#//Sometimes he forgets some people don't like that he does this; like Rosie. Tries the tactic to get a favor then Remembers

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is rather touch averse, cringing away from casual contact people give him under the guise of being distracted or idle movement. He's used to it, the Ragnvindrs and Adenlinde got him used to frequent affectionate physical contact, but it can still be entirely Uncomfortable if he's touched by someone outside those he is close to or someone he's otherwise Allowed to touch him.

#hc; kaeya #//Mentioned before; but am Elaborating on other aspects since Aven get brain juices flowing for this #//Unlike Aven; he's FAR more tolerable of people who touch him unprompted. & more willing to indulge for himself outside his comfort people #//Unless he himself had actively given the indication he doesn't want it; in that case THEN he's likely to anger & retaliate #//But yeah; his response is usually Discomfort & trying to get away from it one way or another. Can tolerate it to appear friendly; sure #//But would rather not want people to touch him so easily. Is decently okay with brief touches tho; like shoulder pats or the like #//Will actively lean into it & encourage further touching ONLY as a means to an end; adjusting any wandering hands only when going too far #//Esp if he can use that like a carrot on a string–if they concede to what he wants; they can touch him more. Maybe MORE than just that too #//He won't initiate any touch unless he deems it Absolutely Necessary; WILL internally scream if they Immediately reciprocate the contact #//Uses it as a 'reward' sometimes; a little pinch of the cheek; a hug; getting right into their space; if he sees they'll react favorably #//Maybe more if they have connection enough; like Huffman or one of his longer-running liaisons. Is p ok w/ sleeping w/ them as reward #//Sometimes he forgets some people don't like that he does this; like Rosie. Tries the tactic to get a favor then Remembers #//Absolutely apologizes; feels mortified when she scrutinizes him for it. Esp since she'd be one of few ppl who KNOWS just how Averse he is #to it in the first place. Him slipping up like that in front of HER is smth he'd STRESS over. She could hold over his head for all he knows #//How can he even joke abt it? Worse if she asks abt his way of doing things or indicate she doesnt Like that he uses himself as bait #//Has absolutely accidentally tried to seduce/bait sb like that who he absolutely should Not have. Like Jean. Ended up playing it off like #a joke between friends; but damn near had a panic attack from the guilt the moment he was safely in his office. bc Jean is SPECIAL to him #could he treat her like THAT? How could he almost let her SEE that side of him? His casual charm and facade are ONE thing #//But him actively doing something like THAT; esp for Jean of all people; is COMPLETELY off-limits; no matter his feelings #//Actually; especially BC he harbors feelings for her. Ppl like Lisa on the other hand; he is VERY comfortable doing this with/to #//She GETS the flirty habit & dishes it back without losing image of him in the way someone he regards at Jean's level possibly could #//And as far as Lisa knows; it's Only a playful habit; not a means to an end. The ones who prolly Know might be certain folks in the church #//But that's just bc he gets frequent checkups after every lil Rendezvous of his. Which is why he's got dirt on Every Single Person There #//Except Barbara; but he absolutely makes SURE she's not the one he's dealing with whenever he goes. Wants to spare her his messes #//Damn; veered a little but it's alright. 'A little'; HA. Nah; my tags are but the cluttered corkboard of my thoughts jhdbfjdf #//Diluc; Addie & Jean are the people he most Fears finding out abt his methods. Doesnt wanna THINK abt how they'd feel/regard him after tha #//Knows for SURE it'd be painful if the way they treat him changes even a SLIGHT. ESP Addie; he can bear the other two; but Addie??? #//Nah; he'd be fucken DEVASTATED. That's the ONE person he knows hold true unwavering unconditional love for him; no matter what #//To do anything to damage that? He'd be so fucken GUTTED. He expects everyone to get fed up with/disdain him at some point. But not HER #//Keeps this shit on the down low by always having dirt on the people he gets Involved with; if not using keeping it up as an incentive

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

You've Met With A Terrible Fate, Haven't You? || BEN DROWNED

Pairing : Yandere! Ben Drowned X Reader

Genre : Fluff, Angst, Yandere

Summary : Appears as a normal dude, but plot twist he's really not.

Wordcount: 4k lol

WARNINGS : This is fic is labeled as Yandere, for those who don't know what it means: "Somebody who is sweet and kind at first glance. But when it comes to their love (crush)they will act obsessive and violent." - Urban dictionary, poorly (but still disgustingly) described dead people, I know Ben originally doesn't kill but in the story he does, idk? Shit written¿ 

Also disclaimer this is my first time I've tried doing a yandere and it's obviously not my strongest point. Hope you enjoy either way.

You glance at the abandoned game console which your friend had dumped at your place earlier this day.

According to him, something was very, very, wrong with it. The Nintendo 64 was old, of course, but your friend mentioned not being able to pass the boss battle. He mentioned something along the lines of 'it keeps glitching and Link keeps dying'. In other words ' I know you're a hacker and I suck at this game, please hack it for me so I can feel less like a loser'.

You keep writing the email you're supposed to sent to your boss for another thirty minutes, before letting your curiosity lead you. 

Before you know it, you've plugged in the old console with more cables than originally planned because of how old it is, and with how modern your tv is. The first odd thing that strikes you is that there's only one account on it, and it's not labeled with your friend's name. 

Instead of 'Noah', it's labeled with 'BEN DROWNED' in bold passive aggressive letters.

Simply pushing it to the back of your mind, you start playing.

The second odd thing about the game is that the game has a specific date and it mentions how far BEN, or well, Noah is in the game. Yet when you click it, you have to start all over.

You shrug that off too, simply noting it as the game being old.

Before you know it, several hours pass, and you're finally at the boss battle Noah mentioned. Deciding to see if you can beat it first, you do not plug your laptop in at the Nintendo 64, and opt to play instead.

However just like Noah mentioned, you die as soon as you're close to winning and the game starts glitching.

It takes you barely ten minutes before you're fed up with it, and soon enough you plug your laptop in. You start up some programs and open up a few sites, quickly starting to work. Your fingers glide over the keys of your laptop as you type in the codes in order to hack the game, however after a few minutes, the game starts glitching heavily, and suddenly there's a sentence in bold red letters on the screen of your tv.

' YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT'

It says before the glitching becomes way too much, and some weird kind of red circle appears. Your eyes widen before unplugging the tv and game console, forgetting that your laptop is connected to it.

You miss the small glitches on the laptop screen.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - -

He gritts his teeth as the access to his portal is suddenly denied, the power cut early enough to avoid him.

His red eyes wander in the green coded space, looking for an exit, something that'll make sure he can get his hands on whoever this is. Lucky for him, there's a small white space what'll lead to the outside of it.

Once he's trough, he realizes he's still close to his victim. In fact, he's even closer now.

He smirks as he realizes.

Killing her is fair game now.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - »

You tap your chin as you look as the items on the shelf.

" Should I get the red one or green one?" You mumble to yourself.

" I'd recommend the green one. Green is always better." A voice from behind you startles you.

You whip your head around to look at the stranger who's talking to you.

Behind you is a male you don't recognise from anywhere. And as you start to study him, you realize he's quite handsome. He's got blonde hair, blue eyes and a rosy skin colour. He's wearing black ripped jeans, a dark green shirt, along with a black zip up hoodie, which is left open, he's got a few black ear piercings in his right ear, and has a gold chain around his neck, which disappears beneath his shirt, weighed down by a charm hidden away from your eyes. To top it all of, he's got a matching dark green beanie on top of his messily styled bangs.

" What? Did I say something wrong?" The blonde boy suddenly sweats.

You smile and shake your head.

" No, you didn't. I just tough I was alone here." You smile at him.

ØⱧ ₴₩ɆɆ₮ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮, ɎØɄ Ⱨ₳VɆ₦'₮ ฿ɆɆ₦ ₳ⱠØ₦Ɇ ₣ØⱤ ₳ VɆⱤɎ ⱠØ₦₲ ₮ł₥Ɇ ₦Ø₩.

" I take that you talk to yourself then?" The male spits at you.

You're not sure if that's meant offensive or not.

" Um, yeah? I tend to do that sometimes yeah." You say, looking down at your hands who're still holding the red silk scarf and green silk scarf.

Đø₦'₮ ฿ɇ ₳₣ɽ₳łđ, ł ₩ø₦'₮ ⱨʉɽ₮ ɏøʉ. Øɽ ₩łⱡⱡ ł?

The unknown male's eyes soften subconsciously, looking at you with an emotion you're not familiar with.

" My name is Ben. What's yours?" 

Ben? Haven't you heard that somewhere before?

You smile at him, oblivious to the fact that you're talking to a killer.

" I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you Ben."

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ »

His mind flooded with ideas.

There's so many options on what he can do to her.

Should he mess with her laptop?

Should he just kill her now?

Or should he become closer?

Maybe he should.

He looks at her trough the screen of the laptop, which is almost always open, today not being any different.

He watches her as while she watches something behind the laptop, from the sounds he can hear trough the mic, she's most likely watching tv.

Perhaps he should become closer to her.

Pull her closer only to have her blood staining his hands.

Oh yes, her blood shall soon become his.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦łvɇ₴

She doesn't realize it when her laptop suddenly starts itself up, nor does she know that there's a figure crawling out of it.

He stared at her with deciphering eyes, silently wondering how she isn't dead yet.

If this was anyone else, he'd had them killed already. Their blood would already be staining his face and she would already be screaming in pain and dispair.

Yet here she was, laying peacefully on her bed. Asleep, obviously not dead. 

He wonders exactly what he should do next. She doesn't know that he's standing right next to her. It almost makes him laugh.

She doesn't even know that he exists.

She doesn't know that he's here.

He glares at her before moving back into the world of codes and technology.

For now, she lives.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦łvɇ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ

" And then it suddenly started glitching and stuff. Weird isn't it?" You finish off your story as you look at your new friend, Ben.

After meeting in the grocery store, he had suddenly texted you. 

Not knowing how he got your number, you got concerned, and asked him. According to him, you had given it to him yourself. At first you didn't believe him, until he told you to check the time of his first message, which somehow was indeed around the same time you were in the grocery store. After that you just shrugged it off as that you forgot it yourself. After all, you knew yourself to be a person with the memory of a goldfish.

Today the two of you met up again, for the fourth time this week.

" Odd indeed. What did you do after that?" Ben asked, acting as if he's interested, even tough he's really not.

" I unplugged it. I think I'm gonna lay off hacking for a while." You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink.

Before he could even think of a response, there was an unknown woman at your table, also holding a cup of coffee.

" Y/N? Long time no see." The new woman greeted you with a smile, sitting down beside you on the booth.

Ben scowled at the newcomer.

Ⱨø₩ đ₳ɽɇ ₴ⱨɇ ₴ł₮ ฿ɇ₴łđɇ ₩ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₥ł₦ɇ ₩ł₮ⱨøʉ₮ ₥ɏ ₱ɇɽ₥ł₴₴łø₦

" Hey, Sara. It's indeed been too long. How are you?" You started chatting with Sara.

Meanwhile Ben's anger only grew.

" My names Ben." Ben suddenly dryly joined your conversation as he slammed his drink down onto the table aggressively, looking straight into Sara's eyes.

" Sorry. Didn't see you there. I'm Sara nice to mee-"

" Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave. We didn't invite you to come sit with us." Ben spat at her, looking at her with an intense look in his eyes.

Both you and your friend turned to look at him in confusion.

" Is something wrong with me being here? Did I offend you?" Sara asked, genuinely concerned.

Ben was fuming now, on the inside. Who does this girl think she is? First she comes to sit at their table uninvited, then she's capturing the attention of his new favorite plaything, and now she's questioning him? She has to go.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ

He heard her conversation with a male he certainly doesn't know trough her phone, using the microphone without her knowing.

According to what he knows, they're on a date. And according to her contacts, his name is Jaime. He can't find where they met, nor did he know why they met up.

But now that she's checked her reflexion one too many times, and made a pic of her full outfit to send to him, probably to mock him for not having her, ɏɇ₮, he realizes that she's on a date.

After some research by surfing quite literally trough the internet. It turned out this 'Jaime' person was Mexican, and had a soft persona. On his facebook page were pictures where he's working with animals or doing volunteers' work or overall just something where he's helping others. He found the black haired male pathetic, weak even.

In all honesty, even he himself didn't really find him a threat. Not when he looked like that and was overall just kind and bambi looking.

However, all his expectations are thrown out of the window when he hears them say their goodbyes.

" You know, I had a lot of fun tonight. You're really a nice person. In fact, I'd like to go on another date with you again." This voice was definitely that of a male's, probably Jaime.

" I agree. I had a lot of fun too." She said.

₣Ʉ₦? ⱧØ₩ ₵₳₦ Ł₮ ฿Ɇ ₳₦Ɏ ₣Ʉ₦ ₩Ł₮ⱧØɄ₮ ₥Ɇ?

" Good. Do you have a ride or would you like me to drive you home?-" He blocks out the rest of their conversation.

It appears that the good guy needs to go too.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆

" We should spend more time together." Ben says randomly as the two of you snuggle on the couch.

You giggle, your ears tinting red.

" We're already together all the time tough." You tell him softly.

" I know, but still. By the way, did your stupid date reply yet?" He asked, eyes focused on the tv in front of the two of you.

" No, and don't call him stupid." You pout, softly scolding him.

₲ØØĐ

He grins at you with mysterious eyes.

You shrug it off, knowing it's part of him. The two of you have been hanging out for a while now. Almost three months to be precise. And you two have gotten very close. What used to be keeping distance and keeping the line between acquaintances and friends, had turned into friends or something more. You two almost hung out every day, you were basically attached to each other's hip now.

After a few peacefull moments, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Right as you left, your phone rang.

He turned to look at the disturbing sound  his eyes widening at the name which is appearing on the screen.

 SARA

He stumbled over the couch to pick it up, an unpleasant feeling of suprise rising whitin him.

" Y/N?! You have to listen to me! Ben is not who you think he is! He's this-"

" I'm this what?" Ben smirked.

Damn you were taking a long time in the bathroom, not that he minded.

The other end of the line was dead silent.

" Don't worry. You don't need to say anything. I'll come home soon. And trust me, once I am, you will never be able to speak a word again." He spoke, an eerie calm in his voice.

" Goodbye, Sara." He said before hanging up.

" Sara called?" Your voice suddenly startled him.

" What? Oh, yeah. But she was in a hurry so she said she'd call you later." He smiled innocently.

You nodded and the two of you resumed watching the movie.

" Isn't there a way, that we could spend more time together?" He suddenly wondered out loud.

You sighed and turned to face him.

