#it was still the wrong move no matter how valid he was | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

webslingingslasher · 9 months

Text

the long awaited and heavily requested part 2 to this request.

Peter knows he did something wrong, he knows he violated your trust in him, he knows how disappointed you’d be in him, how you requested he leave one thing alone and he couldn’t.

It’s not that he planned it, he didn’t actively wait until the opportunity arose to strike his attack, it just fell into his lap. You politely requested him to pick up some of your things on his way back to the frat house from class, Peter was the one that asked you to stay another night and in turn you needed clothes and schoolwork.

And he was more than happy to deliver, moving around your room quickly packing up clothes, even folding them for you. Stuffing your backpack with your laptop, charger, notebooks and the textbook you needed, he completed the task in record timing.

Peter hitched the strap over his shoulder before lowering it, muttering to himself walking back to your desk. “Notes, notes, notes, vocab notes…” He opened the catch all drawer in your desk, shuffling papers around, none of them the one you needed. It has to be on top, you were just using them, Peter grabbed a stack and quickly flipped through.

A successful grin took over his face when he found them, pulling the paper from the stack his movements faltered. Right behind was that creative writing paper, the one you refused to let him read, the one you said would make him sad and drew a hard boundary on.

It would be a total violation of your trust, but if it’s about him, and more importantly, about the two of you, doesn’t he have a right to know? It wasn’t fiction, you didn’t draw up a make believe story, you wrote about your feelings, and it kills him to know that they most likely weren’t good.

What if he just skimmed it, or is that just as bad and he’s justifying it?

He wishes he had a stronger willpower, but you make him weak.

Peter drops to sit on the edge of your bed, his eyes reading over the bright red ‘A’ and the prompt, it makes his stomach queasy.

‘Write about a time someone in the story has a lot of hard lessons to learn.’

Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, if he reads this he either has to tell you immediately or bring it to the grave. It’d be easier if he removes himself from the situation entirely and leaves, but he’s already reading the first paragraph.

It’s brutal. A blow by blow of your relationship, each moment you were broken by something he did or said that he had no idea of. Peter didn’t know he made you ache so much, how many times he’s sent you home to cry. How many times you wanted to share with him but held back, how many times you wanted to reach out and hold him but were terrified he’d push you away.

Terrified to tell him you were in love with him.

‘I think that’s been the hardest lesson to learn, it’s impossible to love someone who doesn’t allow themselves to believe in it. It’s made me curl inwards, to crave his touch, validation, care, love. To crave what he cannot and will not give.

But don’t tell him I’m sad again, it’s not what he’s made for.’

Peter feels sick, his stomach is in knots, his palms are clammy and fuck, is he crying?

A teardrop on the page tells him yes.

It is what he’s made for, he wants to know everything that makes you tick, everything that makes you sad, or the things that hurt you. He wants you to reach for him anytime you want, he wants you to share everything on your mind with him, he wants so much more than what you think he wants.

But it’s his fault you feel like that.

Peter’s broken your character, and you still fell in love. No matter what he’s done to you, you keep pushing through the bullshit. That’s why he loves you too, but fuck that’s just scary to think about, he doesn’t know how he could ever get the words out.

Wiping down his face and shaking his shoulders he puts the paper away. Sniffling as his phone rings, it’s lit up with your face, it brings a whole new wave of tears to blink back. Tilting his head to the ceiling he picks up, “hi, trouble. Missing me already?”

“I just woke back up, I thought you said you’d be back at nine.”

A sniff, “class ran late, I’m uh,” he clears his throat, moving around to grab your backpack. “Actually grabbing your stuff as we speak.”

“You’re so good to me,” a pang hits his chest, because he’s really not. “If you say so, need anything else before I leave?”

You hum over the line, you’re too kind, too patient, too forgiving. Why did he have to read the fucking prompt?

“Just you, handsome.”

Peter shuts the door behind him and feels heavy, all he wants to do is make you feel as loved as you make him feel.

“Want me to get you anything? Coffee, a redbull, or breakfast? I’ll splurge on anything you want, trouble.”

Your giggle makes him feel warm, “how about you come back for a cuddle and we can go out for lunch?”

It makes him feel better at being a shit human, so he agrees, and wonders if you had to hold back an ‘I love you,’ at the end of the call.

The second he gets home and opens his bedroom door you sit up from his pillow and open your arms wide, making grabby hands. “Kisses! I need kisses!” Peter carefully sets your bag down, biting back a smile, he slowly comes to your side and leans down to give you a chaste kiss.

You wrap your hands around his neck and pull him to you, “I said plural, Mr. Parker.” He gives you several pecks before telling you to scooch over with his hands and settling in next to you. You curl into him for a moment, he’s comfortable but you’re wide awake, and much rather see his face.

Sitting up, you hitch a leg over his waist and take mount, your hands resting on his chest.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

You look over his face and tilt your head, “how was class?” Peter blows a breath from his mouth, “boring and long, I kept thinking about a beautiful girl laid up in my bed.” All he can think about is how many times he’d made you frown, or cry, or hate yourself for liking him.

Your eyes narrow, a shy smile taking place, “why are you looking at me like that?”

Peter runs his hands up and down your thighs, he doesn’t know to say what he’s feeling, he doesn’t even know how he’s looking you in the eye right now.

“I just really like you,” his truth sends you curling in half, tucking against his chest. You drag out the ‘o’ in your words, “stop,” rubbing up and down your back he laughs, “it’s true. I really, really like you.”

You rub your nose into his chest, “what is up with you today? You’re acting weird.” You peek your head up and he gives you a faulty smile, “nothing, I was just thinking of you and how much I love talking to you and spending time with you.”

For whatever reason you feel an odd pull at your stomach, it wasn’t a good one. It sounds like he’s making up for something, you feel like you can’t trust him right now. You try moving backwards but he stops you, “don’t run from me, i’m doing feelings right now. You love when I do feelings.”

You shake your head, “you sound guilty for something.” Peter’s poker face stumbles, just for a second, but you see through him and know your gut feeling was right. “Oh god, what did you do? I swear to god if you fucked another girl in this-”

Peter sits up, causing you to slip down his lap. “No! Stop thinking everything with me is about sex! I like you, I spend time with you, I cuddle with you, I tell you about my day, I tell you about my problems, I’ve never once kicked you out after sex or told you that’s all I care about. I’ve given you more than I’ve ever given anyone else, I mean, I was made for this. I was made for us.”

His words, the last part, it all clicked and rang true. He was guilty, and he was making up for something, he read your story. You didn’t know what to do, or say, he read all your deepest thoughts, something that you held so close to your chest. The thing you made clear wasn’t for his eyes.

He wasn’t who you thought he was, he broke your trust, and for what? It’s not like he’s admitting anything new, he knows you love him and he’s avoiding that with a ten foot pole. The balance is uneven, he knows everything there is to know about you and you know nothing about him.

You shake your head slowly, disbelieving he’d read your secrets, especially after you told him not to. Tears pool in your eyes, blinking once and a tear falls down your cheek.

Peter’s hand reaches out, “hey, c’mon trouble, no reason to cry. I’m sorry if I didn’t… what’d you say?” You can barely get the word out, you feel like all the air has been knocked from your lungs.

“No.” It’s a whisper, it’s all you can get out, you can’t say anything else; you can’t even look at him.

“No?” Peter pulls at your waist, it’s like you’ve been brought back to life. You rip his hands away, scrambling backwards until you nearly fall off the bed. You feel sick when he has the audacity to look confused, while you’re staring at him in horror from the foot of the bed.

“Are you okay, trouble?”

You snap, “don’t!” You gasp for air, “don’t call me that.” Standing you back away from him, scared to turn your back in case he tries to block the door. Peter’s slow with his movements, raising his hands in surrender when he stands with you.

“Trouble, let me just-”

You take a step back when he takes a step forward, “don’t call me that, you don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me anything anymore, Parker.”

Peter’s shoulders drop, “hey, c’mon, don’t be like that with me.” He takes a small step forward, your back hits the wall, you see your backpack on the ground and pick it up, holding it in front of you for a buffer if he dares come closer.

“Curiosity kills the cat.”

Your back slides against the wall until you find his door. You know, he knows, you know, at that moment. It’s all over his face, but you don’t want to hear it, you don’t want to hear him, you can’t believe you’ve got enough adrenaline to look him in the eye.

Opening the door behind your back you speak before he can try to get you to stay, your knees feel like they’re trembling.

“And this is dead. I hope it was worth it.”

The second you stepped through the doorway he called out, “trou- fuck,” then shouted your name when you stumbled down the steps, your heart raced when he followed you down, terrified he’d trap you in until you folded.

“Okay, you’re pissed, and that’s fair! But if we could just-” he pauses, pushing the front door shut from above your head, you pull at the handle but he had too much force keeping you in. “- talk about this, and, and, and, if you could see it from my side maybe-”

You can’t listen to him, you need to leave, you can’t breathe, you feel like a caged animal. He’s too close, too loud, he’s holding you hostage. You feel hot, a primal urge to scream and protect yourself running rampant.

You tug at the door so hard his hand jumps, when he pushes in further, and talks louder you lose all focus and control.

Spinning to look in his face, tears and all you scream, catching the attention of everyone on the first floor.

“You’re scaring me!”

You gasp, you can’t breathe, it feels like you’re fighting for air. Peter’s pushed away from you, you’re not sure by who yet, but they tuck you under their arm and open the door. It’s bright, and it makes you squeeze your eyes shut, but you’re able to get a gulp of air.

“C’mon, I’ll take you home. You’re okay, I got you.”

Ethan. Of course it’s Ethan. It’s comforting, you can’t take another step, you collapse in his hold and sob. No words are needed, he holds you and pets your back while you cry. When you felt like you couldn’t cry anymore you pulled away with a sniffle and apologized for ruining his shirt.

“It’s a stupid shirt, wanna go home now?”

You nod and sniffle every so often until you get to your room and send Ethan away with another hug and a promise you’d be okay.

The second you get inside you hightail it to your desk, fishing for the story to shred it. You wanted no reminder of it, you never wanted to see or read it again. You never wanted anyone else to see or read it again.

You felt numb the second it was over, the only thing on your mind was crawling into bed and never leaving again. The thought of seeing Peter on campus made you sick, maybe tomorrow you’ll look into a semester abroad.

You thought you cried it all out, but there’s a new wave and it’s more ferocious than the last.

—-------------

If your roommate set you up for this, you’ll kill her.

‘you doin anything today?’

‘nope, why?’

‘forgot to take my keys, hoping you’ll be around to open the door for meeee.’

‘i’ll be waiting.’

And you did just that, it had been three days since you last saw or spoke to Peter and it was slowly getting easier. But when you see something of his, or something he gave you it sends a spike through your heart.

The knocking on your door filled the empty air, it’s been hours of silence. You lug yourself up and open the door, not even bothering to look before spinning back for your bed and dive bombing.

“Welcome back. And, before you ask me, yes, I want to die. Glad to catch you up.” You answered every question she would have in one go, you wanted to wallow in silence. Nuzzling in deeper to the sheets, you waited for a response. She didn’t give one. She must know you need alone time, maybe she’d make herself scarce for the night.

You groan when your phone dings, “I swear to fucking god, Ally, if this is him again I will actually change my number. ‘But what if he’s super sorry!’” you mimicked her words from earlier, “don’t care! He should’ve thought about that before he…”

Who the fuck did you just let in.

Because, Ally just sent a text saying she was sleeping at her boyfriend’s.

You fly up from your sheets, a sheepish Peter Parker rubbing at the back of his neck waved at you.

“Oh, that’s sick. You are so sick, get the fuck out of my room.”

He looks like shit, his clothes are wrinkled, he’s got bags under his eyes, his hair’s undone and greasy and he’s got a spreading bruise on his jawline. You have to swallow down your worry, it’s not your problem anymore.

“Trouble, can we please-”

“I told you not to call me that anymore.”

Peter sighs, he rubs at his eyes and looks tired. Clearing his throat, he starts again with your name, “can we please talk, please?” You shake your head and cross your arms, “no, I can’t trust you anymore. Everything you say could be a lie.”

“Stop. I did a shitty thing, I invaded your privacy and I fucked up. I know I did, I can eat that. I took every bit of trust you had in me, in us, and violated it. I know what I did and I knew how heartbroken you would be, and I own that. But you can’t act like this is who I am, or who I’ve always been.”

“Maybe not, or maybe it’s the person you are now.”

Peter shakes his head, “it’s not, you know it’s not. But, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He shifted his weight against your dresser, “when you said I scared you.. I.. fuck, I don’t know. It killed me, like, drained me to nothing. I never, ever wanted to scare you.”

It makes you a little happy to know you made him feel just as bad, but that’s only because of his actions.

“You hurt your own feelings, Peter. I’m not sorry for shit, you terrified me and broke me in one go. You finally accomplished what you were scared of, you fucked this up.”

He feels hopeless, “so there’s nothing I can do to fix it, or save us?”

You shrug, “not really. You created a power imbalance, you know all my feelings about you, including the massive one you’re pretending doesn’t exist-”

Peter looks up, “what, that you love me? I’m not avoiding that, trouble, that’s all I’ve been thinking about, that’s why it’s so important I fix this.” He’d tell you he loves you too but he doesn’t want you to think it’s his easy way out, when he tells you, he wants you to believe it.

He shouldn’t have done it, and not that it matters, but you’ve been craving to know.

“Why did you read it?”

Peter sucks in a breath, “I didn’t plan on it, I came across it when I was looking for your vocab notes. And I knew I should’ve put it down but I read the prompt and remembered you told me I’d be hurt by it, and I couldn’t stop myself.”

You nod absentmindedly, “I’m not trying to excuse it, but recently it felt like you pulled away from me. And I wondered if it was something I was doing, and yeah, it was.”

Does he not understand anything? You pull at your blanket, “and you didn’t ask me? I would’ve been honest, not about the love part, but about feeling like you don’t want me around sometimes.”

“I know what I should’ve done, but it’s not what I did. And I have to own up to that.”

He hurt you. He hurt you and broke you in more ways than one and you don’t know how you can go back.

“It’s unfair, you know too much and I don’t know enough. It doesn’t work.”

Peter’s quick, “anything you want, I mean it. I’ll answer anything or do anything to keep you, keep us.”

There’s only one thing you can think of that could balance the scale, and he’d never go for it.

“I wanna meet your aunt.”

Peter shakes his head like he couldn’t hear you, “huh?” You nod your head, confident in your decision. If he wants it to go back to how it was, that’s what you needed in return. You needed him to take you home, meet his aunt and have you sleep in his childhood bedroom. He needed to make it clear, to the number one person in his life, how much you meant to him.

“I want to meet your aunt,” you paused between each word, making sure he knew exactly what you wanted, loud and clear. He chewed on his bottom lip, you tell he’s bouncing it around in his head.

“If you want to fix things, if you want everything to go back to normal, that’s what I want. I want you to take me home for a weekend to meet your aunt.”

Peter coughed, “a weekend, not a dinner or brunch?”

You grin, “we can do both of those things during a weekend visit.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, “when do you want to do this?”

You play nonchalant, “oh, whenever. I’m free on the weekends, you have a frat to run and oh, I’m sure you have to tell May who I am first.”

“May knows who you are.”

Peter pushed away from your dresser and took a harsh inhale, “if you’re serious about this, we can go next weekend, I’ll call her and set it up.”

Too easy, you don’t trust it.

“Really, that easy, you’re agreeing just like that?”

“You set your price, and I’m paying. Unless there’s something cheaper?”

He has a whole lot to make up for, and that’s just the start. But that would speak a whole lot, it’s a giant step forward, one he couldn’t take back no matter what. If he lets you meet his aunt that means he might love you too.

You kiss your teeth, “I think a few days made you find out just how priceless I am.”

#peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #frat!peter #my writing

977 notes · View notes

wetcatspellcaster · 8 days

Text

Metapost: "The Ascendent"

**this is a meta for my fic, Pieces Still Stuck in Your Teeth, and NOT a discussion of the BG3 game canon in any way. If you try and make this into a disk-horse, I will BITE you**

(spoilers under the cut for Chapters 1-23 of Pieces Still Stuck in Your Teeth).

