to rest his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. You’d slept with Namjoon before, but something about this time was different. If you didn’t know any better—you’d think he was making love to you. He was so strong, yet so loving. You wished he could be this way with you always.

You wanted to stay here, savor this moment. But Namjoon was grinding his hips against yours in a way that had you breathless. You were so close. “Namjoon, I—”

“Come for me,” he said.

Growling, he thrust harder against you and reached down between your bodies to rub your clit, driving you towards your orgasm. Your pleasure built inside you, sweeping over your body like a wave until it crashed and washed over you, sending tremors down your body.

Feeling you come apart in his arms, Namjoon slowed his thrusts. You clenched around him till pleasure flooded his senses and he came too, burying his face in your neck and moaning out your name.

The only sound heard throughout the room was panting as the two of you came down from your highs. Namjoon brushed your hair away from your face and ran his thumb across your cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice full of concern. He rolled off you and onto his side so as not to crush you but remained close, his skin flush against yours.

“Mhmm…” you hummed. You stared at the ceiling as your heart rate slowed back down. You were expecting to feel something. Regret...maybe relief?

You don’t know what you were hoping for. Maybe subconsciously you thought sleeping with Namjoon would help you come to some kind of resolution. A grand epiphany that would tell you what to do with your situation. But really you didn’t feel any different than you did before.

“What are you thinking about?”

You shake your head as if to shake all those thoughts out of your head. “Nothing.”

Namjoon didn’t press you, but the silent tension in the air gave you the impression that he wanted to ask for more.

You’ve never felt so divided. The ego in you wanted to walk away from it all. Say goodbye and cut your losses, no matter the cost. You made peace with leaving because you were so sure that Namjoon didn’t want you. You knew you couldn’t be with a man who had no love for you. But now, knowing that there was still love here. That he still cared, that you still cared. It changed things. You wanted it to work. But you weren’t sure if you could love him the same; there was always the issue of trust. How could you ever trust him again?

“I’m sorry,” said Namjoon. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

You turned to face him then, lying on your side. “It was what it wanted and now…” You trailed off, lost to your thoughts again. You had to think about it. Dig deep and really question what it was you were searching for.

“Now what? What do you need?” His expression was torn but honest.

So you asked for what you really wanted out of him. You asked for the truth.

“I need you to tell me everything.”

. . .

And he does. That night, as you bathe together, he finally tells you the truth. The whole truth.

When the sweat on your skin dried and became sticky, Namjoon ran a bath. You both got inside the clawfoot tub and sat on opposite sides, bodies intermingling as you faced each other. It was thick with quiet as the bath filled up with heated water.

At first, Namjoon hesitated. You could tell he wanted to spare your feelings. So he gave you the truths in little bits. Pieces of information you could swallow, like the names of his past lovers, and when each act happened. Then slowly, bigger chunks that had you holding your breath as you processed the facts of his betrayal. He told you about it all. About the weakness, the desperation, and the loneliness he felt on tour. The need to be touched and seen–really seen–by someone. Even if that someone wasn’t you. How one bad decision turned into two, turned into three. And the guilt. The guilt that accompanied the deception that rose and rose like high flames, eating him up inside.

By the time Namjoon’s done speaking, the water’s gone lukewarm, and your fingers were pruned, yet neither of you gets out of the bath. You let Namjoon bring you to close, till your back's up against his chest. He lathers his hands, and you let his calloused palms wash the pain away. Till the only thing you feel is his light touch. You repeat this action to him, stroking his skin with absolute ease. Then, and only then do you step out of the water. Namjoon drapes a fluffy white towel over your shoulder and wraps it around you.

He looks you in the eyes, and tells you that you're the only woman he’s ever loved. The only woman he would ever love. And you believe him.

. . .

That night, you lay down beside him exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion that comes from lack of sleep or a long day at work. Not the weariness that leads to nights of deep slumber–no–this is the weariness that puts stress on your heart. The kind that leaves you feeling drained. Empty. Beside you, Namjoon sleeps, but you’re wide awake.

Every nerve in your body is begging for rest. But it’s your heart keeping you up tonight.

Heart over mind, mind over matter. You're split in both directions. Wanting to stay, and wanting to go. You told yourself that you were leaving. Walking away from it all.

But something felt wrong.

Everything was already moving in one way, but your heart was starting to face another. You still hadn’t made up your mind.

You lay in bed with your eyes closed and remembered the first time you left. Before you knew the truth, before you knew anything really, except for the fact that you didn’t want to live in a lie. You packed your bag and drove to Jackson’s, but you couldn’t make it through the night without breaking down and calling your mom. You spilled your heart to her, and she heard you, even through all the tears. You called to get everything off your chest, but you were also searching for answers. You were desperate for her to give you some kind of sign of what you were supposed to do or an out, but she didn’t.

“Do you remember when you were little, and you used to make sandcastles at the beach?” she asked. “You used to love playing in the sand. Barely even went in the water. You spent all day just creating something, building your own world.”

It caught you off guard. You were so shocked that for the first time in hours you stopped crying.

The memory was hazy in your mind, but you could still picture those summer days filled with warm golden sun, and the salty sea air.

“Some days as the sun set, the tide would come in and wash away everything you worked on. And you’d cry. Cry your little heart out. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to pick you up, and hold you in my arms, comfort you. But you were at that age where you needed to start learning how to comfort yourself. So I let you cry. And after you’d got out all your tears, sometimes you’d start over. Dig your hands into the sand and start building all over again. Make something new. And sometimes you’d give up, walk away and come sit by me.”

“Yeah mom I remember...but, what does that have to do with anything?”

“You built your marriage with Namjoon on a foundation of love, faith, and trust. That’s your sandcastle. And now that trust has been washed away you don’t know what to do, and you're crying out for me. Baby, I love you, but you’re gonna have to make this decision for yourself. I can’t make it for you. Whatever you decide, I will be right behind you, supporting you. If you want to stay and find a way to be together I will be here. If you want to divorce him I’ll be here for that, too. But you have to decide.”

You let her words sink in. You knew she was right. But you were so frustrated, so overwhelmed you burst into tears again. “How am I supposed to decide? It’s so hard to know what choice is right.”

“I don’t–I don’t want to make a mistake…” You said through sobs.

“(Y/n), the only thing worse than staying or going, is you holding your breath and being indecisive. You have to make a choice. Decide.”

You couldn't think of how to act on your mother’s advice back then, but in the present, you understood. You squinted in the dark and looked at the time. The clock on your nightstand reads 5:22 AM in bold red letters. You hadn’t even realized you’d been up all night with your thoughts.

You looked over at the man causing you this great affliction. Pale moonlight streamed through the window illuminated his heart-shaped face. You once thought of him to be a monster, but he wasn’t. He was just human. And for once, you finally sorted your feelings about him. You weren’t in limbo anymore.

You knew your decision:

Leave him | Choose him

#bts fic #bts scenario #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon scenarios #reader x namjoon #my fics.🍪#poc reader #songfic #fic: promises

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doctorprofessorsong · 1 year

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carving deep blue ripples by dothraki_shieldmaiden @dothwrites (Explicit, 85k)

I am a sucker for Stanford Era Dean and a creature Cas fic, so this one feels tailormade to my interests.

Dean finds himself hunting alone after his Dad sends him away with the Impala. It was bad enough when Sammy walked out the door, but now his own Dad has sent him away. But Dean’s a hunter, so that's what he's gonna do. A chance encounter with Cas, another hunter, evolves into a partnership and, perhaps, if Dean can just let go, something more. But Cas has a secret that threatens to tear them apart.

This one has great mythology, top tier monsters and so much delicious pining. Dothraki_shieldmaiden manages to incorporate so much delicious canon into this adjacent fic that you will be gnawing at the walls. Seriously buckle up. It's a great ride.

Heavyweight by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) @valleydean (Explicit, 206k)

Look, Mallory has the unique ability to write versions of Dean and Cas that crawl into your brain and set up residence, but these particular ones are just *chef's kiss* perfection. Deeply unwell over each other, off-putting and sometimes objectively terrible and yet I love them to my bones.

Set in the 1920s against the backdrop of the golden age of boxing, Dean is a light heavyweight champion looking to make his name in the heavyweights. But the reappearance of his secret ex, Cas, threatens everything. Cas left town under the cloud of a scandal. Left DEAN. And now he's back to try and restore his name.

The pining. The push and pull. There were times where I thought a happy ending was impossible but she did it. She really really did. There’s horny sparring. There are suits and fancy prohibition Era parties. There are VIBES. Seriously this one is just so freaking good.

When I Knew You by FriendofCarlotta and xfancyfranart @friendofcarlotta , @xfancyfranart (Explicit, 54k)

Time travel love stories are tricky and sometimes they hit for me (as you can probably guess from my name) while sometimes the don't. This one was an absolute homerun. Dean and Cas are both so deeply lonely and there is this sense of desperate intensity that is woven through the story that will male you feral.

Dean's working to try to put together the cracked pieces of his life after the one two punch of losing his dad and his business. But he's off to a rocky start when he learns that the prior owner of his new house died suddenly.

Even stranger, a shimmering light appears in his living room and suddenly he finds himself face to face with the guy, somehow having traveled to the past. In stolen moments, they discover that maybe happiness isn't as elusive as it felt. But the time is ticking. Can Dean save Cas from his fate, and if so, what will happen to them?

Dean Winchester and the Stolen Tupperware by MalMuses @malmuses (Explicit, 35k)

It's been a hot minute since this one came out and you may have already heard about it as a result, but this fic is just a fluffy, pure delight.

Cas is a single, nerdy professor whose idea of a wild Saturday night is watching dashing Dean Winchester, a real life Indiana Jones type adventurer archeologist, on YouTube. Dean is looking for some stability and just hoping to find a place to establish a career that doesn't involve constantly traveling. Sparks and awkward cuteness fly when they meet.

This one is perfect for a low angst love story. Also, Dean and Cas will make you deeply fond (and Meg in this fic can step on me).

Night at the Impala Theater by Speary @spearywritesstuff (Explicit, 52k)

It's difficult to explain what is so great about this fic without revealing more than I want to about the plot because there are some delightful and twisty bits. Suffice to say, it's a fun ride not just because of Dean and Cas, but the really fun side characters (Especially Rowena, my beloved, who is amazing and witchy).

The story revolves around Dean, a lonely guy running the family business - a historic movie theater he inherited from his Dad. But his life is changed when he finds a mysterious film series on his doorstep. The film noir flick follows a smoldering PI named Castiel. For some reason Dean can't get enough of the movies. And yet, all attempts to track down any information about the series is frustratingly bare. Where will his obsession lead? Not telling. Go read it. :)

torture is your name on my lips by theseancequeen @theseancequeen (Explicit, 4.6k)

This fun little one-shot smutty yet emotional fic explores a world where Demon Dean summons Cas after years of separation and they hook up while both lying about the depth of their feelings. It's a magnificent blend of angst, softness and need that ends on a deeply satisfying and surprisingly hopeful note.

Scorched Earth by AmberXBoone @amberxboone (Explicit, 155k)

Distraught over confirmation that his father intentionally started the fire that killed Mary Winchester (and nearly Dean and Sam), and then used his position as a police officer in a corrupt system to cover it up, Dean decides to give John a taste of justice by burning him in his home. He's a murderer and he fully expects to pay. But a chance meeting with burnt out DA Castiel Novak changes both of their loves forever and suddenly they have something to fight for. Can they take down the corrupt system or will Dean be locked away?

The plot of this fic alone is a ride. But what really brings this one home is the impeccable use of canon characters. I love these versions of them all so much. And it's truly a delight to see everyone join together to fight the corruption and save Dean (whether he deserves it or not cause he definitely doesn't think he deserves to be saved). The fic is also broken up into short chapters which makes it super readable if you are the type who picks things up for one scene and then puts it back down (could never be me I binged it like i was on fire myself but I admire it).

The premise is dark, but it's the light moments that make this fic really shine.

Check out my other fic recs at @riversrecs

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic rec #destiel fic recs #deancas fic rec #deancas fic recs #spn fic rec #supernatural #spn

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jilliannotfound · 3 years

Note

prepare for a long ask (i’m sorry)

my brain is very full so hear me out-

dream smp casino/mafia au-

now i was at first thinking Kinoko kingdom (karlnapity) are the owners of the casino cause yk Las Nevadas Quackity but then i remembered “Syndicate” (by Derivakat) which has a jazzy vibe and was like, what if the Syndicate was a mafia ‘family’ that ran a casino and reader is their star performer who starts off every night with a performance of “Syndicate”. reader’s performance is used to kinda establish the Syndicate’s power over the casino and to remind the patrons anything they do will be under the scrutiny of a mafia with literally two of the most renowned mafiosos’ (Philza whose reputation of traveling all over and taking down many a mafia family precedes him and Technoblade who has taken down mafia families singlehandedly) in the city, maybe even the entire country.

the Eggpire is like a rival mafia that is trying to take control over the city so it isn’t uncommon for them to try and infiltrate the Syndicate casino. so i was thinking, what if the people who are Pro-Omlette (but not in the Syndicate so Puffy, Foolish (since it’s not confirmed he’s part of the Syndicate), Awesamdude and Eret) are staff at the casino. they were each like a lone agent after their mafia family split up/they left and decided to join forces with the Syndicate to make sure the Eggpire didn’t gain total control of the city. Maybe Sam is a bodyguard stationed either outside the casino or manning security cameras switching with Puffy, Eret can be like a stage manager/backstage to aid the performers and make sure no one sneaks into the dressing rooms or the light control area backstage and Foolish is like a bartender keeping an eye out on the main floor of the casino for any activity.

Dream was the former head of the well-renowned Dream Team mafia family until the family split. he’s notorious for breaking apart mafia families before disappearing into the night and traveling to a new city. occasionally he’ll hire some aid but they never last long.

Ponk used to be an on-sight medic for the casino in cause of bar fights or performers getting injured on stage but after many rumors (later confirmed to be true) of him being a member of the Eggpire he was fired and not allowed to enter the premise of the casino again.

Kinoko Kingdom was a rival casino/mafia family to the Syndicate’s but they’ve decided to have a truce to make sure Dream and/or the Eggppire don’t take over their city. Their casinos have different vibes with the Syndicate’s being more of a hub for mafia and business activity with jazzy music on the constant and famous for civilized and tame yet very entertaining entertainment whilst Kinoko’s casino is like more of a rowdy type casino, famous for high stake bets, drinks with high alcohol content and lively music and entertainment that can be seen as a bit too glitzy and tacky. Like you go to Syndicate casino for a night of business deals and building yourself up to the top, the type of casino you would bring your boss to, whilst the Kinoko casino is the type of casino you go to let loss and risk it all with cheap entertainment and even cheaper booze. their truce works out because their casinos are so different that competition wouldn’t be worth the cash (and the Syndicate knows they can easily take on the Kinoko mafia in a fight but shhhh)

there’s multiple places a reader character could fight but as a primarily Technoblade simp at heart i had to put reader as a performer in the Syndicate casino-

~🦫Anon (if this title isn’t already taken-)

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕖

DSMP x Reader (in-game)

Summary: Request

Warnings: None?

A/N: Okay… I have a few important things to say. First of all, this story is not completed. This request is so genuinely good and I have been trying to work on it for far too long and have had very little success. With that being said I still want to publish the small bit of this story that I’m proud of.

Second of all, I would like any other dsmp writers on this platform to feel free to take this request and perhaps do with it what I wasn’t able to. If you write this story, please tag me because I’d love to see what you do with it. You can also use this bit I have written and am sharing to start off your own version of the story (just give proper credit)!

With all of that out of the way, please enjoy!

—

The Syndicate. One of the highest-end casinos in the country, and certainly the most powerful, being run by two of the best-known mafiosos.

Philza was best known for his travel, being able to track down anyone anywhere and take care of them.

Technoblade was easily the scariest man you could meet. He’d single-handedly taken down more mafia families at the age of 21 than most senior-aged mafiosos could even dream of.

It was rare to see either of the men in the casino, let alone to see them together, so when the pair came through the doors with power in their steps everyone knew something serious was in order.

They took their seats at the bar as Foolish prepared their drinks and Eret directed the casino's attention to the stage.

This performance was a nightly occurrence, the same jazzy tune came from the band's instruments as Y/N emerged from the curtain.

Hey, I'll tell you a little secret of mine

If you promise not to tell, if you have the time

Everyone has gotten you, always on the run

But if you join the Syndicate

Life could get a little more fun

It was the song of the casino, used to remind everyone just how much power it holds.

When all of the horses and all of the men

Won't learn from history, it's all the same in the end

I've told you once and I'll tell you again

The Syndicate is looking for a couple new friends

It reminds the patrons of the casino that no matter what they do, the Syndicate is always watching, studying each of them in hopes of finding some new friends.

Fight for freedom, fight to end the pain

Hey, this is serious, it's not just some little game

'Cause the anarchy's part of me, tyranny bothers me

End it all properly once and for all

They call us the villains 'cause they know we'll take the fall

The members of the Syndicate were a force to be reckoned with, composed of strong fighters and quick thinkers constantly working to take down anyone that dare stand in their way.

The Eggpire was their current concern. Run by a man named BadBoyHalo, the Eggpire was a whole other breed of mafiosos.

They preached about the Egg, whatever the hell that was supposed to be, and always wore a signature red color that made them easy to spot. Sometimes you could even swear there was a red glint in their eyes when talking about it.

After the incident with Ponk, their old medic that got caught up in the red whirlwind, the Syndicate became extra wary of the Eggpire, willing to do just about anything to take them down.

This is exactly why the two most powerful men were sitting together at the Syndicate’s bar with their eyes locked on the stage.

Fight for freedom, fight to end the pain

Hey, this is serious, it's not just some little game

'Cause the anarchy's part of me, tyranny bothers me

End it all properly once and for all

They call us the villains 'cause they know we'll take the fall

When all of the horses and all of the men

Won't learn from history, it's all the same in the end

I've told you once and I'll tell you again

The Syndicate is looking for a couple new friends

Oh, a couple new friends

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh no, no

You'll gain a couple new friends

As the jazzy instrumentals faded out, Eret poked his head out of the curtain on the side of the stage, gesturing for the resident singer to come backstage.

Y/N smiled at the audience and walked through the velvet barrier to be greeted by the deep-voiced brunette.

“Did you see who’s out there tonight?” They asked him.

“That's why I called you, they wanna see you.”

Y/N took a deep breath and headed out onto the main floor.

They’d been part of the Syndicate for most of their life and knew they weren’t in any danger near Techno and Phil, but the anxiety still pounded in their head as they approached the men.

Y/N sat on the stool next to Technoblade and the two turned their stools to face them.