" I'm sorry Ben, but I have a job and I like spending time with other people too. So I'm afraid not." You told him softly.

An idea coded itself into his mind.

JɄ₴₮ ₮ⱤɄ₴₮ ₥Ɇ, ɎØɄ'ⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ ₥Ł₦Ɇ ₴ØØ��

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ

You sighed in dispair in the night air as you walked home. Once again, you were rejected in a job interview.

A few days ago you were fired from the job you actually liked. You couldn't understand why either. You didn't do anything wrong, you were quite hardworking and always finished the documents in time.

Your supervisor looked afraid, terrified even when he told you to immediately pack your bags and leave, and ever since you just can't seem to get in anywhere. Not even the gas station wanted you in charge.

" Well hello there. What do we have here." A creepy voice suddenly sounded from behind you.

You turned around only to be greeted by a man with a creepy smile and even creepier, eye lid-less eyes. He was holding a knife, making his intentions obvious.

You didn't need to think twice about his intentions and whipped your phone out of your pocket with the intentions to call the cops and running.

The killer sadly isn't stupid, and has you on the ground under him whitin seconds.

Your phone's screen crack and slides to the other side, the dialed number not pressed on call yet.

" Don't cry sweetheart. It doesn't suit your pretty face. Don't fret, I'll make sure, you'll smile forever. " The killer tells you happily.

Both of you don't realize that your phone screen suddenly lights up in a green colour. Nor does either of you realize the figure crawling out of it.

The both of you don't realize, until the killer is off you and tackled down on the ground beside you.

" I've told you before. She's fucking mine. Go bother someone else." Ben's voice sounds suddenly.

You turn your head to look at him.

This time he does not wear jeans and a sweater. No  this time, he looks like he came straight out of a... Video game? He looks like Link, the main personage of the game which your friend Noah had dropped off at your place around six months ago. 

Ben never told you he was into cosplaying.

Your ears suddenly tinted pink as you realized, he called you his. Suddenly you felt a little giddy, the guy you like so much might actually like you back.

The killer underneath Ben growls out something you can't hear before throwing the shorter off him and leaving.

" Are you okay?" You ask him.

He turns to you with red eyes.

Red. Fucking. Eyes.

And that's not the only thing about his eyes that changed.

Instead of the usual white eyes have, his are now black.

And even there it doesn't end.

There's blood running down his eyes onto his cheeks, as if he's crying blood.

You take a step back.

What the fuck is this?

" Don't be afraid! I know I look a little... Weird, but it's all just part of my..... Cosplay." He explains.

You ponder over it.

He's never gave you a reason to not trust you right? Or did he? 

You ignore the instinct to run away from him, instead choosing to calm down and follow your heart, which is telling you to trust him.

" Come with me. You can stay at my place tonight." Ben tells you, holding his hand out to you.

You take it.

₲ØØĐ ⱠŁ₮₮ⱠɆ ₱Ʉ₱₱Ɏ

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS  ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ ›

It took longer than expected to reach his house. The whole road to his house is creepy. Ben appartly lives in this supermodern house in the woods.

Which is off already, the woods are known troughout the whole town as mystery. According to urban legends, there's creatures loving in there who shouldn't exist. Because of that, there's barely any people there. According to Ben, everything is all clear and safe, and you trust him with your heart.

You don't question him after his answer and instead follow him into the,indeed very,modern little house which is situated hidden behind the trees.

You get directly hit in the face with a copper scent as soon as you step foot into his house.

" Would you like something to drink?" He asks you as you enter his house, neither of you bothering to take your shoes off.

" Just water please." You tell him as you study the place.

The inside of the small house is more modern than the outside, with a big living space and an open kitchen. There's also three doors in the hallway.

One to the bathroom, one leading upstairs and one leading into the basement.

" Here you go." Ben returns, handing you a glass of water.

" Thanks, aren't you going to take off your make up and lenses?" You ask him.

His smile fades a bit, and for a moment you think you've accidentally offended him, but he nods with a pout before you can think about it twice.

" Yeah, that's probably a good idea. The livingroom is at the end of this hallway, feel free to make yourself comfortable." He smiles before going upstairs.

You stand still for a moment in the hallway as an eerie feeling suddenly starts crawling up your spine.

You ignore it, and instead start walking towards the livingroom.

Until the sound of something falling reaches your ears.

A sound that is directed from the basement.

Your first idea is to call for Ben, to alert him that you two probably aren't alone.

You don't do that however, because it could just be something falling off a shelf, right?

And so you decide to investigate it yourself.

As soon as you open the door to the basement, you're directly hit in the face with a very prominent copper scent. The same on you already smelled when you entered his house, except it's way too strong and there's something eerily familiar about it which you just can't pinpoint.

You silently push the door open, and turn on the lightswitch to the basement. Behind the door is a stony staircase, the rest of the basement is hidden away behind a wall. Curiosity takes over you, and you make your way downstairs before you can think about it twice.

As soon as you near the bottom, you spot blotches of red. The deep red substance is spread like a trail from he bottom stairs onto the rest of the room.

And then it clicks in your mind. It's blood. That's also the smell in the air. Was the intruder injured?

You step down the stairs while following the blood trail with you eyes.

You stumble back in fear and unpleasant suprise at the sight that greets you.

There's dead people down here. Most of which you don't recognise, but a few you do. 

You gasp as you look into a pair of wide blue eyes.

Sara.

She's sitting there, eyes wide open, with cuts all over. There's big ones in her rib case and near her organs, you can even see Intestines spread over the floor.

She's obviously dead.

But how come she's here?

Ben didn't do this? Did he?

Next to her is Jaime, who's eyes are closed but his chest is rising and falling.

He's alive.

You run over to him and shake him awake, not minding the blood that's now on your hands.

" Jaime! Please! Wake up!" You say desperately, tears now escaping your eyes.

" Y/N? Y/N! You have to get out of here. Ben, he's not who you think he is!" He tells you desperately.

" I'm not leaving you! Can you walk?" You ask him trough your tears.

" I'm chipped Y/N, you have to go. Get help. Ben's insane. He's a de-"

" Demon? Mass murderer? Failure? Dead? Is one of those what you wanted to tell her? How dare you lie to her! I'm none of those!" A voice suddenly booms trough the air.

You turn around while starting to shake. Jaime tries to hold you close to him with the little strength he has left. There Ben stands, still with red pupils and black eyes, dried red streaks still on his cheeks.

" Don't fucking touch her." Ben screams angrily, ripping you all but gently away from the male, causing you to tremble against him.

" Don't be afraid my love, he won't touch you again." Ben sushes you.

Is he really thinking that you're afraid of him?

" N-no. Let me go. Do-don't touch me." You tell him, pushing away from him.

He looks confused by your behavior.

" What's wrong baby? Please don't believe whatever lies he told you.-"

" What lies?! That you've killed my friend?! That you've killed these innocent people?! That you've chipped him?!" You yelled.

" They all deserved it Y/N! They're all in the way of our love!" Ben yells back desperately, stepping towards you.

" I don't even know these people!" You say, stepping back into the wall, knocking into a shelf.

You turn around to see what you knocked into.

Wait, is that the Nintendo 64?

" They all stared at you with sick twisted ideas! They really do deserve it." He tells you.

Suddenly it clicks in your mind.

" You're Ben from the game." You state.

He nods.

" Yes bu-"

" How?.."

" You clicked my game onto your computer remember."

" It was you wasn't it? You're the reason I've lost my job. You're the reason my friends all turned their back to me." You wishper, eyes now gathering in your eyes.

You've been so incredibly fucking stupid.

He's the reason your life has turned down the drain.

" Yes. But it's good right. Now we can finally be together." He says like a crazy man in love.

Which he is.

You start sobbing as you fall onto your knees realizing, all these people here. They've all died because of you.

" Hey, don't worry my live. We can now finally be together."

ɎØɄ'VɆ ₥Ɇ₮ ₩Ł₮Ⱨ ₳ ₮ɆⱤⱤŁ฿ⱠɆ ₣₳₮Ɇ, Ⱨ₳VɆ₦'₮ ɎØɄ?

 ᘜ ᗩ ᘻ ᘿ  ᓍ ᐺ ᘿ ᖇ.

#creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #ben drowned x reader #yandere creepypasta #yandere #angst #creepypasta one shot #jeff the killer #jkjk #first time lol #idkeitherman

[breakfast-cereal]

Stupid For You (3) -Johnlock

← ←← MAIN MASTERLIST

←← PART ONE

← PART TWO

!¡Trigger Warning¡! DO NOT IGNORE!: mentions to drugs and addiction, alcohol use, vomiting, hints to declining/poor mental health.

John felt guilty as he stared into the ceiling. He always felt guilty lately. He wanted comfort. He wanted Sherlock again. Sherlock made him feel comfortable, most of the time.

Sherlock came into their bedroom and laid down next to John. John had that guilty feeling nagging in his stomach. He wanted normal. He wanted this all to go away.

"Rosie is asleep," Sherlock mumbled.

John turned to stare at the wall. It had the ugliest wallpaper that John had wanted to change for ages. Looking at the wallpaper almost made him forget until he felt Sherlock's arm over him, and then Sherlock's body. Was Sherlock cuddling him?

"Sherlock," John questioned,

"John." Sherlock sounded incredibly groggy.

"Are you cuddling me?",

"Do you mind?" John felt a heat in his cheeks. He couldn't be blushing. Maybe he was blushing.

"No." Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John and pulled him closer. John moved his arm to be over Sherlock's. Their fingers gently brushed together, but neither moved. John loved this moment. It felt right. He wanted this.

John had woken up without Sherlock. He felt cold. John couldn't deny it anymore. Even if he tried the thought would resurface. John loved Sherlock. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to deny it badly because Sherlock would never like him. He knew this would be one-sided, and it hurt, but he couldn't deny it anymore. His feelings existed and he had to accept them. He had to accept all of them.

John exited their bedroom to see Sherlock pulling apart their bookshelf for Jane Eyre while Rosie watched intently.

"What's Sherly doing?" She looked at Sherlock attentively.

"I'm not sure." John came up close to Sherlock and quietly mumbled, "what the fuck are you doing?",

"Jane Eyre. The objects and Jane Eyre. There were clues the objects and there has to be in this. By the way, the password on your computer needs to be stronger. Found it out very easily.",

"You looked on my computer?"  John whispered aggressively.

"It was necessary for the case. I'm sure you'll forgive me." Sherlock was right, John would forgive him. Though at the moment he was incredibly annoyed.

"You went on to my computer without my permission and now you're tearing apart our bookshelf." John wasn't sure where his point was trying to go, but he was just angry. Angry at everything. "Remind me why we have seven copies of Jane Eyre spread across the bookshelf?",

"I've accumulated them. Mostly gag gifts from Mycroft." Sherlock pulled out one copy to shake it and have a paper fall on the floor. He picked it up and ran to his desk, placing it with the other papers.

"What's that?" Rosie asked,

"Important papers for daddy's work," Sherlock responded immediately. John was always shocked by how well Sherlock was becoming with Rosie. Rather than being extremely blunt, Sherlock had worked on dialling it down. John was also shocked that Sherlock considered himself Rosie's dad.

"Why don't you go play in your room for a bit, okay?" John added.

Rosie scurried into her room and John went over to Sherlock. He had felt this strange anger after he realized his interest in Sherlock. He was angry Sherlock didn't realize. He could read people so easily, so why didn't he realize? Why didn't he call John out? Did Sherlock already know and that's why he's always been distant? Does he hate John? John began reaching at possible scenarios without noticing the tears building in his eyes. He didn't cry, but then again, he's been doing things that he never expected to do a lot these past few years.

"It seems that they're another set of coordinates. I'm going to need your laptop to check where they are or just some form of access to google maps." John gritted his teeth together. Sherlock could read people, but it seems he forgot that emotions exist. Sometimes, John felt like he was talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that responds, but can't acknowledge.

"Are you oblivious or just extremely insensitive? Because I feel like it's the latter." John gripped the edges of the table as Sherlock gave him a strange glance.

"I'm not oblivious, though I've been told I'm insensitive," Sherlock responded nonchalantly. He responded in a way that made John feel like steam was coming out of his ears.

"People who tell you that are right. You are insensitive. How do you think I feel when you disappear? Or go off on a bender? There are times I worry if you're going to die! You don't realize how you're actions are going to affect people." Sherlock stared back at John.

"I understand you're angry.",

"That's all? No apology?" John didn't care if he was being rational. He knew he wasn't.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock seemed genuine, but at the same time, it seemed so false.

John couldn't take it. He needed a drink, which wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was the only thing he had unless he let down his pride and started seeing a therapist again. He grabbed his coat, and this time grabbed his wallet as well. John slammed the door, hoping Sherlock would maybe come after him, but he didn't.

John was sitting in a cab. The driver gave him strange looks every once in a while that was beginning to get to John. He felt trapped. He felt stupid as well. Going to a pub at barely eleven. John saw a bookstore approaching in the corner of his eye.

"Stop here,"

The cabbie pulled over to the side and John handed him a twenty.

John walked to the bookstore and noticed it was near the building covered in vines. The building John remembered clinging on to. John would not be doing that again.

A faint ring was heard as he entered the bookstore. It was relatively quaint and packed to the brim with novels. He saw a copy of Jane Eyre leaning off the shelf and thought of Sherlock. He felt guilt while looking at the book. He had treated Sherlock so terribly and left without considering how Sherlock may feel, but then John felt anger again. Sherlock didn't care how John felt, so why should John care how Sherlock felt. John didn't feel the buzzing in his pocket of Sherlock texting him frantically. It was, John? I'm sorry. Respond SH. repeating over again with slight variations every time.

John brushed his fingers over the books, and his mind still went to ones Sherlock would like. There was a book on unsolved criminal cases that John could see Sherlock flipping through. There was another book of violin compositions. John found these books a strange combination, but he didn't question it, assuming this was a second-hand book shop. He couldn't help himself as he pulled both books off the shelf and placed them into his hands. He checked the prices and felt relieved to see they were only a total of £25 together.

The cashier smiled at him, "Interesting combination.",

"For an interesting person," John responded. He felt the anger towards Sherlock lessen. Even if Sherlock did piss him off, he still cared about him.

"Mm, would you like a gift receipt with that?",

"No, thank you." John took the books in his hands, ignoring the extra 15 cents he could have spent on an easier carry.

John placed the books down on the ground and opened the flat. He hoped the books would make for an adequate apology.

"I texted you," Sherlock said as John entered.

"I didn't realize. I got you things." John placed the books on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock looked at the titles of them and smiled. "Thank you." He muttered.