So... remember in the Chapter One endnote when I said I was a Spike/Buffy fan first, and a person second? x

･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

In more seriousness, there was a number of fictional seasonings/ingredients that went into creating what I felt was the villain of a Gothic horror, and what I felt could turn the Ascendent into something that was both 'fixable', and something I enjoyed writing.

Those ingredients were:

Spike and the idea of 'soulless' vampires in the BtVS canon - do I like this conceit of BtVS worldbuilding and how it's used in the show? No. I think it often underlines how bad Whedon is at writing romance. BUT I do think it gives Buffy this free pass for which vampires she can/can't like or adopt, and I needed some of that for my protagonist. I need a 'I can fix him' moment - BtVS has those in fucking SPADES.

Howl's Moving Castle (this one was accidental, I'm still mad at myself but I can't deny it's there) - man conducts magic ritual for power, removing an essential part of himself in the process that needs to be returned

Picture of Dorian Gray (the idea of an exterior staying pristine while something hidden suffers and decays)

Curse of Strahd (the soulless in Barovia, which I mentioned in Chapter 23)

The idea of default moral alignments in D&D. I have a whole chapter arguing against this in my thesis (mostly bc it's often applied to entire races) but I was fascinated by creating a set of circumstances where I feel like a default moral alignment is valid, actually. 7,000 deaths seems like a good set up. I wanted to imagine a being that was trapped within a default moral alignment, and the laws of its very being prevent it from being good no matter what it tries, and it knows that (this kind of creates a feedback loop with the Spike/Buffy stuff)

The parts of the BG3 canon I took and REMADE (I'm stressing this throughout, I was making a horror story and a horror monster your honour):

Astarion conducts the Rite of Profane Ascension with scars on his back, but has to scar Cazador's back personally, suggesting that um... the Rite REALLY SHOULDN'T BE CONDUCTED BY SOMEONE WHO'S GOT THOSE SCARS. Cazador wasn't going to do it that way, is all I'm saying!!

The idea that Ascended!Ending Astarion is a concentrated version of certain traits that have persisted throughout his story - his flirtiness, his understanding of sex as a mechanism and expression of power, his use of a façade as a mask for trauma he refuses to acknowledge.

The lines alluding to dissociation in the brothel foursome, post-Ascension.

The idea that Astarion seduced Tav to survive or protect himself- in my case, because I made the Ascendent empty save for Astarion's survival instinct, the idea that he would gravitate towards Tav as one of his default modes to potentially survive made sense to me - this is why it becomes an obsession.

･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

For me, when writing, the Ascendent is a few things:

An intensification of vampirism in a different, fucked-up direction. Yeah, A!Astarion, you can walk in sunlight and you can eat and drink and don't need blood. But you are still a hungering maw of emptiness that feels like it will never be whole or close and connected to the living - just now in a wildly different, metaphysical/existential direction! Welcome to depression, alienation, and otherness!

A soulless being, that knows it is soulless - that initially was very happy with its life but then as the years passed, increasingly spends its every waking moment knowing there is something innately wrong with it that it can't seem to shake, no matter how much it engages with life and all the pleasures of life. (see the 'every meal without savour' speech)

A magically literal metaphor for Astarion's dissociation in moments of extreme trauma, up to and including the fight with Cazador - essentially, the moments when there is nothing but a performance or an exterior, because the self/soul are suffering and they cant' come to phone right now

Astarion's survival instinct. As I say in Chapter 23 - Mephistopheles thinks it is an empty body, who's performance is trying to deny the reality of it's own existence. Rosalie, who has a bit more understanding of Astarion, sees that the performance is not just a coping mechanism but one of Astarion's main modes of survival. The Ascendent is Astarion's survival instinct/techniques for endurance, without any soul or person behind them to protect. This is how I tried to tie in the flirty, hypersexual persona and wrap it with a bow.

I wanted a monster that was undeniably scary, and monstrous to me (oh? you can't fit in or be happy no matter what you do and no matter how hard you try, and you think there's something intrinsically off? how's that autism diagnosis going Emma) but that I also felt sympathy and true sorrow for. I needed to have motivations for him chasing after Tav that I could write meaningfully from and sympathise with.

Not only has Astarion used Tav as a life-raft once before, they've also proven to be the most secure thing he's ever clung to. Of course a rabid survival instinct Astarion would become obsessed, and see them as a potential solution to the problem (this was then intensified by Rosalie also being a walking, overbearing moral compass, and having bound him in a contract in the first week of living, accidentally - a lawful good immoveable objects meets a default moral alignment unstoppable force.)

...Because I also wanted that moral alignment spice!! Wizards of the Coast, default moral alignment is fucked up actually!!! Imagine something trying so desperately to be good - literally being bound in a pact and having been told to be good - but the laws of the universe and its very essence are like "nah mate, we kind of want to destroy and annihilate everything, we're neutral evil personified". That's scary!! that's fucked up!! that's what a birth from 7000 deaths gets you!!!

･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧

So, now for the actual timeline, for people who aren't interested in my silly musings but mostly just want answers lmfao.

Rosalie makes the decision not to intervene in Cazador's mansion, making it seem like she'll support whatever decision Astarion will make there.

Rite of Profane Ascension happens. Astarion conducts the ritual, rips his own soul from his body, the Ascendent is born with literally zero context. Mephistopheles is fucked in Cania, because a bunch of stuff has just gone wrong.

(oh, by the way, the Ascendent knows Infernal as a default language. Bc it's born from an Infernal rite.)

The Ascendent is now default neutral evil, and feeling some kind of way. Rosalie and him break up. He's supposed to have everything, but the one thing he thought was a done deal - his most stalwart suppporter - just rejected him.

Netherbrain defeat (the Ascendent is not invited. Imagine being an all-powerful, hypersexual survival instinct vampire, and your ex-girlfriend neither wants you for sex, nor your power.)

Rosalie accidentally binds the Ascendent (a soulless devil) in a pact demanding that he never kill anyone, when that's literally what the Ascendent's new existence/new default moral alignment is driving him to do. Then, she fucks off and goes into hiding.

Well. The Ascendent can just get another wizard, to help him learn all of Cazador's secrets to cope [Hemlock is recruited].

The years go by! The Ascendent is doing sooooo well. Everything is great, guys! I'm rich, I'm beautiful, I have lavish parties and lots of sex - why do I feel nothing? I'm a vampire perfected - I have no hunger for blood, I can walk in the sun, I can enjoy all the freedoms of a living, breathing man - why do I feel like I'm starving? Why does everything turn to ashes in my mouth? I have friends - oops, I've sabotaged all those friendships with my innate neutral evil destruction. Why can't I feel anything? What's wrong with me? I'm doing everything right? Why doesn't it feel that way?

Also, I can't kill anything to feel better about it, because my hidden ex-girlfriend bound me in a pact.

In this time, to reflect the gradual degradation of the Ascendent's happiness and it's increasing awareness that it is something Other and innately wrong, the reflection starts going weird. Starts going strange. Starts getting a bit fucked up. Almost as if, when he looks in the mirror and sees a person, *nothing* should be what's there. Imagine being a spawn who couldn't see your reflection, and then a vampire who could see it's reflection, but knows that they're innately empty. Knows there's nothing there. I'd freak out a little bit about it as well tbh, I'd go a bit tooth and claw and elongated jaw about it.

The Ascendent finally admits that's there must be something kinda fucked about it. Life just ain't working out, lads. He starts looking for any and all impossible cures that will help with the malaise in his soul (and that innate essence problem, caused by default moral alignment). These include: more bad decisions, such as a house in Cania bc the Ascendent is hoping he'll feel more at home with devils than he does with mortals. All it does is make him feel more isolated and alone.

But eventually, he settles on two things! - Wish (Hemlock's idea), and Rosalie (the Ascendent's idea). Clearly, we just need Rosalie back! Her leaving is actually what fucked him up in the first place - none of this existential bullshit! She fixed us one, she can fix us again.

But looking for Rosalie hasn't worked out. In order to get a shot at her, the Ascendent goes and bargains for his own soul from Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles, adding a new sheet in excel titled 'what the fuck happens when i give this soulless monster a soul to play with?', agrees and starts tracking his new data.

Obviously, just putting the soul back in yourself will fix you. But the Ascendent, the nothingness living inside Astarion's body, will die. Taking the soul back would erase itself. The Ascendent - who is survival instinct personified - would never do this.

So instead, it starts interviewing and cannibalising the soul. Bc a soul is what it needs, this is the closest it's ever felt to being alive. Bc it's made this all about Rosalie, he thinks he's found his solution. The chase is making him feel alive again. It's true love, lads! not the soul.

Wish auction happens - the Ascendent is beaten to the punch by some unknown (hot) wizard.

This avenue cut off, the Ascendent makes the decision to try and win Rosalie back.

Astarion advises that to make her come back to the Gate, he should murder a bunch of people. Because this comes from the soul, not the soulless devil nothingness, it circumvents the pact.

...The events of Pieces begin!

･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧

And finally - the Ascendent tries to destroy Jar!Starion for many reasons in Chapter 19:

The Ascendent knows that it dies, if the soul and the body get reunited (or is that constant high alert survival instinct just no longer needed, because the problem is fixed? you decide.)

The Ascendent values Tav above itself. Tav is going to fix them. Astarion believes he could never fix himself.

Dissociation - that soul isn't me. I'm here, looking at my soul. If I get too close, it'll kill me.

Self-hatred - that soul isn't me. That man made a mistake, and I've had to live with the consequences. He doesn't deserve to live, for what he's made me become.

The knowledge that Rosalie/Tav will only ever want that version of him, not the one that's living and breathing, that sees itself as the most wretched, fucked-up version of itself. So... give them no choice. They have to deal with me and love me at my worst.

And if the Rite didn't work - if the version of the Ascendent walking around isn't the best one, and the one people want... what was it all for? Why does the Ascendent feel like this? Why does it have to suffer?

･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧

....And, that's my little meta post! If anyone has any questions about the timeline or any motivations at any points in the fic, I'm obviously more than happy to explain things via ask/comment, as always!

TLDR: I just wanted to make a Gothic horror. I wanted a dark romance, fucked up obsession vampire/mortal dynamic, but I also wanted a situation that was scary for both Astarion and my Tav. I personally think an Astarion who is so dissociated and separate from reality that he feels that in his bones daily, is scary. It's the lingering impact of the traumas the Rite and those 7,000 souls embodied.

I was literally just trying to make it a horror, for everyone involved.

#metaposts #long posts #my writing #wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth #spoilers!#i've never really explained my writing process before in this depth so... I hope it makes sense!#writing meta

71 notes · View notes

starryevermore · 6 months

Text

begging for you to take my hand ✧ leo campo

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: leo campo requests?? did i read that right because yes please!! if you’d like to write something angsty with reader being in love with Leo but Leo loves Nikki? it can or cannot have a happy ending, whichever you feel like (although i am a sucker for happy endings hehe) but yeah and it can be anything you like

honestly anything with Leo you wish to write would be a great read 💙 thank you and no pressure, only if you’d like to - @sunshine-on-my-mind

pairing: leo campo x fem!reader

summary: you loved leo all your life, but he never spared you a second glance. when he finally starts to notice you, his attention is taken just as quickly. you’re ready to forget anything ever happened, but he can’t let you go.

word count: 5,717

warnings?: angst with a happy ending, pining, unrequited love (or so you think), insecurities, miscommunication, misunderstanding, love confession, ending is a little rushed, not proofread

Leo Campo was an easy man to love. What was hard, was not being the only person vying for his attention. And for most of your life, the person who won his attention was none other than Nikki Angioli. You understood, of course. Nikki was everything you weren’t. Beautiful, charismatic, smart as a whip. It was easy for Leo to love her.Whenever you were with Leo and Nikki, it felt like you were a third wheel. After all, they were practically born to be best friends. Their parents worked together, they got to see each other pretty much every hour of every day. Meanwhile, you were just someone they sort of…Well, not tolerated. It was more than that. You were sure they considered you to be a friend. But you were never someone they really sought out. You were there, and therefore you were their friend.

It’s just…it’s hard to be part of a trio. No matter how easy Percy, Annabeth, and Grover made it look, it was fucking hard. There was always, always, always someone left out. And that someone was almost always, probably 99.9999% of the time…You. You weren’t sure that Leo and Nikki meant to leave you out, but it always tended to happy. Perhaps it was because their families worked together for so long, perhaps it was because they were practically branded as besties ever since their mothers got pregnant, perhaps it was because they were twin flames or some cheesy shit like that. Whatever it was, you knew that you could easily fall to the wayside and neither of them would probably notice.

In a lot of ways, they didn’t.

It felt like every time something incredible happened to you, something awful would happen to either Leo or Nikki and all of the attention would be focused on making sure they were okay. If, Heaven forbid, something horrible happened to you, something would great happen to them and how dare you bring down the mood by talking about your struggles. Which—don’t get you wrong—it was absolutely valid to lend Leo and Nikki a shoulder to cry on or celebrate with them. It’s just, they so rarely kept the same energy for you.

The friendship fell apart quite easily. Between the rivalry between their fathers that forced Leo and Nikki apart and you taking on more responsibility at the bakery when your mother died, everyone drifted apart. You were still friendly when you saw them at school or around the neighborhood, and so were they, but it was different. It wasn’t the same, and you weren’t sure it ever would be. As you all got older, the distance grew even greater. Leo took on jobs at both his father’s pizza shop and at Luigi’s. Nikki moved to London to go to cooking school. And you…You stayed where you had been for years, working at your mother’s bakery, hoping that one day you might catch Leo’s eye.

Then, one day, it felt like the stars had aligned and all your wishes had come true.

You were about to close up the bakery for the night when the jingle of the bell above the door alerted you to the last minute customer. You barely looked up from your sweeping, shouting out, “We’re closed! Come back tomorrow!”

“Ah, you’re really gonna turn your best friend away?”

The broom nearly fell from your hands. You tightened your grip on it as you looked up to see the beautiful blue eyes you always dreamed of. (God, this was pathetic, even for a hopeless romantic.) You swallowed hard. “Would you keep Luigi’s open longer just for one customer?”

“If it was for a pretty girl, I might.”

Was that supposed to be directed at you? Was he calling you a pretty girl? Or was Leo just being quippy? Fuck. Just being around the man made you an anxious teenager all over again.

You huffed out a laugh and shook your head. You tried to not make it obvious the effect he had on you, but you weren’t entirely sure you were successful. “I suppose you’re pretty enough. What’dya need?”

“Ma’s birthday is coming up. I was hoping I could order a cake for her?” Leo asked, leaning against the glass case. “She always loved your cakes.”

You propped the broom against the wall and grabbed your order sheet and a pen. “Sure thing. Anything specific?”

Leo shrugged. “Nah, she’ll lover anything you make her. You can have total creative control.”

You smiled a little, jotting down a few ideas on the paper. “And when do you need this by?”

Leo was quiet. Which scared you, because Leo is never quiet. When you glanced up at him, he had a pink tint on his cheeks and he was trying to avoid your gaze.

“Leo…When do you need the cake by?” you repeated.

“Tomorrow? Morning?”

You gasped. Without thinking, you threw your pen at him. Your aim was terrible, so it soared straight passed his head became hitting the ground. But Leo flinched nonetheless, throwing his arms up to shield himself from anything else you might throw at him. “You’re a terrible son!” you said.

“I know! I know!” Leo slowly lowered his arms, trying to gauge if you were going to throw anything again. “I just got busy, ya know? Between Pa’s restaurant, and bartending, and coaching the kids’ soccer team, I lost track of time!”

“It took you all of five seconds to place the order! How hard would it have been to just call? Hell, you could’ve submitted an order on my fucking website!”

“I know!” Leo fully lowered his arms, pouting at you. “I just didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”

You were caught between wanting to yell at him more—because what did that mean? he was the one who stopped talking to you!—and wanting to melt into a puddle of goo. Instead, you found the happy medium of letting out a sigh. You said, “Leo, you know I always love hearing from you.”

Leo perked up a little. “So you’ll make the cake?”

“Only because it’s for your ma,” you said. “And you’ll be charged a rush fee.”