“Lovely performance!” Phil praised

They shot him a kind smile and braced themself for the inevitable harsh news that would follow the attempted small talk.

“We need you to do something.” Techno said bluntly. “You know Las Nevadas?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It was another casino ran by Kinoko Kingdom, another mafia family. They used to be considered one of the biggest threats to the Syndicate because they had quite literally appeared overnight and nobody knew anything. Once the Eggpire popped up though, it was safest to become fast friends with the three men that ran Las Nevadas in hopes of strengthening their forces against the red abomination infecting families all over.

“We had a meeting with Quackity and he’s got a bad feeling about some guests that have been stopping by their area. It’s a shitty casino, we all know that, but he thinks it’s more than just some random troublemakers.”

…

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yunkiwii · 3 years

Text

—i miss you even when you're here—

pairing: bf!seungmin x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, established relationship

wc: ~2.7k

warnings: feeling of abandonment, loneliness, stress, insecurities

⇢ requested by @leihey ♡ i hope this lives up to your expectations!

summary: for seven days y/n has been feeling lonely as her boyfriend spends all his time either at work or thinking about work.

You turn your alarm off without even looking at it, huffing before reaching your arm to the left side of the bed, and the way it lands straight out into the wrinkled sheets with a muffled sound confirms what you expected but still hoped wouldn't happen today - waking up alone.

For the past week Seungmin would get home late to a long asleep girlfriend at their shared bed, and a plate of cold food on the kitchen table. On the other hand, you would wake to an already empty bed and a faint memory of a forehead kiss, one you wondered if it were real or just a lucid dream.

For seven days you have spent your time either at work or alone at home, carefully thinking what meal would cheer up your boyfriend the most after a long stressful day at JYPE, missing the way he would always cut the onions because he knew you were more sensitive than him to the burning feeling in your eyes and would cry easily, missing how the kitchen always felt so small for the two of you to cook together, his hands constantly on your waist as a way to tell you to "scootch over", not wanting to interrupt his singing to tell you verbally.

For seven days you have been cooking alone, cooking for someone you didn't know would show up in time or not. And whenever he did - he didn't - being his presence merely physical, greeting kisses placed on your cheeks, lips and forehead in a mechanical way, a force of habit. For seven days your kitchen felt too big, too quiet and the onions made you cry more than usual.

At the eighth day you couldn't take it anymore, and when you heard the doorknob of your front door creaking, just as you were setting the table - for two -, you had to take three deep breaths, the words you had organized and planned out started to get mixed up in your brain, creating a mess you couldn't control anymore and so, as soon as you see Seungmin entering the kitchen you can only say three words, "I love you."

"I love you too, silly." he chuckles as his lips peck yours quickly, "Is that what you wanted to talk to me about so desperatly?", he waves his phone, referring to the text you sent him earlier. He didn't look annoyed at you for making him come home earlier than it was usual lately, but he still seemed off, and the bags under his eyes screamed "exhaustion" the same way the marks your tears left on your cheeks did too.

You watch him as he eats, unable to do so too yourself, the lump in your throat growing as you hear Seungmin's muffled voice thanking you for the meal with his mouth full and a light squeeze on your thigh. And you wondered if you were being unfair, if you were being selfish, because he was allowed to be stressed about his work, he was allowed to not be at his best all the time, and it wasn't his fault he had to stay until late at night at work. But it was his fault that he couldn't leave work when he got home, that he couldn't put his phone down and ask how your day was, to just take ten minutes of his day to just be with you, and you only. And you were allowed to miss him, miss his touch, miss the way he held you tightly at the end of the day while you watched the most random tv show together, because it wasn't the show that matter but each other's company.

And, without realizing it, you had already spilled all of this to him before the kitchen dropped dead silent again, and everything went blurry. You couldn't even see his face, not until his hands cupped your cheeks and his thumbs cleaned your tears as you mumbled quietly, "I'm sorry, I- I just miss you."

"But I'm right here (y/n)...", he pulls your chair closer until your knees touch, taking your hand in his while the other lifts your chin so your eyes meet, "Let's go on a date tomorrow, yeah? I'll get off earlier and pick you up. You'll wear that fancy outfit you've had in your wardrobe for ages, and I'll put on a nice suit and tie. What do you say?"

And in the eighth night you went to bed feeling a little warmer inside, his back turned to you didn't hurt as much now that your hand rested on his side and his shirt was worn by you. Knowing - hoping - that tomorrow will be better, you fall deep into dreamland as soon as you shut your eyes.

However, you couldn't help but to feel abandoned again when, hours later, a cold breeze hits your stomach and arms, making you mumble something in your sleep as you try to recover whatever was blocking that breeze before. One of your hands gets a grip of a soft fabric that seems too heavy to pull back down next to you, leaving your sleepy self whining for the owner of said fabric not to leave again.

"I will be back later, don't forget I'll pick you up for dinner. Go back to sleep now, (y/n)."

But how could you forget about dinner with him when, for the last eight days it was all you were longing for, and for the nineth day it was all you could think about?

Said day passed by slower than ever, an illusion caused by the clear anticipation you felt about the upcoming night. Anticipation addressed by your colleagues at work, who wondered what has sent your head into cloud 9 and your right leg into a fidgeting state, unable to stay still.

These same nervous actions continued at home, the funny feeling in your stomach resembling the very first date you had with Seungmin a few years ago, back when you were still a college student and he wasn't as busy as now. The same thoughts you had that day invading your restless mind again, "What if he doesn't like me (anymore)?", "What if he thinks I am (got) boring?", "What if my outfit doesn't fit?".

With that last thought you rush to your bedroom - but not without tripping on the first step of the staircase - to, in desperate clumsy movements, try out the said outfit you've been wanting to wear for so long, the one Seungmin got you for a "special date" months ago, one that never happened. But it did fit, it fitted better than ever and when you saw your reflection in the mirror even you fell in love with the person in front of you, the one doing little swirls with a stupid smile on her face, the person you doubted to be yourself. And, suddenly, you felt like everything would be alright, everything would go back to normal, maybe things would get even better than before, "there is no way he'll fall out of love for me when I look like this" was your first thought.

But he didn't even seem to notice your appearance, he didn't seem to notice you at all, he simply picked you up at the agreed time with a peck on your lips and one single rose in hand. All he did was drive you - in silence - to the fanciest restaurant in town, leave you alone at the table about three times to pick up the phone - "it's from work, I'm sorry" -, pay for both your meals and drive you back home.

And it took him to hear the quiet sobs you so hardly tried to keep in, while laying as far away as possible from him that you had to secure yourself from falling over the edge, to realize what he had been doing to you, to finally figure out how much he has been hurting you. And in that moment his sobs could be heard too. The realisation and guilt hit Seungmin like a truck and he couldn't move. He couldn't believe how he had let his stress and excessive work load affect you too. He couldn't believe he had reached a point to where he brought work home, one thing he had promised you he would never do. And his chest tights up a bit more when he realises you never got mad at him for breaking his promise, and breathing gets difficult when he faces you - your back.

"(Y/N)...", and your stomach drops five feet down at his cracked, low tone, and "I'm so sorry..." was all he could say before bursting into silent tears once more.

However, you were too hurt to face him, and the burn in your eyes increases when you feel the mattress sink behind you before a warm hand rests on your waist, but you don't push him away.

The nineth night was his the turning point, and Seungmin swore to your asleep self - and to himself - that the next morning would mark a new beginning.

And in the first morning you pretended to be asleep when his hand took a few strands of hair off your face, his lips barely touched your skin and his voice broke your heart, "see you later". And you held your breath until the bedroom door closed and stood still until the front door locked. But it took longer today, and in between these two moments you heard noise in the kitchen, and within a few minutes a nice smell made its way into your hiding place, as if it was trying to lure you to give in and face your boyfriend. But not even your grunting stomach stopped you from waiting to hear his car drive off to get up. And when you did, the curiosity took over you. He never cooks in the morning, and he never leaves this late. Something was changing after all.

Hence, in the first night, you shifted your body to face him when he quietly climbed in bed next to you, your left cheek pressed against your hands as a weak smile greeted the tired boy, "I appreciated the breakfast." Nevertheless, you didn't reach out to pinch his cheek the way you used to, though you had the urge to do so when his own lips drew a smile and his eyes got lost in his cheeks.

In the second morning you didn't pretend to be asleep and you didn't wait for the car to leave. In the second morning you sat at the kitchen table with Seungmin and, because he knew it would take you time to go back to him, he didn't force a conversation, he didn't force skinship, he merely held your hand and squeezed it lightly. And you knew he was trying, you knew he would try and wait until you were ready to trust him again, to give him your heart again.

Day by day you would slowly give him little pieces of you, by sharing the most small and insignificant stories of your day, by letting him hold your hand at night, by sharing earpods with him on the couch when you couldn't fall asleep, by letting him try and do all the things he shouldn't have stopped doing in the first place.

But it took you seven days and seven pieces to trust him with your heart again. Therefore, on the seventh day, as the the sunbeams peaked through the poorly closed shutters and reflected on Seungmin's bare shoulders, you couldn't help yourself from admiring him and, for the first time in seven days, you felt warm inside. The butterflies you used to feel the first times you woke up next to him were back, and were more annoying than ever.

You let yourself study all his features attentively, scanning all his perfect imperfections, letting yourself fall for him all over again - not that you think you ever fell out of love, but rather disconnected from it, and him.

He flinched and mumbled confused words, and you couldn't help but to smile and giggle softly at how silly your sleepy, drooling nonense-speaking boyfriend looked. This time, you gave in to the urge of pinching his cheek tenderly as to not wake him up, and you left your hand resting there as your thumb rubbed his soft skin.

As you were feeling your eyes becoming heavy again, your thumb stopped the movement and your hand slid down a bit. Your body relaxing more and more, until a ticklish feeling pulled you back to the "here and now", just to find Seungmin kissing the palm of your hand with his eyes still closed before pulling you closer to him, making you wince and giggle when his warm breath hit your ear and his raspy voice gave you his "good morning's".

He moved his body sloppily, hitting you with his elbow before comfortably positioning half of his body on top of yours, resting his head on the crook of your neck as he held you tightly by your waist, as if he were afraid you would run away.

"I missed you Seungmin, I missed you even when you were here." Your fingers got lost in his messy hair as you spoke, his grip on you grew tighter and you felt the tears peaking in the corner of your eyes. "You hurt me... and I thought about leaving you before you left me first."

For the first time you were letting him know how you truly felt, for the first time you were opening yourself up to him without any ounce of shame or fear. And this was your turning point. This was the moment you both knew you were back, ready to mend all the wrongs and the scattered pieces of your hearts that were left all around the house. "But everyone makes mistakes. And I know you have been trying, and-", Seungmin shifts his body once more, supporting himself with his hands as he is now hovering over you with his eyes locked in yours, a restless look in his face worried about what you would say next, and suddenly you feel shy, "What I mean to say is, I forgive you. I choose to stay and love you even if my mind won't let me believe that you love me back, I will trust you and your actions. So please don't let my mind trick me again, don't give it reasons to doubt your love for me unless you don't feel it anymore."

You pull his hair back waiting for a reaction, leaving your hand to rest behind his neck ready to pull him in for a kiss, the first real kiss in sixteen days. But you wait for what it feels to be an eternity, until he breaks the silence and mends the last piece of your heart when he reassures his love for you and vows to reassure you every single day until the rest of your lives.

And when you finally pull him in he loses balance and falls on top of you, his forehead hits your nose and just like that the house is filled up with laughter again, the onions don't make you cry anymore, the kitchen shrank and the fancy dates became late night movie marathons with you snuggled on Seungmin, or Seungmin snuggled on you, until you were far too tired to walk upstairs, leading to countless nights spent on the tiny couch and countless mornings with complaints about aching bodies but happy souls.

nets: @k-library @ficscafe @k-dinernet @districtninewriters

taglist: @dreamwrld @su-lix @bobateastay @leihey @serialee @hyunsluvv

⇢ let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ♡

#klibrary #ficscafe #kdiner #districtninewriters #seungmin x reader #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #seungmin oneshot #seungmin imagine #seungmin fanfic #stray kids scenarios

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

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youwontlikethisblog · 3 years

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Yo Soy Betty, la Fea

So about a month ago I started watching this show as a form to entertain myself, in other words, ironically.

I was introduced to this novela by the Mexican version of it. I grew up with La Fea Mas Bella and during my depressive episodes that was my go to binge show. One day I was sitting on the couch, as one does, and Betty La Fea was on. I laughed for like a solid minute because I thought that acting was so serious that it was hilarious. See I was so used to the dramatics and comedy effects of the Mexican version that I thought the original was just too serious. So as a form to mock myself and the original novela I went on a search for it. Sadly here in the states the only way to watch this show is through NBC/Telemundo and the ads are just so long and it's not even the complete, all 335 aired episodes. Also for me the NBC website crashed to frequent it just made me miserable BUT that's not the point of this.

Hey, hi, I'm a writer.

I feel the need to say this because this show has... I am extremely fascinated by the writer Fernando Gaitan. I haven't seen any of his other works but this show alone is a masterpiece and I don't mean to say this because of the tropes, the moral, or the characters themselves but the mastermind to create so much detail into three minute scenes, the directing and the acting as well just add such a lovely splash of color, of life to this already beautifully written story.

I'm new to this already well established fandom and while I have read many breakdowns of characters, mainly Marcela, I haven't seen much regarding the story itself and many things said and done that foreshadow certain events.

For example, (I'm not sure what episode I'm on because I accidently bought the bootleg version of this novela so chapters aren't titled) This episode is the one when they offer Betty a 10% commission so that she can get Armando to do business with RagTela. The scene in particular however is when Armando is laying in bed with his fiancé, Marcela.

Now this becomes almost a regular thing that I noticed between the lives out of the office between Armando and Betty. We get back to back scenes of Armando with Marcela and then scenes of Betty at home with family or her friends that it becomes almost a way for the viewer, or if this were a book, the reader, to distinguish the difference of lives these two characters have. Though one could assume one is lonely because they don't go out or have a S.O and only work or count numbers is shown in a home with loving parents that are always worried about their child and present in her life and a loving best friend that shares the burden of being outcaste by society and finding the humor in it then we get scenes of a couple always arguing and then jumping into bed. Of a man that while his S.O sleeps lays awake with unheard questions, whose best friend is constantly placing temptations and pushing him to do wrong by his S.O, and whose parents aren't really present and ever only talk about the company or his relationship with Marcela to then again Betty. However in this part of the episode it's Armando awake while Marcela is asleep while Betty writes in her diary and we hear her monologue and then they both drift into sleep.

This becomes a ritual where the viewer can tell the clear line between these two characters and their own worlds.

Why do I mention this?

Because dreams are often, in the literary world, seen as prophecies or for the reader to interpret the future or the secret desires of the character. In other words, a form of foreshadowing.

Now in this episode Armando is laying in bed with Marcela, Betty is writing in her diary and the scenes switch between the both of them until we are taken to a dream. In the dream Betty is wearing a bright red dress with long sleeves, and a red hat with Armando in a black suit(I have theories based on the clothing they wear lol) . They're both dancing to tango. While Betty isn't watching him much, more concentrated in her movements, Armando is busy watching her. We then see him dip her, where she finally stares at him and they near for a kiss, just as they are about to kiss we hear Betty's name echo and she straightens up and walks away, while Armando is left there confused and alone.

Why do I think the mention of this dream is important?

Up until this we've seen Armando go from feeling indifferent about Betty. He is a terrible boss and constantly yells and mistreats her to then being fazed by her tears, to having moments of being a good boss and defending her. We begin to see a pattern of Armando's change towards her. Even before the terrible plan to use her is set and I believe that Fernando Gaitan used these dreams to not only give a break of humor and show Betty's crush towards Armando but to give the viewers a look into an otherwise unbothered, unfazed, and mysterious character's mind. AKA Armando Mendoza's own personal feelings towards Betty.

This is solidify by the dream they both share the night that Mario tells Armando about the plan to win Betty's heart to secure the company.

When we're learning to be good story tellers we're told that when writing you writer for yourself. The first draft is a huge info dump. While editing you take out all the unimportant factors and scenes, no matter how much you love that scene if it doesn't help with the plot, character development, or pushing the story forward, it's to be taken out of the story. Therefore most things are written with the intention to mean something. The cuts between Armando and Betty before we see this dream signify that it was both of them having the same dream.

I believe that this was the moment we start seeing the bend between their own worlds outside of the office.

Now, I'd love to have more cohesive analyses of the episodes because this is as if a book came to life. A lot of people in the fandom believe that Armando wouldn't had ever fallen in love with Betty had it not been for Mario who told Armando to make Betty fall in love with him to secure the company, a lot of small details in the character development and the story say otherwise and I have no one to talk to about these small details so maybe this blog might change from being a writers blog to the occasional fandom reblog to now being an analytical commenter of Yo Soy Betty, La Fea.

Even if no one ends up reading this, I need to get it out of my system so until next time.

#yo soy betty la fea #ysblf #don armando #armando mendoza #betty la fea #analyze #beatriz pinzón solano #Marcela valencia #armando ysblf #betty pinzón solano #Mario Calderon

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alt-rose · 3 years

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waste love - colson baker

colson baker imagine

waste love - you’re in a bad relationship, and your ex, colson, is there for you.

word count: 5.9K (tis a lot)

WARNINGS: domestic abuse (lowkey kinda graphic), f-bombs?

please don’t read if this is a trigger in anyway, shape, or form for you.

long story short, your boyfriend was kind of a dick. everyone knew that. your friend and co-worker, Pete had told you multiple times that your boyfriend Trevor was a pretentious asshole. even your ex, Colson, disliked him, but he honestly disliked everyone you dated.

you had called it quits with Colson right before Eminem’s Kamikaze came for him. you blamed it on lifestyle differences, but in the end, you couldn’t handle him getting wasted every night. you told him that you felt like he was constantly choosing drugs and booze over you, and looking back on it, Colson had to admit that you were right. you had a right to end it, but that didn’t dismiss the feelings you felt for each other.

for Pete’s sake, you and Colson remained friends. together, the two of you helped Pete through his breakup with AG and his struggle with his mental health. however, your friendship began to dwindle after a few months. the guys started to notice you slipping away from them when you started dating Trevor.

