#it’s fucking annoying when men get mad at a problem THEY caused and then blame women and queer ppl for it

[dragynkeep]

(Sorry for dragging this topic back but) I don’t think Taiyang is abusive. However, I’m personally annoyed with how flippantly the show treats Taiyang’s parenting because its so half assed [how they depict it], me thinks. Granted, I haven’t watched past Volume 3, so that might be coloring my perception and I don’t have all the details, but it would have been so much better showing the effects of Yang taking care of Ruby at a young age, and Ruby being taken care of by someone literally 2 years older than her, with Taiyang absent and Qrow presumably away a lot.

Firstly, the show is way too ambiguous with it. How does Ruby feel about it? How does Qrow? Hell, does Taiyang ever talk to Yang about that? Is there even some sort of “sorry I was kind of out of it in your formative years” “Hey, don’t worry about it, since you’re here now and I know you’re doing your best and I’m glad we’re talking about it now”???

What did Yang have to do to help? Did she have to make Ruby’s breakfast and/or her own? Did she have to take her to and from school? Help her get showered? Clean their room? Wash their clothes? Could this tie into Yang’s recklessness and supposed overprotectiveness? Was there a babysitter? How much does Qrow contribute to their household and in what way(s)? What would have let Taiyang leave a cabin of two kids in/near the woods in a world where creatures like Grimm exist (was someone supposed to be watching them, did Tai have an emergency, did he just up and fucking leave, how long was he gone, was Qrow there, etc)? I know some of these are uncharitable perspectives but we aren’t getting any details and this stuff happens far more often than people think.

It just hits too close to my own home situation, where my mom would literally be in the house and not help with chores or talk to us much, but just stay in her room on hours long calls with her neighbor while adultifying my older sister, because my mom was also an adultified first born girl and refuses to deal with that, and seeing the show just drop this plot point without explaining how we got from Taiyang being sad to Taiyang being Best Dad (TM) is actually triggering to me.

I think another reason why people don’t like Taiyang is the same reason why people don’t like Ozpin, and that’s because the show gives these nonsensically contradicting traits or moments or descriptions, and its so confusing that its easier to do the time-old RWBY fan manouver and just tweak each scene to how you originally percieved the character.

Is Ozpin a manipulative shadow leader or a tragic figure who just wanted to help the world? I dunno, the show’s too busy trying to get people mad about BIIIIIIRDS to actually deal with either the fact that Ozpin willingly sent a bunch of first years to a third year mission to stop terrorists who then cause The Breach, or the fact that Salem abused him.

Is Taiyang a parent genuinely trying his best or a neglectful jerk who can’t even see his kids at the Vytal Tournament? I dunno, I know literally nothing about this man except he shows up at the ass end of Volume 3 and start of Volume 4, and any meaningful description of what he might be as a parent is muddled by the fact that his kids love him but he invites Peter the creepy teacher and tricked Qrow into wearing a skirt because “MaN sKiRt FuNnY”. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about him, there’s really both too much and too little going on with him.

honestly agree, & this seems to be a consistent problem with a lot of peripheral characters like the parents where we're told one thing & shown another. the belladonnas are another excellent example of it where like, we're told they're amazing parents & they love blake more than anything but also didn't do anything when she ran away to a supposed terrorist organization, exposed her to violent protests as a child, told her it was her job to tame violent men around her as a woman, & allowed her to blame herself for all the trauma she's carried for years.

shown one thing, told another. should be rwby's motto really.

[bisluthq]

I am one person who believes, from hindsight, that Taylor is the cause of the failure of most of her relationships, because she has no idea of what she wants, or even what love is. She had to have Ed tell her what the different kinds of love were, and she still hasn’t learned. Most of her obsessions seem to be based on lust, and not a true love. When the excitement passes, she wonders why her partner is so distant, then she becomes hostile. She loves the idea of love, and feels she has been treated unfairly, but it was her who made the wrong choices, with men totally unsuitable for her. Look at the list of her ex lovers. It is always her who decides on a relationship, for she as she says, is the mastermind, and the queen, though. I have no problem with her sexual appetite, but saying she loved almost of them in song is telling. She never knew what love is.

eh lol I mean obviously she's part of why every relationship she's been in failed because it takes two people to fuck a relationship up. It is very odd of Swifties to always blame the guy, but as I've said before there is a particular kind of hetty woman (which I think Taylor can be and many Swifties are) who always blames the guy for things not working out lol and that's... obviously not true. You do get cases where someone specific is to blame/really does horrible things/is the cause of the breakup but by and large most things fuck out because you're both imperfect and your imperfections don't mesh well with each other's and you're not working on fixing it and getting to a point where it works.