It seemed so unnatural for Sherlock to thankful for something, but it made John feel giddy.

"I asked Mrs. Hudson to watch Rosie. The coordinates lead to a park in central London." Sherlock grabbed his coat off the coat rack and his hat. The paparazzi had calmed down a little, but Sherlock still insisted on bringing his hat places. "Mrs. Hudson should be here," Sherlock placed his cap on his head, "now."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at them as she walked into the flat. "On a date?",

"No, simply a case." Sherlock grabbed John's coat and threw it at him. John barely caught it.

"Well, have fun boys." Mrs. Hudson called from the flat as they left.

John's hand rested near Sherlock's in the cab. Sherlock moved his hand slightly so it rested on John's. John felt his heart beat out of his chest. Sherlock meant it in a friendly way, but John couldn't stop thinking about what this meant. He felt the butterflies again, and heat on his face.

Sherlock didn't move his hand, nor did John. They sat without admitting the hand holding. They had done it before, but this was different. As the last time they did it they were also in handcuffs. Or maybe it wasn't different and John was just reaching.

John was just as close to Sherlock on a train. Their hands touching again. John leaned on to Sherlock, testing the waters. Sherlock moved his hand to put his arm over John and John felt like he did in the cab. He felt like he had just had his first kiss all over again. John wasn't one for PDA, but he could ignore it for this. This was his one exception.

John knew they wouldn't talk about this once they had gotten to the park. They would never talk about this. It was like the cuddling or that thing that one time. John hoped they didn't talk about this. He'd end up admitting things he wanted to keep secret. He'd spill his feelings like one would with a glass of wine then they're a little too tipsy.

Sherlock looked at down at John and moved on to looking at his lips. It seemed as if Sherlock was studying them. He studied the soft curves, and John thought Sherlock might kiss him right there on the train. Sherlock glanced away though. He looked at the posters and people. Almost like he was trying to ignore John. John slumped down and Sherlock lowered his arm to catch John. John felt strange. Sherlock was being strange, which was odd. Sherlock wasn't usually one to be like this, but there were times when Sherlock would spiral. He would spiral off into a bender, that would cause John to panic because he knew one day it would kill him. He didn't want to have one day where he finds Sherlock dead with a needle in his arm. It terrified him. His terror always turned into anger. He tried to control it, but he wanted to scream at Sherlock when he does things like that. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he'll yell until his voice is hoarse, but it doesn't make him feel any better and it doesn't fix things. This moment on the train made all those bad moments so prominent. Instead of John's brain going to Sherlock doesn't like him, it went to Sherlock deserves better. He didn't want to think about this, especially not like this, but he couldn't stop himself. His brain went into a spiral. It was an uncontrollable waterfall of negative thoughts until the train came to a stop.

The park had lush green grass and multiple playsets. It didn't seem like the place to meet up with someone shady and who knew if they were even there? Rather than questioning Sherlock's motives to come here at this time, he followed him to a secluded area.

There was a man in a black coat standing there with his back facing towards them.

"Brother, dear." Mycroft spun around.

Sherlock had a look of complete confusion on his face.

"I expected you." He approached them, "Now, I'd assume you'd have figured it was me and not wasted your time to come here, but I was wrong. You were always the slow one, so I shouldn't have expected much." ,

"Why are you here?" Sherlock had an angry edge to his voice.

"You seemed quite bored in that little flat of yours, so I set up a fake case.",

"How did you manage to get things in our flat?" John asked,

"Well, for one, giving little gifts is an easy way to infiltrate into your flat, and then I just placed all the clues. By the way John, you should use a stronger password."

"So you placed things in our flat without permission and managed to have us not notice until the woman came?" Sherlock smiled, "Quite genius, I have to say.",

"Genius? Sherlock, he went through my computer!" John glared at Mycroft.

"You have some quite interesting files." John's eyes went wide. "Work is also a quite obvious porn file name, so I'd recommend changing that," Mycroft added. John felt a little calmer knowing Mycroft hadn't found the file on Johnlock articles.

Sherlock laughed and looked down at John. John felt small under Sherlock's stare. Sherlock glanced at John's lips again, and Mycroft coughed.

"I'd rather not see what you do in private, please take the PDA somewhere else.",

"There's nothing going on between us," John responded automatically. Sherlock shook his head in agreement.

"Nothing at all," Sherlock said.

Mycroft smiled at them, "of course."

There was a heavy tension between them as they left the park. John wanted to say something, but all he would say would raise the tension.

They both walked next to each other and John accepted Sherlock not flagging down a cab. There was a heavy silence that said everything.

"Sorry about Mycroft. He can be a little much sometimes.",

"For someone who's supposed to be a genius you're incredibly stupid." John covered his mouth in a panic. Why did he say that? He wanted to take back the words. Fall back in time and disappear.

"What?"

There was no going back. John was all in. He could either make something up or admit. John needed to admit things. The weight was taking up his life. He wanted to admit things, but he needed a better time.

"We should go to that restaurant." John pointed down the street to a random building.

"That's a bookstore, John." Sherlock deadpanned,

"Let's find a restaurant." John walked down the block looking at names of stores until he found a small cafe. Amour Cafe was printed in bold letters on a wooden sign. John brought Sherlock into the cafe. The interior had plush leather booths and small tables. The cash had food items on the shelf. Each one with a price John couldn't read out underneath.

They walked up to the cash and a person with a friendly smile greeted them. "Welcome to Amour Cafe, what can I get 'ya?",

John looked over the options, but Sherlock spoke before him. "We'll have two teas. Room at the top for milk.",

"I'll get right on that, sir. Your order number is 12."

Sherlock brought John to one of the booths and patted the spot next to him.

"Why did you order for me?",

"I know what you usually want." Sherlock looked at the table. "They have a very interesting type of wood. It seems that multiple people have sat here and some even carved in their initials. Do you see it?",

"Sherlock," John hissed, "why are you acting like this?",

"Acting like what?" Sherlock continued to pick at the table.

"Like something is wrong.",

"Mycroft can be a bit much." Sherlock tried to seem calm, but there was a bitter tone in his voice. "Sometimes he knows too much."

John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock returned the look and his gaze went down to John's lips again. John wanted to shy away, but he didn't. He kept his eyes locked with Sherlock as if they were in some strange staring contest. A staring contest where you were able to cut the tension with a knife. Sherlock leaned down at went to cup John's face but a bell ringing made Sherlock jump back.

"Number 11." The person at the counter called.

Sherlock and John watched as two people went up, their hands interlocked. They looked so happy. Sherlock glanced back at John and quickly looked away. John wanted that. He wanted it to be like that with Sherlock. He couldn't have that, though. Sherlock didn't like him. Earlier was just John's brain. He was thinking about it so he imagined it was real. Sherlock wouldn't kiss John.

John's tea was subpar, but he couldn't blame the cafe. He felt tense and anxious next to Sherlock. He wanted something to happen, but he didn't. The feeling wasn't a calm before the storm, it was more the opposite. These feelings were a storm without calm. It was the bottom of the ocean. Mostly unexplored, and confusing. Oddly, this was the most human John had seen Sherlock. He could read Sherlock this time. Sherlock was uncomfortable. He looked lost.

Sherlock turned abruptly down an alley. John wondered if this was where Sherlock was going to end up murdering him. Instead, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him further down the alley. John was shocked at the touch but accepted it nonetheless.

At the other end of the alley were rows of shops and a smaller park. Sherlock led John to the park, which was rather secluded.

Sherlock didn't let go of John as he led him through the park. John started to dislike this layout. There was a park just through that alley, yet they had to build another one. John couldn't hate this park, though, so he directed his hate towards the other park. This park was gentle. It called John, telling him it would be okay, whereas the other park was pushing John, telling him he needed to grow up. The other park also had Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock seemed to not know where they were going, but he pulled John to a tree and stopped.

"What did you mean earlier?" Sherlock questioned,

"Well, I, uhm, Sherlock," John fumbled over his words while Sherlock watched intently. Sherlock tried to figure John out. Sherlock studied John again. This time there was realization in Sherlock's eyes. The realization became confusion and the cycle started over again. John wanted to show Sherlock. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to get what he meant out somehow. John knew he loved Sherlock. There. He had admitted it. He loved Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock. He was infatuated. Stupid, even.

John couldn't take this anymore. He looked at Sherlock, starting the staring game again. This time, John focused on Sherlock's lips more than his eyes. He wanted to do something. He wanted to make the move. He feared rejection. He feared what Sherlock would say or do.

The tree was a weeping willow. It had gorgeous long branches that nearly touched the ground, though it had small openings, most likely from people entering the small enclosure underneath. The tree had an aura of comfort. It didn't need explanation; it was just there. It existed without explanation.

They were still holding hands. Sherlock glanced back at John's lips and kept his gaze there. John looked back into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock had these beautiful brown eyes that had so much meaning. Sherlock was beautiful as a whole. He was beautiful and confusing. He was a person who was hard to like, but John managed to fall for him. John Watson, who told himself he strictly liked women, fell for a man who was the hardest to fall for. He had fallen hard. He let go of Sherlock's hand and reached up. He brushed Sherlock's jaw with his hands and pulled him down. Sherlock placed his hands on John's waist as they kissed. The butterflies were there again, but this time John didn't mind. This felt right to him. He felt confirmed. Sherlock pulled John closer and put more pressure into the kiss. The kiss was like the tree; it existed. Rather than existing without needed explanation, it existed as an explanation. Sherlock had gotten the answer to his question. Because you haven't realized I'm stupid for you.

John sat at his computer with Sherlock working behind him. The blog post for this case would be interesting, to say the least. John began typing and deleting. It repeated until he had found what he was looking for.

THE FAKE WOMAN This case that was incredibly fascinating, turned out fake. A setup. Not to say it wasn't interesting. This case was revealing. It was naked. My boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, had stayed focused on this case for days, even when it seemed nothing was to come of it.

John stared at the words written down with a smile. Boyfriend. His boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes.

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[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​

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All This Time

"Honestly, Yesung," I smile as we wrap up at the studio, "I'm gonna miss this. I can't believe this is our first time singing together!" 

"It does seem long overdue, huh?" Yesung grins, sitting back in his chair. "We can always do this again, Lei. I'm happy to see you back in the studio after all this time!"

"You know," I sigh, "I think I am too." 

I hadn't planned to return to S.M. as an artist, but I never quite ruled out the possibility. I guess I find comfort in open endings. When I first went on leave, I started working toward degrees in a variety of foreign languages— the ones I learned as an idol— intending to return to the agency as a translator. 

Then, Yesung sent me a demo of the perfect duet and asked me to sing it with him. Being the perfect husband, Taemin encouraged me to do it. "One song doesn't commit you to a career," he said, so now I am here: reimagining my dream of being an artist. 

The days of nonstop touring and practicing from sunrise to sunset have passed; my priorities are different now. Here in the shade with Yesung, where the light is gentle, I am comfortable. I am not ready to take the next big step. 

"You're glowing, Lei; you were meant to share your voice." Yesung beams at me. 

I want to tell him that I am only reflecting the light he and so many others have shone on me, but I don't get the chance. In his next breath, he asks, "How's our little miracle doing, by the way? Do you think he's expecting tomorrow's surprise party?" 

As fond wrinkles form around Yesung's eyes, my heart swells and overfills with adoration. I shake my head. "No. Obviously, Mom can keep a secret. With time, Taemin has gotten better at holding his tongue. With Lucas, Donghae, and Heechul running around the house, though, it's amazing that the cat is still in the bag. I try not to question miracles." 

"That seems wise," Yesung hums. "Best to enjoy secrecy while it lasts; they still have a full—" he glances down at his watch— "almost a full 24-hours to spoil the surprise!" 

We laugh. Then, a joyful sort of pout— yes, I realize that is some kind of an oxymoron— pulls at my lips. I run a hand through my hair after releasing it from its ponytail. "Can you believe that Tue is turning five?" 

"No!" Yesung's hair falls into his eyes when he shakes his head. "Just like I can't believe that you actually came around calling your son Tue after all those times you scolded Kim and Lucas for using that name!"

"Having two Lucases around gets confusing." I justify my change of heart, shrugging. "Plus, my boy is unique enough to justify that kind of name!" 

Yesung repeats, "Unique," agreeing with a subtle nod. "He reminds me a lot of you, especially now that he's reaching that age you were when we first met." 

It's strange— thinking about how much time has passed— thinking about how some things never change— realizing that some images repeat and replay. 

"Really?" 

Tilting my head, I study my lock screen picture. Lucas took it just last night; he immortalized the moment that Tue sat between me and Taemin at the piano in the den, and I don't know if I have thanked him enough. I squint at the photo as if that will help me see similarities between myself and my son; it doesn't help. 

"I think Tue is a carbon copy of Taemin in appearance and personality," I admit through laughter. "These days, he loves to watch music videos. He can replicate any choreography— and I mean any choreography— after seeing it just once. I've never seen anything like it!" 

Should the agency find out, I sometimes think and spark worry in my gut, they will set their sights on him. 

There it is— the reason why I am so reluctant to return to the stage as an idol: fear of drawing attention to Tue. It was difficult enough when he was born and everybody felt entitled to see him when he was too little to decide whether he wanted to exist under strangers' stares. 

What worries me most, I think, is the fact that I don't know when he will be old enough to make that decision. Five is definitely too young— Taemin and I agree about that, so we take great precautions to protect his privacy. Nobody who knows Tue posts pictures of him on social media; whenever he leaves the house, he wears a mask like we do; as Mom considers early retirement (and therefore takes on fewer group clients), her job has become primarily threatening paparazzi who consider releasing rare photographs of him. 

I have never cared whether people think I'm overprotective. I know too well of the pressures that come with living in the public eye, and I will defend my son from them for as long as I can. Tue is a star, and I know it's just a matter of time until he tries to follow in the footsteps of everybody he loves. I only comfort myself with the thought that it's not happening yet; it's not happening today; it probably won't happen tomorrow. 

"I've seen something like that!" Yesung's boast drags me out of my train of thought. "I don't know if you can still do this— I don't understand child prodigies all that well— but when you were a kid, you could play any song on the piano right after hearing it for the first time. Donghae said teaching you to read sheet music was like pulling teeth because you played everything by ear." 

Knowing that reading sheet music is still not my strong suit, I redden at Yesung's recollection. "Tue can do that too!" I want to brag. "He's the most talented person I've ever known, and he is barely five years old. He's the most gifted person I know, and that's saying something, given how many gifted people I've loved." 

Yesung nudges my ribs. "Why else do you think Henry was so obsessed with you? You both spoke the same piano language!"