Trevor was appealing at first. he had a stable job as a manager for a production company. he stayed out of the party scene for the most part. at the beginning of your relationship, you felt like coming home to him was a break from the world. with your busy career as a cast member on SNL, you worked long and late hours, leaving you with two options: you could let yourself fall prey to the temptations that the New York nightlife had to offer, or you could go home. you tended to choose the latter and having someone to go home to made things less lonely.

by the third month, things had taken a turn. you had pulled away from your friendships, turning down opportunities to go out with them during the week. Trevor didn’t like you going out without him. you stopped talking to Pete and Colson for the most part, but you still saw Pete at work. Trevor didn’t like you hanging out with them. it even got to the point that Trevor didn’t like you talking about them so for your sake, you cut them out of your life.

for Colson and Pete, it was a blow. they missed you, and over the course of your relationship, they watched you change. the style of clothes you wore had changed. you traded in your mini skirts for jeans or loose-fitting pants; your dresses were more modest, always covering your arms and shoulders. you started wearing more jackets and turtlenecks. your skin was always covered, which is not to say that you walked around practically naked before. you were just less daring with your clothing choices now. even your makeup had changed. you were like a reformed version of yourself, looking more reserved compared to your usually expressive self.

unknown to them, you had something to hide. the jackets and turtlenecks weren’t because you were ‘always so cold’ like you’d tell people when they asked. you stopped with your makeup because you already spent so much time covering up bruises in the morning that you would run out of time to do anything else.

Trevor not only was possessive and controlling, but he also had a temper. it wasn’t that bad at first. it started with the comments. he’d comment on your hair. he’d comment on your makeup and clothes. you brushed them off at first because you were an independent woman who could look how ever she wanted to look. the comments were then accompanied by cheap insults taking shots at your insecurities. your tough exterior began to crumble at that when you began to doubt your looks and appearance. your confidence had faded. the last straw was when he had yelled at you for the first time. you were going to a banquet for his work, and he screamed at you for the dress you had chosen to wear, it was just a simple black dress that you thought was a safe option. he thought otherwise. he said you looked ridiculous, pointing out that it made your arms look flabby and that it gave you back fat. you offered to change, but he screamed at your even more, telling you that you were already running late so you would just have to go in what you were wearing. you cried to yourself in the bathroom as you struggled to fix your makeup.

ever since then, you made changes to your appearance because he was right. you started dieting. you stopped wearing your fun and creative makeup because Trevor said you looked childish. you started dressing tamer, only in sweaters and jeans. your spirit was dwindling away.

the first time he hit you was after the Tuesday night host dinner had run late. you were out later than you usually were, and Trevor had accused you of cheating on him. you of course yelled back at him, defending yourself. he responded by swiftly smacking your head into your pantry door and calling you a “lying bitch.” your head rung, and you pulled yourself away from him. you kicked him out that night, only for him to come crawling back to you in the morning with flowers and an apology. he seemed sincere so you accepted the apology, and he told you that he loved you.

the vicious cycle repeated for months. you’d be all lovey-dovey. you were happy, and he was kind. then, something would happen, most likely something small or insignificant that would set him off. then, he’d be angry. you’d fight. he would hit you. you would kick him out, or he would quickly apologize. then, you were in this weird period of walking on eggshells around him while he acted like nothing happened. then, he would do something sweet for you, like buying you a pretty piece of jewelry or making you a fancy dinner. then, you’d be the lovey-dovey couple that you were.

the things that set Trevor off the most was when you would support your friends. Pete had his movies out, and you wanted to watch them to support him. Trevor had caught you watching The Dirt, the movie that sparked Pete and Colson’s friendship, after it had been released to Netflix. Trevor was pissed. he claimed that you were still harboring feelings for you ex. you had argued that you no longer had feelings for the rapper/actor, but Trevor didn’t believe you. in his anger, he ripped the remote from your hand and had thrown it into your TV, shattering it in the process. the next morning, he took you out to buy a new TV, letting you pick it out so he could pay for it. you had learned your lesson from that one. you couldn’t have anything to do with Colson.

the summer was rough for your relationship with Trevor. without the stable routine that you had established with him when you were working at SNL, he began to spiral out of control. now that you were working on two films and couldn’t be in the city all the time, Trevor began to lash out at you to gain some sense of control over you. he grew violent and possessive, and you were grateful when you could travel without him.

at some point, you had ended up at Colson’s album party for Hotel Diablo. you had spent the night out with your friends, finally getting to party with Pete and Colson after months of never getting to see much of them. as strange as it may seem, the man of the hour had himself glued to your side the entire night. he brought you drinks and followed you around instead of celebrating with all of his friends. he danced with you like he had on your 21st birthday, the night that had started your relationship with him. later into the night, he sat with you as you lounged on one of the pool chairs in the backyard of the house that you were partying at. you started making smile conversation with him, now that you could hear yourself think.

“how are things?” you asked staring up at the sky.

“getting better, I guess,” Colson responded.

that night he told you about his dad’s prognosis, and you held his hand as you listened to him talk. he listened to you gush about the projects you were working on, and you listened to him go on and on about how proud he was of Casie. you laughed as he told you stories about the things he and his bandmates had done.

by the end of the night, it was safe to say that you didn’t regret going to that party. you didn’t think of Trevor once the entire night, and you felt free. however, problems started to arise once the party had ended. Colson had offered to drive you back to your hotel since he didn’t feel comfortable sending you off in an uber by yourself. you let him take you since he was sober. the two of you had stopped drinking about an hour into the party, and it was about 4 in the morning now.

Colson had his hand on your shoulder as he led you to his purple Aston Martin. you covered eyes as cameras flashed as the two of you left the party. the paparazzi had found you.

Colson quickly opened the passenger door for you, blocking the paparazzi’s view of you as you slid into his car. once you were safely seated inside, Colson closed your door before quickly making it to the driver’s side. he chuckled as he watched you turn on your heated seat and plug your phone into the aux, just like you had done when the two of you were dating.

when the two of you arrived at your hotel, Colson took your hand in his.

“I’m glad you came,” he softly told you before placing his lips delicately on the back of your hand, a gesture that was foreign to you after the past few months.

“I’m glad I came too,” you whispered to him.

your faces were so close together that if you took a deep breath, your lips would be pressed against his. part of you wanted to kiss him, and part of him wanted to kiss you. however, you pulled away before you could. you weren’t a cheater.

“promise me you’ll take care of yourself?” his eyes softly gazed over your features.

he could tell that you were wasting away. despite your carefree attitude tonight, he knew that you had changed. your independent, badass attitude had diminished over time, and he only hoped that you would take care of yourself so you could return to the girl that he used to know.

you only gave him a nod before turning your eyes away from him. turning the conversation back on him, you squeezed his hand.

“I’m really proud of you, Cols,” you smiled to him. “I can’t wait to hear your album.”

he murmured a response to you before placing another kiss on the back of your hand. with that, you had pulled yourself from his car, giving him a small wave as you entered through the glass doors of your hotel.

the next morning, you were on a plane heading back to New York. even though you were broken up and you were with someone else, the pain of missing Colson was still there. it was like something deep in your soul was crying out for him.

this trip was a breath of fresh air for you, and you had clarity now. deep down, you knew one thing to be true: you would rather have a little bit of Colson in your life than not have him at all. you didn’t realize how bad your situation was back in New York until you had an outside perspective. with Colson, you had people who loved you for who you were. no one tried to change you. no one tried to tell you what to do. they accepted you for the person you were, and they loved you unconditionally.

you needed those people in your life. Trevor, you realized, was not one of those people. he had done nothing but feed you lies about yourself that made you doubt your self-worth. he never treated you with respect, and every time he told you that he loved was like a punch in the face. it hurt worse than the ones with his fist.

stepping off the airplane in New York, you knew what you had to do. you had to breakup with him, and if you managed to survive, you promised yourself that you would never let yourself fall prey to a man like that ever again.

with your luggage in hand, you made your way to the pickup line, where Trevor was waiting for you. he insisted that he would pick you up, even though you told him that you could just take a cab.

“hi,” you smiled to him after you placed you bags in the trunk.

he only gave you a nod of acknowledgement as you closed your door. the air felt thick. your smile faltered the longer you stared at him. you watched his movements carefully. he roughly turned the keys, starting the car. his knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel. his other hand picked at his lips. he did that when he was pissed, and it put you on edge.

he began to drive, only addressing you once you were stopped at a red light.

“how was the party?”

your blood ran cold. how did he know?

“what party?” you laughed lightly, trying to brush him off.

“DON’T.” he slammed his hands on the top of the steering wheel before looking over at you. “DON’T FUCKING play dumb with me. I saw the pictures. did you fuck him? did you let him fuck you?”

“NO,” you shouted back at him.

his fist slammed your head into the cool glass of the window. your head rung as tears prickled in your eyes.

“you’re such a bitch, you know that?”

you watched the road in front of you. the light turned green. the lights around you blurred, and you let your head rest against the window. the tears ran down your face.

you said no word to Trevor when you arrived at your building. you grabbed your bag and quickly made your way into the building. Trevor quickly caught up with you, roughly placing a hand on your arm.

as you stepped off the elevator, you ripped yourself from his arm before making it to your front door. before you could unlock it, Trevor had you pinned with his hand secured tightly around your neck.

your eyes bulged as you gasped for breath. you began to kick at him, until he let you go. you stumbled into your apartment getting as far away from him as possible.

“I want to breakup,” you rasped holding your throat.

“why? because you love him more than you love me?” Trevor laughed throwing his keys on your counter.

“no, you’re a monster.”

he seethed as he moved to close the gap between the two of you. he roughly snatched you by your arms pulling you close.

“you are not leaving me,” he growled. “you’re mine.”

“I am not yours,” you grunted out as you struggled to pull away from him.

with all of his force, Trevor tossed you to the floor. your shoulder slammed into the floor as you landed on your arm funny. pain began to splinter from your shoulder before echoing throughout your body. you moved to sit up, clutching your arm, as his boot collided with your ribs.

you gasped for air. your lungs burned. you took blow after blow, barely listening to the cruel words he shouted at you.

once he finally thought you were down, he turned his back to you. you had somehow managed to pull yourself up from the floor, swiping the bat that you kept hidden under your couch. with your weak arm, you swung at him, only landing a small blow to his back. he stumbled before taking you by your throat and shoving you into the fish tank on the small cabinet you kept in the hallway.

you heard the glass crank from the force of your body. Trevor had thrown you to the floor, and the fish tank came crashing down on top of you. you laid on the floor, covered in glass and dirty fish water. you watched Trevor’s boots as they made their way to the door. he spit in your direction before calling you a slut. the door slammed shut behind him.

your vision began to blur as you watched your beloved fish, the two angelfish that Colson and Pete had bought you, begging you to name them both after them, flop against your hardwood floor.

you opened your eyes, wincing at the brightness of your kitchen light. you were disoriented. you felt a buzzing in your pocket. gently moving your arm, you pulled your phone from your pocket.

Pete’s contact picture flashed across your screen, announcing an incoming call from him. you accepted the call before moving the phone to your ear.

“hey girl,” you heard Pete’s voice flood through your phone. “whaddup?”

Pete could hear your raspy, heavy breathing coming through the phone. whatever he was planning on talking to you about was long forgotten now.

“(y/n/n), are you okay? what’s wrong?” Pete gently asked through the phone.

his heart beat loudly in your chest as he heard your sobs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“(y/n), what did you do?” Pete began to scramble out of bed, looking for the spare apartment key you gave him. “where are you?”

“I’m at my apartment. I love you, Pete.” your speech was slurring. “tell Cols. tell him too.”

Pete called your name through the phone waiting for you response, but he was met with none. he called 911 as he ran from his apartment, catching a cab to your building.

the police had made it there before he had. damn, traffic. he stood at your apartment door as he watched the paramedics set you on a stretcher. you had an oxygen mask placed over your mouth and nose, and a paramedic began to tie a tourniquet around your thigh, above the shard of glass that impaled you when the fish tank fell.

as they rolled you out, Pete followed, holding the hand on your bad arm. your eyes found his face as the paramedics took you into the elevator.

“Pete,” you sighed, moving the oxygen mask away from you with your good arm.

“I’m here,” he nodded to you, stroking your wet hair. “who did this?”

you barely whispered Trevor’s name before you blacked out once more.

the second time you woke up, you were laying in a hospital bed. your body burned from the pain. your head buzzed. your neck was stiff. your lungs burned as you tried to breathe. your leg throbbed, and a shooting pain erupted from your shoulder. it took you a moment to focus your eyes, but you found your parents sitting in your room with you.

Pete had called them after the doctors rushed you into surgery for your shoulder. he also called the Mulaney’s, who had become your second set of parents. they were someone for you to rely on while you lived in New York City all alone. you could call them at any hour, and John and Anna would be at your beck and call, whether it was shopping for furniture or getting dinner. Pete felt like they would want to know.

he contemplated calling Colson, but today was his album release. Pete knew that part of you would be angry at him for bothering Colson, but he also knew that Colson would be even more upset with him if he didn’t call him. So, Pete made the call, only after you were out of surgery. your parents had arrived about a half an hour after your surgery had ended, and Colson was doing everything he could to get to New York.

you were kept overnight, but they planned on releasing you the next evening, making sure that nothing ended up infected and that your pain was manageable. your parents were out cold on the couch in your room. Pete occupied the chair next to your bed. your parents lied to the hospital staff, telling them that Pete was your brother. you could tell that the nurses didn’t believe them for a second, but no one wanted to argue with them. Pete was grateful that they let him stay, even after visiting hours had ended. after the state he saw you in just a few hours before, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving you.

from your spot in your bed, you watched Pete as he attempted to dose off with his head hanging awkwardly over the back of the chair. you saw his eyes pop open as if he could feel you staring at him.

“hey,” he whispered sitting up and stretching his neck out. “how long have you been awake?”

“not sure,” you whispered back as you picked at the hem of the thin hospital sheets you were given.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked leaning forward to rest his folded hands on your bed.

he could tell that you were deep in thought.

“I’m think about a restraining order.”

Pete gave you a small laugh.

“after the amount of evidence, the police gather from your apartment, he might even do a bit of time.”

“I don’t really care if he does time. I just want him gone, and I want him to pay for the stuff he broke,” you told him, moving your eyes away from the frayed hem in front of you.

“he will. (y/n/n) will get him to pay for all of it.”

he gently patted the top of your hand resting on the pillow the nurses placed it on to help your shoulder heal. taking a moment to flick through the tv, you grew frustrated before landing on an old concert playing on one of the channels.

“have you listened to it?” you asked turning to Pete.

“listened to what?” Pete asked glancing over at you.

“Cols’ album.”

“Ah, yeah,” Pete sighed sitting back in his chair. “it’s a banger.”

“he did good?”

“fuck yeah, Colson always does good.”

“good,” you sighed leaning your head back on the mountain of pillows.

“have you not listened to it yet?”

you shook your head.

“from the flight and Trevor, I didn’t get a chance.”

“I can play it for you,” Pete said sitting back up. “do you want me to grab some headphones or something?”

“no,” you said stretching your fingers out to stop him. “you can just play it out loud. I don’t want to listen to it alone.”

with that, Pete opened his phone before setting it on the table by the side of your bed. he hit play on the first track, adjusting the volume so that it was loud enough to listen to without bothering your sleeping parents.

you closed your eyes, letting the music surround you. you listened to the powerful lyrics in el Diablo and Hollywood Whore, taking in the struggles he had to face after the hate that came for him.

the opening to Glass House had tears prickling your eyes. you squeezed Pete’s hand as Colson sang the part about Nipsey and him. the first set of tears had slipped from your eyes. the tears were falling freely from your eyes when Colson sang about Peep, Mac, and Chester. you could feel his pain through the words he spoke. in this piece, he was completely vulnerable, open, sharing the darkness in his life and the loneliness he felt.

“I didn't sign up to be the hero but I don't want to wind up a villain. I put my daughter to bed then attempted to kill myself in the kitchen. Yeah, I should've screamed, but nobody listened. So I passed out with the blood dripping. In this glass house, feeling like a prison.”

your breath hitched in your throat. Pete squeezed your hand before pressing his forehead to your head. you let out a few quiet sobs. the emotions from the day were crashing down on you. you were exhausted. you were fucking terrified, and you wanted nothing more than to call Colson. you wanted to hear his voice. you wanted to know that he was okay, even though you had seen him just the night before.

“I think we should stop,” Pete whispered gently to you as you broke down.

“no,” you told him. your voice thick with tears. “I want to keep listening.”

“okay, okay,” he whispered, stroking your hair.

the two of you listened to Burning Memories, your heart clenched at the words he sang about his mother. A Message from the Count caught you by surprise, and you and Pete laughed gently at him and Colson messing around. the break from the heavy stuff was much needed, and your spirits were slightly better. you nodded along to Floor 13. you felt like the song was an appropriate response to the hate he received after Killshot, and you were proud of him for it. a small smile appeared on your face as you heard Casie’s outro for the song.

somewhere in the middle of the Truck Norris interlude, your parents had woken up. they gave you and Pete weird looks as they saw the position the two of you were in. Pete was awkwardly hunched over, resting his head against yours as the two of you bobbed along to Hotel Diablo.

Death in My Pocket had you in tears again. the rawness of the lyrics made your heart clench. you could feel his sadness through the lyrics about his aunt, father, and his relationship with his father. it reminded you of the conversation the two of you had the other night by the pool.

Candy was a bop to say the least, and you knew that that was going to be a fun song to perform. part of you couldn’t wait to see Colson perform on tour, but you knew that you should probably keep your distance from him for now.

Waste Love was another one that surprised you. the lyrics echoed your breakup from almost a year ago. you moved your head away from Pete, looking at him from your peripheral. your reaction had Pete lightly laughing.

“I knew it,” he nodded at you.

“shut up,” you whispered back at him.

your mom shot her head up at the two of you quietly bickering.

“what?” she asked, causing the two of you to snap your heads in her direction.

“NOTHING.”

Sunday afternoon, you sat on the edge of your hospital bed. the nurses helped you and your mom as your mom tried to help you get dressed. now, you sat with your hair pulled back loosely in a scrunchie, wearing a very large pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt that Pete had snagged from his apartment earlier that morning. your arm rested in a sling since you ended up dislocating your shoulder. your thigh was wrapped up, but you could still manage to limp on it. those were your two major injuries. other than that, you only had a few cuts and bruises.

the police had arrested Trevor last night, and as far as you knew, he was still locked up. you were relieved that you didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

now, you were waiting to be discharged so that you could go back to your apartment.