“Deal!”

“And you get your pretty ass in the back and help me make it, so I can actually get home at a half decent time.”

A smirk crossed Leo’s face. He leaned back over the case. “You think my ass is pretty?”

Fuck, you hadn’t meant to say that. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. How do you recover from this?

“You, me, and the rest of Little Italy,” you said. A joke, it was. At least that got a chuckle from Leo. As he walked over to the other side of the case, you added, “And if you ever think about making an order the night before you need something, I have no qualms with kicking your ass.”

“Ah, but then my ass wouldn’t be pretty no more, would it? And what a shame that would be.”

“So conceited,” you said. But as he passed you to walk into the kitchen, you couldn’t help yourself from swatting at his ass. Leo yelped, his hands flying to his ass. He turned, looked at you scandalized. “Dunno, still looks pretty to me.”

“You’re awful.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Leo stares at you for a long moment. You almost begin to wonder if you took things too far. You’d hardly said more than “hi” and “can I get an amaretto sour?” over the last few years. Was this crossing a line? But finally, he offers you a soft smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Thank you so much, again,” Leo said the next morning when he came to pick up the cake. “I owe you big time.”

You shake your head as you ring him up at the cash register. “It’s for your Ma. I’d do anything for her after all the shit we put her through when we were kids.”

“True, but you really didn’t—” Leo frowned as he looked at the total. “Hey, where’s that huge rush fee you were telling me you were going to charge me?”

You raised a brow. “Are you really complaining about paying less?”

“When I made you stay after work for hours? Hell yeah I am. Charge me like anyone else!” Leo argued.

“Not gonna happen. I already made you pay by forcing you to help me and listen to my Taylor Swift playlist the entire time.”

“Hey, I loved the Taylor Swift playlist! Now, you charge me whatever exorbitant fee you can think of right now!”

“No, no way. Consider it a gift to a friend. Or better yet, use the money you saved from not paying the fee to get your Ma a gift from me. I saw her eyeing a bottle of wine the other day. I could point the bottle out to you—”

Leo leaned over the glass case, narrowing his eyes at you. “Fine. I’ll let you waive the fee and buy Ma some wine. But only if you agree to let me treat you to dinner tomorrow night.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Consider it one,” he said. His face softens a little as he adds, “And maybe consider it an apology? For me being a shitty friend?”

You reached across the counter and patted Leo’s cheek. “For you? Of course.”

A grin stretched across the face. “Great. Come over to my place tomorrow around five?”

“It’s a date.”

Leo’s eyes twinkled as he confirmed, “It’s a date.”

He picked up the cake and left the store, but before shooting you a goofy smile and waved. You laughed, waving back. You were so engrossed with watching him jog across the street to his father’s restaurant that you didn’t notice Gabbie, your best cake decorator, sneak up beside you.

“A date, huh?” she echoed.

You jumped. How did you not see her before? Had you been that lost in Leo’s pretty blue eyes? Trying to play it nonchalant, you shrugged. “I don’t think he meant it that way.”

She raised a brow. “Are we talking about the same man? Because, lemme tell you, I don’t think he’s ever looked that mesmerized with a girl before.”

Gabbie never saw him with Nikki, you wanted to say. But, instead, you said, “He just feels bad because I didn’t make him pay the rush fee after he ordered a cake last night. He just feels like he owes a debt. Italian men and their pride, ya know?”

“That wasn’t pride and you know it, girlie. Look, if you wanna delude yourself, fine. But I’m telling you, there’s something there.”

What Gabbie didn’t know about you was, you were the queen of delusion. You spend practically your entire childhood deluding yourself with the idea that one day Leo would see you for the woman you are, to realize that you were his soulmate. And you got your heart broke in the long run because of it. You weren’t about to let yourself get hurt again. Leo was not going to break your heart. You wouldn’t let him.

“We’re just friends. That’s all.”

Gabbie eyed you, trying to see if there would be a crack in your resolve. “Whatever you say.”

When you came in to open the bakery the next day, you knew something was wrong. Mostly because Gabbie was standing at the door, waiting for you, with her arms crossed and a nasty look on her face. As you unlocked the door, you eyed her, trying to figure what was the source of her frustration. But all she did was turn her glare to the pizza shops across the street. And, well…Whatever that was about wasn’t good.

You were caught between addressing the issue and waiting for her to finally say what was on her mind. You leaned toward waiting, so you began running through all of the opening tasks. Gabbie would open up soon enough. She just liked to stew in her anger before she vented. So, waiting was the best option. If you pushed, she would only get more annoyed.

Finally, she asked, “You wanna know what I heard from Bella?”

You looked in her direction as you wipe down the counter. “Probably some rumor that could swing either way in its truthfulness.”

Gabbie huffed. “Don’t make jokes right now. This is serious!”

A frown settled on your face as you gave her your full attention. “What’d she tell you?”

“Nikki’s back in town,” Gabbie said as she placed a tray of cookies in the case.

“Oh?”

You wanted to read into it. You really, really did. But you forced yourself to stamp down your assumptions, your worries. That part of you was probably being irrational, anyways. All Gabbie said was that Nikki was back and that could mean anything—

“Rumor has it she and Leo went back to his apartment last night,” she continued. She leaned in, her eyebrows raised. “After getting drunk together and playing soccer in the rain.” Her face screwed up like she was sucking on a Lemonhead. “Isn’t that romantic?”

It felt like your heart dropped to your stomach. Of course. Of course he would take her back to his place. Why wouldn’t he? They were practically destined to be together. And with the family rivalry? It was a star-crossed lovers situation if you’d ever seen one.

You swallowed your hurt. “So romantic.”

“So romantic I could kill him, you know,” Gabbie said.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain in your chest. “Don’t. I’m sure it wasn’t what it…I’m sure he…Fuck, I don’t know. But don’t kill him, okay? Not until I get a chance to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t get to make you feel like he’s finally seen you for the incredible woman you are and then welcome her into his bed the second she rolls into town!” Gabbie argued.

“He just said he was making me dinner to make off a debt. And I really don’t think he meant anything when I said it’s a date. Really, it would be my fault for reading into it—”

“I’m going over there right now to give a piece of my mind—”

You grabbed Gabbie by the elbow, stopping her on her warpath. “Don’t. Please.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. Gabbie looked through the window at the restaurants across the street. If looks could kill, she would probably have exploded those buildings. “You’re too good for him, you know.”

But not good enough, you wanted to say.

The entire day, the questions of what could be happening between Leo and Nikki ate at you. Was there something between them? Were they finally acting on the tension that existed between them for all those years? Had you let your hopes get too high when Leo promised your dinner? If you went to his apartment, would you be left with only pain and heartache?

Though Gabbie was harboring all of your anger for you, she did her best to try to distract you. To not let your mind wander too far. But it was all for naught. Because, when you left the bakery, all you wanted to do was run home and forget all of this happened. If you ignored this, if you pretended you forgot, you could avoid all of the hurt. You wouldn’t be giving Leo the power to break your heart. And, in some ways, running away made you weak, but at least it would keep you whole.

Nothing could have prepared you to see Nikki standing out when you reached Leo’s apartment. Had Leo forgotten that he had made plans with you? Were you that replaceable? You took a deep breath, trying in vain to steady your nerves, and walked up, hitting the buzzer for Leo’s apartment.

Nikki looked at you, her brows furrowed together. She almost looked like she had something snarky she wanted to say before she realized who you were. “Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“That’s what happens you put an ocean between us,” you teased. You hoped you sounded lighthearted. You hoped bitterness didn’t creep into your voice.

If it did, Nikki didn’t give any indication. She held a hand up in defense. “Hey, you got me there. What’re you doing here?”

You nod at the door. “Leo promised to make me dinner.”

Nikki’s face drops. “Oh, shit. Are you two—”

“He just owed me, is all,” you are quick to add. “He ordered a cake for his Ma after I already closed for the day, and he needed it the next morning. I wouldn’t charge him the rush fee, so he insisted he make me dinner as a repayment.”

“Italian men and their pride,” she laughed. She glanced up at Leo’s apartment. “So, is he…?”

“Seeing anyone? Nah, he loves the single life too much for that,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing here?”

Nikki raised the soccer ball she had had tucked under her arm. “I just came to see if he wanted to play a game or two. We tried last night, but it was pouring the rain and we were drunk, so not really a fair competition. Gotta see if I can still kick his ass or not, ya know?”

You laughed. “I’m sure you could. His pride gets to him, so he’s still easy to knock down a peg or two.”

“Right?” Nikki’s face dropped. “Oh, shit. I can go? Because you already have plans with him and all—”

Before you could say anything, the door swung open. Yours and Nikki’s head snapped to look at him. Leo looked between the two of you, as if this perhaps was his worst nightmare. His gaze settled on Nikki first. “Hey!”

Nikki smiled. God, she had a beautiful smile. You could see why Leo always had a thing for her. “Hey! I just came to see if you wanted to play a few rounds?”

Leo smiled, too. A part of you wished he would smile at you like that. But that was just the schoolgirl crush talking. It was never something that could actually happen. Not when his heart still sang for Nikki, even after all these years. “Yeah, I’d love to. Let me go get my shoes—” He paused, his head snapping toward you. “Wait. Actually, I already—”

“We can have dinner another time,” you said, already turning to walk away. “Not every day your best friend comes back to town, right? You can just, like, stop by the bakery when you get a chance and we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“Wait—”

“It’s no big deal, really—” You began to walk away, waving goodbye. “Nikki, make sure you get him some ice packs, yeah? For when you bruise his ego?”

Nikki let out a laugh, waving back at you. “Will do.”

You nearly made your escape when you heard Leo mutter something to Nikki. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you heard him chase after you. Though you wanted to turn, to see if he was choosing you, you kept going. You weren’t going to let him break your heart. But damn him. Damn him and his long legs and his long stride.

Leo quickly overtook you, stopping in front of you, his hands held out in front of him like he was taming a velociraptor in Jurassic World. “Woah, woah. Stop, hey.”

You looked back at Nikki, who was staring at the two of you. “Go, Leo. I’m fine.”

“No, I promised you—”

“It’s Nikki, Leo. You could never say no to her before. I wouldn’t expect you to say no to her now.”

Leo’s brows furrowed together. He almost looked confused. But, how could he be? Was he really so oblivious to how he preferred Nikki over you for all those years? Did he forget in the few minutes that had passed that he was ready to ditch dinner with you to play soccer with her? Did he think you hadn’t noticed all of that? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s obvious you’re into her. I’m not going to get between that.”

“There’s nothing going on between Nikki and I.”

You raised a brow. Seriously? Was he really going to route? Latching onto a technicality—that they weren’t really together? “But you want there to be. I mean, you have been head over heels for her since we were kids.”

“That’s not true!” Leo almost sounded desperate, like he couldn’t believe you were saying all of this. Was he this in denial about his feelings?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah? Then how come for years you chose to be with her over me? At every field trip, you wanted to be her buddy. For every group project, you chose her. How many times did you two run off without me? Leo, you didn’t even show up after my mother’s funeral because you spent the week helping Nikki look for her lost cat—”

“That’s not fair—”

“Whenever that stupid feud between your families started and you two couldn’t be friends anymore, you stopped hanging out with me. I wasn’t even fucking surprised by it, you know? And that maybe hurt more than you not being my friend anymore. Because you always meant more to me than I did to you. You haven’t spoken to me in years, and you only did because you needed something for your Ma. I’m not your first pick, and that’s okay. But what isn’t okay is you trying to rewrite history when you don’t like being confronted with the reality.”

Leo said your name softly. He reached for you, but you took a step back. You wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him hurt you.

You took a breath. “Go, have fun with Nikki. Forget you even promised me dinner, okay? Consider your debt forgiven.”

Leo tried to reach for you again, but you stepped around him. He turned to look at you, but you wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You mean more to me than you think.”

“But not more than her.” You took another breath. You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes. It took everything in you to not cry. Because you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Not in front of him. “Let’s just go back to the way things used to be, yeah?”

“I don’t want to—”

“But I do. I won’t play second fiddle anymore. I won’t let myself be hurt anymore.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“And that might be the worst part.”

You walked away, pieces of your heart leaving a path between you and him. If this was a movie, if this was a silly little romance novel, Leo might have been standing there, trying to collect the pieces so he might put your heart back together again. But, when you were turning a corner, you spared a glance back at him.

He was walking with Nikki, an arm around her shoulders.

The one thing about Leo was, he listened. So when you told him you wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, you knew he would abide by that wish. And he did. The most you ever saw of Leo was when you glanced out the bakery window and happened to catch him coming in or leaving his father’s restaurant, or when you ordered something at Luigi’s whenever Gabbie managed to drag you out. And when you did see him, you would never meet his gaze. You didn’t want to be faced with his hurt, or, worse, his indifference. It was better that you forgot the brief glimmer of hope that Leo liked you in the same way you liked him.

Gabbie would tell you that he was always looking your way, but you felt like she was only trying to make you feel better. Why would Leo bother himself with you? He finally had everything he could have wanted. It didn’t matter that you were not a part of his life, because it had never mattered that you were not a part of his life. If it had mattered, then how could Leo have spent all these years not paying you any mind? Little Italy was little. For Leo to avoid you, he would have had to gone out of his way to do so.

Sometimes, though, when you were in your apartment, you’d look out the window and imagine that Leo was out there, about to confess his love for you like this was one of those cheesy rom coms you held so dearly. He was never there.

If you were honest with yourself, you were a little surprised at how much it hurt. You had been no stranger to Leo’s absence before. So why did it feel like he had ripped out your heart and stomped it? (Damn him. Damn him for giving you a glimmer of hope.)

“Eat.”

Gabbie dropped a plate in front of you on the coffee table. You eyed the slice of pizza, your nose wrinkling. As you pushed the plate away, you grumbled, “Seriously? You break into my home and put pizza in front of you?”

“It’s from across town. Not even a pizzeria in Little Italy. It’s, like, the ultimate form of rebellion.” Gabbie sat next to your curled up body on the couch and reached out to rub your back. “You need to eat something besides the scraps at the bakery. I mean, it’s not even something healthy, so you can be in your eat-junk-and-cry spiral.”

“I would rather just be sad.”

“You can be sad and eat.”

“And I haven’t been crying.”

Gabbie raised a brow. She didn’t look like she believed you. You could hardly blame her. Ever since that day, you had been elbows deep in a shame spiral, trying to forget the hope you felt that Leo might, just finally might, like you the way you always liked him.

“I haven’t. Really, Gabs. I just…want to watch sad movies and pretend that he never showed up at the bakery.”

“You can’t even say his name, you can admit that you’re hurt—”

Gabbie was silenced at a loud knock at your door. She looked at you, her brows furrowed together. But you had no idea who it was either. You hadn’t ordered anything on lately, you hadn’t ordered takeout, and you certainly hadn’t invited anyone over. Gabbie was only here because she had a key to your apartment.

Who else could it be?

“Do you want me—?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself up. No, you had to see this. You had to see who had the audacity to show up. You wrapped your blanket around your shoulders a little more securely and padded over to the door. As you took a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself, when another series of knocks rapped at your door. You reached for the knob, turning it slowly, and pulled the door open.

What stood on the other side made you want to slam the door shut again. And he seemed to know you had that very thought.

Leo reached out, sticking his hand out, stopping the door from shutting. “Please.”

Your lip quivered. Fuck. You had been holding it together so well before. But now that he was here, standing in front of you, all of those emotions you were trying your damned hardest to ignore, were rising straight to the surface. But you couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not now.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

Leo stepped closer to you, stepping into the threshold of your apartment. Part of you wanted to push him out, kick and scream, tell him that he didn’t have the right to force himself into your life, to pick you up and act like your friend when it was convenient to him. That you were a person, and you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. But another part of you, the part that still hoped for good things, wanted to pretend this was your rom com moment where the guy makes a grand love confession that sparks the happily ever after.

“You did. And I tried, I really did. But I missed you.” He tried to reach out for you, but you jumped out of the way. “I never wanted to hurt you. I know that doesn’t make this any better, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to get this right.”