"You know," I say, "Henry asked about interviewing Tue for his program about child prodigies."

"Oh yeah?" Although he knows me well enough to predict the answer, Yesung asks, "What did you say?"

"I said that he's welcome to see Tue and play music with him any time," I answer Yesung just as carefully as I answered Henry. "You know that there's nobody I could trust more than you guys— Super Junior— to lead Tue into the entertainment industry, but—" 

I squirm, and my stomach knots. "You know how I am. You know that the thought of sharing Tue— no— not the thought of sharing his talent and his sparkling smile and his sweet voice and his kindness— that's not the problem. I know that the world needs more people like my son. I just—" 

After all this time, my voice still trembles when I think about how cruel strangers are to good people. "I just wonder how well the world treats people like him. I wonder how much the world deserves people like him." 

Yesung rises from his seat to embrace me. His chin rests on the top of my chair. "I don't think anybody understands that anxiety better than your Mom." 

And it happens again: my love for Mom grows. My beautiful Mom. My kind Mom. My Mom who stood in the wings, my Mom who stood comfortably in my shadow. I always thought she was naturally aware of when to hold on and when to let go, but maybe balance was challenging to her too. 

Hearing Yesung describe our shared fear makes me imagine that I have grown to resemble Mom. Tears fill my eyes. I am always sensitive; especially about Mom, and especially around Tue's birthday. 

Before the first tear can fall, he is running to me, crawling into my lap, and holding my face in his hands that are so small, so soft— uncalloused and young. "What's wrong, Mommy?" 

Because the tears evaporate so quickly, I almost believe that they never existed. For a moment, when I cup Tue's rosy cheeks and give him my truest smile, I believe that I have never cried in my entire life. "I was just thinking about how much I missed my beautiful boy! It's all better now that you're here!"

Tue giggles when I push his dark curly hair out of his face and kiss his forehead. He's especially cute these days because he likes his hair long; he likes for the ends to tickle his dimpled chin. 

"I missed you too! I asked Daddy to bring me to see you and Uncle Lucas and—" his eyes— the feature that most closely resembles Taemin's because they contain all of the universe's stars— widen in time with the growth of his smile. "Great Uncle Yesung!" 

Tue transforms into a reincarnation of my childhood self when he abandons all thought in admiration of Yesung. He leaps out of my lap and runs into Yesung's laughing embrace. 

It's beautiful— thinking about how much time has passed— thinking about how some things never change— realizing that some images repeat and replay.

I consider that on my walk to the doorway, where Taemin stands, watching the scene with a smile. His fingers trace absentmindedly at the ribbon on his wrist that hasn't faded with the passage of time. The color hasn't faded since he restored it on that night by the lake. 

"I'm sorry if we interrupted your work," Taemin says softly when he catches me staring. "I told Tue not to just run into the studio, but you know how he gets when he's excited: just a teeny tiny bit disobedient. Or a teeny tiny bit forgetful." 

After teasing, "I wonder who he gets that from," and earning a chuckle in response, I assure Taemin, "You didn't interrupt anything. Yesung and I are done with the song. We just got to talking." 

Maybe Taemin noticed the tears before Tue carried them away, or maybe he hears that longtime blend of anxiety and craving for peace that almost always reveals itself in my voice through our conversations. His brow furrows as he wraps an arm around my waist. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Yeah," I answer immediately because I always want to talk about everything with Taemin. I told him once that I would grow to trust him with everything, and I have; for better or for worse, I hold nothing back. Watching Tue throw his head back laughing as Yesung tickles his ribs just below his armpits, right where he knows he's most ticklish, I condition, "Later though. Smiles and laughter for now, please." 

Taemin doesn't press the issue. In the beginning, he was always in such a rush, determined to force intimate conversation, no matter my discomfort. Now, he must realize that there is nothing I will keep from him forever. Now, he must understand that everything will come to light when we lie together under the moon. He no longer races to the rising of the moon or the rising of the sun; he lives in every moment. I admire him for that. 

Taemin smiles and winks at me before fixing his sight on Tue. "Hey little dude," Taemin says during the brief break in Tue's laughter, "Mommy is done for the day, and she wants to hang out with us! What do you wanna do?" 

Tue runs to us from Yesung's side. He reaches for Taemin, knowing well that his father will waste no time in lifting him onto his shoulders. 

"Alright." Taemin squats so Tue can climb on easily and so he doesn't hit his head on the doorframe. It's funny to watch Taemin, who was once spoiled rotten, who is still a bit rotten at the core, literally bending to the will of a small child. "What's the plan, kiddo?" 

Tue wastes no time pretending to think about his dream activity. Although he sees his namesake almost every day, he declares, "I wanna see Uncle Lucas!" 

Trusting that I still memorize my best friend's schedules, Taemin glances at me. Luckily enough, I still know where Lucas is at all times. Some people jokingly call it twin-telepathy, but it's only through my nagging reminders that Lucas ever gets where he needs to be. 

"He's downstairs teaching a dance class with Mark." I look down at my phone again; I couldn't hide my smile at the picture even if I tried. "It should be wrapping up soon, so—" 

Taemin cheers, "Off we go!" and runs toward the elevator. Tue squeals all the way down the hall, and I wish more than anything that I had been ready to record this moment. 

Before following my boys, I linger in the studio to tell Yesung, "Bye! Thank you for everything!" 

"See you tomorrow!" Yesung waves both hands. "You're welcome for everything! Never forget that I'm proud of you!" 

I smile because it is impossible to forget what Yesung has told me since we met.

. . . 

Although Taemin, Tue, and I stand quietly at the back of the room, Lucas notices us immediately. 

"Hey!" His booming clap disrupts the class, and all eyes fall on us. "There's my mini-me!"

It doesn't matter that Tue is identical to Taemin (apart from the wavy hair he inherited from me); Lucas has called him "mini-me" since the day he was born. That's just a consequence of naming my baby after my best friend. It's a consequence I can live with. 

It doesn't matter that Tue sees Lucas almost every day; they always greet each other with wide smiles and open arms as if they have been separated for lifetimes. That's just a result of the bond they share. 

Sometimes, I think that Tue was born not just to fill my every void and fade every scar. He was born to be the best friend Lucas always deserved. He was born to teach Taemin that he is much more than an idol. He makes us better just by existing. I have never loved anyone so much— with my entire heart, my entire soul, with every part of me that has ever existed and will ever exist. 

I run a hand through Tue's hair before Taemin passes him to Lucas. This transition of our most beloved person into the arms of another dear friend occurs without the arguments that gave me headaches at the start. We have accepted it by now: Lucas is Tue's favorite person on the planet. 

I don't care much to challenge that title since it means so much to Lucas and since I know from experience that the role of the mother is special on its own. I don't know much from experience about the role of the father except that its absence painful in more ways than words can describe; I don't know much except its absence leaves a void that most will try to fill with anything; I don't know much except Taemin is doing a good job, and I tell him so every day. 

Now, I tell him by reaching for his hand and lacing our fingers together. This— holding his hand— has always been my favorite act of affection. It's crazy to think that, once upon a time, I would have hesitated— I would have refused— I would have denied the desire to reach for him outside of our hotel room and our home. 

Sometimes, like now, Taemin looks stunned when I touch him. He flinches as if my touch is frozen or scalding or electric, but then he smiles and melts into me a little more. Every time I think we're done melting into each other, when I think that we already blended to create the perfect human being, we take another step together. 

"Hey!" Tue leans over Lucas's shoulder to look him in the eyes. "It's big-me!"

"Sh," I instruct quietly, bringing a finger to my puckered lips. "They're practicing, baby. We're guests, so we have to be quiet." 

Generally, Tue is a well-mannered boy. He just forgets proper etiquette when excited, and nobody excites him quite like Lucas. Turning slightly pink in the face, Tue nods and brings a finger to his puckered lips too. 

Moments of correction are always short-lived because Tue takes instruction well. I wink at him, and he winks back. The thing is— Tue has inherited Mom's lack of facial coordination, so he blinks both eyes. 

The sight makes Taemin laugh. When I was a kid, I would have wanted to cry if someone (especially someone as beautiful as Taemin) laughed at me. Tue's lips don't tremble in preparation for tears, though; his lips curl into a gap-toothed smile. Oh, there's another thing my baby gets from me: a gappy smile! It looks much cuter on him; I almost hope he never corrects it with braces.  

Because Taemin laughed, Tue laughs. He always copies his father. 

Raising my eyebrows, I give Lucas a look that clearly means, "Aren't you supposed to help Mark with this class?" 

Lucas understands. Maybe his understanding is the result of (fake) twin-telepathy or— more likely— it is the result of having known each other for eternities. Securing his hold around Tue, Lucas softly sings, "Priorities change, Lei." 

Because I completely restructured my life for Tue— and that's much more significant than ditching the last five minutes of a dance practice— I can't argue with Lucas. I can only nod. 

At the front of the room, Mark announces, "Alright guys, we're done for the day! Great work!" 

I hope that he hasn't ended practice early because we have caused an interruption, but it's hard to stay worried when Mark's trainees break into excited chatter. The atmosphere in this room is unlike anything I experienced as a trainee. People like Mark, people like Lucas— they have changed this place. They have brought light into the rooms, and I— I think I want to help them. 

Then, I look at Tue, and I know that I don't want him to spend his days sitting alone by the vending machine. I don't want him to spend his days sitting in the corner while I teach trainees. In no way do I resent my childhood; I just want to protect Tue from the loneliness that darkened too many days. 

Life is about finding balance, I think. Balance between Lei the idol and Lei the human. Balance between Lei the fearful and Lei the brave. Balance between Lei the skeptic and Lei the romantic. Balance between Lei the individual and Lei the wife. Balance between Lei the idol and Lei the mother. Balance between Lei of the past and Lei of now. Some of these, I have mastered. Some of these were easier to achieve than others. Some of these are a daily struggle. Some of these remain a mystery. 

I'm trying, though; that's enough for me now. I am proud of who I am now. I am proud of who I will be tomorrow. 

I wave to Mark, thinking that he has always had the best influence on others. Smiling, Mark waves back, calling "Happy Early Birthday, Lucas Tue!" (and receiving a chipper, "Thank you, Mr. Mark Lee!" in response) before I follow my family into the hall, led by Taemin's hand, with the sea of trainees. 

We sit at the table by the vending machine. It's much smaller now than it is in my memories. Maybe that's because I've grown so much; maybe that's because my family fills it with energy so bright that I don't notice the empty seats. 

Sitting in Lucas's lap, Tue asks, "Did you know tomorrow is my birthday?" 

Lucas gasps, "Tomorrow is your birthday?" 

Taemin laughs at how Tue's face contorts in utter bewilderment. His lips part, his brow furrows, and his skin is painted a flustered pink as he whines, "I don't know! Is it?" 

Because everyone has been so quiet in discussing birthday preparations around Tue, he must not realize the date. "Tomorrow is May 29," I tell him, "so you're gonna turn five years old!" I wiggle five fingers toward his face; he laughs when I tap his nose with one of my fingertips, throwing his head back against Lucas's chest. 

"What?!" Lucas cries; Tue laughs harder at the overreaction before Lucas even prods at his ticklish ribs. "Five?! That's crazy, man! That's older than me!" 

Tue sputters, "No— no it's not! You're way— way— way older than five!" 

"I am not!" Lucas argues, dropping his jaw to feign offense. "You know who is way older than five, though?"

As if sharing the same brain cell, Lucas and Tue settle their sights on Taemin, who, tightening his grip on my hand, drops his jaw, taking genuine offense. “I am not! I’m the biggest baby at this table!”

When Taemin crosses his arms over his chest and pouts his pretty lips, nobody thinks to argue. Lucas and Tue snort, failing to contain their laughter at Taemin’s expense. I so badly want to laugh with them, but I want more to kiss Taemin, so I peck at his lips. 

At the kiss, Lucas and Tue do not squeal in disgust like most little boys would; they squeal in utter delight. 

. . . 

It’s hard to find an alone moment with Mom in our full house, but I find one after Taemin and I tuck Tue into bed. Mom is setting up Finding Nemo decorations around the pool. We chose that theme for Tue's party since it's his favorite movie. 

Even wearing her pajamas with her hair tied up in a messy bun, Mom looks beautiful among the moon and stars. "What's going on, Lei?" She drapes a cloth over a fold-out table. "You're wearing your pensive face." 

I try to laugh at myself by saying, "I'm always wearing my pensive face." 

Because I have yet to tell Taemin about my conversation with Yesung, my worries are a tangled knot at the forefront of my mind. It's a messy business, untangling the knot, and it's always easier with Taemin's help. 

Tracing my finger along Nemo's little lucky fin on the table cloth, I prod at the knot on my own. "I'm just wondering how you knew when to hold me close and when to let me stand in the spotlight." 

Mom stills to meet my eyes. "I know I wasn't perfect," she prefaces. When I try to disagree, she interrupts. "I'm human, Lei. I did the best I could, but I know I could have been better. Anyone can see through hindsight, in any situation, that they could have been better. They should have been better." 

Mom has this way of speaking that nobody can replicate. She acknowledges faults and shortcomings through a lens that is never degrading, never belittling. She looks at the past in such a light that does not inspire regret but instead inspires a better tomorrow. 

I admire Mom for that. I want to be like her. After all this time, I have not grown out of aspiring to be like Mom. 

"When I think about how you used to sit alone at that table by the vending machine before Lucas walked into your world; when I think about how you used to cling to the wall in the corner of every room; when I think about how I used to hear you crying in your room at night when you thought I was asleep— when you thought your radio was loud enough to drown out your tears with SHINee's voices—"

Mom's voice wavers, and her gaze crashes onto the table. Now that I see her so affected by past pains even in the happiest stage of life to date, I understand: it was never easy for Mom. She just carried the burden where I couldn't see it. 

"I always wondered if I was doing the right thing. I wondered if the spotlight found you because you walked into it or because I nudged you toward it. When you became a trainee and Donghae told me that Sehun said people were being cruel to you—" Mom bristles— "you don't know how much I wanted to pull you out of the agency. You don't know how badly I wanted to take you and hide you someplace where nobody could hurt you. But—"

Mom laughs— genuinely laughs— when I wrap my arms around her, thinking, knowing that a place without pain does not exist (at least not on earth). It's enough that she wanted to take me there, I think. It's enough that she wanted that place to exist for me. 

She asks, "Do you know that part in Finding Nemo where Dory tells Marlin, 'Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him'?"

I nod. Even though Tue often falls asleep in my lap by that part of the movie, I know it well.