“ready to go?” your dad asked extending a hand to help you into the wheelchair.

you nodded to him, and with that, a nurse wheeled you to the exit with Pete and your parents following behind. your dad ran to get the rental car that your parents had picked up that morning. they didn’t really want to take a cab back to your apartment.

when you got back to your building, you closed your eyes as your rode up the elevator. you had been silent the whole ride home, listening to your parents and Pete’s conversation. Pete and your dad held you under your arms to support you, so you didn’t have to put all of your weight on your bad leg. they helped you hobble to your door as your mom unlocked it.

inside you could hear the hum of one of your records playing on your record player. your mom set the keys in the bowl by the door as you unlatched yourself from your dad and Pete.

on the kitchen counter, you saw a bouquet of yellow roses sitting amongst a bunch of shattered glass. on the floor, you saw the water stain from your fish tank mixed with your blood stain. your eyes flicker with tears.

“shit, I’m sorry,” you heard a voice from the sink in your kitchen. “I meant to cover that up before you got back. I talked to your landlord. he’s got a guy to fix that.”

standing in front of you was one of the only people you wanted to see. your 6-foot-4 blond giant friend. he had gloves covering his hands, and a bucket was filling in your sink.

hobbling forward, you pressed your head into his chest as you balled your good fist into the fabric of his black t-shirt. you could hear Colson take the gloves off before he wrapped his arms around you. you sobbed into his chest as he lightly stroked your back.

Colson gave Pete and your parents a look. they gave him a small smile, and your mom mumbled something about finishing cleaning up. around you, your dad took the bucket from the sink before moving it to clean your blood from the floor. your mom vacuumed your couch cushions to make sure there was no glass left behind. Pete pulled out a bottle of febreze to mask the scent of your dead fish.

you pulled yourself from Colson to laugh lightly at Pete. Colson gently wiped the tears from your face.

“where are my fish?” you ask him softly.

“they were too big to flush down the toilet, so I have them sealed in a zip lock bag for now,” he said gently. “figured you might want to do the honors.”

“thank you,” you murmured to him before hugging him once more. “your album is really fucking good.”

you could feel him lightly laugh as he wrapped his arms around you again.

“glad you liked it,” he murmured into your hair. his hands traveled up your back to cup your cheeks. “why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh using your good hand to wipe away your tears. “thank you for being here.”

“always,” he smiled at you. “come on, I cleaned up your room. let’s get you off your leg.”

Colson helped you hobble to your room, helping you take your sling off before you laid down. he situated you on your pillows, propping your shoulder up and apologizing as you winced. he set your laptop up for you, giving you your headphones. he sat with you while you weakly scrolled through Netflix before finding the movie you wanted. The Dirt.

“you suck,” Colson smiled at you, causing you to laugh.

“I haven’t seen it yet. cut me a break.”

“alright, alright.”

he pulled himself up from your bed, placing your favorite blanket over you. as he moved to leave your room, you reached your good arm out to grab his hand. with your hand wrapped around his fingers, he turned back to you.

“did you write that song about me?” you ask him softly. your voice was so quiet that he almost missed what you said.

Colson gave you a small smile before raising your hand to his lip, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“of course, it’s about you.”

“did you mean it?” you stared into his bright blue eyes, searching for an answer. “did you mean what you said?”

“(y/n), I will always mean it, and I know now is not the time to tell you this,” he paused to sigh. “I never stopped loving you, and I will probably always love you. and, I know I fucked up. I fucked up our relationship. I wasn’t around, and I was always wasted. and, I am so sorry for that. you deserved better than that, and I’m getting better. and, when you’re ready, I want to talk about us because I don’t want to live without you anymore. this year sucked without you by my side, and I don’t want that anymore. I want you in my life, and I don’t care how long it takes for you to get there. I will always be here, waiting for you.”

you had tears streaming down your cheeks. he sat back on the bed to wipe away your tears.

“you kinda suck,” you laugh as you used your good hand to wipe your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed avoiding your gaze.

“I missed you too, Col,” you said reaching up to trace his cheek. “it’s gonna take me sometime to get there because I want to get over this mess before I jump into something else, but I feel the same way. I don’t want to live without you in my life anymore.”

Colson smiled at you before moving to kiss you on your forehead. a knock on your door pulled you out of your little moment. Pete stood in your doorway with his jacket on.

“hey, Colson,” Pete began, causing Colson to turn toward his buddy. “we gotta go now if we are going to make the store.”

“okay, I’ll be there in a second,” he nodded to Pete as he got up from your bed once more.

“where are you going?” you asked him still holding his hand.

“we’re going to go get you a new tank. tomorrow, we’ll go get some new fish for you,” Colson said.

“but, you can’t just buy a tank-”

“I know,” he smiled back at you. “your dad made Pete and I a list. enjoy your movie.” he winked at you, closing the door lightly behind him.

the next morning, you stood in Randy’s Pet Shop with Colson and Pete, staring up at the multiple tanks of fish in front of you. like little kids in the candy store, the two of them made sure to pick out the craziest looking fish for your tank, begging you to let them name them. you of course agree, and the three of you left the store with Kevin and Barracuda, your new gold and blue gourami fish.

you knew that it was going to be a while until you were going to be okay again, but at least you had the guys in your corner. no matter how far you strayed from them, they were always there for you, and you were forever grateful for that.

life could only go up from here.

i know this was a bit darker than usual. feel free to send requests - rose xx

#machine gun kelly imagines #colson baker imagine #colson baker imagines #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly imagine #colson baker x reader

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idreamofplaid · 3 years

Text

Finding Destiny

Square Filled: Plus Size for @spnkinkbingo & Late Presentation for @spnabobingo

Characters: alpha!Sam x omega!Reader; Madame Tremaine (OFC)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Y/N always felt like an Omega. Life told her otherwise, until tonight.

Word Count: 3027

Created for @spnkinkbingo & @spnabobingo

You smelled like a garden had exploded on you, a garden with some miscellaneous spices and nature smells. Truth was, you smelled like a mess, but you’d been desperate. Living as a Beta was like being invisible.

You were convinced it didn’t help that your body wasn’t fashion model thin, or thin at all for that matter, instead having generous soft curves in your breasts, hips, and thighs. You had spent the last ten years watching Alphas and Omegas pair up, claim each other, shower each other with their love, devotion, and commitment. It had left you feeling more and more lonely, and food was your coping mechanism. The result of that was more pounds added to a body you already thought was too large.

Meanwhile, with each passing year, you felt more and more like life was passing you by. You, too, wanted to be claimed. There were no Alpha tendencies in your makeup; you were sure you were an Omega. You longed to be cherished, protected, filled with pups. Your untapped maternal instincts were strong, and you wanted to have a mate, be a mate. The Beta lifestyle wasn’t yours, so how had you been born into it?

Initially, when your heat didn’t come. You were confused, followed by disappointed, then discouraged, and finally resigned. Periodically, throughout all these reactions, you were devastated. The devastation overtook you when you least expected it, and then mercifully would leave again so you could function and pretend to be a happy Beta. Had it stayed with you constantly, no doubt you would have fallen into a deep depression.

It was that unwanted and sometimes paralyzing sense of hopelessness which always returned due to your Beta status that had sent you to the establishment owned by Madame Tremaine. It was rumored that she could bring on a reluctant onset of the first heat. That’s what you were once again trying to convince yourself this was, abandoning your previous period of accepting your fate. That’s all it was, a delay. Your body just needed some encouragement, a little push to get your hormones in motion. That first heat was going to happen; it was just slow.

So, it was in that frame of mind that you entered her herb shop at the end of a narrow street in an unfashionable part of the city. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with glass jars of various sizes that contained materials of every description. Dried flowers hung from low hanging rafters, and a display case that was filled with what appeared to be rocks and gemstones ran the length of one wall.

The bell over the door had tinkled when you entered the shop, summoning Madame Tremaine from the rear room of the shop. She pushed aside a beaded curtain that hung in the doorway leading to the back. She sized you up, her eyes traveling over you from head to toe. You were wearing a full skirt and a peasant style blouse. It was a cute outfit, but you still felt inadequate and self conscious about your size. For a moment, you felt a little pathetic because you’d come here seeking her help at changing what nature, God, the universe, or whatever had decided should be your lot in life.

She was, of course, sleek and dressed all in form fitting black pants and a black shirt that emphasized her long, graceful arms and fingers. She had adorned those arms and fingers with turquoise rings and silver bangles, while large silver hoops hung from her ears. You were thinking of turning around and walking right back out when she said, “What brings you to see me tonight?”

You were determined not to stutter in spite of your nervousness. You could at least pretend to have a fraction of the confidence this woman so clearly possessed. “I’ve heard you can help Omegas with the onset of their first heat.”

She looked at you again. “How old are you?” You hesitated, not wanting to answer her question. You definitely should have left. This was so embarrassing. She lifted her chin and gave a wave of her hand, causing her bracelets to jingle. “Never mind. I’m sure I have what you need. It’s just a matter of finding the right combination of smells that compose your scent. Your body will then react with them and produce the scent on its own, triggering your first heat.”

For the next two hours, she had experimented on you with her herbs, flowers, and ground spices. She began with the flowers, explaining to you, “Very often an Omega’s scent includes a floral note. We only need to find the right one, then move on to the other elements.” It wasn’t tuberose, jasmine, violet, magnolia, or plumeria. She tried at least seven others before giving up on the flowers.

She moved to a particular row of jars with purpose. “Perhaps we should try something sweet instead.” The next round of fragrances she applied to your skin consisted of honey, vanilla, chocolate, coconut, sugar, and caramel. She was beginning to look a little perplexed, making you feel like a failure all over again. Not only were you unable to find a mate, now this wasn’t working either; but you needed it too. You felt like this was your last chance.

“How do you know it isn’t working, Madame?” You had absentmindedly grabbed your skirt and started to twist the fabric.

“Because I’m an Alpha; I could smell it if you were producing your own scent.” Of course she was an Alpha, all the confidence. Her tone had been a little sharper than she had intended. You were, after all, a paying customer. She shouldn’t let her frustration show. Madame softened her voice and tried a different approach. Perhaps you are a more rare type of Omega without the usual sweet or flowery smell. Let’s give something else a try.”

Next she went for a smaller set of jars that contained spices and pulled some tiny stone chips that were near a larger blue stone from the display case. First, she used a mortar and pestle to grind the stone chips then added some rosemary to the bowl, grinding it up as well, and finally sprinkling in some almond oil to bind it together. Your curiosity got the better of you and made you brave enough to ask, “Why did you add stones? They don’t smell.”

“Ah, but they do; it is just very subtle,” she answered, “and sometimes just the catalyst that is needed to activate the chemical process that will result in you producing your own scent.” She applied this mixture to the inside of your wrist. Still, the result was nothing. After that, she went through the motions of trying a few more things, but you knew with each passing minute this had been a huge waste of your hard earned money.

You left her store and practically slinked to your car, wanting nothing more than to get home to your favorite robe and a glass of red wine. When you closed the door with a heavy thud, your eyes landed on the gas gauge. Dammit. It was almost on empty. You wouldn’t make it home without stopping for gas. Perfect. There would be one more humiliation before this night was through. Gas stations in this part of town didn’t tend to carry out transactions through the pay at the pump method.

Perhaps your tendency to be invisible would play in your favor this time you thought as you pushed on the metal bar to open the glass door leading into the gas station. Your last shred of hope at maintaining your dignity had been destroyed when you’d pulled up to the pump and found a sign attached to it just as you’d expected. Pay Before You Pump. Now you had to go into this store smelling like a cheap whorehouse.

You made your way to the counter as quickly as you could, hoping to just put down your money, dash back outside again, get your gas, and go. You mumbled $30 on pump 3 and reached for your purse. That’s when you heard it, a voice that was just the right amount of deep and smoother than the honey back at Madame Tremaine’s shop. “Where are your apples?”

The guy behind the counter looked up reluctantly from his handheld video game. “We don’t have any. Sold the last of them this morning.” He turned his attention back to his game, and you turned to see who had spoken. What kind of face went with that voice?

The answer was the kind of face you saw on magazine covers and movie screens. The man with the sexy voice tried with the clerk again. “But I smell…” Then the gorgeous hazel eyes in that handsome face caught yours, and he tilted his head causing his golden brown hair to fall over his forehead. “It’s you.” His eyes narrowed a little.

Then something happened that had never occurred in your life. You were overcome by the smells of mahogany, champagne, and leather. The smell washed through you, entering every cell in your body, causing slick to pool in your panties, and your knees to go weak. You were beginning to sink to the floor.

The kid behind the counter finally put down his video game. “Lady, are you okay?” He was a Beta. He couldn’t smell any of what was happening two feet from him.

The mysterious Alpha caught you. He held you up while he put two twenties down on the counter. “For her gas.” He helped you out to your car, got you seated inside, then filled your tank. He walked back to you when he was done and leaned down to put his hand on your shoulder. The smell was overwhelming now. It was heady, more than if you’d drunk the champagne instead of just smelling it.

The Alpha kneeled in front of you. That magnificent voice had softened when he spoke to you. “I don’t think you should drive. I’m going to call my brother to come get my car, and then I’ll drive you home.”

Your head was feeling too light to argue, and there was a twinge of feeling bordering on pain starting between your legs. You nodded. “Okay.” Just like that. You trusted him, trusted him completely. It felt right what he was doing, taking care of you.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the headrest. His voice sounded farther away, and you caught snippets of his conversation as you attempted to navigate all the emotional and physical feelings of your first heat. “Dean, i need you to come get the car.” Dean must be his brother. You missed the next part and then, “I’ll explain it all later. Just trust me. It’s never been more important.”

He returned to you and used that same soft tone he’d had with you before. “C’mon, let’s get you home. He lifted you like you weighed nothing more than a feather and carried you around to the passenger’s side of the car. He settled you in the seat and walked back around to take his place behind the wheel. Then, he turned to you. “I’m Sam.” His eyes focused on yours again. “And you’re my Omega.”

You gave him directions to your house, and when you got there he carried you inside, across the threshold just like you were a bride. “Where’s your bedroom?” It didn’t seem at all strange to have this man you’d just met in your house, or to be giving him directions to your bedroom. You wanted him there. The idea of him leaving scared you a little bit.

Sam put you down on your bed, and that fear bubbled up in your heart. You reached for him. “Don’t leave.”

He took your hand. “I wasn’t going to leave. Just go outside the room so you can change for bed. Your smell is so strong. All I can smell is you. It’s going to bring on my rut. So, I should probably put some distance between us. But I’m going to stay. Make sure you’re okay.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m not. I’m not okay. I need you. This is so…” A huge gush of slick ran down your thighs. You cried out. “Sam, please. I don’t know what’s happening.”

A look of concern shadowed his gray green hazel eyes. “Your heats haven’t been like this before?”

You had a nearly vise like grip on his hand now; it was starting to hurt, and you grabbed his forearm with your other hand. “I’ve never had a heat before. This is the first one.”

It took a couple of seconds for Sam to comprehend what you’d just said. Then a fierce, protective gentleness filled his eyes; he didn’t let go of your hand until he was on the bed with you, then he took you in his arms. “I’ve got you, my Omega. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

“It hurts, Sam. Why does it hurt?” This wasn’t what you had imagined it would be like to be an Omega. They’re had been no one in your life to explain it to you, and you were sure the books you’d read must be exaggerating.

Sam stroked your hair, trying to soothe you. “It hurts because you need an Alpha. Your body wants to be knotted. You need an Alpha’s knot.”

You held onto him tightly. “Will that make it stop?”

Sam whispered, “Yeah, that will make it stop.” He kept running his fingers through your hair, and then he growled. His hand stilled; his body was shaking with the effort to control himself.

His growling and shaking surprised you, and you jumped. “Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He doubled his efforts to steady himself and stopped his shaking. “My body needs you too.” His voice was much more gruff than it had been before.

You raised your hand to sink your fingers into his hair, just as his were buried in yours. “Make it stop, Sam. Make it stop for both of us.”

While he was taking off your clothes, it didn’t occur to you once to feel self conscious about your lack of a flat stomach, the fullness of your thighs, or any of the other parts of your body you considered to be an imperfection. He kissed each and every one of them, while telling you how perfect you were. Your Alpha made you feel beautiful.

The touch of his hands was so gentle, even while you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. When his lips first touched yours, it was like when the match meet the candle wick, and the flame sparks to life. Sam kissed you for a long time, causing you to produce more slick, getting you ready for him.

When at last he broke the kiss, you looked into those eyes with the ability to change color; you saw into him, found that deep place where no one but his Omega would ever be allowed to go. “Were we meant to be together, Sam?”

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek. “Yeah, that’s how it works.” His eyes held yours, “I’ve been waiting for you so long.” The smell of leather was stronger now. It signaled the depth of the lust he was feeling, mixed with the more tender emotions.

You put your hand over his where it was still resting against your face. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m ready. Take me. Make me yours.”

Sam put his hands on the inside of your thighs and opened your legs. His eyes never left yours as he entered you slowly. The stretch pushed you to the limits of what you could take, and you knew it was nothing compared to what was to come when he gave you his knot.

He moved inside you with a gentle rhythm that heightened your passion and your need for him. When you started to roll your hips in time with the movements he was making, Sam reached between your bodies and started to rub your clit. He gave you exactly what you needed, and an intense orgasm came crashing through you.

While your body was still in the spasms of its release, Sam’s knot began to swell. “Yes, Alpha, yes. Please.”

Sam took you in his arms and rolled you to your side to face him while his knot continued to swell. He covered your face with soft kisses. “Are you okay?”

You clung to him, still afraid you might somehow lose him even though his body was firmly attached to yours. “Yes. This is what I’ve always wanted. You. I wanted you. I just couldn’t find you.” Tears started to slide down your cheeks. Everything about this night was overwhelming.

Sam wiped away your tears, kissed your temple, and whispered in your ear, “Shh. i’m here. I’ve got you now, my sweet Omega.”

You buried your face in his neck. The smell of the leather was receding now, blending back in with the mahogany and champagne. “Are you sure I’m your Omega, Sam? I mean I know I must not look like the other Omegas you’ve been with.”

He held you closer to him. “Yes, I’m sure.” You felt a fresh wave of his seed pumping into your womb. Sam put his fingers under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. “You are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

You smiled, and a different kind of tears filled your eyes. This time they didn’t fall. You felt secure. You felt wanted, and you felt claimed even though he hadn’t yet put his mark on you. He would though. You knew it. Sam would claim you, mark you, and you would be proud for everyone to see it.

Sam brushed his thumb over your chin just below your lip. “What are you thinking, my Omega?”

You nodded just enough to kiss his thumb that was beneath your lips. “I’m thinking you were worth the wait.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner

#spnkinkbingo #spnabobingo #alpha!sam #omega!reader #sam fluff #sam smut #alpha!sam x omega!reader #spn abo

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

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The sad thing is that Blake's most healthiest option romance wise is someone who gives her space and willing to let her go. Sun fits this description perfectly. But they went with a codependent toxic relationship partially held together by guilt in which one side is clearly submissive and the other too worried and insecure.