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt the tears start to prick. “You’re just saying this because you feel bad. You don’t…Look, just go be with Nikki. Don’t feel like you have to grovel or whatever for me. I’m fine. I’m a big girl.”

When you opened your eyes again, Leo looked like he might cry himself. But…That didn’t make anything. Why would he get emotional over this? He was the one breaking your heart? “Nikki isn’t the one I want. I-I don’t know that she ever was.”

A frown settled on your face. That…No, that didn’t make any sense. Nikki had always been the one he gravitated towards. Nikki was the one he always chose. You were just there. “I don’t understand.”

Leo took a step closer to you. This time, you didn’t move away. Not when he stood so close that you could feel his breath fan across your face. Not when he cradled your face in his hands. Not when his thumbs brushed away the tears that managed to fall. “I’m in love with you. I always have been.”

“B-But Nikki—“

“What about her?” Leo took a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. “I thought, once, that she was who I wanted. But, I realized that I was lying to myself. Trying to trick myself into thinking I liked her because I thought she was someone I could be with. I, I never thought I was good enough for you. You’re a fucking angel, and all I’ve ever been is a little shit. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell that you’d like me back.”

You sniffled. “You made me feel like you didn’t give a shit about me, Leo. You followed Nikki around like a puppy, and the second she left for London, it’s like you were finally free of me. Like you didn’t have to pretend to be my friend anymore.”

“I didn’t know how to talk to you. I know that’s no excuse, but it’s true. When Nikki was around, she was like a buffer. If I fucked up, she made sure things weren’t weird. With her gone, I was scared that I would lose you. I didn’t realize that I already was.”

You shook your head. “Then why were you going to ditch me to play soccer with her? Why, why did you take her back to your apartment the night she came back?”

Leo’s brows pinched together. “How, how did you know I—? She was drunk and she wasn’t ready to see her family yet. I offered her a place to stay. But nothing happened, I promise. She slept in my bed, I slept on the couch. That’s it.”

“And why you ditched me?”

“I was just excited to see my friend again, and I acted like a total ass. That was what I was trying to protect you from, because I knew that I would fuck up. I knew I would hurt you somehow without meaning to. I’ve been kicking myself ever since you left that day.”

You shut your eyes, leaning into his hand. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to so bad. “What took you so long to say all of this?”

“I was trying to do what you wanted. I was scared to lose you anymore that I already had.” Leo took a breath. “Then I told Nikki what happened, and she chewed my ass out. Told me I needed to get my shit together because you weren’t going to be around forever. I don’t want to lose you. I never did.”

You wanted to argue more. You wanted to push harder. You wanted to ask more questions. Because this didn’t feel real. This was the sort of shit that only happened in movies and romance novels. This wasn’t your real life. But…He was here. And he loved you.

“Kiss me.”

Leo’s lips were on yours in a second. You could feel every ounce of desperation, of love, on his plush lips. He kissed you like a man running out of time. Like if he didn’t do this right, he would lose you. He kissed you like he was dying and you were breathing life back into him. It was everything you ever could have dreamed of.

“Holy shit, this is better than a Hallmark movie.”

You jumped apart, your head whipping around. Shit. You forgot Gabbie was still there. She eyed Leo, like she still might kill him for hurting you. But then she smiled as he tried to hide his bright red face.

“I think you still owe her a dinner.” Gabbie pointed to the pizza still sitting on the coffee table. “She’s starving, and refuses to eat that shit.”

Leo looked back to you, letting out a chuckle. “You want me to make you dinner?”

“Don’t let her tell you no. She hasn’t been eating anything but junk all week,” Gabbie said.

“Gabbie!”

Leo’s brows raised. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? C’mon, let’s go back to my place and I’ll make you something nice, yeah?”

You smiled, reaching for his hand to hold. “I would like that very much.”

You quickly slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed your keys, ready to leave, when Gabbie called out, “Hey! If you break her heart, I get to break your neck!”

“Good to know!” Leo called back. To you, he whispered, “Your friend is scary.”

“And serious about the threat,” you said.

He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well, she doesn’t have anything to worry about, because I’m not telling you go.”

161 notes · View notes

lady-raziel · 9 days

Note

Cna i... Can I ask what the beef is with M Night Shyamalan?

fair warning, this is a self-indulgently long post. but if you endure the page break, you may find the story entertaining.

a long time ago...in a small indie comic book shop in downtown Philadelphia...

picture this. it's circa 2016. my hyperfixation at the time is DC Comics-- the Flash specifically. I like the Flash, but I really like his nemesis, the Reverse Flash. This guy's gimmick is that he has the same powers as the Flash, but he's also evil because he used to be a Flash stan and his idol didn't validate their parasocial relationship when they actually met in person, and now he just wants to kill the Flash instead. It's a long story. Reverse Flash has died many times. He's also from the future, but that's not the important bit right now.

Anyway, despite being one of the Flash's main enemies, there are not that many comic book issues that feature the Reverse Flash for some reason. My main hobby at the time of this whole ordeal is to go to the local comic book shops and search through the bins of back issues to find anything with the Reverse Flash in it (bonus points if he's on the cover, but at a certain point you can't be picky). I'd been fairly successful at this, and had even been able to avoid buying too much off Ebay as I really didn't care too much about the condition or grade of the comics. The comic book shop in downtown Philly I was in on the day of the Incident was one I'd been to before, but not in a while as I went to school out in the suburbs and didn't leave that general area too much.

So. I enter this shop, and it's not too busy. That's a good thing as it's not a large space and if there were too many people it would have been very difficult to navigate around the displays of Funko Pops and tables of back issues. However, as I was soon about to find out, it doesn't matter if there's only one other person shopping at the same time as you if that person is the wrong person.

I make my way to the back where all the big boxes of old comics are, and scan the rows alphabetically to find the 'Fs.' I see 'Firestorm,' and 'Fantastic Four,' and all the others...but there, right there, where the Flash comics should be...there's a guy. Standing there. In the way.

Now, that's alright. He just seemed to be perusing randomly and wasn't actually looking at the Flash comics specifically (my Flash comics), and I can just go look at the action figures or something until he moves to another section of the shop. No problem. I mean, it's one box of comics, Harold. How long does it take to look through it? 5 minutes? No, all I have to do is wait a little bit and then I can examine those 1980s Flash comics with my own grubby little paws.

So I do a loop of the store. I examine the Funko Pops (they all look the same), the t-shirts (only Hot Topic quality), the new comics (Superman #1? How many times are they going to reboot this thing?), and even the super expensive vintage comics up on the wall (no Reverse Flash here, and it would still be beyond my price point anyway). But when I finally make my way back to the back issues, the guy...is still there. He hasn't moved. And now he's not even pretending to look at the comics anymore.

Now, to my horror, he seems to be having a full-on conversation with one of the store employees right on top of my box of comics, and neither of them seem like they plan to end this discussion anytime soon. You may be asking at this point, "well Raz, if you wanted to look at the comics where they were standing, why didn't you just ask them to move out of the way?" You're right. I could have done that.

But problem. I have social anxiety. And sometimes it gets very bad about very small things. So while it would have been entirely reasonable to ask these two men to move their conversation elsewhere, the crippling social anxiety made it so that asking for that very small and reasonable thing would have been akin to asking these guys if they would set me on fire right here right now, please and thank you. It wasn't gonna happen. My only option was to hover uncomfortably 6 feet away, pretending to go through the back issues systematically and hope they picked up on what I was doing and moved out of the way when I got back to the 'Fs,' or give up and suffer an hour and a half on the SEPTA train back home with nothing to show for it.

now, i've never had a conversation with famous filmmaker and director M Night Shyamalan. I didn't even know what he looked like at the time, so when all this happened I thought he was just Some Guy who in his unawareness was keeping me from completing my mission. Maybe he's a really engaging conversationalist and talking with him causes you to not notice anything going on around you. That may even be the case-- as neither the Twistmaster himself or the besotted store employee seemed to notice I was there. But I WAS there. And my frantic silent social cues were being "returned to sender," unread.

Meanwhile I was enduring a level of internal turmoil on the level of a character in a Greek tragedy. This was my crucible. Surrender, or do something I was honor-bound not to do. Was this the meaning of an impossible choice?

It was only after almost 15 long, agonizing minutes and two more laps of the store on my part that finally, finally there was a breakthrough. Unaware Man (for this would be Shyamalan's superhero code name) and Employee-Bro had moved to the cash register, as the former had found something he wanted to buy. With speed rivaling the Flash himself, I descended on the fated box of comics like a plague. It seemed that the day had not been lost after all.

However, like any film from the man himself, there was to be a final twist to this tale. One last turn of the knife. You might be thinking-- "And it turned out that there weren't any comics in the box you wanted to buy after all, rendering this whole ordeal meaningless, right? Like any tragic hero you endured the terrible trials only to discover that the treasure you sought was a hollow fantasy of your own creation, and this all could have been avoided if you had not fallen prey to the follies of man?"

No. The problem was-- I did find several comics in that box that I wanted to buy. I even found one with the Reverse Flash on the cover. But now that I had found my prize, I faced a new, even greater challenge, which was somewhat an extension of the old challenge, but to the extreme.

I now had to get Employee-Bro to ring me up so I could leave this cursed place, but here's the kicker: I had to do this while he was still utterly engaged in discussion with Unaware Man and thus blind to the outside world. I had come out of the frying pan and into the fire, because now it wasn't like I could just go home and take only a feeling of defeat with me. My precious comic book finds were on the line, and what was I going to do? Just put them back in the box and leave?

Unfortunately, I was committed. I would have to stand reasonably out of the way of Unaware Man's personal space yet close enough to indicate that I was, yes, in line to check out my purchases. And goddamnit, I was going to do this until all of us died of old age or the world ended.

I kind of lost all sense of time at that point. It could have been only a few minutes. It could have been five hours. All I know is that it was long enough that I wished for the sweet release of death, because then at least I'd be able to lie down. How it eventually went down was that Employee-Bro rung up Unaware Man (because really, processing a credit card transaction and signing the receipt only can take so long), and the two continued to talk as Employee-Bro gradually gained awareness that I Was There Too, and multitasked to check out my items while remaining totally focused on his other conversation and not speaking a word to me.

And that was it. I was free, from the physical prison of the comic book store at least. But again, like a Shyamalan film, this was in reality only the end of the second act. Because as I walked through the streets of Center City Philadelphia and rested my head against the smudged window of the SEPTA train on the way home, I started to descend into the mental turmoil of the question, "wait, who was that guy? Was he like...famous, or something?"

If you've ever been to a comic con or spent enough time in a hobby shop, you know that sometimes Nerd Bros can get really deep into conversation about these sorts of things. Many of them even have lots of opinions on films, and will be happy to share them in detail unprompted. So it wasn't entirely unreasonable for me not to realize in the moment that what was happening wasn't just "Nerd Bros Being Dudes."

But the more I thought about it, the one-sided adoring dynamic between Employee Bro and Unaware Man did seem unusual. And in the bits of their conversation that I had been forced to endure, hadn't one of them mentioned something about...filming locations? What was that about? Nobody in their right mind films stuff in Philly unless they're making the 86th Rocky film or the like.

It was a Google search of "movies filming in Philadelphia" that returned several results of articles talking about how location scouting was going on in the area as part of the production of a long-awaited sequel to the 2000 film Unbreakable, a undercover superhero sleeper hit. Unbreakable, a film set in Philadelphia, written and directed by famous filmmaker M Night Shyamalan.

Shyamalan. SHYAMALAN. the man responsible for 2010's The Last Airbender. it was HIM. he was not only the man who originated the (still unbroken!) curse on the Avatar franchise, but also the man who had ruined my day. Thoughtlessly. Carelessly. Not by massacring a beloved children's television franchise, but by being unaware. Inconceivable.

This was horrific. It wasn't even like I was the Reverse Flash or any other famous superhero nemesis, who had a compelling backstory causing their undying hatred of the hero. Instead, I now had a narrative foil who barely even fit that description, because chances are he hadn't even taken notice of my existence the whole time! This was my supervillain origin story, and it was his normal day!

It was at this moment I swore an oath. I would not forget this terrible day of inconvenience that was partially caused by my own social failings. I would dedicate my life from this point forward to slightly narrowing my eyes and shaking my head disapprovingly when I saw mentions of Shyamalan or his works online. I would color any opinions I had of his films with the thought, "but remember that one time he was kind of a dick to you without even meaning it? what was up with that?"

and that is the tale of my tragic encounter with M Night Shyamalan. To this day, my only solace is that my epic origin story turned out more narratively coherent and with deeper substance than any other film made in the Unbreakable saga, including the one he was location scouting for at the time this happened. Shyamalan can write twists all he wants, but no one is better at that game than karma itself.

-END-

#not included in this narrative retelling: me raising a fist into the air and shouting 'SHYAMALAN!!!' like i'm in star trek wrath of khan #if you read all that you deserve a medal #if there's ever a cinematic adaptation of this event it can only be made by shyamalan himself

73 notes · View notes

thewitcheress2389 · 1 year

Note

Could you write a story where the reader's whole body aches, but reader keeps it secret from Geralt? I personally have a health issue so I've terrible pains especially in the mornings...

I'm sorry to hear that! I hope you enjoy this story then!💖

And sorry for the long wait...I've been feeling down for a while and going through some stuff, so sorry if things ever take a while. I have other stories on other blogs I'm still sorting through as well, but I'm posting this now cause I feel bad. Stay lovely everyone, and I hope you feeling happy and having good times!💖

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Body Aches

In hopes to not worry the witcher, you try to keep your body pain to yourself. But you forget that a witcher has such keen senses.

You woke up the same way every day, with painful aches all over your body. There was no reason that you could entirely pinpoint that would explain it. You've done nothing taxing to make your body do this. It was just something that has become a part of your daily routine.

But you kept it to yourself.

Geralt stayed with you. Your house was a sanctuary that he could come to rest and heal, and because of that, you didn't want to worry him with any health issues that you had. The witcher had enough to deal with when it came to beasts and demons, and you saw how he was when he came back. Tired.

He didn't need to worry about you, especially when your demon couldn't be hunted down and killed.

But no matter how hard you try, keeping it secret wasn't exactly an option.

You woke up that morning, trying your best to not wake Geralt, who was asleep beside you. Your whole body ached to the point that moving even a bit caused you to whimper in pain. In truth, you were quiet enough that you figured that no one would be able to hear you, and you could keep this a secret for a while longer.

However, Geralt was a witcher.

"Alright. I've had it. What's wrong?" Geralt's voice caused you to scream and nearly fall off the bed, making more pain shoot through your body.

Turning around, you noticed that it looked like he just woke up. White hair disheveled, sweat from whatever nightmare or hot dream he had, and he was still shirtless. However, his eyes were clear, like he had been awake for hours.

"W-What do you mean?" You tried to play it cool, keeping your muscles as still as they could possibly be. But it was hard, and Geralt saw right through you.

"For hours now you've been shuffling around, uncomfortable. I could hear you whimpering. And it wasn't just this morning either." Geralt said and you wanted to go and hide yourself in a hole. He's known, and it's been for days.

You forgot about a witcher's super human hearing. You blushed in shame.

"So, I ask you again...what's wrong?" Geralt pressed further, sitting up more to look at you. You played with your hands a bit before sighing.

"It's just...my body aches randomly. I don't know why or how or what to do about it." You confessed, tucking some hair behind your ear. Geralt nodded to himself, remaining calm.

"Why not tell me?" He asked. It was a fair enough question, and you figured you had a fair enough answer. However, with the way his cat-eyes were boring into you, you thought otherwise.

"I didn't want to worry or burden you...you have enough going on." You told him and he fought the urge to tell you otherwise because your feelings were valid. But still, you shouldn't need to keep secrets like this.

"I was going to worry either way, but now that it's out in the open, I can help." Geralt said, moving the subject along so you don't dwell on any guilt or other feelings you might have in this situation.

You gave him a perplexed look.

"No offense Geralt, but you aren't exactly Mister Healing Hands. There's nothing that can be done." You said in defeat, knowing this is exactly what would happen. He would find out and want to help, but there is none. No healer could make it go away, so why could he.

"I can't, but perhaps Triss or Yen can." He offered the assistance of the sorceresses, and you smiled faintly. You didn't want to bring them into this, but perhaps magic would be your answer.