"Quickly— maybe instantly— I realized that you are too special not to share with the world." Mom cups my face with both hands. She kind of pinches my cheeks because they are still full; they still make me look very much like a child. "This world would be a sadder, duller place without your light shining in it. I decided that if anyone out there tries to dampen your light— well—" 

Mom smiles, so I smile too. 

"I would work a million times harder to keep it burning."

. . .

When I tell Taemin about my conversation with Yesung in the studio and my conversation with Mom under the moon, he says, "That's all very beautiful, baby. It almost makes me want to cry. But I still think Tue is way too young to be an idol." 

I have almost drifted to sleep with my head on Taemin's chest because the steady beat of his heart has always been one of my greatest comforters. I lift my head to narrow my eyes at him. "How did you gather from any of that that I want our son to be an idol?" 

Taemin squints, trying to make out my features in the dark. "I don't know! It just seemed like you were coming to terms with letting him wander into the spotlight, and I thought maybe it was my turn to be the voice of reason!" 

Even without the slightest aid offered by the pale moonlight, I would see the smirk curling his lips. "The last time I was the voice of reason was during our first New Year when you dropped your dress—"

"Let it go, Taemin!" I chastise, wondering how and why I let his sentence get that far before rolling my eyes. "That happened how many years ago?" 

"I don't know. Time is all relative anyway." Taemin probably feels like some kind of genius or the mysterious picture of a soulmate he was at the beginning. "It happened how ever many years ago, and it's still one of my favorite memories! It never fails to make me smile." 

I shake my head and lay on my back beside him. "We're way off track. Anyway, I completely agree: Tue is too young to be an idol. The agency wouldn't even let him audition until he turns ten. Even then, I'm not going to suggest that he audition. I'm not going to actively nudge him anywhere near that path." 

Moments pass in silence. Taemin rolls onto this side to trace patterns on my stomach. In addition to calming me, this gentle affection helps him organize his thoughts.

"I think we should cross that bridge when we come to it," he says, as usual. "Obviously, I want to support him in anything he wants to do. I won't really know how to help him if he wants to be a doctor or a lawyer, but— well— think of how much we can guide him if he wants to follow in our footsteps." 

Taemin makes a good point. Having two idol parents might make Tue a target for bullies— I know that having a manager for a mother made me one— but cruel people will justify their actions with any excuse. What makes Tue stand out could double as a strength; I know having my particular mother made me stronger. Similarly, Tue could turn to me and Taemin and Mom and Lucas and his entire network of well-wishing idols for advice, and we would all be equipped by our experiences to help him in some way. 

"I'm so glad I have you." I roll onto my side so that my face is level with Taemin's and I can clearly see the night sky reflected in his eyes. "You embody that perfect balance between listening and advising. You always have. I love you so much for that. I always have." 

He smiles, and my heart flutters. "I'm glad I have you too. Thank you for trusting me and listening to my advice. I love you so much for that. I always will." 

Taemin creates the perfect atmosphere for honesty. With a glance, he encourages me to carry my darkest thoughts into the light. It feels like he is carrying them with me; they are less heavy this way. That's why I admit, suddenly on the verge of tears, "I'm afraid that I haven't made my love for Tue clear enough."

I have rarely cried since taking a break from being Lei the idol. My outburst must send Taemin back in time to the very start when I first cried to him under the moon's watch— to the night when the moon became ours. Back then, he was so careful. He resisted the destined desire to touch me, to embrace me, because he didn't want to frighten me. Now, he moves instantly, instinctively, to hold me. 

His lips meet mine for a second. After just a second, he tries to part, but I need him. I need him, and that hasn't scared me in so many moons. I need him, and I bring him back down to me and hold him here until we have kissed most of my worries away. 

We always keep a few worries because Taemin says they keep us safe. He thinks my talent for spotting danger is, in moderation, one of our greatest strengths. I'm good at seeing a storm cloud from a million miles away; Taemin is good at making a hurricane feel like an overdue summer drizzle. That's why we are the greatest team to ever exist. 

"Tue knows you love him," Taemin assures me in a whisper against my lips. "Anyone who knows you— anyone who knows us knows that we weren't really breathing until Tue took his first breath."

That's not to say that life wasn't worth living before Tue existed. Just like my life was as happy as it could have been before Lucas, and it was happier once he laughed and painted the world anew; just like my life was as happy as it could have been before Taemin, and it was happier once he handed me the moon; my life was as happy as it could have been before Tue, and it was happier once he breathed. 

Tue's breath gave me every beautiful wonder I never knew existed— the heavenly traces on earth that nobody can see with the naked eye until they have seen and felt and loved their child. 

"Does the world know?" My mouth hurts from frowning. "These past five years— have we done the right thing by keeping Tue off of social media? The agency issued the briefest statement about him, like, a week after he was born, and I don't even know if they mentioned his name. Mom deletes all leaked traces of him from the internet. Any time interviewers are bold enough to ask you about him, the agency pressures the network to cut the clip." 

They do all of these things at our request. 

Taemin wipes the tears spilling from my eyes as I wonder, "When Tue gets older, what will he think about the fact that his parents said nothing about him where the world could hear?" 

"Hopefully he'll understand that his parents loved him enough to protect him until he was old enough to protect himself," Taemin answers in a tone that does not belittle my fears in his effort to quell them. "It's not like you've been active on social media at all these past five years, Lei. If Tue ever asks, and I doubt he will, we can explain that you spent all of your time with him while I—"

Taemin's voice falters. 

One of his biggest insecurities— maybe you could call it a regret— is that while I walked away from my career the moment I felt Tue's life, he hadn't deviated much from the course he had been on most of his life. I never pressured Taemin to make a career shift in any direction; at every opportunity, I expressed my belief that there is no right or wrong move when finding the balance between family life and work. Needs vary, and I believe that people can adapt to almost any situation. 

Taemin's pace has changed somewhat over time. Early morning practices with Jongin became scarce after Tue was born; now, they are almost obsolete. He says that he likes to be home for breakfast and early morning cartoons. 

He isn't as excited about promoting abroad when Tue and I can't tag along. As you can probably imagine, some trips cannot function as family vacations. He swears that video calls before bed are not enough to fill the void in his day when we aren't there. 

He doesn't look forward to awards ceremonies like he once did. We agreed that Tue shouldn't attend events where strangers' cameras abound. He says that even if we did attend, he would be expected to sit with his group, not with us. 

The studio isn't his second home anymore. Whenever he has to stay later than expected, he comes home with a million apologies, a bouquet of roses for me, and a new toy for Tue. At this point, Tue has an entire colony of plush Nemos on his bed; he sleeps cuddling every single one. It doesn't matter how often I tell him that he has nothing to apologize for; he apologizes and apologizes and I know he will apologize again. 

I know that he feels torn between his roles as Taemin the idol, Taemin the husband, and Taemin the father. I just don't know how to help him. He made so little time for Taemin the human being that, sometime during the first week of May, he had some kind of emotional breakdown at the studio that compelled SHINee to delay the release of their new album. 

Deciding that he didn't want anybody to blame Taemin for the postponement, Jinki offered to take the heat. He told Mom, "Issue a statement claiming that I'm suffering from a gluteal strain after an impromptu breakdancing battle!"

Jinki's Rationale for the Gluteal Strain Story:

"The key is to tell a lie so outrageous that nobody can doubt it! Nobody will question a story about a literal pain in the butt!"

Anyway, that's why Taemin and I have swapped roles lately. He is taking his first break from being an idol to spend time with Tue. While they watch movies and play the piano and work through those online pre-school activities, I am dipping my toes back into the world of recording. I don't know yet what I will do in terms of a career, but I know that Taemin will return to the stage revitalized. He is remarkably resilient, born to shine. 

Knowing I can't alter Taemin's self-perception, I card my fingers through his hair and praise him anyway. "Taemin, Tue learns so much about hard work, passion, and dedication from you. He truly admires you in the purest way. He doesn't see the distinction between his father and his idol because you fulfill those responsibilities so well—so much better than I ever could— so much better than I was willing to try." 

I kiss the crown of Taemin's head as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. "We're so proud of you. Don't forget that." 

"Thank you," Taemin mumbles against my skin. "I haven't forgotten. I just— I'm so proud of you for being Tue's mom, but I'm sorry if I pressured you to walk away from your dreams to carry my weight here—"

"Taemin." I nudge him until he looks down at me with wide apologetic eyes. "You didn't pressure me into anything. You didn't pressure me into anything at all." 

He looks unconvinced, judging by his pout, so I explain, "I have so many dreams! To be a genuine artist, to be a loving daughter, to be a reliable friend, to be a comforting wife, to be an inspiring Mom." 

I wrap my arms around Taemin's waist and hug him closer. "I heard once that growing up is a process of letting your dreams die one by one, but I disagree. Every day that I'm with you, I discover a new dream I don't think I have to choose one over all the others. I just have to find balance. And we'll find it together; that's what we always do." 

Finally, Taemin smiles. I smile. We can breathe again. 

He lays against me, and our chests rise and fall together. We melt a little more, and I— I can't tell where he ends and I begin. I can't remember a time when we were separate beings. I don't ever want to remember. 

"Do you want me to go on Instagram live to say that my wife and son are everything to me? Or should I air footage of one of Tue's baby albums? Or should I post videos and pictures from life with you these past five years? Or should I read our story where anyone can hear?"

Between each question, Taemin has kissed me. His lips hover over mine as he begs, "Tell me what to do, Lei. Tell me how to make your dreams come true, and I'll do it. I'll do anything." 

He doesn't understand that I am already living my dream. I don't know how to make him understand. 

"Just kiss me again," I instruct softly. Sweetly, Taemin complies. "And let's think about something special we can do to love our son on his birthday."

When Taemin and I tiptoe into his room early the next morning, we expect to find Tue fast asleep, snoring into his pillow while clutching a Nemo plushie. Instead, we find him lying with his belly against the floor, kicking his bare feet int he air while doodling on a piece of paper. 

While Taemin sits before Tue, I sit beside him and ask, "Can I see your drawing, baby?" 

Tue has never denied me access to his art before. I love seeing the smile that curls his lips whenever I express interest in his creativity. "Yep!" His enthusiastic nod sends his unruly morning curls flopping. "But I'm not just drawing something, Mommy." 

Taemin's brow furrows as he tries to decipher Tue's handwriting. He is at a disadvantage because a.) from where he sits, Tue's letters are upside down, b.) the note is written entirely in English, which still isn't Taemin's strong suit, and c.) Tue has chosen to write with the palest yellow crayon in his arsenal. 

Sweetly, Taemin asks, "What is it?" Leaning forward, he sets his elbows on the hardwood floor and props his chin in his hands. 

Tue delights in the opportunity to explain anything from why he thinks the sky is blue to why he thinks roses are the prettiest flowers to why Finding Nemo is the best movie ever. His face lights up at Taemin's question.

"It's a letter to Mr. Mark Lee!" Tracing his little fingers along his letters, Tue reads, "Thanks for saying 'Happy Birthday' yesterday. I forgot my birthday. You didn't. You make me very happy!" 

Tue turns the paper so Taemin can read it. "And look! I drew me here and Mr. Mark Lee here, and we have big smiles and party hats!"

When Tue gives Taemin his gappy smile, I can't contain myself. While Taemin takes the paper from Tue's hand, my heart explodes as I pull Tue onto my lap. Holding him around the waist, I pepper his forehead, cheeks, nose, and chin with kisses; he giggles all the while. 

"You're the sweetest boy in the whole world, Tue!" I boast, and he beams at the praise. "Who taught you how to write 'Thank You' notes?" 

"I dunno!" He shrugs his shoulders. "Probably you or Daddy. You and Daddy teach me everything!" 

I raise my eyebrows, giving Taemin this look that means, "I told you so. He knows that you're a great father. I told you so!"

Taemin probably doesn't notice. He smiles at Tue as he returns the paper to his baby soft hand. "You're going to give this to Mr. Mark Lee the next time you see him, right? I bet getting a letter like this would make him very happy." 

At that suggestion, Tue's face burns crimson. In many ways, he is one of the most confident, outgoing people I have ever known; in others, he is even more bashful than I have ever been. In five years of knowing him, I have yet to figure out how he manages that degree of duality. Considering that Tue is forever charming — whether bold or shy — I am inclined to believe duality is another quality he inherited from Taemin. 

As he leans into me and hides his face in my shirt, Tue entrusts his paper to my hand. "Can you give that to Mr. Mark Lee, Mommy? I want to make him very happy, but I can't give it to him! I just can't!

Maybe I should gently nudge Tue out of his comfort zone, especially since there is nothing to fear about approaching Mark. Maybe I should take this chance to teach him that self-expression is nothing to be embarrassed about. I can't do it, though. As precious as he looks with rose-colored cheeks, I can't darken my baby's blush. 

"I'll give it to him," I promise, urging him to lift his head to meet my bright smile. "He'll love it! Now go to Daddy, alright? He's gonna help you get dressed." 

Looking down at his pajamas donning Nemo's face, of course, Tue pouts. He crosses his arms. He really looks and sounds like Taemin when he whines, "I don't wanna get dressed!"

"Well, you have to," Taemin says as he scoops Tue into his arms. Carrying him to the closet, Taemin responds to Tue's whines, "If you don't get dressed, I can't take you to your surprise!"

As I walk to the door, I hear Tue squeal, "Surprise?" Taemin laughs at his reaction. Tue's squeal and Taemin's laugh are the reasons why I smile when I walk downstairs to tell everybody that the birthday boy is on his way. 

. . . 

I push the curtains aside and from my side of the kitchen window, I watch Donghae carrying Tue on his shoulders in the pool. Following Mom's instruction to "Behave! At least around the baby!" Heechul stands beside them, donning a smile for Lucas's camera. 

The sight is especially comforting considering how annoying Donghae and Heechul were at the beginning. Apparently, when nobody was listening, Heechul told Tue, "Call me Grandpa, and call him—" he pointed a finger at Donghae— "Grandpa 2." 

Tue was too young and too sweet to understand that Heechul was up to his old shenanigans of competing with Donghae, so he followed the instruction faithfully, much to Donghae's dismay. 

"Don't worry," Tue said to Donghae's frown, flashing him a big toothy smile. "I'm a 2 too!"

I wish I or Mom or Lucas— since he has appointed himself the family photographer— had recorded the smile Tue sculped onto Donghae's face. I would love to carry a picture of it with me so I could show it to you and everybody I meet, saying, "This is my son's mark on the world, and it's the most beautiful mark anybody has ever made. He is five years old, and he has never hurt a living creature. He is five years old, and he makes smiles wherever he goes." 