I don't think it's fair to lay the blame squarely on her though, as you've done, and I also don't know that there's a problem in things not working out? It's not per se a failure. Some things just don't work out. I'm a big believer in different people for different seasons yk like I don't think I'd be with my exes if I met them now but also (actually in part because of the age gap, which would've been imo mad fucked when I was in my early 20s) I wouldn't have been with my current partner at a different point in my life. I also don't know that I'll be with him forever and ever (I hope so and we're both committed to working on shit but I don't KNOW that???) and that doesn't mean I don't love him rn or I don't know what love is, it's just that at some point our priorities and lifestyles might shift and/or we'll want different things and/or things we're willing to live with or overlook will become more annoying (I kinda doubt the latter because we've both been working so hard on this and do go to therapy and do like actively try and we've fixed a lot of things that way but that's us being committed to the process like these things didn't magically fix themselves because we loved each other so much lmao).

So I don't know if Taylor's made "the wrong choices" or if like... they were decent choices when she made them but like overall obviously things didn't work out?? Which is okay???

[soapoperabub]

Regrets

( Draco Malfoy x Reader )

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, cheating, swearing

"Sometimes it's not the butterflies that tell you you're in love, but the pain."

It's been a full year now since I graduated Hogwarts. I didn't really think my experience there was going to be full of drama. Yeah, I expected chaos, but not that kind. You can tell Hogwarts really made an impact in my life, considering how I'm still thinking about my time there a year later.

But let's think about something else. That's why I'm here. In a place filled with...humans. I'm still getting used to it. If I could, I would've obliviated some idiot drivers near here.

I looked outside from the small café porch and sighed. It's been so quiet these days that I almost miss the chaos. Almost. It still caused me trauma.

Wanting to clear my thoughts a little, I exited the café and went on a little stroll around the neighborhood. There were people carrying newspapers and baskets of bread. Stealing them was tempting, but I didn’t have my wand.

"To hell with you!"

I turned to my right and spotted two grown men bickering in an alley and newspapers on the floor. I shook my head and was about to leave when the other guy spoke.

"Look, I'll buy you some new ones, alright?"

My legs froze. It almost seemed too familiar for me. I turned back to my right, hoping I just heard wrong. But I didn't. Why is he here?

"Draco..?"

Our eyes met. Shit. Hoping he didn't have time to recognise me, I turned my head away and started walking in a fast pace towards my apartment.

"Y/N,"

Shit. Shit. Shit. Almost jogging now, I quickened my pace but why would I bother, when I know just how stubborn he can be.

"Y/N, is that you?" he tugged on my sleeve with a little force, causing me to stop in my tracks. I wouldn't turn around, so he stepped in front of me instead. His grey eyes played the moments we shared back in Hogwarts like a record. I drifted my gaze away, if I get reminded of them, it'll just be harder to leave.

----

*flashback*

I sat on my bed with my legs crossed, waiting for Draco to open the door to the dorm as he promised to meet me here. He's already 15 minutes late. Giving up, I threw my phone on the nightstand and was about to get myself tucked in bed when the door opened.

"Sorry, Stupid Potter got in my way back there."

Shooting myself back up to sit down, I glared at him. "I waited 15 minutes, Draco. Fifteen."

He just smiled in reply and sat down beside me with an arm over my shoulder. "I know, and I'm sorry." Looking at him, I couldn't possibly stay mad at his adorable smile. Knowing he probably never says sorry to anyone else at campus except me, I decided to forgive him.

"Alright, so where are we going tonight? Star-gazing? A walk around the town? Oh, can we please sneak into that new shop that sells exploding bon bons?" His eyes started to soften, almost sad-looking. "I can't stay for long. My father is expecting me. He arranged a.. meeting with someone."

"Oh," I knew how strict his father was. I also knew how much he feared him, so I didn't have the right to blame him. "It's okay, we can always go next time." I plastered on a forced smile, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Almost every night, we sneak out of campus and walked around town. Last year on this very day was when we officially started dating, but he didn't even mention it today. 'He's going through something with his dad.' I thought to myself.

"I'm sorry, I really am." Without even hesitating, he stood up and walked out the door.