And Geralt looked like he wasn't going to back down.

"Thank you..." Was all you could say at the moment, and that's when Geralt laid back down again.

"Good. Now, let's try to get a bit more sleep. If you can't, please tell me this time." The witcher said, and you agreed before slowly moving to lay beside him.

You thought it was good to keep this to yourself, but you felt such a weight off your shoulders knowing that he not only knew, but that he cared as well.

With his assistance, maybe the pain can finally go away.

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher 3 #the witcher geralt #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia

538 notes · View notes

kairismess · 4 months

Text

you're good enough.

🌻 characters: atsumu miya and tooru oikawa 🍰 genre: slight angst, but also fluff ! ✒️ word count: 745 💭 summary: he's been wanting to meet your family for a while now, but you've always put it off because you fear your mother'll say something unpleasant to your, and his face this time, again. he knows just how much you fear your mother, and instead of letting her degrading and humiliating words get to you... he showers you with all the love he can give and knows you deserve. 🍥 author's note: hey anon !! hoping this is how you wanted the fic :DD i'm sorry if it wasn't that focused on the angsty parts, i really hope this provided you comfort somehow, and to all those who struggle with parental issues like me, you're completely valid; who other people claim you are is not who you totally are and will be as a person. stay strong loves, and enjoy 💗

sensing the fear in your your voice and watching your eyes darken, he knows something unpleasant came from his words, or at least, the idea and intent behind them. the one thing he never wants to do is hurt you, or in this case, to make you feel helpless and scared. "hey... what's wrong? are you okay, dear?" he asks you, brushing away a stray lock of your hair and gently cupping your face with his larger, calloused yet gentle, palms. your cheeks felt cold against his warm hands, probably because of how anxious and intimidating the thought of him meeting your mother was to you.

nothing good ever came of you bringing close friends or people you fancied home to meet your mother, even if the rest of your family were okay with them, it was your mother specifically that always had a problem with every person you brought to your home; and in a way... with just, you. you never could figure out why your mother was so hard on you often times, she'd make little comments about you that'd sting, be direct about whether or not she liked something you were passionate about, and... would often pressure you, but would always tell you, "it's for your own good."

you didn't know anymore what 'your own good' was, and it made you feel angry about yourself, but you never thought of yourself usually, unless it came to him. he seemed so perfect, so charming, so put together and talented; everything your mother made you feel like you weren't.

you nodded your head hastily, forcing the corners of your lips to curl up into a smile. "...you sure?" he asks you, doubting the credibility of your smile. he's seen you smile many times, but only on a handful of occasions has he ever seen you give him a real smile. he notices the brightness of your smile was barely even there, the way your eyes crinkled up and how your cheeks raised didn't feel natural; he was very keen about the details of your face like that.

your smile soon faltered, and he immediately flashed you a gentle smile of his own, his face softening as his hands dropped down to clasp your hands in his own. "is it about me wanting to meet your mom?" you nod at his question after nearly a minute of silence. he nods in return, there must've been something that made you uncomfortable about that notion.

"well... i know your mom isn't... the nicest, nor the most supportive person in your life, but... if you don't feel brave enough, it's okay. we don't need to go," he reassures you, squeezing your hand in his. "but don't feel like you're an idiot for rejecting the idea, you aren't stupid, not like she says... you're a very understanding person, very loving, so loving that even if she drives you crazy, or if i drive you up a wall and smother you with all my love—you still consider other people's feelings," he told you with a beaming grin, moving his face closer to yours.

his nose brushed against yours as he rubbed the back of your hand with the pads of his fingers, chuckling under his breath. "for every bad thing you're mom, or anyone for that matter, has ever said or done to you... i'll give you every sweet thing you deserve from me, whatever you want, i'll give it; whatever you need... i'll make sure you have it. and of course... i'll keep reminding you of the truth," he tells you as he tilts your chin up with his thumb and looks you in the eye.

"you're beautiful, smart, caring, talented, unique, and worth loving. that's why i pursued you as the only one i'd ever want, sure, we're just teenagers for now, but... i want to reassure you like this not just a day, a week, nor a month from now; but forever, if you'll let me. i can't fully undo some of the damage you might have gotten from her or others, but... i'll help plant good memories in that beautiful garden of your mind, i promise," he murmurs, gently kissing your forehead as you feel the hot tears roll down your cheeks and stain your shirt.

he immediately dotes on you and kisses the corners of your eyes after wiping your tears away. "that's my girl, my beautiful, strong girl, who i'll love for eternity."

95 notes · View notes

mistressoftherant-blog · 7 months

Text

Hypocrisy in the TMNT Fandom

I may come back to this topic at a later date, but I feel like I need to address the hypocrisy in the TMNT fandom when it comes to how 12 Donnie is treated for his crush on April, compared to other characters such as Bayverse Mikey and Mutant Mayhem Leo, or I might explode. Do I condone everything that 12 Donnie does in the name of his crush on April? No. Do I sometimes find the cringiness of his actions unbearable (keeping in mind that he is my favourite character in 12)? Absolutely. But is there context behind his actions that often gets ignored? Yes. Do the fandom vilify or make fun of behaviour from him that they let slide in other characters? 100% yes.

People love to bash 12 Donnie for his actions, without even considering the reasons behind them (poor choices from the show writers aside). April is the first human his age that Donnie really sees and gets to interact with. He's a deeply insecure character, who feels out of place even amongst his family and, as people have pointed out before me, April represents a wider level of acceptance to Donnie. If a pretty human girl can love him, maybe there is hope for him gaining wider acceptance from humanity. I do think he has genuine feelings for her, but I also believe that part of his obsessiveness is a desire to be more human, or at least be accepted by humans, and he subconsciously views gaining the love of a human to be a part of this. 12 Donnie (like most Donatellos), is keenly aware that he will never get what he wants, or deserves.

He is a genius, and that will never be acknowledged by the world. He will never get everything a human genius would get. He doesn't get go to school, or go shopping for new resources, or make friends who share his interests. He risks his life saving the world over and over again, only to be seen as a villain for the way he looks.

That's part of why he sees 12 Casey as such a threat, Casey is human and doesn't need the same level of acceptance that Donatello does. He already has everything that Donnie wants (he can go to school, make other friends etc), but yet he still wants to be with April. The first human to show Donnie any acceptance. One of the only people to even tentatively seem interested in Donnie's science. If April chooses Casey over Donnie, then that truly does mean that Donnie, as a mutant, and a nerdy outcast mutant to boot, can never find love or acceptance, (again, this would be Donnie's perspective, and it is not April's duty to validate Donnie's self worth by getting in a relationship with him - that being said, the mixed signals she sent definitely didn't help matters).

Also, his stalking is creepy, but this is a kid who grew up with no social interaction besides his brothers, watching shows that provably had dubious ideas of romance. All of his ideas of romance are influenced by media, which isn't exactly a healthy way to gain an understanding of how to express those feelings. And when he knows the exact distance to her apartment, I always thought that he was just insanely good at estimating distances? He's shown to be able to make advanced calculations around distances and things in seconds on the show, so this never really seemed that bad to me, even if the show itself deemed it creepy?

Moreover, for the most part, he does genuinely follow April when he believes she is in danger, or when she is distancing herself from them (again, absolutely not a healthy thought process, but he misses her and wants her safe, and thinks is the best way to handle it). Is it still wrong? Yes. But should Donnie as a character be completely dragged for this for eternity? Not really. Also, can we please move past reducing Donnie's character to nothing more than his failures at flirting?

There is also the fact that April definitely did flirt back with him on numerous occasions. Whether or not this was done consciously, or to manipulate him, or whatever, is a rant for another day, but 12 Donnie definitely does have reasons to believe that April could want a relationship with him. She kisses him, on the mouth, right after he had told her that he was going to stop with his behaviour.

People also genuinely forgive 12 Leo flirting with his sister more than they do Donnie calling April his sweet chinchilla (and yes, Leo and Karai are still flirty even after the reveal that they are siblings, though it is thankfully toned down later on, and though I've seen people jumping through hoops trying to deny it). And Leo's flirting with Karai (even before the reveal), is equally as cringy as Donnie's. He's the poster boy for the 'I can fix them' mentality, even when the person he was trying to fix was actively trying to destroy everyone he cared about. 12 Leo also puts his brothers in danger due to his obsession with Karai, hurting them both physically and mentally, but a lot of people sweep this under the rug and only focus on times that 12 Donnie puts the others in danger due to his crush on April, or see this as a positive thing, showing how Leo never gives up on the people he cares about.

Moving on, 12 Donnie can be possessive of April (again, not great behaviour, and not something I particularly enjoy or condone), but 12 Mikey is the same way about Renet, and no one mentions it? Donnie hugs her (or says he could hug her, I can't quite remember the exact context), and Mikey gets all pissy about it? He's known Renet for barely any length of time, and they have no relationship at this point, but he gets annoyed at Donnie having a friendly interaction with her, as if it hasnt been well established that Donnie is only interested in April? Why is this more acceptable than when Donnie gets annoyed at Casey (a confirmed love rival), shows off about being close to April?

Additionally, why are Bayverse Mikey and Mayhem Leo hardly ever given the same treatment as 12 Donnie? I see countless crossovers where 12 Donnie is given endless shit for his bad flirting, especially as it's towards someone who the other counterparts see as a sister figure, with hardly any of them ignoring how unfair it is to criticise 12 Dee for seeing April differently to the others when their circumstances are different, or bringing up anyone else's behaviour.

Bayverse Mikey is just as bad! In fact, some of the things that he says are far worse than anything 12 Donnie has said, and it just gets brushed over? Even in crossover fics where 12 Dee gets slaughtered for his crush, no one brings up the downright crude things Bay Mikey says?

He constantly calls her a babe (I think 90s Mikey also makes similar comments), and even says 'she's so hot I can feel my shell tightening' which is hella gross tbh. Sure, 'sweet chinchilla' is weird, but it's far less demeaning than babe? And Mikey keeps this attitude up throughout both films? Why is this treated as being more acceptable than 12 Donnie's behaviour? This is even worse as Bay April is clearly an adult compared to the teenage turtles, and is clearly depicted as an older sister figure. At least in 12 there is only a year age gap, and neither April nor her father had anything to do with them when they were babies.

Hell, a few chaarcters (I think 03 Mikey and either 90s Raph or Mikey) make a joke about getting to 'keep her' when they bring an unconscious April back to the lair, and no one bats an eye?? It's played off as a joke, but even so, it's still freaky, and I've never seen anyone mention it before. They don't even get admonished for it!

Also, Mayhem Leo is absolutely just as much of a cringefail flirt as 12 Don, but everyone is acting like he comes across as so much better?! We've only had one movie with him so far, but his behaviour so far isn't all that different to 12 Don's?

They basically act the same way upon their first meeting. The rooftop scene when he first sees her is almost exactly the same as the scene in 12. And the comment about her beautiful, perfect mouth? If 12 Donnie said that he'd be slaughtered, but because it was Mayhem Leo, it's considered cute? When 12 Donnie gets super excited about getting April's number even though they already have it on the fridge it's embarrassing, but when Mayhem Leo tries to get Mayhem Donnie's phone to swipe her number it's endearing? Both ramble and get nervous around her, but people think this is sweet from Mayhem Leo but annoying from 12 Don.

Plus, Mayhem Leo has far more experience with humans than 12 Donnie. He has been going outside of the lair for a while, he has definitely seen other girls before. In 12, Donnie had never left the lair before the night he saw April, she's genuinely the first girl he's ever seen in person.

This point may also be a little unfair as we only have the Mayhem movie at the moment, compared to entire seasons of the 12 TV show, but it's also irritating me a bit how many people are acting like Mayhem Leo has far more of a chance with April than 12 Donnie did, purely because she agreed to go to prom with him, ignoring her line about how it was just as friends, and the many instances in 12 where April reciprocated Donnie's flirtation (again, April kissed him on the lips in the cartoon. It is canon that she did so).

Why are there so many double standards around the turtles having crushes? Either address all of their behaviour, or stop throwing 12 Donnie's flirting in our faces. It's exhausting seeing people openly bashing 12 Donnie, ignoring all of his great characteristics due to his crush, and then turning around and glorifying 12 Leo, Bay Mikey, or Mayhem Leo, or just ignoring their behaviour. It's grating to see almost every chat fic (even ones I thoroughly enjoy!!), have a seemingly obligatory bash 12 Donnie's crush and flirting chapter, yet hardly ever address the way any of the others behave.

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leo #tmnt leonardo #mutant mayhem spoilers #mutant mayhem leo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #mutant mayhem #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 donatello #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 mikey #tmnt 2012 michelangelo #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016

161 notes · View notes

mysafehaneul · 2 months

Text

Timestamp! Aquamarine Au!

Wonwoo x Reader

Part of this Series.

Angst, Hurt comfort, a child and a dog and some ice-cream.

TW: Mention of Chondrosarcoma.

12:31am:

You found yourself leaning against the kitchen counter, hands still gripping the smooth slab as you watched the water slowly dry in the sink. Your gaze was fixated on the droplets that fell and scattered; your fingertips still damp from washing your cup earlier.

The evening dress clung to your body, a reminder of the office event you had attended on behalf of your father. A wave of sadness washed over you, the ache in the lump of your throat intensifying as your eyes stung with unshed tears. Memories played in your head, and life didn't feel the same ever since you found out about

your father's diagnosis with Chondrosarcoma. The feeling of impending loss loomed over you, lurking in the corner, ready to impose itself on you at any moment.

It had been two days since you lost your appetite, preoccupied with your father's condition and the transition of the company's management. Meanwhile, Noel was away for the summer with Jeonghan and Victor and their son, and your daughter was about to start preschool. Everything seemed to be falling into place, yet the taste of the tea you had just drank still lingered on your tongue.

As you stood there lost in your thoughts, you felt sturdy yet careful footsteps approaching you. The familiar scent of his being, fresh from a pre-bed shower, reached you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His hot breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His lips left a tingling sensation as they moved to speak.

"Everything will be alright," he whispered, his voice a comforting reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

You drew in a breath, feeling your chest constricted as your brows scrunched in distress. Despite your efforts to control your voice, it still came out tight. "My father is dying, Won. What could possibly become alright?"

"Y/N," Wonwoo stood straight, pulling you closer to his chest as his hand gently caressed the top of your head, your head now resting against his shoulder. "Don't say that. You know I talked with Doctor Jung, and he's hopeful that there is still a chance. If we go forward with the treatment, then he can…"

"I know that, but at what cost, Wonwoo?" Your voice shook, tears streaming down your face. "He's 70 years old, and he refuses it. He says he'd rather live out his days than lease them in exchange for pain. And I don't understand what's wrong with my mother that she's supporting him in this."

Your knees wobbled, but Wonwoo tightened his grip, carefully sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed and placing your shaking body on his lap. He pressed kisses on top of your head, then nuzzled his forehead against your back, his heart breaking at seeing you like this – his strong wife who always pushed through no matter what hurdles life threw at her.

"How can they be so selfish? Why didn't they think of me? Doesn't what I want matter?"

"Your points are valid, Y/N, and I know that," Wonwoo began, gently removing your hand from your face to look at you, providing reassurance. Mascara ran down your eyes, leaving a trace in its wake, and your lipstick was slightly smudged. The sight made him hate himself for being unable to take away your pain.

With downcast eyes, you spoke, your voice filled with childlike innocence that left no doubt that even though your daughter took after him, she inherited all her mannerisms from you. "But I need my father. I'll always need my father. I can't fathom the day where I pick up my phone and dial his number, and he won't be there to pick up after the second ring and tell me, 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it,' Wonwoo. I hate to think about it. Even a thought like that makes me feel like someone has taken the roof off my head and left me in a room surrounded by walls."

Wonwoo could feel a lump arising in his throat as well. He reached out to kiss your tears, but you moved your head and buried your face in the crook of his neck, circling your arms tightly around him. He shut his eyes and did the same.

"Why do I have to be the one always losing people around me? Why can't I–"

"Please don't finish that sentence, please, Y/N," his voice wobbled as he tightened his embrace.