My mental images of Tue's gappy smile and those he leaves in his wake are among my most prized possessions. I am admiring them when Mark walks in through the back door, carrying an empty bowl. 

His eyes widen as if he has interrupted something. He beelines to the refrigerator, muttering, "Your mom said there's more watermelon in the fridge." 

Glancing down at the platter of snacks I have assembled, I frown at the utter lack of watermelon. "I should have known that we would need more watermelon with you and Tue eating at the same place at the same time." 

Mark laughs, dropping the empty bowl into the sink. "Well, what can I say?" He grabs the bowl of sliced watermelon Mom prepared last night and tosses a slice into his mouth. "Little man and I have good taste!"

"Speaking of little man—" I smile at Mark's nickname for Tue as I close the refrigerator door and point to a pinned paper— "he wrote this for you." 

After setting the bowl onto the counter, Mark takes the page into his hand. He doesn't have to squint to make out the letters. "He's writing 'Thank You' letters? To me? At five years old?"

I can't help but smile at Mark's awestruck expression. "You made his day, and I guess he wanted you to know."

Mark's slack-jawed expression transforms into a radiant smile. "Can I keep this?" 

"It's for you," I repeat, nodding, "so I think you're supposed to keep it. See the little faces at the bottom?" Mark nods, so I explain, "The artist says the big one is you and the little one is his latest self-portrait." 

Mark smiles at the paper once more before folding it into his pocket. As we grab our snacks, we walk together to the back door. We stop once Mark asks, "Before we go back outside, can I ask you something?" 

"Yeah." There's something petrifying about Mark's quiet voice, so I hope my smile will encourage him to speak up. "What's up?" 

"You know how I'm working with the trainees?" When I nod, Mark continues, "As far as I'm concerned they're all set talent-wise. I only really work with them on dancing and rapping— Taeil is the vocal instructor." 

Based on what I saw in the final five minutes of dance practice yesterday, I agree. It seems that the trainees get better with each generation. "They seem like they will make excellent artists one day." 

"They will!" Mark beams, seeming as proud of his trainee's progress as he is of his own achievements. "I've been thinking about how else I can help them grow, and I think maybe we should spend time talking about, like, emotional wellbeing."

"That sounds like a good idea." I, for one, could have benefited from learning about that as a trainee. 

"I'm glad you think so," Mark says slowly, "because I kind of want you to help me with those conversations." 

My jaw drops. "Me?" By no means have I ever considered myself an expert on emotional wellbeing. "Why?"

Mark's head goes aslant; he looks at me as if challenging me to look at myself. "When I think of strength, I think about how you carried yourself in training when those girls were mean to you. I think about how you stayed best friends even when people watched you and whispered. I think about how you didn't fall apart when the media used to speculate about the idol who never debuted. I think about how you held your head high when people criticized you for dating, then marrying, then having a baby with Taemin. But mostly— " Mark smiles — "I think about how you changed your whole life for Lucas Tue. I can't think of anyone better to teach the trainees that as much as we love music, as much as we love being idols, there is a lot more to life than the spotlight." 

I blink, wondering how, when, and why Mark became so well-spoken. My gaze falls onto the snack platter in my hands. "I— I don't know how to teach anybody that." 

Mark sighs, dejected, and I compulsively admit, "But I want to learn. I would love to learn, Mark."

Before Mark can reply, Tue runs in through the open back door, asking, "Mommy, where—" 

His voice falls flat as his eyes widen at the sight of Mark. "Mr. Mark Lee," Tue stutters, "I— I—" 

Before Mark can reply, Tue runs back outside. 

Mark looks at me, raising his eyebrows. "What did I do?"

Making my way out the door and into the summer sun, I explain, "He's being bashful because of that letter. He gets into shy moods from time to time." 

"Oh, okay." As we set our snacks onto the table, Mark asks, "Wait, did I hear you right? Did you mean that you would help me with the trainees?" 

From their sunchairs nearest to the snack table, Lucas and Taemin look up. Tue has concealed his flustered face against Taemin's chest, and he doesn't perk up at the sound of Mark's voice; he retreats further into Taemin's embrace. 

Taemin meets my eyes. Although he is reluctant to pressure me with vocal encouragement, he offers a gentle smile that seems to whisper, "Go for it. You can do anything." 

Lucas, true to who he has always been and always will be, is much louder about his support. He lowers his sunglasses. "Wait, you're gonna help me and Mark with the trainees? As in, we're having a mini ot8 SuperM reunion?" 

Mark glances at me with apologetic eyes as he pops another slice of watermelon into his mouth. Once upon a time, I think I would have glared at anyone for putting me on the spot like that. Depending on who it was, I might have even scolded them. I can't bring myself to scold Mark, though; I can't bring myself to glare at him, and I don't want to try. 

"I'll help," I decide easily, "in any way I can." 

I guess I don't want to disappoint Mark's perception of me; I want to live up to it. I guess I want to believe Yesung— that I am meant to share my voice. I guess I want to believe Mom—  that I can make the world a happier, brighter place with my light shining in it. I guess I want to be to the trainees who Mark is to them, who Mom has always been to me: someone who works a million times harder than the light dampeners to keep their light burning. 

Tue lifts his head from Taemin's chest to cheer, "You can do it, Mommy! You're the best helper!"

As I sit by his side, Taemin raises his eyebrows, giving me a look that means, "I told you so. He knows you perfectly. I told you so." 

"Thank you, baby," I wink at Tue. I whisper in his ear, "Mr. Mark Lee loves your letter, by the way." 

Tue smiles and lays his head back on Taemin's chest. When he closes his eyes, he looks exhausted. I think he falls asleep in an instant.

Lucas follows Mark to the pool, I think, for fear of waking Tue with his booming voice. Thus, Taemin and I are alone with our son again, even at the bustling party hosted in his honor.

Taemin asks, "Are you happy today?" in a voice so quiet that I think he's whispering sweet nothing to our sleeping boy until his eyes rise to meet mine. "I remember you said, once upon a time, 'Life doesn't always go as planned, and I think that's okay as long as you like where you end up.' And I'm wondering again if you like where you ended up— if you like where you're going next." 

My heart always flips when Taemin quotes our story. "I recall saying, 'Anywhere with you is where I want to end up.'" I reach for Taemin's hand— the one closest to me, the one that isn't secured around Tue. "I still feel that way, Anywhere with you is where I want to go next." 

Taemin flashes a sparkling smile before puckering his lips, wordlessly daring me to kiss him. Because I am no coward, I accept the dare before he can even blink. And just when I think that this moment is too beautiful to pass, I hear it. 

The snapping of Lucas's camera capturing us in a photograph.

#SuperM au #SuperM social media au #shinee au #shinee social media au #SuperM fluff #shinee fluff #Taemin fluff #SuperM imagines #shinee imagines #Taemin imagines #SuperM fic #shinee fic #Taemin fic #SuperM fanfic #shinee fanfic #Taemin fanfic #SuperM drabble #shinee drabble #Taemin drabble #SuperM drabbles #shinee drabbles #Taemin drabbles #Taemin texts #for you: 4 o’clock #kpop au #kpop social media au #kpop fluff #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #SuperM scenario

[silver-wield]

Hi! Sorry for bothering you. Don't know if you already did this one (so many analysis) but what did you thought about Sephiroth killing Barret scene? Everyone just go running to Barret and Cloud just froze.

No bother! Sorry for the wait, I had a few things on my plate to clear lol

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be short-ish.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone’s interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I’ve had other ideas since then) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis 

Cloti reunion analysis 

The Promise Analysis 

Andrea’s approval (Cloti ask response) 

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read) 

Cloti action touching 

Aerti friendship analysis 

Cloti body language chapter 3 

Cloti healthy disagreement 

Cloti post heliboss battle (chapter 15) 

Clerith playground scene 

Cloti body language plate fall 

Cloud and Barret friendship 

Resolution scene analysis (A) 

Barret character analysis (chapter 13) 

Cloud character analysis (Honey Bee Inn) 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Recap time!

Okay, so our intrepid heroes have found Aerith, but then Cloud has a ptsd induced attack and passes out. After some exposition courtesy or Red and Aerith, we're back on mission to reach the roof and the Avalanche helicopter waiting for us – thanks to Wedge the cinnamon roll.

Once we reach the President's office we can hear shouting and make our way outside to find Shinra dangling from 70f up. Poor bby. Lemme help you up.

Anyway, Barret stops Tifa going to help (you’re too kind sometimes, T), grabs Shinra and after some massive restraint on his part, tosses him back onto solid ground. He pursues Shinra through the office and then in classic moron moment finds Shinra has a gun pointed at him. I'm not sure why the others didn't go too, but for whatever reason, they're in the doorway while Shinra is making his selfish bastard speech and Barret forgets he's got a literal machine gun for an arm.

Seconds before pulling the trigger, Sephiroth materialises out of thin air – and Cloud's Sephy sense didn't even go off this time – and he stabs Shinra, killing him in an echo of his OG death.

You get a shot of surprised Cloud and Tifa, then Barret lunges for Sephiroth while whispers appear through the doorway.

Ooh damn I'm good! 2nd go and I stop on this shot. First one was blurry.

Ok, this is obviously the moment where Sephiroth runs Barret all the way through. Remember, his sword is like 8ft long or some ridonculous shit like that. It's massive. He has zero need to get close to someone when he stabs them. He didn't do this with Shinra, he was like 3 feet away and still there was plenty of sword sticking out the guy's chest (anyone wonder if Seph is compensating for something? Lol).

Ok, so the point I'm getting at by showing Sephiroth this close to Barret is that this is a personal attack. This isn't something he's done just to kill someone. He's stuck that massive sword all the way through Barret's chest until he's within touching distance of him. This is an attack on Cloud. This is his way of showing Cloud that the vision from the VR scene could absolutely be true. He can make it true.

As for Barret, well he's just been stabbed, so he looks like he wants to go for pizza lol

Tifa automatically reacts and wants to run to Barret and save him. She's lost way too many people over the last day and can't lose anyone else. This is expected of her being the first one to react.

Interestingly, the next one to move is Red. The bromance is real. That's one fast friendship there and I love these two as friends. Barret and Red can snark at each other for a whole game and I'll be happy. 

This is a great moment though because it shows that Red's already formed strong bonds with everyone, enough that he'll go to their aid without stopping to think. For an animal character which is hard to read, you can see very easily the pain, fear and panic in his eye.

If you're a meta!Aerith theoriser like me then this is actually too much emotion on her face for someone who barely knows Barret. She looks like she just lost someone very important to her. They met like an hour ago. I love the amount of emotion on her face here, she clearly cares about Barret a lot. That's an “please God oh no” look if ever I saw one. Makes me wanna tear up and no lie.

And Cloud. Who doesn't move because he's literally frozen in place with a wide eyed look of horror on his face. He's seen Sephiroth stab people before. Back in Nebelheim reactor and then in the VR where he had to watch him stab Tifa (ok not really, but the mental trauma is still the same). He's shutting down. SOLDIER!Cloud.exe has stopped working. Have you tried turning him off and on again?

Cloud's terrified of Sephiroth anyway – he literally whimpers during one ptsd attack – so to see him stab Barret? His friend? And he didn’t even see it coming? It's probably sent his entire mind to a point where he can't function. This is the stuff that breaks him.

Aside: How did Sephiroth pull that whole long ass sword out of Barret without moving away? Does he have slenderman arms on the sly?

This is interesting. Sephiroth looks at Cloud, who's still shell-shocked, but then it's like you can see him rebooting. That absolute fury and hatred he has for Sephiroth overrides most of his shock – or tries. You can see the SOLDIER part of him trying to assert control over his fear, but then it wavers and the shock and fear – likely from real!Cloud – take hold again, making his eyes wide and him look as helpless as he feels.

Sephiroth's goal is to always make Cloud feel helpless, out of control, useless to everyone. That way he can control Cloud and make him do whatever he wants. He's a master manipulator and Cloud with all his issues struggles to fight against that mental barrage. It’s something that never goes away for him. This is his lifetime struggle and it’s a metaphor for those who live with mental health issues. There’s no one final battle and it’s all rosy. It’s never ending and some days you win, some days it’s Sephiroth. The point is to fight.

So, then the whisper leaps into Barret to save him and Sephiroth turns into a piece of Jenova. Now we've got some action happening, Cloud shakes off his weakness and goes back into SOLDIER mode.

Conclusion

Cloud can't deal with emotions. Of any kind. He's emotionally stunted, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have emotions. It's the opposite. He feels things far too deeply and intensely and hasn't learned how to process them effectively in a way that doesn't damage himself. This is stuff you learn as you mature from a teenager to an adult. This is stuff Cloud's been denied by being a lab rat for 4 years. His body may be an adult, but part of him is still 16. He needs to experience life to help him mature and catch that emotional development up to the rest of him. (which is my way of saying he won't be like a 16yr old forever).

Cloud's real and genuine affection for his friend over-rid any kind of control he had over himself and made it impossible for him to move when he saw Barret stabbed. He's also lost too many people, which is partly why he has that SOLDIER persona protecting him. Sephiroth's taunting look made it clear this was to get at Cloud. It had very little to do with Barret. Cloud's anger broke through his shock, but that weakness reasserted itself quickly afterwards, keeping him from acting until Jenova Dreamweaver appeared and he finally had something for SOLDIER!Cloud to take care of.

#final fantasy 7 remake spoilers #final fantasy 7 remake analysis #character analysis #Cloud Strife

[wordsonpages1-blog]

So I'm really needing some bughead multiple orgasms or denied orgasm smut and I'm blushing so hard as a read this 😳😳😳 the phrase "don't come" does crazy things to me...

Well hello anon! You’re blushing? You should see me after writing this haha

Sorry for the wait on this one! I hope this is sort of what you were after!

warnings: smut. smut. smut. sin. smut. more sin. more smut. I’m going to hell because smut. 

In the Night: 

It’s late; her room shrouded with darkness, the soft pinksand coordinated pastels disappearing into shades of black. Betty likes thenights. She likes the stillness outside her window, the insanity of the townfading away for a few hours as the people slept. The line drawn between theNorth and South sides of Riverdale ever so stark in the day, blurring into thecloak of ebony; still inherently there, but easier to ignore.  

But there was one thing about the nights that she liked farmore than any of its rivals. And that thing was the dark haired boy thatclimbed through her window as the hours of late night morphed into earlymorning.

He would clamber through the frame sometimes with a charmingsmile on his lips and a light in his eyes, sometimes with a deep frown and atense jaw. Sometimes he would find her with clenched fists and tear stainedcheeks, other nights a playful smirk and a teasing comment. His beaniediscarded, her hair down they would talk into the next day about school,movies, books and his new home, about civil wars and leather jackets, aboutwell-established facades, jailed fathers, pregnant sisters, and strugglingfriends.