The next few days, I barely even got to see him. He's been.. distant. I would see him in the hallways every so often, but when I call out to him, he leaves. Did something bad happen with his father? Why isn't he telling me about it? He normally does. We don't keep secrets because we feel like it'll drift us further apart. Today, I want to confront to him about it. I need to. I can't keep living every day like nothing ever happened.

I took a deep breath before heading towards his dorm. Crabbe told me he's not attending Dark Art's lessons today, and that he'll be in their dorm. Gathering all my courage, I lifted my hand to knock when I heard a girl's voice coming from inside.

"You have no idea how honored I was when I found out I had been given Lucius's blessing."

"He just knows how much I love you. That's probably why." Draco? No. Surely I heard wrong.

"Oh, Draco." The courage I mustered up before, acted on it's own, and now I'm watching another woman in the arms of the only person I have ever given my heart to. I couldn't move a single inch, my brain was still processing what I've just seen and the tears were piling up in my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. "Y/N," I looked back up at him. He pulled away from her, but just stood there.

"Oh, is that one of your friends? Hi, I'm Astoria. Astoria Greengrass." She smiled at me. I didn't know who to despise. Her or the foolishness of my actions.

"Y/N, I can explain." I couldn't even look his way because I knew if I did, the tears I've been holding back would escape. I didn't want to look weak. Not in front of her. Not in front of him. I didn't want him to know he hurt me. I didn't want him to look at me like I was a poor child who lost something so precious. "Y/N, look at me." He started walking towards me and I took a few steps backwards.

"Explain? Explain what, Draco? What is there to explain? How her presence is better than mine? Oh, I know. How consoling her hugs are, perhaps?"

"Y/N, if you would just listen to me-"

"Draco, what's going on--" Astoria spoke up. "Please, Astoria this is my problem to fix. Get out." This was the first time I've heard him raise his voice like that. Even I winced at the harshness of his words. She left, hitting her shoulder with mine.

"Y/N.. I know it looks bad. But you've got to believe me, my dad. He-"

"Blaming the father again, are we? Please, Draco. I've seen the way you were holding her. I've heard the words you tell her. You can't tell me it was all an act. Acting doesn't look that real." You could hear the cracks in my voice.

Silence. There was no reply. He didn't say anything. Does that mean what I said was true? Did he truly love her?

"Come on, then. Tell me it's not true. Tell me everything you told her was a lie. Even if it was your father's doing, can you really leave her and come to me?" Unable to hold back, my lower eyelashes were drenched and so were my cheeks.

"I'm so sorry.. I'm sorry, Y/N."

That was all I needed. Ripping my gaze away from his sorrowful eyes, I turned around and walked away.

*end of flashback*

---

I found myself in the same café I was in earlier this morning, but with the person I wished I had forgotten sitting before me.

He never took his eyes off me since we entered the café, and I started to feel uncomfortable. "I've missed you."

"Save it. I really don't wanna hear it right now. Get to the point. What do you want?" His eyes now left mine and wandered the cafe's interior. "How long have you been here? Is the food nice? Can't be better than those exploding bon bons though, right?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Exploding bon bons? You mean the ones we were gonna get but didn't, because you ditched me for.. what was her name, Astoria?"

"Y/N-"

"Is that why you wanted to talk to me? To remind me we had a fucked-up past?" The audacity of this man caused me to cross my arms and furrow my eyebrows. "Y/N, I told you it was my fath-"

"Shut up." I was sick and tired of his talks about his father. It's always his father. His source of excuses was his father and I knew that better than anyone.

Another pause of silence. Fed up, I picked up my jacket from the chair and walked out to leave-

"I left her."

My body involuntarily froze.

"I left her because of you. Because whenever I'm with her, I get reminded of the moments we shared. And I miss them. I miss you." I turned over to look at him.

"What do you want me to do? Thank you? Apolagise? Draco, do you have any idea what you even did?" I started getting more and more annoyed as he kept going.

"Yes. Yes, I know. And I'm not asking for you to thank me or apolagise. Just.. just give me another chance." His words almost made me scoff.

"You-"

"I won't ask for anything more.  All I'm asking for is for you to at least forgive me. I was a child. I didn't know anything. I fucked up, I know that now and I promise I changed. Just please.. If I'm gonna lose someone, I can't let it be you."

There was truth in his words and I wanted to believe him. His words lured me in. I was helpless at this point.

"Whatever." I tried hiding the smile that grew on my face but I'm sure he noticed.

He gave me a big smile like a little kid who has just seen a basket of chocolate. "Thank you."

A few months passed and we would meet everyday. I've always known I still had lingering feelings for him, however I didn't want to believe I loved someone who thought so little of me.