Yeah, tbh, the send off to Sun at the start of volume six made me think they would pick up the relationship where it left off eventually for a couple different reasons, but one of them was this reason.

I want to preface this post by saying that A. I don’t really like Bumblebee and I don’t need a reason to dislike it even though I have reason to dislike it, B. I’ve shipped BlackSun from Sun’s first introduction, and C. also I’m coming at this as someone who has been in a co-dependent relationship, so all three of those things means I’m naturally a little biased. I’m not pretending this is all a super objective, impersonal interpretation. This is just me talking honestly about my thoughts towards a ship I don’t like. Bees, I’m sorry if this shows up in your tags, Tumblr is being screwy and I’m not trying to rain on anyone else’s posts. I’m using filterables and putting this under a keep reading to try and make it easier for Bumblebee fans to not see this.

I had - when I saw season six’s opening ep - given the show mad props for writing a romance driven relationship where the partners didn’t have to stay together all the time to still care about each other and be secure. It felt like the perfect move to me to get some distance between their characters while firmly establishing that Sun had never done the things he’d done ‘to win the girl,’ and didn’t consider himself ‘letting Blake go.’ Sun not only being willing to spend this time away from Blake, but to not even need it really said, and to have his own stuff he needed to do as well... All of that felt like a healthy, independent relationship. I don’t mean to get personal on main, but I’ve been in a relationship where I felt partially responsible for my partner’s happiness and he tried to do things like keep me from my friends or guilt me into things. I ignored the red flags because our relationship was important to me, but it made me feel pretty unhappy because I was always worried that if I didn’t do the things he wanted, he would get upset and over-react, and put himself down until I built him back up, and if we didn’t spend the majority of our time together, he would start talking about feeling like I didn’t really care that much about him and how lonely he felt. This was really exhausting to me, especially since I’m an introvert.

Sun always seemed like such a good partner for Blake because he was always so self-possessed, so confident in who he was already, independent and happy and accepting of Blake’s independence. Sun was always there for Blake, but he also was the one usually pushing her towards interacting with others too, they were able to go do separate things and even go on completely different missions with confidence and without drama. For a character who had previously been in a destructive, possessive, controlling, abusive relationship, it had seemed like a scene that clearly established Blake and Sun’s relationship as one where Sun wasn’t expecting Blake to stay with him all the time, respected her goals and her independence, and had his own life and his own friends too. I had kind of just assumed that the choice to have Sun leave the group and go to Vacuo was to further their relationship. Upon rewatching the scene later now that I know that the writers were already starting to try to implement Bumbleby, I can see how the show writers might’ve been intending that scene to be an amiable goodbye where Sun confirms to Neptune that they aren’t actually an item with his ‘it was never about that.’ But I just have to shake my head, because I was giving the writers credit for something they didn’t do.

Instead, they were trying to tie off the relationship between Sun and Blake by having him leave, not cementing Blake’s independence and Sun’s encouragement of that (and they tied it off badly imo because Blake freakin’ kissed the boy lol.) And once they had Sun leave, they started setting Blake up with Yang. I want to clarify that there’s nothing wrong with the writers deciding to go with Blake x Yang, and the ship itself was not a totally baseless one. I’m personally disappointed that one of my favorite RWBY ships isn’t going to be endgame, and I personally don’t like the idea of Blake and Yang as a couple. But my problem isn’t really with the ship itself, it’s with how the show writers have chosen to write the ship in execution.

Getting past the queerbaitery nature of Bumblebee as a ship, the choices surrounding Blake and Yang seem faulty on both sides (which I also think is important to remember. I’ve seen loads of people recognizing that Bumblebee as written in the show is destructive to Blake, but I’ve seen much fewer people talk about how it’s not the best for Yang too.)

Let’s start from the fact that Blake is an abuse victim. She was previously in a relationship with Adam and talks about his destructive and violent behavior. Blake has a really hard time trusting people because of how Adam had acted. He was explosive, manipulative, and he got angry at and hurt Blake specifically for leaving him. The last thing Blake would need is a relationship where she feels personally responsible for the stability of another person. The last thing she needs is to be pressured into staying with someone. The last thing she needs is to be expected to be with that person without the option of ever working with others. The last thing she needs is to be in a relationship where she can’t be apart from someone even temporarily without that person getting anxious and insecure or without having to feel guilty and like she did something wrong.

And yet the show has her in a relationship with someone that has abandonment issues. The show has her promise to stay with Yang in a moment of huge trauma, Blake crying out a desperate denial to the accusations of the abusive ex who had made her life hell, after he tried to again separate her from anyone she loved and she was forced to kill someone she had once deeply cared about. It was also a really weird choice of the writers to have the characters respond to a question over if they’d ever thought about working with other partners with dismissive and cold behavior as if the very idea was somehow wrong (especially since Yang spent quite a bit of time pre-volume six working with Weiss and Blake spent so much of her time working with Sun.) And the writers chose to frame Blake and Yang leaving on temporary separate missions in volume eight to result in insecurity and anxiety from Yang and guilt for Blake. On top of that, Yang is a person with a strong temper and aggressive tendencies. Although she seemed to be trying to work through those problems in seasons four and five, Yang backslid and seems just as controlled by her anger and her insecurities as her volume 2 self now, who had lashed out at Blake and angrily pushed her for not listening in ‘burning the candle.’

As for Yang, she lost her mom when she was very young (Ruby was a toddler,) and her dad temporarily shut down after that. She soon found out her biological mom had left her when she was a baby and spent her whole life wondering why while her uncle spent that time flitting in and out of her life and taking on dangerous missions - the same types of missions that had killed the woman who had raised Yang for the first part of her life. Yang has deep seeded fears of being abandoned and losing her loved ones, and she also has a history of trying to take care of and support the people around her even at her own personal expense. While Yang’s more selfless moments in season five - like giving up her dream of getting answers from Raven to follow and protect Ruby even when she clearly wasn’t wholly healed from her trauma - are admirable, what Yang absolutely doesn’t need in a partner is someone who she feels like she has to protect and save and sacrifice for. What Yang absolutely doesn’t need in a partner is someone she feels like she can’t rely on to be there for her. What she doesn’t need in a partner is someone who can’t give her stability or struggles to trust her. What she doesn’t need in a partner is someone who won’t call her out when she goes a little too far. And yet the writers chose to put Yang with someone who runs on the regular, the only member of their team who thought Yang might be lying about Mercury, someone who needs time and distance when Yang clearly needs someone who is consistent and present. And then the writers made it so that Yang and Blake spend very little time with anyone else. The writers made it so that they can’t be apart without guilt and anxieties.

And you guys, Blake in seasons 6-8 feels so needy. She’s consistently in need of saving, consistently doesn’t stand for herself, seems like she needs a lot of reassurance in her relationship, she’s consistently waiting for other people to make moves, etc. Even when Blake convinces Yang to divulge top secret information to Robyn, when Ironwood confronts them about it, Blake backs up and leaves Yang to explain their actions. In the early seasons, it feels like Yang cares more about their friendship than Blake does and that she’s putting in more effort, which don’t get me wrong, makes total sense since Blake had just gotten out of an abusive relationship and Yang’s clear anger problems (and her using a laser pointer to try and force Blake to talk to her,) might’ve made Blake hesitant to get close to or open up to Yang. But while it no longer feels like Yang cares more, it still feels like Yang puts in more work. Yang is constantly reassuring, protecting, comforting, and stepping up for Blake, while Blake is so passive and acts so dependent that I personally can’t help but feel like Yang must be exhausted. Yang needs stability and reassurance too, Yang needs a partner she can talk to and rely on to be there. When the writers did write Blake as trying to comfort and take care of Yang, it was way too much and had undertones of ableism. And I know, I know they had this ‘we’re taking care of each other’ moment when they were fighting Adam, but that’s just what we were told for one scene, and not what we’ve actually seen in their relationship.

The worst thing is that it didn’t need to be that way. Bumbleby could’ve been a really good ship that built on their foundation. Blake used to be an independent, brave, strong, active character. Blake stood up for herself to Weiss, told Ozpin to his face that he needed to do more for the Faunus, used to have a great, creative fighting style, used to be this sassy girl who’d banter with Sun and with Yang and when she did start opening up to Yang, it was a great way to start evolving their characters to be a strong relationship. In V3 when Blake admitted that she had doubts about Yang due to her past experiences with Adam, but opened herself up and decided to trust Yang anyway when Yang looked her in the eyes and told her sincerely exactly what had happened... That was so great and it really showed off the dynamic the two of them were starting to adapt. CRWBY might’ve immediately separated the two, but A. Seasons four and most of season five had great set up for them to work through their problems and then continue to grow that great dynamic we started seeing in the first three seasons. And B. their respective arcs continued their growth as characters even apart from each other. While I wish that RWBY had let the two work some of this out together, the growth that we were getting did make them more suited for each other. I’ll always ship BlackSun. But Yang getting a hold on her emotions, maturing, starting to work through her abandonment issues, and displaying just what a caring, honest person she was, at the same time that Blake was working through her past and her fears, learning to let people in, strengthening her resolve, and coming into her own as a leader... Come on, those two characters could’ve easily developed a good, healthy, strong, independent relationship and I’m legitimately sad that’s not what we got, especially since we sacrificed so much of Blake’s personality to get a worse ship.

I don’t even know what to say about it, tbh. Idk what else the writers expected us to think with how they wrote things. I’ve heard before that there was probably a cut scene in volume eight that included Yang and Blake fighting (which would then justify Yang and Blake’s reactions when they reunited,) and I do believe that, but the writers chose not to include it, and that made them look worse as a couple. Just like they chose not to include a scene where Blake and Yang work through the problem of Blake having left Yang without a word of explanation at the end of Volume 3. And they didn’t include a scene where Blake explains herself and Yang realizes that maybe she was being a little shortsighted about the trauma Blake had also gone through. And they didn’t include a scene where Blake actually learned that she didn’t have to protect or take care of Yang in volume six. And they haven’t included a scene where Blake puts just as much effort into their relationship as Yang does. And they didn’t include a scene where the two make it clear that they’re fine being apart. If anything, CRWBY has established the opposite, and it isn’t enough to just say that they’re taking care of each other, when they don’t show that to be the case.

Sun being not only willing to let Blake be with others, go her own way, and be her own person, but encouraging of that, made him a very compelling romantic prospect for her. Unfortunately I just don’t see that with Blake and Yang. Their relationship feels co-dependent, and maybe it’s just my personal experience talking and making me chafe, but I personally just don’t like it.

However, fans have been queerbaited long enough. So personal opinions aside, CRWBY give Bumblebee some confirmation you fucking cowards.

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sepublic · 3 years

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Luz’s Online Experience?

Talking a lot with @sterling-jay over the subject and discussing this; I noticed that Luz can be particularly persuasive and a powerful debater, specifically at the end of The First Day where she mercilessly gives Bump a peace of her mind until he finally concedes her genuine point. Coupled with her mentioning “Jerks online who want to debate” as one of her primary fears, and… I have to wonder if she honed her argumentative, debating skills from having to deal with those kinds of people as a kid, usually in online forums that she’d go to talk about her hyperfixation with other like-minded kids; Especially since the internet tends to be a place of solace for neurodivergent kids who can’t find others like them in their area.

I’d see Luz as being SO passionate and into her argument as she brings up a bunch of brilliant points, and then she just gets shut down by a cruel remark (like some internet edgelord calling her “nerd”) and it HURTS so much, because Luz invested so much energy and effort, and yet clearly others don’t feel the same, despite apparently inviting her into discussion. Luz really seems like the type of kid who practiced her arguments and speech and really deliberately stewed over them during class and meals, getting distracted as she thought of the perfect rebuttal, usually within the shower; Because for someone like her, she just CAN’T let it go, because her hyperfixation is being trashed and she has to defend this, etc.

And I think Luz was the kind of kid who easily fell for the kind of taunts and trolling that older people online would do, targeting neurodivergent kids who take things at face-value and are too literal and innocent to realize what’s up. I can imagine Luz getting into flame wars online, because some trolls deliberately aggravate Luz by trashing on her interests and saying dumb things, forcing Luz to go on the defensive as they mercilessly criticize what she likes in order to ruin the fun for her- And eventually Luz realized those people weren’t actually interested in debating her, just making Luz second-guess and doubt herself. So she learned not to bother engaging with those people and just shut them out- Hence why she defeats her fear by recognizing such people as not coming from a place of intellectual honesty, that they aren’t worth her time trying to convince because of this.

That’s why it’s one of her primary fears, “Jerks online who want to debate”, because there’s always that one person on an internet forum who has to be “Um, actually” and deliberately try to ruin Luz’s fun and disprove her headcanons, all while acting so much smarter than Luz, all condescending and pretentious; Probably defaulting to that “Why are you so EMOTIONAL/triggered” response that’s frustrating and invalidating to Luz. And you know someone with a good heart like hers would NOT stand for that kind of talk on principle; And as the daughter of a nurse, she’d go into a spiel about how triggers are an actual medical term, only for Luz to be accused of “taking things too seriously” or “ruining jokes”.

This kind of frustrating, constantly-being-egged-on harassment from others online- It could’ve really soured Luz’s experiences, making her feel even more lonely and unsupported… And it could’ve led to Luz explaining that it’s not worth one’s time trying to engage into argument and conflict, which she explains to King at the beginning of Once Upon a Swap- She’s been there, Luz knows how it feels, and she knows that it never ends well and is just playing into the aggressor’s game. And when Boscha bullies and harasses Willow during Wing it like Witches, it strikes a particular nerve with Luz, causing her to challenge Boscha; And for a less drastic example, this kind of unpleasant experience influences Luz to challenge Amity at the Covention, for King’s honor.

It’s because Luz IS curious and genuinely thoughtful and willing to hear others out in a meaningfully critical sort of way, so she just HATES people who act like that, who come from a position of bad faith and aren’t interested in actually evaluating arguments. So she’s so passionately against the type of ableist trolls who make fun of people for being so invested into their hobbies and interests (because that’s “not a personality”). And it just culminates in Luz being somewhat cautious whenever people approach her online or in real life, because she’s not sure if they’re being genuine or not, if they’ll ever take her seriously, so what’s the point in being able to argue on her and others’ behalf?

For a while, Luz could’ve been the kind of kid who has a brilliant argument, but it’s just… SO HARD for her emotions to not get riled up, to be made fun of as her voice wavers and her eyes water- Which means getting dismissed as unreasonable, ‘too emotional’, all that sorts of stuff. And so despite setting this situation up, Luz’s bullies manage to make it look like LUZ is the aggressor, that she’s the one throwing the first punch, when they were deliberately trying to emotionally trigger her into doing so. And as @sterling-jay suggested, that just leads to the word “Trigger” becoming an ACTUAL trigger for Luz, because of the way it was cruelly and inaccurately used against her in the past- And sometimes when people use it like that, it can launch Luz into a whole spiel about how that’s super-disrespectful to people with actual disorders and PTSD, only to be mocked for being so ‘emotional’.

That means Luz having to learn to regulate her emotions, pretending to not actually care, to be more mature… Before she realizes that no, that’s also playing by their game, who cares what those trolls think? So Luz just blocks them out, ignores them, and continues to be who she is unapologetically, blocking anyone who tries to intrude on her fun without remorse. But what happened still happened, so Luz has a bunch of clever debating skills and rhetoric left over from those days when jerks online would drag her into flame wars for their own amusement. But on the Boiling Isles, especially Hexside… Luz might find an actual, genuine debate club in the Bard Track or someplace similar.

She’d have an environment where people DO debate and argue on good faith, from a place of intellectual honesty- A place where people genuinely, critically think and reflect on their own and others’ takes! So Luz has this powerful, persuasive energy and debating skills that she’s built up over the years, but never had a chance to properly utilize in an environment where it would be taken and evaluated seriously; So like a lot of her passion and interests, curiosity and energy- Luz finds the opportunity to indulge and explore it in the Boiling Isles, channeling that skillset and ability into something good and productive… Like convincing a local principal to provide multi-track learning options for students, and not bend a knee to a corrupt system!

And Luz’s fiery, righteous rage against injustice can come into play during a revolution against Belos’ dictatorship; Because she knows firsthand what it’s like to be frustrated by people who claim to argue on superior, academic merits, but are only really interested in just shutting you and your ideas down… Because no, Luz KNOWS that her and others’ ideas are worth listening to, and hearing out- And it’s just so validating to see people like Eda actually listen to Luz… To actually change their minds, or else explain their own thought processes in earnest, instead of just shutting the girl down because they said so.

It’s this ability to really critically question things and evaluate if people are coming from a place of good, intellectual faith, that makes Luz ready to challenge all sorts of things, while mentoring and encouraging those who are in a similar spot to her childhood, but didn’t have any support- Until now. That yes, what you say IS valid, and if people can’t be bothered to explain themselves properly and/or take your argument into account- Then you shouldn’t have to listen to them, and at times; Just remove yourself from the situation entirely! Prioritize your own comfort and health, and don’t bother trying to play by the rules established by others who are trying to drag you down onto ‘their level’. Challenge the system, break its rules, and don’t bother vying for some kind of moral approval from others who don’t actually care about that kind of thing; And always remember, your emotions, your anger and grief, ARE valid…!

‘Calmness’ doesn’t necessarily indicate objectivity, it can be apathy operating from the comfortable status quo that is being upheld. And don’t fall for the trap of lowering yourself to their playing field, by assuming both sides have a point, because chances are; Both of you are operating from very disparate positions already. What others say may be coming from such bad faith, that they are not entitled to your ‘respect’, nor an actual platform to validate their terrible ideas. And don’t let yourself be blamed for making things ‘more contentious than they need to be’ when you lash out in self-defense; Because a lot of the times, the status quo that’s being disrupted is unjust and NEEDS to be changed, and it’s the one causing conflict by hurting people in the first place.

#the owl house #toh #the owl house luz #luz noceda #toh luz #speculation #meta #angst #ableism tw #bullying tw

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holden-norgorov · 3 years

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Everything we know about Amalia True so far

Spoilers of the first 4 episodes of The Nevers under the cut.

On August 3rd, 1896 she attempted to commit suicide by drowning herself and was Touched right after. It's still unclear whether she actually succeeded at it, with the Touch transferring an alien consciousness inside her lifeless body and completely taking over her, or whether the Touch awakened also her previous consciousness back to life and her body is now hosting two different sentient beings.

She seems to always be sleeping on the floor, in the same exact spot and position.