Sometimes they would lie comfortably on the bed, leaninginto each other, subtle brushes of hands on skin or through hair. And othernights-nights like this one- their embraces were much more passionate, theirintent far from innocent. On nights like this, they would muffle moans inpillows and necks; make the other writhe as they succumbed to the inferno theyhad built. Their eyes would meet heady and dark, a breath would hitch, a groanwould resound, fingers reaching, filthy words whispered in ears. It was slowand sensual, hot and heavy, fast and passionate; an intricate push and pull ofcontrol.

Betty loved the nights, craving their intimacy like nothingelse. She craved his body, his mind, his touch, his soul. Him.

Her eyes roamed him now. He was beautiful. Jughead’s chestwas bared to her, revealing the hard planes, the lean muscles of his arms, andthe subtle yet prominent ridges of his abdomen. Her lilac sheets pooled around his waist, the sharp v at his hipsteasing her line of sight to what lay below. She bit her lip as her heavy gazetrailed back up his olive tinged skin, her fingers reaching out to tracepatterns across it. It was warm under her touch, soothing. She ran trails uptoward his collar bones, dipping into the hollows, before tracing up his neckconnecting the moles. She marvelled at the symmetry of his face, the sharplines of his jaw, his long dark lashes and full lips. Finally, her hands movedto his hair, running through the dark locks with a gentleness that wasbordering on fragile. It made his heart stutter in his chest, the effect onlymatched by the longing and loving tint in her gaze.

Betty had always thought he was handsome, always felt thepull of attraction whenever she looked his way or caught him looking hers. Butit was here in these moments, reserved just for the two of them, liberated fromthe expectations and confrontations of the world that she felt most enamouredwith him. It was here in her bed where she wanted him most. Just like this,where the walls he built so high around everyone else were pulled down for her.

Jughead watched her graze his form intently. His tonguedarting out to lick his lips while his arms rested under his head on thepillow. She felt hot under his eyes, the air around them crackling withelectricity as she moved her hands back down to trail his chest again.  

She had already had him so many times tonight, but god shewas so enraptured with him and she couldn’t help but think she would never haveenough.

Jughead raised his eyebrows at her as her stare locked onhis and an amused smirk twitched at his lips. Betty felt the thrill of desireflood her body again, shivers running down her spine as the temperature in the roomrose, and the ache between her thighs made itself known.

She was sitting next to him on the bed, her legs crossed hist-shirt the only item she adorned. Jughead thinks she’s never looked moreenticing then she does right now, hair wild, eyes darkened with want andwidened in awe, lips swollen.

He raises up on one forearm unable to resist her muchlonger, his other hand moving to slide along her thigh in a teasing caress.

“I feel objectified,” he whispers in the air between them,the sarcasm of the comment blending with his husky voice in a way that makeswetness pool between her legs as a consequence of its sensuality.

Her hands come up to rest against his shoulders, palms flatagainst the hot skin.

“You should,” she responds breathlessly, her tone unabashedlyfull of desire.

He raises a sardonic brow at her again, as he sits up fullynow, the sheet dropping lower and she fights with her will power to not followits lapse with her eyes.

“You’re quite the looker,” she elaborates, although it comesout broken as his hands slide under his t-shirt on her body, resting againsther hips and pulling her up on her knees.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, the word delivered on her mouth as hislips brush against her own, a whisper of contact she so holistically craves.

Betty nods, her eyes drifting shut as a whine erupts fromher throat. His fingers have ventured higher, one circling the outline of herbreast, the other brushing her hair back off her face.

He captures her lips then, an opened mouth kiss so sensualand full of promise, lingering and hot. It’s a promise that she knows well and itenlivens her. She licks the taste of him- cigarettes, cola and her ownstrawberry lip gloss- from her lips, her eyes opening to look at him throughheavy lids. A stray ebony curl falls over his eyes, which are a stormy shadefrom his own want and damn if hedoesn’t look the epitome of sex appeal right now.

His breath tickles her skin, so close yet so far and herhands grip his shoulders tighter, wanting waiting.

“Juggie,” she whimpers as the hand under her shirt ghostsacross her breast, barely touching the peaked nipple that signifies her arousalalong with the dampness between her thighs. He smirks again she feels it on herskin as he drops a feather light kiss to collar bone.

“Yeah baby?”

Betty throws her head back. His nose brushes hers. She achesfor him. His gentle touches are setting her every nerve on edge, alight andalert, buzzing.  She’s dizzy in a way shenever thought she could be sober and it makes her feel so alive. But she needsmore. There’s a pulsing between her legs.

“Please,” she breathes on his lips the sound almostembarrassingly wanton. It only strokes his ego though, further igniting hislust for her, reaffirming his enthrallment with the beautifully dishevelled andbroken blonde he’s lucky enough to call his own.

He loves these moments. The one’s in which she relinquishesthe control she fights so hard to keep in every other aspect of her life overto him. Let’s him take charge, enjoys when he takes charge.

“Please touch me.” His eyes darken at her words impossiblyfurther and her heart thumps violently in her chest in response. His treacherousfingers dance down her rib cage and she lets out a huff of frustration, eyessliding shut.

“I am Betts,” his words spoken softly, yet sinfully in herear, his teeth ever so slightly grazing the shell. Betty’s glad she hadn’tbothered to put panties on again because she’s sure if she had they’d be ruinedby now. She shakes her head, a gasp leaving her pink lips as a strong handcradles her jaw in a firm grip. Her eyes open. She swallows thickly as sheloses herself in the desire she reads in his eyes.

“Tell me what you want Betty,” he rasps and her knees buckleat the pure lust in his voice. She’s panting and she’s sure in any otheruniverse with any other boy she would be offended by the assertions, ashamed ofher behaviour, but here with him it just feels right and natural and so hot.

He waits for an answer, his hands moving from her jaw to herhips again, lifting her from her collapsed heap beside him and onto his lap.Her legs automatically open for him, one knee either side of his hips. Shebucks against him and keens as she feels his hardness against her wantingcentre.

Jughead’s teeth nip at her collar bone and she tries togrind against him harder but his strong grip on her hips hold her just abovehis erection now. She’s almost in tears due to the sheer frustration of howbadly she wants him and the lack of attention he’s paying to her desire. Butshe also loves this game, revelling in the way his power grows.

“Answer me,” he says it sweetly, muffled in the junctionwhere her shoulder and neck meet, but she knows it’s a demand not a plea andthat knowledge has her back arching to get closer.

“I want you insideof me. Please,” he growls at her words, and she gasps as his kisses become moredeliberate against her neck, his teeth pulling at her delicate skin of herpulse before soothing it with his tongue. He pulls her hips down roughlyagainst his, and she’s grinding against him furiously seeking friction like herlungs seek oxygen. He groans again as his eyes flutter shut for a moment whileher hands drag across his abs and then over the muscles in his back, loving theway they contract under her touch.

His lips find hers, as a hand finds her breast again thistime kneading the flesh with purpose, flicking over the rosy peak to invitemewls to spill from her lips, into his mouth where he swallows them. His tongueseeks hers out and caresses it with such finesse she forgets her name for asecond. When her sense returns she repays the favour, drawing his bottom lipbetween her teeth and biting down in the way she knows makes him lose his mind.

Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s hovering above her witha predatory gaze. It makes her feel sexy and beautiful- it’s a feeling that shecherishes and never wants to let go of. His hands run up her inner thighs, ashis eyes stay locked on her own green orbs. Her legs part like they always dobeneath his beckoning touch and her chest rises with anticipation as his fingerscreep higher. His body creeps lower and her hips are thrusting up toward him ina frantic attempt to speed him up because godshe’s so turned on.

A single finger runs through her arousal, and she shudders.

“God you’re so wet,” he groans against her inner thigh, hismouth sucking on the skin there to leave another purple bruise. She throws herhead back with a low whine, almost coming undone from his filthy words andmerciless teasing alone.

He gives into her then, the picture of her in such a stateof arousal hard to deny. His lips wrap around her clit and her back archesviolently, her hips jutting off the bed. His hands move to hold them down as hecontinues to move his tongue sinfully inside her, before replacing it with hisfingers and moving his mouth back to her sensitive bundle of nerves. Betty’seyes are shut tight as her mouth hangs open in a silent scream the occasionalwhimper and light moan passing through. Her thighs begin to quake and he knowsshe’s close so he doubles his efforts to get her right to the peak. She’swhimpering his name like a prayer and her hands are gripping his hair tightly.And then he’s gone.

Her eyes snap open and she’s not sure if she wants to cry orscream. His face is above hers smirking cockily. She’s in shock and soimpossibly wound up and aroused. She lets out a frustrated huff and bucks herhips toward his, searching for any kind of relief for the ache between herlegs. When he pulls back slightly again she pouts at him.

“What the hell,” she breathes in exasperation although inher state of arousal it’s not threatening like she wants. Jughead chuckleslowly and pushes her hair away from her face.

“What?” he asks feigning innocence and Betty gapes at him.

“Did you want to come?” he asks eyes losing all traces of playfulnessand retuning to the dangerous dark blue she’s grown to crave. His fingers runleisurely through her folds, making her whole body go rigid and all she can dois nod vigorously.

“Ask nicely,” he breathes sinfully on her lips as he moveshis fingers out the way and pulls her legs over his hips. His erection brushesagainst her clit and she moans almost much too loudly for someone trying not toget caught with a boy in their room at 3am. He’s dripping with sexualconfidence and it makes Betty so excitable. She complies to his demands.

“Juggie please fuck me until I come,” she whispers directlyin his ear and he lets out a primal growl before entering her hard.  His pace is ferocious but she doesn’tcomplain. It’s hot and wanting and desperate and filled with so much passionshe can’t take it. Her hips rock back against his with no restraint and she’scoming within seconds. Her head tilts back and her jaw goes slack as her bodyquivers with the shocks of her release, his name on her lips. He keeps goingthough. His hips snap into hers over and over and his fingers tease hersensitive bundle of nerves. He reaches that spot inside her that makes herwalls clench and she’s right on that edge again. Her moans are making hiscontrol slip and he’s almost there. He groans in her ear as she clamps aroundhim again and she whimpers in response.

“Don’t come yet,” he breathes against her lips . His handwraps around her thigh lifting her leg over his shoulder. Betty’s mouth partsin a high pitched moan at his words, her walls fluttering as he fills herdeeper.

“I can’t-“ she starts, the syllables broken by her pants ofpleasure.

“You can,” he asserts back and she knows it’s not an option.

He thrusts into her hard and fast his breathing laboured,her keening. But he’s hitting that place inside her and pressing hard on herclit and it’s so hard to hold on to her control.

Her eyes clamp shut, fighting the impending release andgetting lost in how good it feels to have him.

“Let go,” he moans in her ear and she loses it, clampingdown on him like a vice as his own release hits him.

“Fuck Betty,” he groans in her ear and she doesn’t think she’llever get enough of her name on his lips.

Moments later when their spent and sated he wraps his armsaround her waist and pulls her snuggly against his body. She’s curledcomfortably against his chest and her lips drop to press a delicate kiss overhis heart.

“I love you,” Betty states comfortably and with a convictionhe could never question.

“I love you,” he affirms, pressing his own lips to hertemple and stroking her hair until she lulls against him, sleep captivatingthem both.

#bughead smut #bughead fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead

[lifesbetterasamermaid]

i know this might be a lot to answer..but i was thinking, if you would flash forward maybe 5 years into the future after each fic ended, where would your characters be and what would life be like for them?? i've been trying to imagine scenarios for ss and tym and breathless but i feel like i don't see them the way you do haha

this is such a cool question!!!! thank you for asking :) okay under the cut is some scenarios that would take place after the fics were finished up!!! full warning i got a little out of control with some lol

breathless:OH MAN!! my original kids, harry and lane!! alright so give me a second here,five years after the fic they would be around 30 or so! alright, i’m thinkinglane and harry have bought a house together a little bit outside of the London.they love it, for lane it’s still close enough to the city she loves and claimsand for harry it’s enough of a distance for him to get away from the madnessand have a break. they have a garden and both of them are trying to figure outwhat that actually means, but harry bought them both wellies to wear and lanehasn’t killed any plants yet so it’s a start. paying the rent is no longer aproblem, they have a new couch and not the ratty thing they used to share,harry still has his old beat up guitar. it’s retired now, but every now andthen lane comes home and finds him playing it out back in the garden. lane isstill working at a small gallery, representing a few different local artists!one day she hopes to be able to open her own place, but for now she runs otherpeople’s galleries. she still must put on wine and cheese parties for patronsand it’s still as uncomfortable as ever. but she convinced the owner to haveart classes in the afternoon when some of the local schools cut their artsprogram. lane schmoozed and convinced one old lady to donate enough money forthe class to be free and she gets some of the artists they rep to teachclasses. even zayn comes downs and helps out, he grumbles about it but secretlyhe loves it. after years, he also finally has remembered lane’s coffee order.as for harry, he has been busy! he toured the second album, took some time off,and then got back into the studio to write the third album. i’m thinking byfive years on, harry is touring the third album. lane still travels out to seehim when she can but they both know lane has a life in London and lane knowsharry has to go out and sing to the world. lane has upgraded from the girl inthe back of the pub, now she watches from the sides of the stage and sometimesgoes around to the front of the stage and watches –but all the songs are stillfor her. after the second album harry got nominated for a grammy, so he andlane went out to la and were totally out of their comfort zones. he didn’t winand was a bit sad but they still went to in and out after and ate on the beach.by the time he finishes up the third tour he’s had the ring for a while. boughtit in a small, antique shop in prague and it’s been burning a hole in hispocket for months. after he gets home, he and lane go out one night and wanderaround by the river and judge all the tourists taking the same photos theyalways do. and lane notices harry is rambling and rambling and she can’t figureout what he is getting at. and then he just blurts out that he loves her andwants to know if lane would marry him. there aren’t any romantic words andharry forgets to even get the ring out of his pocket but lane doesn’t care. shesays yes right there, random people are clapping for them, the lights of Londonare bright, and lane had always known it would be harry.