You let your emotions take over, and the sobs soon turned into silent tears. During that time, your husband silently rocked you, rubbing your back and planting kisses periodically. You didn't know how long you both sat there, but the night had surely grown darker, and his hair was dry.

When his voice hushed, "There will be times when life makes us realize that our mortality is the ultimate and unescapable fact. Thus, it makes it necessary for us to live it while we can. Instead of crying, fighting, and complaining, I think you should spend time with your father and make the most out of it so that you don't have any regrets again about the things unsaid and the opportunity to make new memories with him and our kids."

You shook your head in understanding. "Okay."

"Okay."

You wiped your face with the back of your hand and moved away from his neck, his eyes trained on you with the same gaze as the night in London where he proposed to you.

"Since when did you become so philosophical?" you gave him a small smile.

Catching on to your attempt to lighten the mood, he said, "Just ever since I married this woman. You may know her very well. Or Maybe it's a girl-dad effect."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his antics, a small smile gracing both of your lips. You leaned in and planted a kiss at the corner of his lips, pulling back as both of your foreheads rested against each other.

"Have faith, my love. Let's try and talk with him about the treatment together, hmm?"

"Hmm."

You took a breath as you were about to move off and go change your dress. The pitter-patter of small feet and four paws slowly rushed down the hall.

"You didn't put her to bed?" you asked, your eyes still closed. "I did," both of your heads still connected.

"Hush, Denny, you're making too much noise. You're gonna wake papa and mama up," the voice was now coming from the other side of the kitchen island as both of you were hidden from plain sight. "I am going to grab the chair and get the ice-cream, but don't bark, okay?"

"How is she going to move the chair?" you whispered to your husband.

"That's what I also want to know."

There was a little screech from the dragging on the floor, then a little huff resounded. "This is heavy," the cute voice concluded. There was silence for a few seconds when the patter against the floor resumed.

You both exchanged looks when Iris opened the pantry and brought out the kitchen step stool. With a look of triumph written across her face, she made her way to the other side of the kitchen where the fridge, as well as the two of you, were sitting, with Denny wagging his tail, giving the telltale sign that this was not the first time they were doing this and he was well aware of what was about to come.

"We wouldn't need this if Oppa were here," she said, looking at Denny, when you said, "Is that right?" making her startled and drop the tool. "Hello Iris, fancy seeing you here way past your bedtime."

Your daughter looked at you, then at her father, eyes widened. "Mama, Papa."

You raised your brows in acknowledgement, Wonwoo's failed suppressed chuckle slipping past. "What are you doing with that, baby girl?" he said.

She moved away from the tool and approached where both of you were sitting and said, "Papa, Denny woke me up and he wanted ice cream."

Wonwoo looked at you and then at Denny before amusing his daughter, "Is that right, Denny?" Denny, none the wiser, gave a bark.

"Well, if Denny wants it, then we can give it to him. You can go to bed."

"Noo," she yelped, then looked down and pouted. "So did I."

You and Wonwoo exchanged amused looks as he said, "Hmm, ice cream does sound like a good idea. What do you say, Mama?"

You couldn't help but chuckle as both of you got up. You wiped your face with the kitchen towel and reached out for the ice cream bowls.

When Iris asked, "What were you guys doing on the floor?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: I have an exam tomorrow but I am kinda sad, and can't take this scene out of my head, Its cringe might delete it later. I know I must focus on the cheol fic but ya know the same'ol writter's bloc. Wish me luck for my exam.

56 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 1 year

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 16: Sometimes important decisions—ones that we know we have to make—still hurt like hell

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon 🗡️ word count: 9.2k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ chapter warnings: smut (oral sex, use of "whore", multiple orgasms, "love making" lolol), heroin use (the scene is not too detailed, and it happens rather quickly, but it may be hard for some readers), panic attack & freaking out, recreational use of prescription pills.

🗡️ note: hard drug use and addiction can be tricky things to comprehend and navigate, especially from an outside perspective. the things mc thinks and feels are valid parts of the process but do not necessarily reflect how i feel about drug use and addiction. please proceed with caution if this is a topic that is difficult to read. this will be something that carries on through many chapters, and it will be a battle these characters have to figure out, so things may be messy. please trust in the process and take care of yourself! i love you!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on may 2023 | read on ao3

The feeling of your thighs being spread is what begins to pull you from sleep. There is an unfamiliar smell to the room—starchy and sweet—but the musk that hits you is one you are well acquainted with. Lips graze over your neck, up to your jaw, and you smile, feeling the final dredges of sleep wash away as Namjoon groans softly against your skin.

Two warm hands spread your legs further, and as you bend at the knees and arch your back in a stretch, you become aware of the comforter moving and a body settling at your feet. Lips and teeth nip at your inner thigh, tickling and sending a tingle of arousal through you, and you blink awake, looking up at the ceiling before lifting the dark blue blanket and finding Yoongi's messy dark hair covering his face, except for his wide smile, which greets you.

"What do you two think you're doing?" you ask, voice raspy from sleep.

Namjoon's lips move down to your shoulder and trail back to your neck, causing you to gasp as he sucks on particularly sensitive spots.

"Figured I can't bring you all the way to Hong Kong without taking you to Hong Kong," Yoongi drawls, dragging his teeth over your skin, dangerously close to where you want him most. All you wear is a thin pair of black panties, which Yoongi wastes no time pushing out of the way.

Warm breath ghosts over you, and you watch as the mess of dark brown hair centers between your legs, eager to feel his mouth. With two fingers, Yoongi spreads your lips, then he licks a slow stripe up to your clit, swirling his tongue over the bud and sending a shiver through you that has your back bowing off the bed.

"Oh, fuck," you mutter, still tired enough that your body feels suspended somewhere between the waking world and the clouds—a liminal space of sleepy bliss.

Namjoon's lips and teeth continue to tease, then he adjusts, getting onto his knees as he hovers over you to kiss down the center of your chest and take one nipple into his mouth after the other. The ends of Namjoon's hair dance over your skin, and they tickle. That, paired with the languid, firm strokes of Yoongi's tongue against your cunt, cause goosebumps to break over your skin, making you sensitive to every little touch.

You lift your hands over your head and drape your arms over the pillow, closing your eyes as you sigh into the pleasure, sinking down into the mattress as two sets of lips send you up into the heavens. There is a part of you that wants to insist Namjoon crawls a little closer and slowly, gently fucks your face, but you decide to bask a little in this attention, first.

Yoongi's mouth is glorious, and he picks up the pace, lapping and sucking at your clit, making lewd, loud sounds. Your body trembles and flinches with every stroke of his tongue, and as your moans become louder and breathier, you hear him chuckle against you.

"Don't say it," you moan, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks while pleasure bursts and blooms throughout you.

Namjoon continues lower, nibbling your hip bone and causing you to gasp and giggle, then he asks, "Say what?"

"That she cums too easily," Yoongi grumbles against you, just barely intelligible.

"So mean," you pout, feeling your high climb and climb as Namjoon lowers himself further, disappearing beneath the comforter before yanking it away entirely.

You shiver and attempt to curl into yourself for warmth, but Namjoon takes your leg and slings it over his shoulder while he settles beside Yoongi, nipping at your thigh.

"What a beautiful cunt," Namjoon groans against you, filling you with the urge to laugh.

"Shut up," you complain, too tired and far too close to orgasm for him to be teasing you.

"I mean it," he continues, kissing down your leg until Yoongi's lips leave you, and Namjoon hovers close. "I could worship this pretty pussy all day."

"So then do it," you whine, desperate for one of them to continue eating you out, already feeling impatient with the lack of lips and tongue against you.

You hear them kiss before you open your eyes and find them hovering close to you while Namjoon licks over Yoongi's lips and chin like a man starved—licking traces of you off his face. The sight makes you feral, and you let out a whiny groan, feeling equal parts horny and petulant.

With a needy whimper of, "Daddy, please," you use your foot to attempt to pull Namjoon toward you, hoping he will get the hint.

Namjoon, however, is a demon sent straight from hell, and he fixes you with a dark, evil grin and asks, "My, aren't we a greedy little whore this morning?"

"Wh—" you begin to whine, but Yoongi presses a finger to his lips and shushes you.

Your mouth falls open but silent, and you fix Yoongi with a desperate, incredulous stare before pouting. It does not work.

"Only good girls get to cum," Yoongi says as he drops his finger from his mouth and leaves featherlight touches over your labia, sending impatient shivers through you. He lifts an eyebrow and adds, "You have to be a good girl."

"I am a good girl, sir," you whine softly, and Yoongi has the audacity to chuckle.

"Are you sure?" Namjoon teases, leaning closer to your cunt, stirring up a frenzy of emotions.

"Yes, daddy. I'm positive. Please."

Namjoon sinks lower until only his eyes and forehead are visible, keeping his devious glare fixed on you. And Yoongi, the devil that he is, kisses your inner thigh, delicate and ticklish until you begin to squirm, then he sucks on the skin hard enough to make you yelp. Yoongi alternates sucking and nipping hard enough to hurt, and you fight the urge to flail around, groaning and gasping each time he lets up and continues again in a new spot. The pleasure-pain is dizzying, and you almost beg him to stop, but then Namjoon's tongue finds your clit and laps over you, causing your back to arch and each sound to die in your throat.

Orgasm builds and crashes so fast you do not feel it coming, and you claw at the mattress as two sets of lips and tongues push you past the point of sanity. Namjoon licks broad stripes and circles over you, and Yoongi teases the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, all the while you gasp and moan and whimper, legs shaking uncontrollably as overwhelming pleasure pours over you in waves and waves.

Between sucks and licks, Yoongi teases, "So…fucking…easy," then his lips replace Namjoon's on your cunt, pulling the last of your orgasm from you while already building the next one, filling you with pleasure so intense you nearly beg them to stop.

"Too bad we can't make a mess of this bed," Namjoon groans as fingertips tease your entrance, stroking over you as if petting a soft animal. "Don't want poor Taehyungie to accrue a bunch of cleaning fees."

Clarity washes over you, pulling you back to the present moment, and you remember that this unfamiliar starchy-sweet bedding and spackled white ceiling in Hong Kong are all attached to the suite that Taehyung and Jeongguk are staying in. Suddenly, you feel embarrassed that the two of them may be able to hear you, and your legs start to squeeze shut.

Two long, thick fingers enter your wet heat, and you attempt to scramble back, digging your heels into the mattress as you mutter, "Wait," frantically.

"What is it, darling?" Yoongi asks sweetly while holding you in place, not allowing you to escape the slow, intoxicating motions of Namjoon's hand. You consider calling your safe word, but the feeling so good, you cannot seem to bring yourself to.

"What if they hear us?" you ask weakly, reaching for the comforter in hopes of pulling it over your sweat-covered body despite Taehyung and Jeongguk being unable to see through walls.

At this, Namjoon begins to finger hard and fast, and you freeze and tremble with your back bowed slightly from the bed, attempting to become distracted by the ensnaring bliss of his fingers while Yoongi gently nips at your skin.

"Isn't that what you want, darling?" Yoongi teases, making you feel shy.

"No," you mewl, shaking your head frantically a few times while Namjoon rubs the sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"We could bring Jeonggukie in here for you right now, if you want," Namjoon offers as his lips trail up your thigh.

"I bet he would love to see you sprawled out while two men make you cum," Yoongi adds as his mouth lowers, warm breath ghosting over your pussy.

"He would probably pout," Namjoon adds with a chuckle, "and start begging his hyungs to let him have a taste."

Before you can allow the thought of Jeongguk pouting to ricochet too much, you reach yet another orgasm, mouth hung open and silent as Namjoon's fingers press roughly into you, threatening to make you squirt. Then Yoongi laps over your cunt in firm, broad strokes, and the dam breaks, causing you to scream—frantically grabbing for a pillow and holding it over your face—while both men mercilessly drag more and more squelching release from you.

You practically beg them to stop, pulling the pillow from your face and gasping for air, when there is a loud, steady knock on the door.

Although neither man slows, much less stops, Namjoon yells, "Yes," before letting out a soft laugh.

Warmth floods your cheeks, making you wish you could disappear completely, and you pull the pillow back over your face.

"You're being just a little too loud, hyungs," Taehyung calls from the other side of the door, making you cringe. "Especially you, buttercup," he adds, and you completely snap.

"No more," you beg, throwing the pillow aside and scrambling away from insistent hands and mouths. "Sakura!"

Yoongi and Namjoon laugh, making feeble attempts to grab at you while you huddle up by the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, breathless and a little too cold for comfort.

With sweet, dopey smiles, the two turn to one another, and Namjoon lifts his fingers that glisten with your release up to Yoongi's mouth, saying, "Be a good boy and clean these for me."

"Yes, daddy," Yoongi responds as he leans close and lets his mouth fall open, holding adoring eye contact with Namjoon, who slides his fingers over Yoongi's tongue and instructs him to suck.

As enticing as these two are, you do not want to let them get carried away in another tangle of limbs, and you reach one leg out and begin to gently poke at Yoongi's shoulder with your toes. When he does not stop sucking on Namjoon's long, thick, god-forsaken fingers, you press a little harder, wiggling him until he begins to laugh and pull away from Namjoon.

"Don't we have another flight today?" you ask sweetly when Yoongi gives you a playful yet incredulous glare.

"We do," Yoongi responds with a grin as he turns to you and begins to crawl naked on his hands and knees. "But we can leave any time, darling. We're on nobody's schedule but our own."

Petulant and a little embarrassed, you move your foot to Yoongi's shoulder, against his clavicle, and press a little hard, desperate to keep him and his magic tongue the fuck away from you.

"But I want to go," you whine, jutting out your bottom lip. "I've never been on a real vacation before and I want to see where you plan to take me."

As if snapped from some kind of trance, Yoongi's smile falls and the joy in his eyes deepens to sadness. You know that the cogs in his brain are turning, telling him that you grew up in a loveless situation, sold off by your parents at too young of an age to fully understand what was happening. Sure, you have traveled the world while in the various trafficking rings, but never have you had the chance to see it and enjoy it.

Yoongi continues to advance, but rather than attempt to sway you into anything sexual, he crawls on his knees and flops down at your side, wrapping his arms around you.

"I'll show you the world, darling," Yoongi mutters as he nuzzles his face into your side, causing butterflies to stir in your tummy.

All you can do is wrap your arms loosely over his shoulders and return his hugs. Moments like these, when Yoongi is tender and sweet, you think you could withstand his nonsense every day. Sitting in the center of the bed, Namjoon's shoulders are slumped forward, eyes zoned out on some spot ahead, as far as you can tell.

"You too, Joonbug," you say as you attempt to hold your arms out.

Namjoon glances up and smiles softly, cheeks creasing ever so gently with dimples as he makes his way over on his knees. The added weight of his body draping over Yoongi's back pulls you downward uncomfortably, and you groan as you try to get into a more relaxed position beneath them.

This is good, you think. The two of them, just like this. This feels like home.

Growing up, during the rare event that you were allowed to watch a movie or an episode of television, you frequently saw a protagonist gaze out the window of a moving car or an airplane with a look in their eye that suggested nothing in life could possibly be better than that moment, right there.

You always thought moments like those were reserved for the screen, only. You always thought those moments would be too fantastical for you.

So when you stare from the window of Yoongi’s private jet as it descends over France, your heart feels as if it might burst behind your ribs. Tears form in your eyes, and you attempt to blink them away, but the wave of happiness is so intense and so good that you end up bringing a hand to your cheek to attempt covertly wiping away the evidence of your flooding emotions.

“Happy, darling?” Yoongi asks, rubbing the backs of two fingers along your cheek, narrowly avoiding a fallen tear. Of course, you can never get anything past Yoongi.

You nod and turn to him, attempting to hold in the surge of joy, but as soon as you meet his dark brown eyes and soft, tender smile, the tears build quickly, and you sniffle on your inhale, feeling shy enough to chuckle.

“Yoongi, you—“ you have no idea what this means to me, you think, words choked on a sob. You have no idea what you mean to me. “Thank you.”

“It was a long time coming,” Yoongi responds, looking away as his blushing cheeks betray his attempt at being humble. “You deserve to be given the world. And a proper vacation is just what we need, right now.”