Her known Turn is Ripplings, which grant her the ability to see glimpses into the future. We know not every Rippling she experiences actually comes true (e.g. Maladie assaulting her on the balcony of the theatre in E01) and that her Turn seems to be connected to a sort of hand tic whose actual purpose is still unclear (it may vary from being just a way for the character to handle anxiety/PTSD, or to stay in touch with the present while seeing the future, to being a way through which she can actually control when to have Ripplings or even what to see). It's also still quite unclear whether she can prevent her Ripplings from coming true at all (in E04, she decides not to bring Desiree to Massen's mansion just because her Rippling showed her she was going there alone, even though bringing Desiree was clearly the smartest thing to do - or at least, that's what the writing wanted us to draw from it).

She knows at least Chinese, Russian and Turkish enough to grasp that Myrtle is speaking those languages.

She is a skilled fighter in hand-to-hand combat and she's also likely an expert on weaponry.

She tells the Beggar King that "this isn't her real face" while he's holding a blade to her cheek.

She can tell Massen has a past in the military just by looking in his eyes.

"Trouble makes her troublesome". It's likely she finds some kind of solace/catharsis in violence because "she knows where she is during a fight", while her PTSD, her Turn and her unique position as someone who was "left behind" with an unclear mission to accomplish probably make her feel constantly stripped of control. ("You think anything here has to do with what I wish?", E03).

She knows Mary is the Voice of the Galan-.

She admits she isn't from "here" and that the city's maps (as they are in the present, at least) are incomprehensible to her.

Before the Touch, she was a baker and had a husband who was a butcher. Her husband died in unmentioned circumstances some time before 1899. It's also hinted at during E02 that her husband might have been abusive or violent towards her (it's clear that she is also thinking about herself while talking to Mundi about Maladie being a victim of abuse and mingling pain with pleasure).

She is referred to by Maladie as "the woman who sheds her skin". Amalia asks if she was talking about her dress at the Opera, and Maladie replies that she is talking about her relationships. It's unclear whether this reference might also contain another meaning (more literal perhaps) that we still ignore.

She is called "Molly" by Maladie. It's still unclear whether Molly is just a short nickname for Amalia that Maladie gave her when they were friends (which would mean that Maladie knows her only as Amalia) or whether Molly is the actual identity she knows her as (maybe her real name from where/when they come from).

She shares a background with Maladie and knows her as "Sarah". She had to do a difficult choice and it's implied that said choice "created Maladie". She also states that her mission apparently doesn't need either herself or Maladie, but needs both Mary and Penance. We know Mary is the Voice of the Galan-, while Penance may be destined to create something important with her Turn (maybe rebuilding the Ship)? Still, Amalia is careful to shoot both herself and Maladie in such a way as to avoid for the wounds to be fatal. This might indicate that she was just gaining time for Mundi to arrive, and that Maladie is also needed for the mission (we'll have to see if Amalia is going to save her from being executed in the next episode).

She shoots herself in a specific spot in order to avoid hitting any vital organ, but as it turns out later she actually fails at doing so. This might support both the theory that she is an alien in a human body (doesn't know human anatomy that much) or that she is a human from the distant future (where evolution has progressed in such a way as to dispose of the vital organ she hit here because it would turn out to become useless for the survival of future generations).

It's suggested that she tells Penance everything about herself and her mission some time between E02 and E03 ("there's lots I'll need explained, but let's just be alive for a while now").

At the beginning of E03, she slaps herself in front of a mirror and seems to be staring at herself as if she's tired of wearing that face, or maybe even disgusted by it.

Horatio explicitly reveals here that Amalia is a soldier, even though we already had several hints that pointed to that in the previous episodes. She replies that she is a killer just like Maladie, which ties to Bonfire Annie saying to Horatio that Amalia and Maladie are actually quite similar in E04.

Amalia mentions being Horatio's "mistake". It's unclear if she's talking about Horatio cheating on his wife with her, or if it's about something deeper. However, we know that Amalia was present when Horatio discovered he was Touched.

She mentions to George that Mary wouldn't recognize any of the songs she knows (because she is not from "here") and later says she has already experience with the device Penance is currently inventing, recognizing it as an "amplifier". This definitely establishes that Amalia's consciousness comes from the future.

She reveals to Mary that right after August 3rd, 1896 she "woke up knowing things that she shouldn't and was declared insane". This suggests the background we know Amalia and Maladie share be from the asylum Maladie was being brought in exactly the day the Ship appeared over London. Later on, we get confirmation of this when Maladie recalls that Horatio was working as a doctor at that asylum while she and Amalia were both kept there. So Amalia, Maladie and Horatio seem to be the only members of the Touched who share an unknown background together that occurred between 1896 and 1899, and Penance is probably the only one currently at the Orphanage who has been provided with indirect knowledge of this.

She reveals that "we don't do [funerals] when I'm from, there's not enough time and there's not enough ground". This seems to imply that in the future most of the currently available land will be buried under the ever-growing levels of sea (while on the other hand population growth is likely going to gradually increase), or might simply suggest people die at enormous rates and there's just no time to mourn. She also makes it clear that she believes she was abandoned here by herself, and even raises the doubt that her original body host in the future might not be female.

It's heavily implied by Massen that she had previously foreseen Mary's death in the park during an unshown Rippling, and her reaction to that accusation seems to confirm that.

She confesses to Lucy that something went wrong during August 3rd, 1896 and that "it wasn't supposed to be like this" and she "just got left behind". This, combined with the conversation she had with Penance earlier, suggests that Amalia ignore the Ship crashed somewhere in London instead of fleeing away, as it was likely planned to do. So, Maladie seems to be the only one who knows about the crashing, which might explain why she also believes to have a mission which is different from Amalia's (as in, Maladie might have held as a mission all along that of finding the remains of the Ship and building it back to escape and carry out the original plan, while Amalia's plan might have nothing to do with escaping and everything to do with training the Touched to accomplish something in this place and time, since she doesn't know the Ship didn't leave her behind but actually crashed).

She discovers she isn't alone in her mission only when presented with the translation of the Voice of the Galan- made it possible thanks to Myrtle. She is referred to as a lonely soldier wearing stripes and is told by an unidentified someone (who was talking through Mary) that she wasn't actually abandoned.

#the nevers #the nevers hbo #amalia true #just a summary to keep my thoughts in order #anyway looking forward to tonight's episode #and tbh also to the next #that should feature Some Revelations

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Fluff alphabet for Tadashi Hamada if you're stil writing for him, please. B, c,s w?

Indeed, I do still write for the lovely lad. Stuff is below the cut

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

Oh, most definitely. Tadashi is a very family-oriented man. Always has been, always will be. So it’s no surprise that he looks forward to the day he can start his own little branch of the Hamada family tree. We’ve already seen how he is with Hiro: He’s protective, he’s encouraging, he’s inspiring, he’s good at getting him to do things he may not want to do even if it’s for his own benefit -- imagine what wonders he could do if those traits were applied to a little mini-him or mini-you or mini-you-both!

Honestly, the subject goes more or less unspoken between you two because it’s kind of a given that Tadashi wants kids. You two would be taking a walk in the park or going to the mall and the moment a stroller passes by, he’s barely playing off how much he’s trying to crane his neck to gaze upon the chubby wonder resting inside. You can see the disappointment in his eyes when he fails. Some days when you’re just at the Lucky Cat trying to get some homework done, you’ll glance up and see him at a table with a baby at it, speaking all kinds of sweet words to them. You’ve seen his favorites playlist on Youtube -- it has a decade-old commercial for Legal Zoom on it. When you questioned why it was there in the first place, you had to witness your adoring boyfriend sheepishly admit that the baby in it was just too cute. And also he liked the pale purple walls and thought it’d make for good inspiration.

“Good inspiration for . . .?” you led, knowing exactly where it was headed. You watched at Tadashi’s eyes wandered and his cheeks and ears reddened.

“For . . . a nursery . . .” he responded. It was a mumble, but you heard everything you needed to know loud and clear.

Well, not everything, of course: You asked him what exactly he envisioned for the future.

He admitted he wasn’t exactly particular about whether he wanted a boy or a girl, let alone first or second -- he just knew he would like at least two children so neither one would be lonely. Corny and cheesy as it was, he would’ve preferred to live somewhere a little closer to the suburbs (“Hey, at least I don’t expect a white picket fence!” he justified). His reasoning being that he’d like a nice, quiet area in which many parks and libraries and schools can be accessible, and so any children of yours have room to grow. However, given the structure of the area, he knew that this was going to be a tough call for a multitude of reasons.

Bottom line, though, he’d be okay with living in the city if it meant he could still provide for you and your hypothetical kids the best he could. He just wants to make sure everyone is happy and healthy. But for now, he’s content with it just being the two of you . . . Emphasis on “for now.”

C = Cuddles (How do they cuddle?):

Usually with a prayer that Hiro doesn’t barge in. No, seriously: That bedroom of theirs offers only the most courteous of privacies by way of a tasteful but otherwise unpersuasive shoji. You want Hiro to see you guys trying to get cozy about as much as Hiro does -- which is not at all, given how he pretends to throw up every time he’s walked in on you two. And how he’s voiced his dislike of it.

Given that Tadashi is ever the caring brother and roommate, he can only get away with so many dry, “You don’t have to be here”s before he just feels bad about it. As a result, the two of you have actually had to create a cuddling schedule built with Hiro’s course times, your availability, and Tadashi’s availability in mind. And God forbid Hiro ever finds out about that schedule because all he needs is one more reason to call the both of you Ultra Nerds.

Worse-case scenario, you two get booted out and have to make do with the couch in the garage, cramped as it is. But you don’t mind: Usually, the reason you two are cuddling is because you’re so butt-tired from coursework that you need to relax and zonk out for a couple hours. Besides, for as lanky and more muscle-based as a guy like Tadashi is, his arm wrapped around you is unfairly warm and comforting. You’re bound to be conked out before you can even utter a complaint, or at the very least you’re way too relaxed to register the fact that you’re both awkwardly strewn about the furniture.

So if it had to be put in a different way (and less about worrying somebody might barge in), you supposed you could describe your cuddling as being the snug equivalent to how a college student eats, sleeps, or lives altogether: You both take what you can get when you can get it and try to enjoy it before it’s time to go to your next “adult obligation.”

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?):

Tadashi is a pretty optimistic person so it’s actually hard to get him completely down, let alone long enough for him to actually require a pick-me-up bigger than a brief inner pep talk. Normally all he needs to do is have a quiet moment to himself, some time to cool down, maybe remind himself that things can and will get better. But in the odd moment where this isn’t enough, Tadashi will often turn to his interests.

However, don’t assume this means he’ll hunker down in his lab and focus on one of his projects: He’s long since learned that it’s best to not robotically engineer with sad or frustrated -- way too many power outages have occurred from that.

Instead, he turns to his other hobbies: Living with Aunt Cass means he’s been knowing how to bake for years, albeit the baked fruits of his labors don’t always come out prettily; depending on how free his schedule is (read: not very at all anymore), he may go find a location to go surfing; or he goes to a park to get, like, a cart crepe. Usually being outside in a sunny place (with plenty of puppies and babies around) zaps him back to normal.

Which leaves him with plenty of time to figure out how to cheer you up!

Given his nature, Tadashi has become a wiz at cheering others up. He’s just got this nearly contagious brightness about him. And even if you don’t find yourself as readily bright as he, don’t worry: He’s not afraid to pull old tried-and-trues on you. Being an older brother/almost fatherly figure has allowed him the perfect position to perfect his trade: That is, the art of being goofy for the sake of cheering up his loved ones. He will easily pick you up and jump around with you, hollering about how he’s going to “turn that frown upside-down” -- by actually holding you upside-down.

Not your cup of tea? Then be prepared to witness the most tragic case of Dad Dancing ever recorded in a man below the age of 30, complete with cheesy disco music. You will be forced to witness his arms flailing, head bopping, mouth performing what you had once heard being referred to as “The White Man’s Overbite”. You will beg that he stop “for the love of Mochi.” You will try to have your pleas be heard over the speaker blaring “Got to Be Real” by Cheryl Lynn, only to be further drowned out by your boyfriend’s tone-deaf singing.

But the man will not stop: He must dance in your honor.

And once you’re done wiping away the tears left from cackling, he’ll treat you to some froyo.

If this still doesn’t work, there’s the slightest chance he might pull out the big guns: Tickling. It’s reserved strictly as a worst-case scenario, but he’s going to dance until his feet bleed if he can help it before he has to do that again. The last time he resorted to tickling a little too eagerly, it . . . didn’t end well.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?):

When? A balmy evening in May. How? With a bit of difficulty. Mind you, Tadashi is a generally organized man on the average day. But on the day he proposes to you – heck, the days leading up to it? He’s a bit of a mess. And it’s in no small part due to how incredibly involved his friends and family had tried to be the entire time.

Make no mistake, he’s very glad that he has such supportive loved ones. However, he found himself constantly fighting off a heart attack every time one of them treaded the line a little too closely for his comfort. (Sure, there’s little suspicion in Honey gushing over wedding magazines with you or Aunt Cass asking you to sample a “brand new wedding cake flavor” she was planning to use for some pastries, but Wasabi asking about your ring size and Fred talking about how kaiju costumes were better than tuxes until GoGo had to slam him down really wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.)

Hiro might’ve been the closest thing to normal throughout it all, much to the elder Hamada brother’s surprise. But even then, he was more of less gesturing for Tadashi to just go ahead and pop the question – albeit, at the most inopportune times in the latter’s honest opinion.

“I can’t propose to my girlfriend in the campus library!” Tadashi rejected Monday.

“There’s nothing romantic about being in the middle of a pizzeria and going, ‘Hey, will you marry me?’” he scoffed on Wednesday.

“Hiro, if you ever propose to somebody in front of a mall fountain, then I’ve failed you,” came his dry response Saturday. He knew his younger brother meant no harm by applying the lightest of pressures; he just wanted all the anxieties over with! But this was you Tadashi was proposing to: You deserved only the best. Only the most heartfelt . . . Which was why, in the end, the where of it all was the Lucky Cat Café. Was it the fanciest establishment he could have done it in? Not really. Thankfully, Aunt Cass was all too eager to oblige his request to have the café to yourselves one evening; it allowed him to properly decorate your favorite table with a tablecloth and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was admittedly a tad cheesy, but you certainly didn’t mind it.

But this was where Tadashi had grown up. It was where his family – the core of his being – was, where his friends congregated to relax. This was his home in so many ways and if he was to invite you into his family, he wanted it to be done here. Even if it meant Aunt Cass and Hiro were not too discreetly peeking out from the back. Or that the entire time Tadashi was trying to recite his proposal speech, he kept getting distracted by your friends, whose faces were mashed against a window behind you, waiting to bear witness to this milestone.

Suffice to say, it was a very group-oriented situation. But neither you nor Tadashi would have had anything less.

Thank you for your patience!

#tadashi hamada #tadashi hamada x reader #tadashi hamada imagine #big hero 6 imagine #big hero 6 imagines #tadashi hamada headcanons #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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chat-noir-always-here · 3 years

Text

Debunking “Adrien is perfect”

To voice a rather non-Marinette-like opinion of Adrien: He’s not perfect. He’s never been perfect. He has, in fact, been riddled with flaws from the very beginning. Part of the reason Chat Noir gets hate is because he serves to exaggerate Adrien’s flaws and make them more obvious, destroying the perfectionism façade. And the sooner Marinette tosses the “I love the perfect Adrien” filter in the trash where it belongs, and starts actively recognizing and acknowledging his faults, the better off the endgame relationship will be.

Long post is long and I don’t like cuts, cuz i’ve lost a few posts in the past using them. Please filter the tag “long post” I use it for walls of texts like these.

First of all, flaws are just one of the many things that happen when someone either learns something the wrong way, spends too much time in the wrong environment, lack any decent role models... really there are a plethora of causes. What i mean is character shortcomings aren’t necessarily reasons to hate the character themselves. They’re more or less internal obstacles put there to be overcome in order to portray character growth. Of course spending an exaggerated amount of time with these characters without seeing them overcome particular shortcomings is frustrating it does not necessarily mean they will never be redeemed or developed and are/were deserving of hate.

Except for Gabriel. That creature belongs behind bars.

Most of Adrien’s flaws come from his toxic home situation:

The Miraculous Wiki puts Adrien at fifteen. Meaning Adrien has only been actively leaving the house (for public school and the occasional social get-together) for about a year. His fourteenth birthday was one of the earliest episodes and im assuming his fifteenth birthday happened off screen between the s3 finale and the new york special.

Regardless the majority of his life was spent in isolation and his only company was his immediate family, Nathalie, Felix and Chloe. None of whom are particularly good role models except for Emilie. Maybe.

He’s rather overworked for a 14 y.o. boy. On top of school, he has fencing, piano and Chinese lessons. This leaves him with very little time for himself.

He lost his mother. In Feast, Adrien expresses Emilie was a source of joy in his life--”Only Mom can make me laugh like that.” Felix marked the one year anniversary of her disappearance. Worse still, we’re led to assume all Adrien knows is that Emilie disappeared. Did she abandon him? Was she kidnapped and killed? He doesn’t know. He has no closure regarding her absence.

On top of losing his mother, his only remaining parent is an emotionally manipulative and abusive prick. Gabriel has denied Adrien a birthday party, threatened to take Adrien out of school just because he can, never lets him have friends over for any reason, hardly ever makes time for Adrien and only once in a blue moon will actually sit and eat a meal with the poor kid.

And on top of all of this he’s not out of the woods yet. He’s still living with his abusive father. He’s still not allowed to see his friends outside of school much. He’s still got a packed schedule. He still doesn’t have closure regarding his mother’s “disappearance.”

Looking at it like this paints Adrien in a rather sympathetic light.

Marinette doesn’t know Gabriel is Hawk Moth either, but she does understand Adrien is lonely, isolated and in need of a source of love and comfort. She also understands to some degree that his heart is delicate, so she constantly handles him with kid gloves and looks on him with a perfection filter.

We see how Mari reacts to upsetting Adrien in Malediktator when she softly whispers an apology after Adrien expresses his sorrow over everyone celebrating Chloe’s departure. She’s seems pained and distraught over causing him to be upset. Thus the reason Marinette calls Adrien perfect isn’t that she never sees any of his flaws--she just cannot acknowledge or process them under these conditions. Shes too busy trying not to hurt him. She also has shown some signs of having extreme anxiety, which messes with ones head and makes it difficult--nearly impossible--to think straight. She wants to be the source of love and comfort he desires (and already is in a way) so his faults go unprocessed.

But what are Adrien’s flaws?

1. He has trouble standing up for himself.

He’ll take a stand for others.