tonightyou’re mine: okay so harry and rei would be around 34 a few years after thefinal part of tym! honestly, these two would have my dream life lol. rei doeswell enough as an artist to have a nice apartment for herself. she rented itfor a while and then finally decided to buy it. she spent hours painting thewalls any color she wanted, filling the shelves with books and photos from herown travels. art hangs on all the walls and plants line the window sills andthe small balcony where she has coffee in the mornings. harry is still in theart world as well, he went back and finished school –even stayed to get hismasters, and now he works for a company that helps museums move paintings and sculpture.he travels a lot and only rents a flat in London, mostly to have a place for Rosalinewhen she stays with him. at first harry has two drawers and a section of thecloset in rei’s apartment. paris becomes something of a middle ground between travelingfrom work and his place in london. harry and rei spend their time wandering thecity, going to new restaurants when they feel like it, sometimes they just stayin and cook and talk until the city finally quiets. they go on holiday –the firstis just to the countryside in northern france. they drink cappuccinos in a caféand walk through monet’s gardens. but after a few days, harry goes back to london.together, they walk to the station and rei doesn’t feel like time is pressingdown against them. because now they have time, now rei knows harry will comeback. this goes on for months. gradually, some of the photos in rei’s apartmentare of her and harry. more and more of his things find their way into rei’scabinets and drawers. harry’s favorite tea is in her kitchen, two toothbrushessit in the cup by the sink, and harry left his coat in the closet last time hewas there. eventually, harry comes to visit and brings rosaline and rei can’t helpbut fall in love with her because she is so like harry. they spend the morningin the park and walk to the carousel, they must ride it five times before rosiehas enough. later harry’s buys them all ice cream as they walk down by theriver, rei tries and fails not to cry when rosie reaches out and grabs herhand. harry notices but doesn’t say anything. it’s the first of many visitslike that one. slowly, more and more of harry’s things are in rei’s apartmentand a few of rosie’s as well. and it works for them. maybe it wouldn’t be foreveryone –but for rei and harry it’s exactly what they need. maybe one dayharry will move to paris, maybe one day they will buy a new home, bigger andwith a proper size bedroom for rosie when she comes to visit, maybe rei willmove to london and make a new city into her home. but when harry and rei arewalking around paris late at night, hand in hand, rei thinks the beauty of itall is they have the choice, they have the time to make it.

silversprings: damn okay…my heart and soul is right here with these two. harry andwillow five years on. this one is tricky because i have plans to write moreabout this…so i have to be careful what i say. what i can say, is harry andwillow have a flat together. willow brings it up one evening because it seemsilly how they spent most of their time at one place or the other, it seemed toonly make sense to have one rent and one place. they make it seem efficient andbusiness like, but when they move all the boxes into one place it feels like astep into the direction they were always meant to go in. kings row is stillworking, finishing up the tour for their fourth album. all four of them know aconversation is inevitable. the topic of their future somewhat hanging on athin strand. because niall and alex have a baby, they name her phoebe and itsuits them more than anything. but it’s hard having a baby on tour and alex can’talways come out and travel and niall is a right pain to be around during thoseweeks. liam is dating a new guy, david, has nothing to do with the musicindustry and hasn’t ever bought a vinyl record. he wears suits to work andmakes a fantastic roast which willow figures out when liam brings him around toSunday dinners. which is still a thing they all do. trading off whosehouse/flat they go to. and it’s loud and messy and music is always playing andthey all trade phoebe around like she’s their new shiny toy. willow even tries tocook once but they end up ordering takeaway. niall and liam still argue aboutfootball. alex still takes photos of all of them, candid polaroid’s growing intheir collection on the shelf in harry and willow’s flat. sometimes willowwatches them all from the doorway of the kitchen, harry beside her with his armaround her waists. and they’re happy. and maybe they don’t know what the futureholds but it doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

#i am trapped in my feelings rn #ss ask #tym ask #b ask #anon #I LOVE THIS QUESTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[snowdropsandtigers]

I'd love to see you talk about the Black Magician Trilogy! I don't have a specific date in mind, so feel free to slot it in wherever, but it's always exciting to find other fans!

I am so sorry thisis late. I planned for it to be up at the end of January and then gotbusy, and it had been so long since I’ve talked to another fan Ineeded to figure out where to start.  I knew it would be a longpost—I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it long out offeeling rusty, but I knew it would be if I really got into it. Sohere it is at last.

Before I get intothe books themselves, I want to spend two paragraphs on somethingthat defined my experience with the series: the Black Magiciantrilogy forums I joined as “LittleRaven” during the mid2000s. Idedicate this post to its members. Wherever you are now, I love you.

I love the BlackMagician trilogy* the way I love Harry Potter. The books still feellike home to me. Part of the reason is the fandom: while Harry Potterfandom does have that sense of familiarity and coziness as I rememberdays past, it was in the Black Magician trilogy fandom that I found acommunity. Specifically, in the Black Magician trilogy forums (June2006-October/November 2012) hosted on then-platform Forumer (Ithink.) This was the first time I was ever an active part of fandom.I’d left reviews on fics, sure. I’d joined Yahoo Groups andoccasionally commented. I’d even written/plotted one or two ficsfor my earliest fandoms, Pokemon and Sailor Moon, though I neverposted them. But in the forums, I meta’d. I squeed. I posted mypoetry. I shared and even modded one of the subforums for a fewyears. (I was The Librarian of the fanfic/original fiction section.) We even talked about social issues with the books and the fandomresponse, without it ever becoming a war. It was one of thefriendliest fandoms I’d ever known, and small, so everyone kneweach other. I joined the first summer—probably the first monthtoo—after nearly two years of barely finding any fanworks for oneof my favorite series in the world, and I was not disappointed. Therewere years I didn’t show up a lot, but I always came back. ThenForumer sold its forums to Yuku and Yuku closed it down. It said thatmembers had been sent an invitation, and that it would reopen theforums as soon as one of the administrators made contact. I don’tknow why—to save space? In that case, the forums must have beenwiped from the Internet years ago because both our administratorswere long gone. One of the moderators, another member who, like me,had been there since the beginning, tried to contact the admin who’dstuck around longest and had no luck. I only knew this because Iremembered a member’s FF.Net alias and made a desperate attempt tofind out what was going on. I still miss it. The place had sloweddown a lot, but was still active everyday, and occasionally an oldermember would peek back in. Even when it seemed like we had saideverything we could about the books, we could still chat about otherfiction and even a little about our lives. The series would cycleback into discussion regardless, especially when the prequel and thesequels began coming out. (I really regret that it happened before Icould finish the last book and talk about it.) I’ve never been socomfortable in a fandom before and I haven’t been since.

Traces remain, atleast. We had a website with fanart; Trudi Canavan even commented inthe guestbook once. It was up the lasttime I checked, though my bookmarks were lost in a crash and I’veforgotten the link’s URL. (I searched before posting and it’s frozen. :C ) I remember Sheepy-Pie creating character plushies and thatshe gave some to Canavan at an event. They were so adorable! Iremember Lady Laura and Kasloumor and j-mercuryuk, Ronan, Akkarin,Lorlyn, ShadowEmpress, Lady Vinara, andso many others; I’ve only mentioned the people who stick out forhaving been there the longest or in the periods I was most active.

Now, the seriesitself. At fourteen, I was hooked by the heroine and the classpolitics; I don’t think much of the fantasy I’d read before thendealt with the latter, and while a marginalized protagonist wasnothing strange, Sonea’s reserved personality for most of the booksand her alienation worked on a different level for me**. She was aworking class girl on the edge of poverty being displaced into theslums. The tension of the two different lives she was pulled tobefore she became a magician got me and really grounded hercharacter. Grounded is the right word, really. She had old friends inthe slums she still loved but was distant from, and it made sensewith her background and the world-building. She remains distrustfulof the magicians and the higher-class world they’re connected tothroughout the entire series. She’s never popular, though sometimesrespected. She was hated and harassed, and often isolated to apainful degree, but she had people who cared. This sounds a bitvague; let’s say the second book—The Novice, for anyreaders unfamiliar—is a bit like the fifth book of Harry Potter, ifHarry was more isolated from his loved ones and more conscious of whyhis environment is working the way it is.  If instead of having afriend group where it’s “us against the world” adventures, he’dhad friends in different places—literally or figuratively—whohelp when they can, complicated by the difficulties of plot andsetting and life choices. I love Sonea’s reactions throughout:practical, carefully responsive to genuine attempts to reach out,perceptive, intense empathetic, blunt, impulsive, and very strictabout her personal code of ethics. Also, she liked poetry and thenarrative didn’t use that to create a hazy image of her as wispyand romantic. I liked that detail!

And she could besoft without being soft—she would help someone, she would treatpeople with respect for their humanity, but it didn’t mean she hadto be forgiving and throw herself into them. Or that she had toforget. If she didn’t fight someone, or didn’t fight the wayothers might expect, it was well-grounded in her personality, and  nomatter what she always resisted in whatever way she could, regardlessof it being glamorous in even the fictional kind of way. She hadtenacity. Sonea is a prime example of Goodis Not Soft. She was sensible, tough, and kind. As I said,empathetic. The way the first two books moved the plot while buildingher character made the third book work very well for me as payoff. Itwas always my favorite: the nature of the plot twist and Sonea’sresponse to it made perfect sense for who she’d been until now, andthe love story is one of my favorite executions of my favorite kindof ship, the heroine/antagonist. In large part because this was herstory. It wasn’t his story, or their story as a couple—althoughhis characterization, and that of everyone else, was well-served andcared about—but hers.  The books cared so much about Sonea’sinteriority and never subordinated her to the needs of plot, theme,or another character. I could believe why she loved and respected him(again, for the unfamiliar reader: the romance is not at theforefront of the story at any point.) I could believe why she wouldmake the decisions she made, in and out of romance, based on what shethought of the world and what she thought of herself. She’s soinformed by everything that came before, so solid. And I love thatshe made them; Sonea drives so much of her own story, especially inthe first and third books. She’s so active in the last one! Evenwhen she’s not as in charge of her life, I love how the books, assaid above, care very much about exploring her point of view in everysituation. Having limited choices, limited agency, doesn’t everreduce her to a prop: she remains three-dimensional, our clearprotagonist.  Sonea is well-rooted in her background, in the plot,and in the class politics story the narrative is interested intelling.    

The sequels aren’tas much about her, but they do present a believable trajectory forher character. Sonea is older, still fighting the world around herbecause she must, and because she cares, and taking support where shecan as soon as she recognizes it. The way she handles her son isperfect. And while I don’t have a rosy opinion of her new loveinterest, I love that the romance didn’t come with a capital R!It’s just someone she grows to trust and care for and wants to havesex with. I came away with the distinct impression that he loved herand she just liked him all right, and that that was just fine by thenarrative. Positive even, a good ending that left her story in aplace of renewal and refreshment. The sequel trilogy does well byher.

Another thing ofnote: I hadn’t realized it on the first read-through, but betweensome cultural details, the physical descriptions of Sonea and otherKyralians, and the author saying on her website (in a FAQ or a blogpost) that she was influenced by anime and Japan for Kyralia, Soneais the first POC and WOC protagonist I ever encountered in fantasyfiction, outside of anime/manga and Disney Princesses. I’m glad shewas done so well. I won’t say I’m without reservations on raceand this series, though; but I’ve never felt qualified to talkabout it. I am a brown woman, but I’m unsure of exactly whatcontext to place the series in, so I don’t know how to talk aboutthe ways it interacts with that context. I’ll just say that beforethe sequel trilogy, it bothered me that the darker-skinned Sachakanswere associated with slavery and decadence. I did think the sequeland prequel improved on this very much.

Something else thesequels did better with was the queer stuff. I liked Dannyl andTayend in the first trilogy, but they get a whole lot moreexploration in the second. And Lilia is one of the few lesbianprotagonists I’ve found in fantasy fiction. I did have issues withthe twist in the Naki plotline, but I’m glad she got a goodgirlfriend in the end. And a mentor in Sonea! If I remember it right;I don’t think I’ve reread the books since The Traitor Queencame out, and I’m not sure I reread that one. I think I was toobummed by losing the forums at the same time, and not having a placeto immerse myself in anymore.  So I don’t know how much I can sayabout the execution. But I did think Canavan did a fine job with hercharacterization, and I’m glad she went for more representation,more queer characters and more queer relationships that get narrativeattention and depth.  

I’ve gone on solong and I didn’t even talk about the prequel! I focused the poston Sonea and the prequel is set centuries before her time.  Iremember thinking it was a very effective setup for the futureconflicts Canavan had developed and would continue to develop in thesequel trilogy; I love that she’s so committed to the ramificationsof her political world-building on the characters and the plot. Itfelt, as her other works have done, bittersweet and real.

 Overall, I thinkTrudi Canavan does an excellent job of following fantasy tropes tocreate something that sets itself apart from the rest. Her scope isepic and personal, grounded in the characters, who are grounded inthe world-building. Everything is so well-integrated, feels socohesive. This is one of the most, if not the most, loving and richexecutions of the “poor orphan child with mysteriously powerfulmagic” stories I have ever encountered.***

It’s been a longtime since my last reread—probably since 2012, when the last bookcame out. I feel the urge to go back. Thank you so much for this ask!I hadn’t talked about these books in literally years; I was myability to do that had gone stale, and here I am, being so happy totalk about why I loved them. This has been a wonderful time to write.I’m only sorry it took so long to get out!

*It’s been aseries for years now, but I keep defaulting to “trilogy” when Ithink about it. I’ve been a fan for a long time. I greatly enjoyedthe rest of the books, but the original trilogy does occupy a spaceas as the trilogy for more than half the time I spent infandom, if memory serves. (And now I’ve checked, I remember thatthe sequels are called The Traitor Spy trilogy. So there’s thattoo!)

**Now I realizeshe’s a precursor to Emma Swan. I love finding connections betweencharacters I love. Although every time I connect someone to Emma SwanI always add “if Once Upon a Time’s narrative cared about herlike these other narratives do with their heroines!” Every time.

***I also lovedAlison Croggon’s books (The Naming and sequels—I thinkit’s the Pellinor series) for this, and talked about it on the BMTforums. I wasn’t the only one who loved them! They do have a moremythic, Tolkien-like tone and story than the Black Magician books,which are more overtly human-scaled. I compare them because they’reboth careful and detailed about their stories, and their narrativesshow love for the heroines by exploring their interiority, from painto joy, with dedication and respect.

#sirjohnsmythe #january talking meme #Black Magician trilogy #Trudi Canavan #Black Magician trilogy forums #Sonea #BMT #fandom #meme #reply #me #text #text post #narrative #fantasy fiction #fantasy #fantasy books #fantasy novel #fiction #stories #I am so sorry this was late #and by that much #also I hope it's not too weird that I included that section on fandom #it's super important to me and I couldn't break through to talk about the books until I talked about them #and then it seemed right to include them in a post talking about how much I loved the series #I am a little embarrassed I went for a dedication too but I meant it #tag commentary #books #novels