You turn back to the right, gazing out the window as the scenery begins to level and grow and move much faster than it seemed to move while you were still in the air. Your tummy does a flip, and you turn back to Yoongi, too nervous to watch the moment the wheels touch down on the tarmac.

Yoongi’s hair is tucked behind his ears and he wears a simple yet elegant outfit—a tan blazer over a beige silk shirt, tucked into tan slacks. The hints of blush on his cheeks appear much softer, and all of his sharp features seem more delicate in contrast with the lighter colors versus his standard black. You take in his pretty dark eyes and soft rose-petal lips, feeling the sudden, overwhelming urge to tell him you love him. And when you open your mouth to speak, the plane touches down, making you gasp and yelp, stealing the words from your lips until all you can do is laugh.

To the left, past Yoongi on the other side of the small aisle, Namjoon snores loudly enough to startle himself awake, and he groans a confused sound as he sits up quickly, blinking heavily from sleep. You laugh even louder, burying your face into Yoongi’s side while Namjoon grumbles and stretches; he slept nearly the entire thirteen-hour flight. You dozed a little off and on, but you were so excited, you watched out the window as you traveled through the time zones, extending nighttime impossibly long, daydreaming above the clouds.

Rather than dissipate, the affectionate feelings only swell, nearly suffocating you on the desire to voice them, but you swallow it down. Is this the right time and place? Here, on an airplane? While Namjoon is wiping his own drool from his chin and Yoongi is laughing—would be doubled over entirely if you were not holding onto him for dear life and wiping your own happy tears from your eyes? Sure, this feels like a time that encapsulates love, but to say it to the two of them for the first time? You would rather dwell on it and continue to spiral a little more, instead.

As a male staff member clad in black opens the large metal door leading out of the plane and checks on something—you cannot tell what—you begin to feel a nervous excitement wash over you. Namjoon gets up first, head to toe in black cotton, stretching with groan after groan, yawning loudly, and Yoongi follows behind, gently pushing Namjoon by the butt to get him walking toward the exit while his shoulders continue to rise and fall with amusement. The sight of the wound on Yoongi's hand catches your eye—a streak of pink slashed from his thumb to his wrist—causing more emotion to build as you remember that horrible night when he was shot.

Blinking back the myriad emotions, you undo your seatbelt and follow suit, stretching your stiff legs and getting onto your feet as you hobble toward the exit, where Yoongi waits for you to go first, then out of the airplane and into a cool Paris late-afternoon.

The soft material of Yoongi's tan blazer drapes over your shoulders before you have a chance to shiver, and you grip onto it tightly with both hands and hug it closed, smiling to yourself as the affection in your chest only grows. You walk down the short set of aluminum steps, and before your feet can hit the ground, Namjoon reaches a hand and takes your right elbow, guiding you gently to your destination.

"Are you hungry, darling?" Yoongi asks as an arm wraps around you from the left, and Yoongi's warmth and sweet musk further engulfs you.

You are hungry, and the moment the thought of food crosses your mind, your stomach whines in response. With a nod, you lean your head toward Yoongi and mutter, "I could eat."

"Mind if we stop at the hotel first?" Namjoon asks. "I want to change and brush my teeth before we go anywhere."

You laugh more thinking about Namjoon snore-startling himself awake and nod again, this time leaning toward Namjoon's warmth.

"I would like to change, too," you say, having worn a tee and joggers for the flight. Especially with Yoongi looking so put together, you want to at least slip into a nice evening gown. Too bad Jimin is not around to do your makeup for you.

"The hotel has fantastic room service, but I want to take you out onto the town," Yoongi begins as the three of you approach a sleek black sports car, and a man clad in all black hands Yoongi a set of keys. "How about I order us some appetizers so the two of you can take your time, and that will give me time to wiggle us into a nice, impossible-to-get reservation?"

"Sounds perfect," you respond with a smile, feeling a strong swell of affection as Yoongi's embrace slides away and Namjoon leads you around to the other side of the car.

It feels like it has been ages since you have sat in the front seat of a vehicle, and you almost do not accept, suggesting Namjoon and his long legs take the seat, instead. But he insists, standing his ground firmly while gently shoving you toward the open door, only relenting when you huff out a sigh and duck into the car, plopping down on the warm leather and marveling at the fuschia-lit interior.

"Porsche Panamera," Yoongi mutters as he drags his fingertips up and down the curves of the steering wheel with a grin. "Always wanted one of these, but it's too flashy for me to drive back home."

The last time you sat front seat was in Namjoon's Porsche, and you smile to yourself, remembering the fateful day when you demanded to be taken for ice cream, only for your relationship to evolve into something more. Yoongi starts the ignition, and you buckle your seatbelt before sinking back into the seat and glancing out the window, eager for what lies ahead. He drives from the airport without the use of a device to tell him where to go, and as he takes each turn and stop with practiced ease, you wonder just how many times he has been here before.

Paris is just as it is in the movies; tan stone buildings adorned with wrought-iron balconies, and decorative lamp posts lining the streets. There is a beautiful blend of old and new, with buildings that appear to have rich histories attached to them.

Yoongi pulls up to a tall stone building that wraps delicately around the street corner, showcasing intricate balconies lining each window, and beautiful stone arches on the ground level. As he shuts off the ignition, you do a double-take, glancing from Yoongi to the elegant building to your right.

"We're here," he sing-songs as he opens the door and gets out, and you pause, only snapping from your reverie when your door opens and you find Namjoon smiling sweetly. Everything about this scene feels like a dream, and you half expect to wake up and find yourself still sitting on the airplane above the clouds.

Yoongi tosses his keys to a valet driver, mutters something to him in French, then approaches the trunk of the car to retrieve your suitcases. At some point, a staff member must have placed them in there for you. You approach and reach for yours, but Yoongi shoves it toward Namjoon the moment its wheels are on concrete, and Namjoon expands the handle and holds firmly, making sure you do not dare try to take it from him.

With a mock-petulant huff, you cross your arms over your shoulders, hugging the tan blazer that remains draped over you. Yoongi retrieves two more large black suitcases, shuts the trunk, and Namjoon grabs a second one, leading the way into the lobby.

Although you are becoming used to extravagance from being in the presence of one of the wealthiest men in Korea, the French hotel lobby still takes you by surprise. The walls are white with gold-trimmed accent molding, large crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, colorful crushed velvet armchairs line the walls, and large, elegant Parisian rugs cover intricate marble floors. In a way, the decor reminds you a little of home, with more lightness and splashes of color.

Namjoon walks off to the side and stands out of the way while Yoongi approaches a gold desk, and you opt to follow Namjoon, leaving Yoongi to get things in order. Although you cannot hear him, he speaks and laughs with the concierge with a lightness you rarely see back home, and it gives you butterflies.

"Does he speak French?" you ask, leaning to Namjoon but keeping your eyes on Yoongi, who holds steady, effortless conversation.

"Oui, mademoiselle," Namjoon responds, causing you to gasp and turn his way. The pronunciation is surprisingly smooth, even for so few syllables, and you swoon. Namjoon chuckles and bends to look you level in the eye. "We contain multitudes, sweetheart."

"I guess so!" you respond with a giggle, suddenly curious about all the things you do not know about these men. How much more is there to discover?

An elevator with gold doors leads you to your suite on the top floor. Although the penthouse is smaller than some of the rooms you have grown accustomed to, its opulence is stunning. The decor matches that of the lobby but with cream-colored furnishings covered in delicate floral patterns. Cascading beige curtains hang over the large window which exhibits a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower past an intricate wrought-iron balcony. Bouquets of fresh flowers sit on white marble tables, and as you kick off your sneakers, the Parisian rug sinks lightly under your feet.

"Yoongi," you mutter under your breath, dropping your hands to your sides as your feet shuffle on autopilot toward the window. No longer do you have motor control; everything feels too extravagant to be real.

"Do you like it, darling?" Yoongi has the absolute audacity to ask.

Rather than respond with words, when you open your mouth, all that croaks out is a mess of vowels that die in your throat. Tears cloud your vision, and you hug the tan blazer tighter around yourself, lifting your hands just enough to smell the familiar musk that comes from the garment, filling your senses with Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. You lift your gaze, finding the reflection of Namjoon in the window—sweet, smart Namjoon—and your heart feels so full.

When you finally turn, Yoongi and Namjoon stand near the doorway, watching you with sweet smiles. Namjoon's arm is draped over Yoongi's shoulders, and Yoongi has his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

"Thank you," you mutter, tears falling as soon as both Yoongi's and Namjoon's smiles widen.

You feel at awe with how beautiful they both are; how perfect this feels.

Although you would love nothing more than to stay in this hotel room with the two of them and show your appreciation for this grand gesture—preferably on your knees, or perhaps on your back—you are eager to sightsee. Namjoon takes all the suitcases into the bedroom while Yoongi retrieves a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice that had been left by hotel staff, and you approach Yoongi, wiping the tear streaks from your cheeks.

"I don't know how you will ever top this," you tease, attempting to keep your cool despite sniffling.

"Oh?" Yoongi asks with an amused smile, looking up from his task of carefully uncorking the bottle in his hands.

"Should have started somewhere like New York or…I don't know…Canada, first."

This makes Yoongi chuckle, and you smile wider as his eyes scrunch into tight crescents.

"Why on earth would I take you to Canada?" he asks, shaking his head.

"I don't know!" you snap in your defense, "I was trying to think of less impressive places!"

Yoongi laughs harder, gripping tightly to the champagne, and you swat him on the arm; the joke was hardly that funny, you think.

"Don't balk at Canada!" Namjoon calls from the bedroom, causing you and Yoongi to look at one another quizzically before laughing some more.

"I mean it!" he continues, poking his head out from the room, "The aurora borealis there is supposed to be pretty incredible. I have always wanted to see one."

"We could go to Iceland for that too," Yoongi mutters, seeming to be seriously considering Namjoon's proposition.

You would love to see the aurora borealis; in fact, you think you would go absolutely anywhere with these men. Even to Canada.

The dress Namjoon picks for you to wear to dinner makes you chuckle. It is so…cute…you almost feel like a cartoon princess sliding into it. Ordinarily, you are outfitted in dark shades—emeralds and blacks—and cascading skirts. So when you hold the sugar pink Alexander McQueen scoop neck mini dress with a polyfaille skirt showcasing an exaggerated, diagonal ruffle seam, you nibble on your lip and look to Namjoon to make sure he is serious.

Yoongi picks a pair of shiny black platform ankle boots to go with the dress, and you opt to style your hair simply, applying minimal makeup to your eyes—just enough to make them pop—and forgo jewelry. As Namjoon zips your dress and smooths his palms over your back, you glance out the window at the Eiffel Tower, reminding yourself that you are in Paris, and you bite your lip as you smile, overcome with adoration.

Namjoon gets dressed in a simple black raised-collar jacket with a white shirt beneath, tucked into black slacks. He styles his hair off his forehead, and he puts on burgundy leather boots, forgoing jewelry as well.

Yoongi keeps the tan and beige outfit. His hair lies flat and long, tucked behind his ears, and he wears a gold rockstud choker low on his neck. He completes the look with beige boots and a dusting of eyeshadow that accentuates the shapes of his eyes beautifully. You can't help but stare.

"Has anyone told you, you kind of look like a cat?" you ask as Yoongi straightens out the tan blazer that you reluctantly returned to him so you could get dressed.

Yoongi's eyebrows raise, lips part, and he chuckles, shaking his head. Pink rises to his cheeks, and you wonder if perhaps you have hit on a sore spot. Namjoon bursting out with laughter that he had clearly been trying to hold in only confirms your suspicions.

"Awe, really? You have been told you look like a cat?" you tease, approaching Yoongi and wrapping your arms around his waist. He pouts, looking to Namjoon over your shoulder, eyes downturned and begging to be saved, and you feel the urge to keep poking, simply because he is so precious. "I'm gonna start calling you kitten."

"You are not," Yoongi complains, but Namjoon chimes in, "Oh, I love that…our pretty kitten," adding fuel to the fire.

With a sigh, Yoongi looks at you, brows knit and clearly trying to fight a smile.

"Fine," he concedes. "But not in public."

Pleased, you stand on your toes and place a kiss on the apple of Yoongi's cheek, muttering, "That works for me, kitten."

"Alright," Yoongi grumbles, attempting feebly to pull from your hug, which you tighten with a giggle, "let's go get something to eat, yeah?"

"Yes, please," Namjoon sighs. All you had was champagne, finding yourselves too distracted with getting dressed to order any room service.

"Sounds good to me, kitten," you respond, smacking one more kiss to Yoongi's cheek before letting him go, and god he looks so cute when he gets sulky.

Dinner is a blur of red wine, medium-rare meat, and perfectly seasoned vegetables—a three michelin star meal, according to Yoongi. You hardly process the dining hall that is somehow more lavish than everything else you have seen and stumble onto the street in an intoxicated haze. When Yoongi drives to the Eiffel Tower just as the sun begins to set, you pinch yourself on the arm to make sure you are, in fact, awake.

And it is there, heart so full of emotions you feel ready to burst, nearly a thousand feet in the air, overlooking the city of love while the sun drops below the horizon, that you turn to Yoongi first, then Namjoon, with tears in your eyes, and mutter to one and then to the other, "I love you."

You hardly have a chance to get your boots off before Namjoon has you in his arms and is carrying you off to the bedroom with your skirt bunched at your hips and your face nuzzled into his neck. Yoongi is close behind, slipping from his boots by the door, setting the metal choker down in a gentle clatter against a marble table, and dropping his tan blazer to the floor in a light whoosh of fabric.

These men are ravenous the second you are set down on the edge of the mattress, with Yoongi dropping to his knees between your spreading thighs while Namjoon kneels behind you, gently unzipping the dress that he rather eagerly pulls over your head and tosses aside. Sitting in only white satin panties, you lean back, anchored on your palms, hearing rather than seeing Namjoon getting undressed behind you.

"Say it again," Yoongi instructs, eyes wide and burning into you, covering you in the heat of his stare.

Suddenly, you feel shy and nibble on your bottle lip as the warmth crawls up your neck. You meant it when you said it, but it was so in the moment, you had not considered saying it again.

"I—" you begin, then swallow a lump.

Yoongi stands, gently takes your chin in both hands, and pulls you into a kiss, moaning into your mouth, which falls pliant for him to do as he pleases.

"I love you, darling," he says against your lips, opening his eyes wide—the only thing you can see from this proximity.

"I love you," you whisper, testing it out, liking how it sounds—how it feels—before repeating it with more conviction. "I love you, Yoongi."

You could swear he has tears in his eyes when he straightens out and begins to undress. Fingertips dance over your shoulder and neck, then lips touch your skin, tickling as hot breath ghosts over you, causing you to break into goosebumps.

"And you, Namjoon," you mutter softly through a giggle, lifting your shoulder as a defense against his tickling. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Namjoon responds, soft and deep in a tone reserved just for you and Yoongi.

For the first time, you experience what you imagine others refer to as making love. Though persistent and heated, neither Yoongi's nor Namjoon's movements are rushed. They take their time building your arousal past the breaking point, slowly and steadily pushing and pulling you over the edge, touching you like an instrument they know by heart, creating symphonies with your body and theirs.

When you crash in a tangle of sweat, exhausted from the long trip and extravagant day, your heart feels full and your head feels clear. This is the feeling you feared the most—the knowledge that if anything took this away from you, you may surely wither and die. It has been fear that has kept you from feeling the full embrace of love, but you fall asleep with a smile, certain that, for once, you are ready to let go and allow yourself the freedom of being happy.

When you wake up, Yoongi is hurriedly getting dressed in his tan and beige suit from the night before, muttering about meeting someone over a last-minute deal.

"I didn't expect to do any work, but an old friend is in town," he explains while planting a kiss on your forehead. "You should sightsee while I'm away. There are great cafés; treat yourself to a shopping spree."

"Sounds good," you respond, looking forward to wandering the nearby streets and taking in the sights.

"Namjoon is at the gym, but if you want to wait for him, he should be back in an hour or so."

An hour feels like too long to wait, and you are already slipping into a black satin mini slip dress and black flats.