He stood up to Chloe on Mylene’s behalf in Horrificator and on Marinette/ Cheng Sifu’s behalf in Kung Food. He stood up to Lila in Oni-chan and Ladybug. He stood up to Gabriel in Simon Says--but as Chat Noir, not Adrien.

There have only been two-ish instances of Adrien, not Chat Noir, standing up for himself. I say -ish only because he was kinda standing up for Lila in the first and Chloe in the second.

First in Volpina he stood up to Ladybug for how she handled the situation with Lila. He personally believed she handled the situation poorly (which she did--there were/are serious consequences for that. still) and although he was kinda wishy-washy in conveying that it was only because he was scared of sounding too much like Chat Noir. Her partner. Her chief-of-staff. Who can and will call her out on such behavior.

Second in Malediktator, when he more or less told Marinette she was wrong to be happy about Chloe leaving. Granted this was partly him standing up for Chloe, but aside from her—he, Adrien, was deeply upset chloe was leaving on such bad terms and made sure Marinette understood that.

Abused children tend to be somewhat submissive/agreeable/etc. They have trouble speaking out when they’re uncomfortable or don’t want something or think a particular action is wrong. Usually because they are anticipating some kind of punishment for speaking out or afraid of offending the other person to the point that said person wants nothing to do with them anymore, or both.

For Adrien to fix this particular flaw, he needs to prioritize himself and his own wants more. However he also needs someone who doesn’t chastise him for doing things he likes, tending to his own needs and setting boundaries. Kagami is not that person--she’s actually quite demanding of him and cold. Her understanding of relationships isnt great either, which is why these two really aren’t that great for each other.

2. He puts his faith in the wrong people

Adrien’s fucking household is about as toxic as it can get (please don’t take this as a challenge, S4). On top of his immediate family consisting of his abusive, toxic, terrorist father, there’s his cousin Felix. Felix who squished cheese under Adrien’s pillow, stole his phone, pretended to be him and sent an outrageous and awful video to his friends.

There’s also his mother Emilie whom, despite his love and adoration of her, lied to him for who knows how long and messed around with a broken miraculous to the point it forced her into an indefinite coma and left Adrien at his father’s mercy. There are theories that she did this for her family but nothing concrete or canon has been proven--all we know is that Emilie had been having frequent dizzy spells while she was still awake and using the peacock miraculous, and that she anticipated her fate and Gabriel apparently promised to save her.

There’s Lila, as well. “She’s not dangerous. She just craves attention.” Wrong, Adrien, she’s very dangerous. She is conspiring with your father to spy on you, attempted to get Marinette expelled from school, tricked you into leaving Ladybug alone with a supervillain whom she personally requested to kill Ladybug, pinned Marinette against a bathroom wall and almost got her akumatized, actually got Marinette akumatized and nearly cost you both the Ladybug Miraculous and TIkki. She isn’t just dangerous she is an actual threat, whether or not she is the future Hawk Moth who sent Timetagger after you when you were children with time-sensitive powers. Adrien has a slightly better understanding of that after the events of Ladybug and Oni-chan, so hopefully he will be on his guard at least in regards to Lila.

The reason for Adrien’s overly trusting nature may lie in the fact that literally everyone closest to him, everyone for the first thirteen years or so, was toxic and/or a liar. You know what happens when you can’t trust anyone around you? You live with it. You accept all these bad people as they are, without making any effort to establish healthy boundaries. Adrien certainly lived with it--how’s an abused, isolated boxed-and-sheltered son supposed to know what healthy boundaries are when he’s lacking any healthy connections? I bet he can just barely endure all the anguish but he can’t stand to be alone so he just tolerates it. Not to mention the most guilty is his father. Where else is he supposed to go?

Like a frog sitting in a pot of water, you don’t realize you’re in trouble until the water is too hot. So you just accept it--all the bad feelings--you accept it, live with it and it still hurts but you rarely complain. Because anything is better than being alone.

I think Adrien understands, deep down, that the love he is clinging to, the love provided by his relatives, isn’t really there. But if he looks at it too long and lets this knowledge sink in he’ll lose it. He really did lose it in Chat Blanc-- just that sky-crashing-down-on-him realization that he didn’t have his fathers love, hadn’t had it for a long time, just completely ruined our boy.

Of course the knowledge is there. It’s literally right there in front of his face and it’s only a matter of time before he is forced to turn and look and face the music. At which point I hope Marinette knows who he is and has a plan to save him otherwise Chat Blanc is just going to happen again.

3. Yes, he takes the flirting too far sometimes

No--that doesn’t make him toxic.

Yes, Adrien overreacted to Ladybug never showing up in Glaciator. He shouldn’t have been upset with her in Frozen for not accepting the rose. He should have told her the damn truth about being forced to leave the city at the same time she was in the New York special.

However, he also apologized for overreacting in both Glaciator and Frozen. And again, abused kids live in anticipation of punishment for their mistakes. Adrien’s father has taught him that the slightest mistake can result in loss of freedom or trust, even if its circumstances beyond his control. And he now understands that Ladybug isn’t going to blindly punish him for being honest with her, which he now knows to do.

He makes mistakes, apologizes for them, and learns from them. That’s not fucking toxic--it’s natural, human and allowed.

He’s flirty and suggestive, yes, but the minute she signals she doesn’t want it or isn’t feeling it he stops. He has had immense trouble with not flirting with her, despite her telling him she isn’t interested multiple times. That much is true. But he truly and deeply cares for her and he would never force himself on her and it isn’t because he knows she’ll kick his ass if he does. It’s because unlike the vast majority of his family, he’s actually a decent human being.

He has even begun to “flirt platonically,” toasting their partnership and friendship rather than offering a romantic relationship she can never say yes to. If that isn’t the most soft and respectful fluff I don’t know what is.

4. He is leading Kagami on

Did he cheat? I’m actually not sure. Thomas is being vague in his tweets and won’t give us a decent answer (because he likes “watching fandom burn”--i mean MOOD but clarify please).

Here’s what we know and have observed: 1. Chat Noir told Ladybug “I have a girlfriend” 2. He immediately followed that up with “It’s not good at all. I just said that to make you jealous” 3. He allowed Kagami to kiss him in the new york special 4. but he has trouble telling girls not to touch him--been a problem since episode one. Yes its generally cheek kisses chloe gives him but sometimes its not and he looked downright uncomfortable in a lot of cases of physical contact with her and with Lila 5. he seemed rather comfortable with kagami kissing him--except he did say no to her kissing him in the finale 6. but he’s also trying to move on from Ladybug and be with Kagami 7. If he were in a relationship with Kagami, he’d likely keep it a secret because both of their parents are controlling of them and may not allow it 8. His understanding of relationships and girls is kinda dreadful due to not having his mom around for advice and his father’s general lack of a concept of what healthy romantic relationships and boundaries are, and, as Nino put it, not being able to understand signals very well

Adrien’s current relationship status is up in the air. I’m about eighty percent certain he’s dating Kagami--but there’s still that twenty percent chance he’s not.

Putting aside the question of whether or not he and Kagami are official, Adrien’s been attempting to move past his feelings for Ladybug. Which--won’t sugarcoat it--he kinda sucks at. At the same time, Kagami is aware he is in love with another but lacks the understanding that his moving on will take time.

The main issues here is that Adrien knows who he wants but can’t have her. Kagami is a wonderful person herself and he wants to get to know her better, but they aren’t really a good match and they are both going to get hurt in the end (Love Victor anyone???). Until that happens we are going to have some questionable moments in the show, and we just need to remember that Adrien is a child with a poor understanding of relationships, and not an evil person. Kagami doesn’t necessarily have a great understanding of them either--”Your indecision hurts me Adrien,” “Adrien you and I are perfect for each other!”--and she has flaws of her own she needs to unlearn.

For the time being, Adrien is leading Kagami on (it needs to be said--even if they aren’t dating he’s flirted with her, given her roses etc.) I say leading her on because, no matter how much Adrien believes Marinette is just a friend and they weren’t flirting in New York, loyal boyfriends who wish to be monogamous don’t dance with other women.

Or look this happy when that other woman touches them

Does this make Adrien a deceitful and hateful character? No. Does this make him an unworthy character? No. It makes him an abused child with little to no concept of healthy relationships.

Also Adrien’s friends, including Marinette, have no reason to believe he is dating Kagami. They know he is interested in her and she in him, but as Nino said, Adrien has a hard time picking up signals and understanding their meaning. Not to mention the boy is fifteen. Flirting skills, understanding boundaries, and other relationship concepts are a challenge even for ordinary fifteen year olds in healthy environments to grasp--case in point: Marinette.

Adrigami and Lukanette are simply not going to end well. The Love Square is the endgame and ultimately both Lukanette and Adrigami are going to fall apart to make that happen--I knew that going into the possible Adrigami and Lukanette territory that the finale created.

Kagami is a strong, intelligent person--she’s likely going to be the one to end it given what we’ve seen. I don’t like to think about what might happen then--she may be akumatized and Chat Noir would feel rather guilty and may not be able to fight her. But they will both come out of it with something they needed--Kagami will understand (as Marinette needs to) that Adrien isn’t her perfect soul mate incapable of making mistakes. Adrien will understand relationships better.

Its unfortunate that this has to happen in order for Adrien to learn due lessons, given that he actually does have someone who can talk to him about girls and relationships and loyalty: Nino.

Given what Nino wasted no time in scolding Mari for spying on Adrien and Lila when she confessed doing so in Chameleon, as well as how he treats Alya, I undoubtedly believe Nino would be the one to come out and say “You can’t dance with Marinette when you’re with Kagami.”

Assuming he is with Kagami.

In conclusion: Adrien is flawed but not deserving of hate. He is a traumatuzed child stuck in a toxic household who lacks proper mentors. Marinette, Alya and Nino are out of the loop about his potential relationship with Kagami. And Marinette and Kagami both need to acknowledge Adrien is imperfect. Nino and Adrien need to do guy talk like two seasons ago.

Also Marinette probably has some intense anxiety issues. But more on that later.

#long post #adriennette #love square #miraculous ladybug #mlb new york #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Not Your Typical

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort (kind of?)

Pairings: romantic Demus, Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: some language, autistic character, sensory overload, mentions of losing friends in the past, anxiety, unintentional self harm, Roman is kind of a jerk but he regrets it, food mentions, unable to eat certain consistencies, beach/water/swimming, Janus being a disaster gay, ASL, selective mutism.

Word count: 6k

Comments: Like always, I don’t intend for these to be so long. Holy cow.

Janus is written based mostly on my experiences as someone with autism, and how it’s affected my childhood/relationships/daily life. No one’s experience is the same.

Janus was always alone. Alone, not lonely.

Most of the time, that is.

His whole childhood was an endless cycle of make a friend, weird them out, be alone. Find another friend, weird them out, be alone. And sometimes it hurt, yeah, but he got used to it. At home, he spent the entire day in his room, assembling structures out of legos before tearing them down and starting over. Sometimes he’d build something really cool, and that would stay up for a long time. He didn’t have any siblings, and his parents didn’t give a whoop as long as the floor was generally clear, so no one ever bothered the space ships or towers or just really long lines that stretched from one wall to the other. He liked those.

Things changed when he got to middle school. Life started getting real, people became more than just recess friends, and that unsettled him. He made a couple close friends, friends that he really opened up to only for them to leave him when he became too much. He just couldn’t help it though; he couldn’t help the way he bounced when he got so excited he couldn’t breathe, or how he couldn’t use words when he got overwhelmed by the touch and the noise, or how he couldn’t stop talking about his favorite shows or books. He was labeled as childish. It was like a label had been stuck to his chest that read “avoid at all costs”, and people did.

So he relearned how to be alone. He put a lava lamp next to his bed for when he needed something constant to look at, he got a collection of chewy necklaces and stim toys that never left his room. After a lot of research, he convinced his parents to buy him a weighted blanket for when every touch was too light, too agonizingly light, and he needed something firm to ground him. At school, or really around anyone, he learned to control his more obvious stimming and touch sensitivity by staying in oversized sweaters and jeans. He taught himself basic sign language for when he couldn’t talk, even though he knew his parents wouldn’t understand him. They took forever to learn basic signs, for ‘water’ or ‘quiet’ or ‘no’, and both eventually got frustrated and gave up. As if their frustration was anything compared to his.

It was going great, not perfect but better than before, until he graduated high school. Suddenly he realized he was about to move halfway across the country, to a new environment with new triggers and new people who didn’t understand that he wasn’t frowning because he was pissed, but because smiling when you didn’t understand the reasoning was exhausting. Why do people smile and greet you when they enter the room? Why couldn’t that be more of an… understood thing? I’m here, you’re here now, we both know that, so why bring so much attention to it? For once his parents were kind enough to help him out, taking him to the campus during the summer to get acquainted with the surroundings and learn the map by heart. He talked to the admission’s counselor, explaining his disability and why that meant he couldn’t be on the side of campus near the highway, because the constant noise and common sirens would make him explode. They were eventually able to move him to one of the other buildings, one with apartments instead of dorms, even though that was generally only for third and fourth years. It took a load off his shoulders; less noise, less people. The one thing he couldn’t do was meet his roommates before the year started.

The school got them into contact, and since he was the last to be assigned to the six person pod, they added him into their pre-established group chat. The other five already had nicknames, ranging from ‘Dad’ to ‘Rat Bastard’, and he immediately felt like an outsider. Not like that was new to him, though. Except, he didn’t stay like that. When one of the group, ‘Nerdy Mcnerd’ on the chat (he’d long forgotten their actual names), asked him what he liked and he immediately sent a list of special interests and hyperfixations, the top being snakes, it was like a door had been opened. Nerdy Mcnerd was a fan of space as well, and the two stayed up until all hours of night on their own chat discussing space and their place in the universe. Rat Bastard had an affinity for what people would categorize as “creepy animals”; octopi and squid, spiders, star-nosed moles, and most importantly, snakes. Their conversations mostly involved dopey pictures of snakes and unintelligible key smashes and emojis. Emo Disaster shared his love of darker themed TV shows, and they started a couple new ones at the same time, constantly updating each other with theories. When he mentioned his major was psychology, Dad was immediately overjoyed to be sharing the major with someone, and offered to help him study for the harder classes. He didn’t hit it off quite so well with Princey, who was put off by Janus’ so called “moodiness” and didn’t trust him.

When they finally met, it was supposed to be great. Janus knew the environment, somewhat knew his roommates, and was surprisingly excited for the new year. His joy was suddenly vanquished, however, as meeting these people face to face took a turn for the worse. Dad, Patton, immediately tried to go for the hug when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and was slightly taken aback when Janus reared back so hard he hit his head on the wall. The glee disappeared and he apologized profusely, and that’s when Nerdy Mcnerd, Logan walked in, explaining that Patton was very physical. They were over it rather quickly, but Janus shuddered as soon as the other two turned to each other. They had already claimed one of the three rooms for themselves, so Janus chose the one furthest into the apartment. He dropped his suitcases next to one of the two beds with a deep sigh. The thought of a hug… no. It unsettled him greatly, made his skin crawl. Maybe one day, but not now.

Emo Disaster and Princey, Virgil and Roman, arrived later in the day, hand in hand, bickering animatedly when they walked into the apartment. They were greeted with a huge hug from Patton and a side hug from Logan, and that’s when Janus recalled that they had all been roommates the year prior and again, felt a small tinge of pain. He was still the odd one out. Virgil gave a two finger salute to where Janus was sitting curled up on one of the bar stools, knees pulled to his chest and for the first time, Janus didn’t feel compelled to give a forced smile in greeting. It was a relief. The small nod was all that was needed. Roman however, was a different story. When they happened to make eye contact for the first time, the taller man still standing in the doorway, Janus flinched. Hard. The man’s eyes burned through him, as if scouring through his brain, eyes so full of passion that Janus had to look away. Eye contact was only an issue for him sometimes, but with Roman, it physically hurt. Which only made the theatre major more suspicious of him. As he passed him on the way to get a glass of water, the taller man blurted out, “You’re a first year, why are you in a third year building?”, earning him a gentle smack from Virgil. He answered with a lame shrug and rushed back to his room, conceding to just go to sleep, regretting leaving his drink on the counter.

No one besides Janus was surprised when the door burst open at three am and a loud voice screamed, “I’M BACK, FUCKERS!” He was frozen in place, woken with such an adrenaline rush that he couldn’t move. Outside, the other four exited their rooms with varying levels of annoyance and delight, greeting the final member of the group. Remus, as Janus heard them proclaim, was his roommate, the only two dwellers not in a relationship. The gremlin burst into the room, a deranged smile on his face, and Janus wanted to cry. Why did he have to be stuck in a room with the loud one? But Remus saw the mismatched eyes poking out from under the blanket and with no hesitation, sunk to the floor next to the bed, still smiling but a million decimals softer.

“Hey, Snakey. Sorry to scare ya. I’m Remus, but you can still call me Rat Bastard if you want. Call me whatever, I don’t really get offended. You go back to sleep, I’m gonna get settled in. We can talk in the morning.”

Janus wasn’t planning to fall asleep, not with this new person in his room, but Remus was shockingly silent as he unloaded his things (he packed a bunch of garbage bags, not even a suitcase or box), and he couldn’t help the way his eyes slipped shut.

First semester came to a close, and he was equally delighted and horrified that everyone was staying on campus for break. It had become harder and harder for him to avoid movie nights, or family dinners (as Patton called them), or days they all went into town together. In the beginning, he put it off to being tired. Then, studying for exams. Now with school halted for nearly a month, he was out of excuses. It was getting to the point where he could feel the frustration from his roommates, and he wanted to admit how much he wanted to spend time with them, until his drawer full of secret stim toys and chewy necklaces called him back. At times, he let himself spend time with them. Baked something with Patton, talked about the stars with Logan, sat with Virgil as they studied, and it was good. He never was able to escape Roman’s cynical glares that made him absolutely shudder, but he got on much better with his twin.

Remus never minded if Janus only greeted him with a raised eyebrow, and he was okay to have more one sided conversations while Janus drew, or after a few weeks, stared unapologetically. Because god, there was so much about Remus that Janus couldn’t help but watch, even if a normal person would get uncomfortable by his wide and unblinking eyes. Luckily, Remus was no ordinary person. But the younger still kept the drawer to himself, only allowing himself to nom on the plastic or squeeze the orbeez filled squishy snake with intense fascination when he was alone. So every time he was with the others and felt the need to stim or infodump or was about to have a stress induced meltdown, he would excuse himself and leave without so much of a goodbye. He couldn’t, not in front of them. Every time he left, he could hear Roman’s quiet remarks about him that stung more than he wanted to admit.