We weren't dating, I couldn't let him get away with it so easily. But I started to think that he changed, and I meant more to him than anyone else in the world, so I decided to ask him today. I trusted him, and he probably does too.

We were supposed to meet at mine today, but I had to go out and get some groceries so I gave him the keys and told him to wait for me there. On my way back, I picked out some bon bons to surprise him with. I didn't like how something only ever reminded me of bad times. I wanted to replace the negativity with positivity.

Taking my heels off and tidying myself before the big moment, I twisted the doorknob but my actions came into a halt when I heard.. Lucius?

"She is not worth your time. I told you once, and I'll tell you for the last time. You are to be with Astoria." His words were sharp and stern.

"Father, I told you,  I'm in love with-"

"Silence."

The room was quiet.

"I have already set the time and place of your proposal. Make it run smoothly."

My heart sank. Proposal?

With that, the door opened and I stood there, hopelessly, like a lost child. Lucius ignored my presence and walked out while Draco just looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his breathing was unsteady.

"Draco.." Neither of us knew what to say because we knew we were powerless. There wasn't a single thing either of us could do to make this situation any better.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Why is it that all I ever hear him say is sorry? Why is our relationship full of reasons to be sorry for?

He was about to walk out but I held onto his wrist, stopping him from leaving. I didn't want it to end there. I didn't want 'us' to end there. I've been hurt this way before and I didn't want it to happen again.

"You told me you changed," Deep inside, I wished he would answer the way I wanted him to, but of course that won't happen.

"I guess I haven't." Why does he always make me feel powerless? Why does he always make me feel weak?

Slowly releasing my hand away from his wrist, he gave me one last smile before leaving.

I was left with so many questions. What would have happened if I wasn't so harsh on him? Were we bound to be separated from the very beginning? Did I meet him again just to feel the same pain I did back then? Was this all just to remind me that I'm not worthy of him? That I'm not worthy of love?

What about us? Was there even an 'us' to begin with?

A/N: I wasn’t so confident about this story but I mustered up the courage to post it. If there’s something you see that needs improvement, please tell me :) I need honest feedback.

[stagwhisker]

Actually this brings me to another gripe and warriors vs the fandom and that theres chunks of this fandom who can't understand framing vs context and think that because the book frame a character as good they can do bad things at best and be garbage at worst and vice versa.

I see this mainly with Bramblestar but it applies to others like Breezepelt, Blossomfall, Bluestar, I swear it's more than B names these are the ones I can remember off the top of my head.

The books want you to think these characters as great or having good reasons for doing the shit they did and they just don't. They try to do this by having other characters refer to them in good light or stand up for them in a good way and just no???

Bluestar was always paranoid and possesive (and WILDLY hypocritical) then when she began to fall apart she chose to let her clan rot instead of stepping down. Also naming a traumatized woman after the thing that she felt ruined her? Good job asshole maybe your warrior name should have been Deadmom. Also idk how many people remembered this but she was a dick to her kits when they were still in the nursery. Instead of trying to explain to Mosskit that food was short she said, and I QUOTE "I'm your mother. If I've said you've had enough to eat, then you have." When Mosskit responds "That's not fair!" Bluestar replies with "Life's not fair." Which is so bad fucks sake.

Blossomfall is just plain asshole and it honestly blows my mind that IvyBlossom is so popular considering she spent just about any page time with Ivypool bullying her and treating her like shit. Then later on she grows up to be an adult who comes off as genuinely Xenophobic(as applied to wc) and that ends up alienation her son who ends up dying over this shit.

Breezepelt was manipulated by the Dark Forest into beleiving what they TOLD him Crowfeather felt about him. Was Crwofeather a good dad? No. Did he hate his son? No. The neglect Breezepelt had was no excuse to do the shit he did. This leans more towards a section of the fandom thinking his action were justified because uwu sad backstory I can relate to, but no they were not. Breezepelt was an adult for all of the bad shit he did outside of aggravating Thunderclan cats, it was entirely his decision independant of what Crowfeather did and for once the books actually acknowledged this through Crowfeather himself of all people.