"I'll be good on my own," you insist once you are dressed, pulling Yoongi close to plant a kiss against his jaw. "Good luck with your deal, kitten."

At the nickname, Yoongi nibbles on his lip, then he kisses you on the forehead and takes his leave. The afternoon is young, and you grab a small black purse and head out the door with nothing but your cell phone, Yoongi's black credit card, and a smile on your face.

Although the storefronts are enticing, you feel restless by the prospect of shopping alone, and decide it would be best to bring the guys back another time, should the urge strike you again. Truth be told, you have more than you could possibly want at the mansion as it is, with the two of them surprising you with luxurious garments dangling from hangers on a regular basis. There is nothing you truly feel that you need, so instead you take in the sights, window shop, and snap some photos to be uploaded online at a later time.

Hours pass meandering the streets, and you return to the room holding a big bouquet of pink and white long-stemmed roses and a bag of danishes in one hand while balancing a cardboard drink holder containing three lattes in the other. A sweet old man sold flowers from a small booth near the café you stopped at, and you could not resist bringing a bundle of them back to the hotel, despite already having your hands full.

The small marble table beside the door to your suite comes in handy as you gently place the drink carrier down and dig into your purse for the room key. With a smile, you quietly insert and turn the key, doing your best not to alert the men to your return, with the intention of surprising them with treats.

You lied, saying you would be out a little later, hoping to surprise them with your arrival. Namjoon should have returned from the gym by now, and you expect Yoongi may be back as well, so your hope is that they are both together, and possibly in the middle of something sweet or steamy for you to walk in on.

As the wooden door creaks open, a strange vinegary scent hits your nose. But, Paris is full of strange smells, so you do not overthink it as you drop the key into your purse and pick up the drinks. The suite is surprisingly quiet, which sets a feeling of disappointment in your tummy; you were really hoping to return to at least one of your men.

It is precarious, but you manage to slip from your shoes while keeping everything in your hands balanced. From the bedroom, you think you hear a soft sound, almost like a hiss, and you turn your attention toward the noise with a smile.

"Namjoon?" you call, slowly walking through the large suite to the tall double doors of the bedroom. "Yoongi?"

You catch the sound of a deep, low groan, and you stop in your tracks. It was definitely a Yoongi noise, but what is he up to? And is he alone? You nibble on your bottom lip as you tip-toe closer, eager to hear more sweet sounds. When silence continues to fill the space you step a little more quickly, feeling your heart pound while you carry the many items you have forward.

One of the large double doors is open about an inch, and you tap it gently with your toe, willing it to move just enough to peek your head inside before stepping in completely. It takes a moment for the scene to come fully into view, covering you head to toe in an icy chill that holds you trapped in place.

Yoongi sits on the edge of the mattress with his head hung low, drooping forward. His right arm is outstretched with the sleeve of his beige silk shirt rolled up past his elbow. A pinkish mark wraps around his upper arm, as if something had been tightly tied around it and had only just been removed, and cradled in his left hand, which hangs limply over his knee, is a needle.

"Kit—Yoongi?" you try, voice coming out shaky and hoarse.

There may as well be a barrier between the two of you because Yoongi does not stir. The urge to run to him and check his pulse or slap his face or scream at him is high, but you are unable to move.

You hear it before you feel it. The flowers, bag of danishes, and tray of coffee slip from your fingers and hit the floor in a heavy crash of paper and liquid. The scalding feeling of spilt coffee burns your feet and you slowly take two steps backward until you are met with the closed of the two doors, and you wrap your hand around the edge of it, clinging onto the painted wood like a lifeline.

Slowly, Yoongi turns his head, blinking heavily. He appears happy and then, all at once, terrified, dropping the needle from his hand and attempting to get up. But his limbs seem too heavy, and he just places his hands on the edge of the bed and sighs, slumped forward with a dazed, distant look in his eyes.

"Darling, it's not—" he begins to mutter, syllables jumbled and slurred and coming out in a pile that is hardly recognizable as words.

"What did you do?" you ask, frozen in place against the door.

Frantically, it occurs to you that you need Namjoon. Where is Namjoon?

"I just—" Yoongi hangs his head low and although you hear no sound, you watch his shoulders bounce as if he is either laughing or crying. "Hyunjin and–and everything—I fucked up. What if…what if I lose you, too?"

Hot tears stream down your face as a large, deep exhale pushes from your lungs, and suddenly, you are able to move. Slung over your torso is your small black purse, the presence of which you are made aware of as everything comes back into focus and you are able to make sense of what is happening. Although the ringing in your ears grows in pitch, you do your best to stay grounded and present.

All at once in a frenzy, you yank the purse from below your arm until it rests over your tummy, and you begin to navigate its flaps and zippers with shaking hands, desperate to find your phone. You nearly drop it as you pull it out and, fucking up your passcode—9394—twice before the screen lights up with your many useless apps and widgets shining brightly, making your vision blur. Rather than make sense of your contact list, you open your messaging app, find Namjoon at the top of the list, and then call him from there.

Yoongi lays back against the bed with his eyes wide, staring at the ceiling while his arms move out to both sides. You want to go to him, to hug him and kiss him and beg him for answers. You also want to grab one of the expensive vases that litter this gaudy suite and bash his fucking face in.

"Sweetheart?" you hear Namjoon ask distantly, and you blink heavily as you remember that you had placed a phone call. "Are you already back in the room?"

The phone had only been partially lifted to your ear, and you pull it quickly the rest of the way.

"N-Namjoon," you whimper, feeling the weight of the world crushing your chest as a sob follows the sound of his name.

"What is it? Are you alright?"

You shake your head uselessly and sniffle.

"Yoongi, he's—I—" You cannot bring yourself to say it; you cannot wrap your lips around the words.

"Is Yoongi safe? Is he there with you?"

"He's…he's…using—Namjoon, help…"

A heavy sob breaks through you, and you collapse, sliding down to the floor, sitting in warm coffee. Namjoon is out at some unknown location, Yoongi is using heroin, and you are trapped in Paris with nowhere to go—with no home to return to that feels like your own.

"Fuck," Namjoon responds, which sounds far away as your phone slips from your ear and your arm begins to fall to the cold marble floor.

You think you hear Namjoon say he will be right here before the call ends and the screen goes black, but all you can do is stare ahead at the crème-colored satin sheets in which you confessed your love with all your body and heart the night before, and cry.

You hardly perceive the conversation—if you can call it that—which takes place once Namjoon arrives. All you parse amidst the storm is frantically demanding to be taken back to Korea, thrashing your arms as Namjoon attempts to comfort you, and calling Yoongi a barrage of terrible things. You wished you had never met him; wished you had never told him you loved him.

The look of hurt on his face plays over in your mind whenever you blink. It feels as if hours pass before Yoongi is cognizant, and the moment he attempts to console you, you freak out, screaming and shoving him away.

How dare he turn to a drug that serious, especially during this trip? What was he thinking; how could he be so selfish?

You feel flabbergasted and foolish, knowing that it was he who Namjoon and Jeongguk were discussing out on the mezzanine the other day. How dare Namjoon keep his suspicions over something like this from you? You confessed your love for them; does that mean nothing to them?

Unable to relax, Namjoon offers you a xanax. And although you are furious with him for doling out drugs at a time like this, you pop it into your mouth with a gulp of flat, warm champagne and allow yourself to sink into the cream-colored couch. You threaten them, telling them that you had better be on a fucking airplane when you wake up; the sight of both of them makes you so sick that you hug a pillow with your back turned to the room and fall asleep sobbing, feeling crushed under the weight of heartache and disappointment.

To your surprise, when you wake from a dreamless sleep, you are not on an airplane, and it is Jimin's smiling face that greets you.

"Hmm?" you grumble as you release the pillow and turn, stretching your sore limbs, which have been bunched up on the couch. "What are you doing here?"

The suite is dark, with only two lamps lighting the space, and you glance around, noticing that all traces of your visit are gone, with the exception of a long peacoat, your purse, and your shoes. All hints of Yoongi and Namjoon have been taken away.

"I'm here to take you home," Jimin says softly, lips fallen into a frown.

A sob shakes through your chest as you sit up and wrap your arms around Jimin's neck, pulling him into you until he loses his balance and leans, hugging his arms around you. Jimin shushes you as the fight to not cry becomes a losing battle, rubbing his palms up and down your back.

"I promise you, we had no idea," he mutters, and although you have no reason to believe he may be lying, his words do not soothe you one bit. The idea of Yoongi keeping such a secret from not only you but Namjoon chills you to the bone. What else might he be hiding?

"I was so scared," you sputter through sobs, sniffling loudly against the palm of your hand. "I said horrible things."

"I know," Jimin responds sweetly, hugging you tighter. "I'm sure he understands. And I'm sure he deserves some of those things. Maybe not all, but…you have every right to be afraid and angry."

"I just don't understand," you sob, feeling hopeless.

With a sigh, Jimin tightens the hug before releasing it.

"Let's talk more on the plane?" he offers, and you nod, sniffling and rubbing the back of your hand over your nose.

Jimin stands tall in a long black peacoat, and he walks to where a matching one hangs and grabs it. You approach and allow him to drape the garment over your shoulders, still wearing the coffee-stained black satin slip dress, and you grab onto the lapels to hug it tight while Jimin gathers your purse and checks the room to make sure nothing is being left behind.

The walk down to the lobby is quiet, but Jimin's presence speaks volumes. He is patient and kind, standing tall beside you, offering warm, delicate touches when you struggle to hold your composure. A black sedan waits outside, and Jimin retrieves the key from the man behind a valet podium, then he unlocks the door and opens it for you, waiting for you to slide inside.

The sky is dark; an entire day passed while you slept in a ball on that couch.

Although you are grateful, you dread what happens next. Once you get onto an airplane and return to Seoul, you will be stuck sharing a bed with a stranger. After all these months you feel like you are back at square one, if not further than where you started. Do you know Yoongi at all? Is it possible that he has been honest with you about anything?

Jimin gets into the vehicle and drives to the airport. It is then that you finally begin to get your myriad thoughts in order and attempt to make a decision.

"I can't go home," you blurt, half expecting Jimin to argue.

"Alright," he says simply, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

"Alright?" you ask, watching to see if he is fucking with you.

Jimin shrugs and glances at you before turning his gaze back to the road. "You don't have to go home. Do you want to stay here?"

A shiver runs along your spine, and you respond, "No," unsure whether you can ever return to Paris again. At least, for now, you need to create some distance.

"Do you want to stay with me?" Jimin offers, and you drop your gaze to your hands, which fidget in your lap.

"I don't want to be a burden," you mutter, surprised when Jimin chuckles.

"Please, dove, I own a mansion. And I practically live at work; you would hardly see me."

You nod, willing to accept his offer without any more arguing. After all, the homes they all own are rather large; if you wanted to, you could probably go days avoiding him. Not that you imagine you would.

"Can I come to the club too?" you ask, suddenly curious about what it is like inside the brothels. As far as you have been able to glean, they are nightclubs—like Serendipity—or strip clubs—like Paradise.

"Sure," Jimin offers easily, smiling softly while glancing briefly at you. "But I am not teaching you how to dance. Yoongi would kill me."

Although you had not previously considered learning, the thought of having anything denied makes you cross your arms over your chest and pout.

"But what if I want to learn?" you ask in a small voice, winning you a louder chuckle.

"We'll see," is all Jimin says as he pulls into a gated entrance, flashes an identification card, and begins to drive over to a private jet that looks identical to the one you flew over in.

Jimin parks beside the aircraft and a team of men in black suits open the doors for the two of you and usher you up the small set of steel steps. Wind whips around, and you are relieved to return to warmth as you take the final step into the jet.

The interior is nearly identical to Yoongi's—black, gold, and mahogany—only the lights are all light blue, with red light shining from the small bedroom all the way to the back.

"How did you get here so fast?" you ask as you make your way to the small leather couch and plop down.

Jimin bows to the staff who close the airplane door, then he turns to you and shrugs. "I was in the area."

At this, you scoff, unsure what that might even mean.

"In the area?" you parrot in a mocking tone, sniffling embarrassingly loudly.

"After everything that has been going on, I needed a break," Jimin explains as he approaches and sits beside you. Without warning, he pulls his legs up onto the small couch and slides onto his side, resting his head in your lap. The movement is so vulnerable and sweet, and you do not second guess it, wrapping an arm over his arm and chest and allowing yourself to comfort the both of you as he continues.

"I own that suite you were staying in, and a penthouse not too far from there, and happened to be around, so Namjoon called and asked if I would take care of you while he gets Yoongi home. He was actually with me when you called, but I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate for me to join him, so I waited."

You grunt in response, displeased to hear their names and picture their beautiful, stupid faces.

"Namjoon will assist him in getting the help he needs," Jimin offers quietly, and you huff out a sigh and rest your head back, staring at the shiny off-white ceiling.

"What if he doesn't?" you ask weakly, feeling the heavy emptiness return to your chest. "I told them that I love them, Jimin. And this is what he does. I don't know what to do; how can I love someone who does something like that?"

Jimin sighs and nuzzles into your thigh, attempting to hug you at the angle he lays, and then he sits up, pulls his legs under him, and turns until he is facing you. As soon as he opens his mouth, the pilot announces that the plane is ready for takeoff, causing him to chuckle softly and shake his head. Then he takes your hands in his and you turn your body as well, facing him with your ankles tucked beneath you.

"Heroin is a terrible drug," Jimin states with sadness in his eyes. "Yoongi…he got into it at a young age, using pills first. And when Ryujin left…things got really bad for a while. We all thought we might lose him."

"I thought he wanted her to leave," you mutter, more of a statement than a question.

Jimin squeezes your hands and drops his gaze down as he says, "Sometimes important decisions—ones that we know we have to make—still hurt like hell."

You think back to Felix telling you about Jimin and his ex, and the choice he made to take the man's life. You wonder what other decisions he has had to make that must have hurt like hell. You wonder what decisions you will be faced with.

Suddenly, you remember Seokjin's proposition, and you wonder how difficult it might be to disappear completely. Maybe you do not take up his offer to help them spy on Ryujin. Maybe…maybe you leave Korea entirely, at least for a little while.

"I have more questions, but…" you nibble on your cheek, feeling nausea rise as the plane lightly jolts and begins to ascend into the sky. "I don't think I want to talk about this more right now. Can we watch a movie, instead?"

Jimin smiles and pulls you into a hug, and you let out a large breath you had not realized you had been holding onto. Everything feels a little less uncertain and scary now that Jimin is around, and you are grateful for his friendship.

"We'll talk when you're ready," Jimin says, hugging you tighter, and you close your eyes and feel more tears well up.

"Thank you, Jimin," you mutter, feeling sadness and hope quake behind your ribs. "Thank you for everything."

Take onе in the temple, my tonguе is a vessel I try to be careful with the thing inside my chest You shoot for the memory so you can forget me I'll leave if you let me, ooh

But I won't die for love But ever since I met you You could have my heart And I would break it for you

🎵 visit the playlist

in case baby armys don't catch the reference: when Yoongi says, "Figured I can't bring you all the way to Hong Kong without taking you to Hong Kong," is a reference to Cypher Pt. 3 where he refers to giving an orgasm as to taking someone to Hong Kong.

😬😬😬 how are we doing, friends? i know i have said this so many times, but please trust the process. things might seem really bleak sometimes, but stick with me!!! as always, please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators! and likes are also appreciated.

tag list: @afangirllikeme-blog @annacroft23114 @angel-121 @artgukk @btsiguess-kpop @bts-ficreviews @che-er-ful @codeinebelle @curryshesus @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @fringe-frank @illnevertrustmyselfagain @jalexad @juju-227592 @kissme-ornot @leanimal90 @likeshatteredrainbowglass @m1sss1mp @mayeolorie @mgthecat @mushroom-main @mwitsmejk @openup-yourmind @pamzn @sleepilysworld @stocking221 @spookyminyunki @thelilbutifulthings @valhallawhispers 🗡️ comment or dm to be added!

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

#yoongi smut #yoongi mafia #yoongi x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon mafia #namjoon x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts poly #bts mafia #namgi #fic: collateral

226 notes · View notes