He’d had so many people leave, people he allowed himself to get close to, only for them to see the side of himself he tried to hide. In his heart, he knew that part of him wasn’t bad. It was just him. Other people didn’t understand that, though. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that no one would judge him, or laugh at him because they weren’t like that, he was scared. The effort was wearing him thin, and it came to the point where he realized he had to tell them. He had to, or he would burst, and that would be way worse.

It was just three little words: I. Am. Autistic. And he’d explain everything, tell them about his stims and limits and how he needed space sometimes and hugs others, and spill everything about himself, and they’d accept him. They’d have to, right? Only, the night he was planning to blurt out the truth, something stopped him.

They were eating dinner, one of the only ones he’d attended in a while. Patton kept glancing at him from across the table as he picked half heartedly at his lasagna, distracted from the lively conversation between the twins and Virgil. The whole thing was speckled with bite sized pieces of mushrooms and zucchini, two of the foods that he couldn’t eat to save his life. The texture made him want to recoil into himself and scream and yank at his hair, and he’d learned early in life that that wasn’t a normal response to food. He wanted to explain to Patton that it wasn’t the meal itself he was avoiding, that it wasn’t Patton’s cooking that he didn’t like, it was just the texture of those two things.

Well, maybe that was a good gateway into his big announcement, if you could even call it that. It felt almost as scary as his coming out to his parents had been. If they didn’t take this well, he might be exiled from the group. If they tried to put up with them, they’d get irritated so quickly and slowly freeze him out. He really didn’t want that. It needed to happen though, he realized. How much worse would it be if one of them walked in on him having a meltdown, holding a pillow over his mouth to block his screams, biting almost animalistically on a necklace? How unsettled would they be if they saw him hitting his blanket pile out of repulsion of the feeling of his textbook pages? Better to warn them ahead of time. It was only luck that had gotten him this far.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Logan hit the table with the heel of his hand and let out an almost guttural scream before storming into his and Patton’s room, slamming the door behind him. Janus nearly fell backwards off his chair, matching Virgil’s surprised expression. Roman went silent, wincing slightly.

“What…” It was the first word he’d said the entire meal. Patton whipped his head towards him as if he’d forgotten he was there, a sudden sympathetic look on his face. He gave a weak smile.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Logan has autism, sometimes he can’t handle the stimulus around him. Or maybe he just had a rougher day than I thought. I’ll check on him after dinner, give him some alone time.”

Logan has autism.

Oh my god.

It was like everything clicked into place. His passionate talk about topics he was interested in that could rival Janus’ (if he would ever let himself infodump like he wanted). His mannerisms, his occasional emotional outbursts, his rigorous unbreakable schedule, it all made sense. For a brief second, Janus was elated. Someone like him, someone who understood! And if they accepted Logan, maybe they would be able to understand him, even if they presented different areas of the spectrum.

But… how would that look? Janus had hidden away his neurodivergent traits for so long, repressed them until he felt like he would literally explode… what if they thought he was faking it? It’s not like they knew him well, not with the amount of time he avoided being around them. They might think he was lying to get attention, didn’t want to be left out. Wanted to be special.

Patton seemed to be waiting for a response, he noted. He gave a curt nod, hoping it displayed that he was unbothered by Logan’s disability, before giving a stupid excuse about some reading to finish over break and darting back to his room. Remus joined him later, saying nothing about the fact that Janus was huddled under his weighted blanket, no book in sight. He sat down in front of the bed, a common habit of his now, and began to quietly talk about some new dark fantasy story he was designing, his lilting voice soothing Janus to sleep.

Time passed, winter came and went, and the end of second semester was drawing near. Janus was still careful with the way he presented to the others. They had picked up that he didn’t like physical contact, and though they never said a word about it, Patton’s lasagna recipe shifted, kept changing, until it no longer included mushrooms and zucchini. Janus refused to believe it was for his sake, though. He tried to join them for a couple movie nights, but the constant fear of stimming made his anxiety spike, therefore finding the need to stim more compelling, until he had to leave. It was getting harder, however, now that it was that pleasant in-between time where he understood how his new profs worked but it wasn’t exam season yet. His excuses were dwindling. Like always, Roman made his stupid quips that hurt him more than was probably intended, and he’d finally had enough.

Maybe that’s why he was staring out at the open lake in front of him, hands playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt as Patton and Remus squealed, sprinting into the water without a second thought. One of their shirts had landed on Janus’ sandaled foot, and he quickly kicked it off as the light touch began to irritate him. Logan stood to his side, watching his boyfriend with an almost imperceivable smile.

“You guys could have helped carry stuff if you were just going to stand there!” Roman’s indignant voice carried over the lawn, muffled slightly by the pile of towels he was carrying. Virgil snorted, whether in agreement or at Princey’s expense, Janus didn’t know. Either way, he dumped his handful of lawn chairs unceremoniously onto the lawn at their feet.

“You two set these up then. I’m hot, I’m going swimming.”

“Damn right, you are,” Roman grinned. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Damn right I’m hot, or I’m going swimming?”

“Yes.” He didn’t give any of them a second to retort, scooping up a shrieking Virgil before sprinting them both into the water.

“They didn’t even take their shirts off,” Logan commented, picking up a chair from the pile and unfolding it. Janus quickly joined in, helping him set the four chairs into a line and placing the towels down in front of them. “Did you want to go swimming?”

Admittedly, Janus hadn’t actually gone swimming, much less to the beach, since he was a kid. He was lucky to have even found a swimsuit amongst his other barely worn clothing; how it had snuck into his suitcase, he didn’t know. The water looked inviting and it was hot, but right now he was exhausted from the long ride over in Remus’ truck, having to refrain from plugging his ear when it got too loud or maintain his breathing carefully when a leg touched his.

“Maybe in a bit. I’m kind of tired.”

Logan turned to look at him, dare he say scrutinizingly? He washed the expression away quickly, asking, “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Janus mumbled, “You go have fun. I’ll be fine, I like the quiet.” As if to punctuate his point, a child screamed from the playground, making them both flinch.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. Go enjoy yourself, Logan.”

He nodded curtly, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluent motion and walking towards the waves professionally, as if he were walking towards a lecture. Patton cheered from the water.

Janus didn’t concern himself with the time as it passed, instead letting his mind wander while he focused on a line of ants that were crawling up a tree next to him. It wasn’t until a fast approaching form caught his attention did he tear his eyes away, hearing him give a shout of “Be right back!”.

Remus plopped himself onto the towel next to him, still panting from the run, but grinning from ear to ear. As he ripped open a water bottle and drank greedily, Janus couldn’t help but stare. Water glistened on his skin like jewels in the afternoon sun, plastering his hair down over his jaw and eyes. His eyelashes were barely fluttering against his cheekbones as he guzzled nearly half of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The jut of his shoulder, almost touching his throat, taking his weight as he leaned back on his arm… the whole thing was fascinating. People interested Janus as a whole; the way they functioned, how they seamlessly picked up on little cues from others that Janus was still in the process of figuring out, even down to intricate biology of cells was incredibly captivating. But Remus was so much more than that. His voice when he spoke him to sleep, never mentioning it the next day, the way his dark eyes glimmered with hope when Janus agreed to eat with them, the twitch of his moustache as he covered a laugh at Patton’s corny jokes.

He was art, plain and simple.

Janus didn’t know if what he felt was romantic attraction. It sure felt like it, except it had never felt quite like this before. It wasn’t that he was asexual or anything, he was actually decently far from it. It was just how uncomfortable most physical contact made him that gave him the idea he might never have a partner in the way that he wanted. He wanted to hold hands, to cuddle, to kiss… but at the same time, he didn’t. That is, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. Sure, he’d had crushes in the past, cute boys from his classes or celebrities in the shows he hyperfixated on, and still the feeling of uncertainty had stayed. With Remus, something was different though. Never before had a crush ever felt so breath stealing, chest clenching, awe inspiring-

“Like what you see?”

Janus flinched, realizing Remus had finished drinking and was beaming at him with that stupid gorgeous gleam in his eyes. He looked at his lap immediately, feeling his face heat up.

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Remus smirked, having the audacity to wink at him before standing up. “I’m going back in. Coming?” He reached out his hand, hopeful. Janus took a breath, acknowledging that this was his first time initiating contact since he’d arrived, and grabbed Remus’ hand. The surprise on the other’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. He pulled the younger to his feet, keeping a firm hold in Janus’ hand. And… that was okay.

Until it wasn’t.

The second his feet touched the sand, it was like alarm bells exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt wrong. It gave in too much, light sprinkles of sand covered the top of his feet and instantly every nerve was on high alert. He ripped his hand from Remus’, stumbling backwards onto the grass again. The elder spun to him with concern.

“Snakey? What happened?”

“I- hmm, no. I can’t. Nope. No no no. Wrong. It… hmmmm. Can’t.” The last word dragged out as his brain seemed to disconnect from his mouth. His mind didn’t work, so focused on how every blade of grass was swiping along his soles too softly, too gentle, too much. His hands had curled into fists and he was fighting against everything inside him to scream bloody murder, because oh god the wind was brushing the hair onto the back of his neck and it tickled and make it stop make it stop!

Janus could vaguely hear someone shout, and the loudness floored him. Get away, get away, it’s too much it’s too much. The feeling of the grass was gone, and he was sitting on his beach towel, but the wind was still brushing his hair too much, so he grabbed at it uselessly, begging it to stop, stop, stop.

“What’s happening?” Roman.

“Is he okay?” Patton.

“Does he look okay?” Virgil.

“Janus, breathe. You’re safe.” Logan.

Yeah, he knew that. He knew, objectively, that the wind isn’t out to get him and grass doesn’t hurt and sand isn’t supposed to fry your nerves. That didn’t change the fact that it did for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it connected that they were seeing him have a meltdown, finally. But he couldn’t focus on that, not when someone was touching his arm why are they touching my arm LET GO!

He screamed now, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His breaths were ragged and gaspy, hands ripping at his hair to try and stop the fluttering strands. Then there was a new sound, an engine, a boat, and with it came the deep bass of some terrible music and there were people shouting and his head was hurting, why was it hurting so bad?! New hands grabbed his wrists and he writhed, pulling back from the grip that was pulling his fists away from where they’d been hitting his skull, over and over, trying to just get his stupid brain to work. Come back to the present, ground yourself, do SOMETHING!

And then something was in his hands.

His eyes peeled open (when had he shut them?) and he saw the dark blue stress ball, almost crushed between his fingers. The hands were gone from his wrist, and he took a deep breath, relaxing his hand and watching the slime filled toy slowly return to its natural shape. It was just like one from his drawer, the first stim toy he’d ever gotten. Familiarity. He kneaded it under his fingers, enjoying the comforting texture, the color soothing to his sensitive eyes. Bit by bit he felt himself relax, still holding the toy inches from his face between stiff hands, letting his legs unfurl. Without thinking, he raised a shaking hand to his chin and did the sign for ‘water’, and immediately regretted it. It was just such a habit around his parents, the only other people who had seen him break down to this extent, how could he be so-

He flinched as a water bottle was pressed into his raised hand, the lid already taken off. The water was so good, settling his senses and grounding him, like he’d been in hyperfocus before and it was dulled now. He gave the stress ball another squeeze, captivated by the way the slime moved, not even flinching as someone snapped in front of him.

Looking up for the first time, his first instinct was to crawl into a hole and die. Logan was sitting in front of him, slowly putting the cap back on his water bottle before handing it back to Patton, who was standing just behind him. Roman and Virgil had begun packing the chairs and bags agonizingly slowly and quietly. Impressive; they were almost done and he hadn’t noticed until now. He turned to his left and his heart completely shattered. Remus was sitting statue still, a few feet away, with a look of pure fear in his eyes. He sat on the edge of his knees, like he wanted to pounce forward and hug him but was holding himself back. He appreciated that.

Logan snapped again and Janus turned back.

‘Better?’ He signed slowly.

‘You know sign?’ Janus responded weakly, confused.

‘Patton too. I go nonverbal as well. Are you okay?’

The younger nodded, returning his hands to the stim toy on his lap. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

“Is he okay?” Remus whispered suddenly, drawing their attention. He looked so scared, like anything could break Janus and he was scared he would cause it. Oh. Did he think he caused this?

‘Not his fault.’

Logan looked between the two, a look of confusion settling in his face. “What?”

‘Not. His. Fault.’ He signed sharply, a frustrated hum emitting from the back of his throat. ‘Not his fault!’

“Remus, he’s saying it’s not your fault. What does that mean?”

“I- I took his hand, and then this happened…” Remus started, leaning back onto his feet ashamedly, “If that wasn’t the cause, what was?”

‘Sand.’

Logan’s eyes filled with understanding, and he responded, ‘Sand?’ as if to double check that he got the right sign. Janus nodded again, slightly thankful for the mute state he was in. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as well as Logan would.

“If I’m understanding right, then my first assumptions were correct. Janus, did you just experience a sensory overload?”

Janus could only nod, meeting his eyes shakily. This is the moment. Now is his segway. If Logan wasn’t already suspicious, he surely was now. And he’d rather not have to explain, or come up with some half assed excuse if he was confronted later on why sinking his foot into sand had made him break.

‘I’m autistic.’ He fingerspelled it, not knowing what the sign was, or if there even was one. There was a beat of silence, the twins and Virgil exchanging puzzled looks, and Janus couldn’t even bear to look at the two people who would have understood. All his fears came rushing back. Would they think he was lying, or seeking attention, or or or-

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton crooned, sitting cross legged beside Logan, “We thought maybe… well, the possibility came up in conversation before. Lo was the one who brought it up.”

“Yes. Though our experiences differ, you seemed to exhibit symptoms that are common to the ASD spectrum. I thought it feasible, but did not wish to offend or frighten you by mentioning it.”

“We thought that if you were autistic, it would be yours to tell us,” Patton smiled softly.

“Wait,” Remus interrupted, “Janus, you have autism?”

Janus’ nervous glance up must have been enough to clue the rest of the group in, because Roman sighed and ducked his head into Virgil’s shoulder while Logan messily signed something which roughly translated to ‘how dense can someone be’. Jan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he cracked a smile anyways.

“Shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Roman murmured into Virgil’s shirt, “All the times I made fun of you for not joining us or anything, that was way out of line. I truly apologize.”

The youngest gave him the worldwide gesture for ‘it’s okay’; not exactly ASL, but it got his point across. Everything was packed up now, and Janus realized the implications.

‘Home?’ He asked Logan, eyebrows scrunched together.

‘Yes. You need to rest.’ He was right, he was exhausted. Getting to his feet along with Patton and Logan, he reached down to grab his towel, only for it to be promptly swooped up by Roman.

“I… I got it. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

As soon as Roman turned his back, Janus couldn’t help his heavy sigh. This was another reason he had refrained from telling anyone. He didn’t want to be seen as a burden, or worse, a child. He didn’t need help with menial tasks like grabbing a towel. Virgil and him lifted all the belongings again, with less complaining this time, and began the short trek to the truck.

‘He’s not babying you,’ Logan signed, as if reading his mind, ‘He’s just guilty. If you want my advice, get as much out of it as you can.’

“Logan!” Patton chastised, failing miserably at hiding a smirk.

“Guys?” Remus’ uncharacteristically timid voice prompted them to turn back, “Could I talk to Janus for a sec?”

“You understand he is unable to speak at the moment, correct?” Logan raised an eyebrow, probably coming off more harsh than he meant to.

“I know. Just… please?”

The other two shared a knowing look that Janus didn’t understand, before Logan turned to Janus. “Is that okay?”

The youngest nodded, watching over his shoulder as the lovebirds joined hands, leaving him and Remus alone. When he met his eyes again, he was standing much closer, eyes searching nervously.

“Maybe this will actually be easier since you can’t talk,” he laughed, before his face fell dramatically, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean-”

Janus held up a hand quickly, as if to say ‘it’s fine, settle down’, holding back a snicker. He’d understand if someone was upset by the comment, but he’d learn to take Remus’ jokes lightly. He never meant to actually offend, sometimes he just… blurted without intending to. He rolled his finger in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“Shit. Okay,” He’d never seen Remus blush, or stumble over his words before. Not like this, at least, “Now, don’t feel obligated to say you feel the same or anything, okay? This is just, my feelings, and mine alone,” A deep breath, “I like you, Snakey. I like you a lot. More than… more than a friend.”

Oh.

Janus was ninety percent sure he died right then and there. But Remus kept going, tripping over his words in a way that was so unlike him, and yet so perfect.

“I have for a while. I never said anything because I thought, maybe you disliked me? After today though, I think… well, maybe I was misinterpreting those signals. Like I misinterpreted today. That you didn’t want to be around me, no matter how hard I tried.”

Okay, Janus took it back. He wanted to be able to talk now, but his voice came out as another low hum, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Remus pressed on, unfazed.

“Snakey, I swear to you, that you having autism doesn’t change those feelings at all. It’s not a bad thing, or a flaw, it’s just you. And everything about you is amazing, and perfect, and this is just another thing I get to learn about you. Any fears you had around telling us, telling me, you don’t need to have them.”

He’d never felt this kind of feeling before. In that second, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t a crush that he had on Remus. That wasn’t possible, because a crush had never made him want to break his social barriers like this. A crush had never made him want to make an exception, to stand on his tip toes and kiss him, even if the thought of a new touch usually caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Because he felt so safe, so blissfully numb, so comfortable with Remus, that he’d be willing to give it a try.

This wasn’t a crush. This was-

“I love you,” Remus whispered, his statement accompanied by a large shaky breath.

He couldn’t say it back, not right now. Later, he would. For sure. Maybe a hundred times. So he did what he’d never thought possible and took that step forward, breaking his bubble that he’d always thought to be unbreakable.

It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay.

For once, he actually believed it.

Janus reached a hand up, slowly, and rested it on Remus’ face. It wasn’t light, he couldn’t do half touches. It was solid, warm, real. Not a tickling touch that made him twitch, or a brush by that stole the very breath from his lungs. The positive response affirmed his will power, and he leaned up onto his tip toes. Remus looked absolutely stunned, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t if he tried. His breath caught in his throat as the elder glanced down, an unmistakable look to his lips.

Had Remus always had those green flecks in his eyes?

And he kissed him. Janus surged forward, pressing their lips together harsher than he’s intended, pulling a small gasp out of Remus. There was a whoop from the vague direction of where they’d parked, followed by a loud smack, and Janus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Remus’ hands were clasped at his chest, unmoving, probably afraid that if he touched Janus wrong, this would all be over. He’d have to explain half touches later. For now, he took one of his hands in his free one and guided it around, pushing it into the small of his back until Remus got the message to keep that pressure. He let out a small sigh through his nose, an action that sent a new round of butterflies exploding in the younger’s stomach.

This is okay.

This is all going to be okay.

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