Bramblestar falls into "The Erins are misogynistic and will blame women for the problems caused by men" category. I'll bite and tell you BrambleSquirrel was a terrible idea from the first book of New Prophecy because Bramblestar set in his mind an image of Squirrelflight and seemingly carried that his whole life. Brambleclaw saw Squirrelpaw as an annoying apprentice and got pissy when she tried correcting him. This follows them until they are grown ass adults when The Sisters came into play. Bramblestar refused to listen to Squirrelflight and actively made things worse by not doing so which forces Squirrelflight to go behind his back to try to SAVE other cats. When all hell breaks loose the fandom wants to blame Squirrelflight when all she did was try to make sure these cats and pregnant woman didnt get fucking killed which ended up happened anyway because guess fucking who. When Fireheart did it to Bluetsar for similar reason it was "brave" and "the right thing to do" but because it's Squirrelflight now it's "backstabbing" and "betrayal".

Also

Real talk, if you are with a parent, loved one, or friend and had the thought "I want to tell them this, but I don't want them to be mad." comes to mind first, that's a sign you've been abused. When you are afraid to share information or talk about things because they'll get angry, they've blown up at you, blew things way oit of proportion, and belittled you for shit they shouldn't have. Squirrelflight's Hope is littered with this and it deeply concerns me that the fandom wants to look at this textbook example of an abuse victim and say it's her fault she feels this way.

I'm not gonna go over the reveal of the Three because I'll level with you if I was put on the spot like Holly did to her parents I probably would have panicked and said some dumb shit too. But then it's up them to talk about it and work through it.

Another thing that Bramblestar does that really irks me in regards to Squirrelflight is how he always wants her to listen and consider his feelings but doesn't always want to do the same for her. This refers to Moonlight too but mainly Hawkfrost. All Brambleclaw had to do was assure her that he hears her and considers her feelings but would make his own decision. Thats IT, it's not that hard. She may not had had solid proof Hawkfrost was evil but he doesn't hide his abuse of Mothwing very well either and if your boyfriend is willing to side with his brother who abuses his own family you'd drop his ass too because that's pretty telling of a person.

The Hakwfrost situation was wild on it's own anyway because he was so onviously bad to begin with and Brambleclaw just went with it until he couldn't anymore and then never ahd any concequences for it when other female characters do way less and get way worse.

Whatever this has turned into a mile long rant but the point is teh Erins can't write characters and then treat them as they are and it's most noticable with Bluestar and Bramblestar. Anyway I'm gonna make some coffee so I can chill.

[whitetrashjj]

“I love Pope for the most part but he is a very flawed character- which I think needs to be acknowledged by a lot more by his fans. I go back and forth on him because of these things but it’s also very evident to see when people hate on Pope because of his genuine character flaws and the people who just have internalised racism.”

what flaws? you keep saying pope has flaws, pope stans see through his flaws, the things he’s done wrong… what flaws? can you please list them for us? i’m not even trying to be rude i’m genuinely confused

Okay so I know you’ve been eagerly waiting on the edge of your seat to hear my thoughts on this so I’ve finally got to it. But thank you so for your patience and realising that I don’t actually owe you a response.

Before we start let me state once again, as you’ll chose to ignore this. I don’t hate Pope, I loved him for the first half of the series, that’s the Pope that I like to think of, that’s the Pope that I write in my fics. Then he did some stuff that did not sit right with me, I haven’t completely written him off but I do think that how he’s written in s2 will have a big impact on my opinion.

I’m gonna try and take this in chronological order. So well start with 2x7. This isn’t a big one for me but just something about it didn’t feel right.

So we all know JJ stealing that money wasn’t a great choice. I really wish the rest of the pogues tried to actually understand is reasons rather than jump down his throat and assume he was just being impulsive JJ. So when JJ appealed to Pope about it, points out that JJ had just confessed to a felony, took a beating and now owes $30, 000 and possibly could face time served, and is basically just saying I did that for you can you just try and be on my side here. Pope just goes ‘I’m gonna pay you back. I didn’t ask you to do that’ which I just did not vibe with. It felt like saying ‘well you chose to do that so if I pay back the money I don’t owe you anything’. It completely ignores all the other massive effects it’s had on his life and as if Pope eventually being able to pay JJ back doesn’t eliminate the fact that he owes that money now.

No, it’s not gonna make me hate Pope forever but I just didn’t like that reaction.

So then we have ep 8 and Kie and Pope’s fight on the HMS Pogue. The ‘why is it always about John B?’ which is just ridiculous. Why is it about John B? Because he’s just stormed off in a rage with a gun to confront his father's murderer? Like he could be either getting murdered himself or doing some murdering and while I understand Pope is under a lot of pressure about his scholarship those two situations just aren’t comparable. He also then goes on to call her a shitty friend that only cares about John B and wouldn’t care about him or JJ if they were in that situation but then justifies that by bringing up a situation where she wasn’t there for John B. Which makes no sense? It essentially proves that she’s in a different place now than she was then, in which she wasn’t there for John B - a reason why she is so active in wanting to be there for him now - so the fact that she is now proves that her actions then don’t speak to who she is now post-kook year.

That bring us to what really annoyed me about that fight. Pope throwing Kie’s kook year back in her face simply cause he was jealous and mad that Kie wasn’t giving him the same attention she was giving JB. Like, at a really low point she confided in Pope how bad the Kook Academy was for her, told him that she was suicidal and that Sarah was her only beacon of hope only to drop her without question and turning her into the pariah of the school. And what does he do, uses it to antagise her because he’s not happy. I don’t love that Kie pushed him her but damn can you blame her? She told her friend something she had struggled with alone for so long and he just uses it against her like that. I don’t understand how you can be that cruel to someone you supposedly love. 

Ah, yes the love confession scene. Now even if we ignore how bad the timing was - and act like being high was a justifiable excuse. Let’s talk about the fact that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ve seen Kie get so much hate for how harsh she was but she tried to let him down easy but he just kept pushing and pushing. Insisting that her reasons weren’t good enough as if she needed a reason other than she just doesn’t see him that way.

Now, of course Pope is allowed to be upset by this, but there is a difference between being upset and the friendzone incel nice guys finish last bullshit that Pope pulled. The acting rude and cold and distant towards her like she wronged him. He was angry at her for not feeling the same way and acted like it was her fault and her problem. The revving of the bike scene will never not make my blood boil, she’s trying to approach him as a friend, talk to him and work things out. He could of told her that he needs some time, that he was upset and hurt but no he shows a complete lack of respect for her and literally silences her. It makes me think about that post that goes ‘men like to talk about how much it sucks to be friendzoned. But what about the hurt of thinking you had a friend only to find out they were only nice to you cause they wanted to fuck you.’ It’s understandable he would be upset but he dealt with that situation so poorly - almost in the way that a flawed character would. 

And then to end it all - now this isn’t Pope’s fault I know - our straight white men in the writers room reward him for treating Kie like that with getting the girl. I don’t know a single girl that would change her mind because of that. It was gross and I hated every second of it. 

I don’t hate Pope, but those we’re shitty things. And yes even if he had his reasons, even if he got mad and acted irrationally, they are still shitty things and that’s okay. He’s a flawed character who acted wrong in a situation, because he’s not perfect - and admitting that doesn’t mean you can’t still love him with your whole heart. 

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes

word count: 3979

Chapters: 1

A week went by in the blink of an eye. It felt like it had dragged on at the same time. The group they were with was larger than Dove had expected it to be. There were about 40 of them, give or take a few. Dove hated it. Sure, some of the people were nice but some of them were people that she generally tried to avoid when not somewhere like where she worked...or used to work, rather. Still, it wasn't that she minded the people they were around at all as long as they contributed and minded their business.

She was used to seeing people like Merle Dixon, methed out of their minds and in for a 72 hour psych eval, strolling out the door after they had kicked it out of their system only to come back a few weeks later most times. Dove was sure she actually had seen Merle like that before but she wasn't about to mention that to him.

"How's your cheek feeling," Carol broke the silence as the two of them walked down to the water, each of them carrying a load of laundry in their arms.

"It's fine. Just stings a little when I touch it is all," Dove cleared her throat. She'd been trying not to think about how the bruise was probably fading, most likely an ugly yellow color by now. "I could ask you the same thing." She hadn't meant it to come out as mean as it did but she noticed the older woman almost flinch at the harshness of her words. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said that." Dove shook her head and gripped the load of laundry she was holding a little tighter.

Carol held her head a up a little higher as she fell into step next to the younger woman. "You're right. You shouldn't have." Dove didn't know what to say. There was probably nothing she could say, after all. She'd made the decision on her own to set up her tent a short distance away from her sister and brother-in-law. If she'd been closer, it definitely would have caused a scene if it were more accessible for her to run to her sister's aid. It had happened before and it would probably happen again.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little..."

"Tense. We all are." Carol shook her head as they stepped through the trees into the small clearing where a small group of other women sat, all doing the same thing they were about to do.

"This is just fucking prehistoric," Dove snorted and shook her head. They had talked about this when more people started filtering in. They definitely had to be careful about other people coming into camp. Some of them could be dangerous. Uncertain times meant that people might come a little more unhinged than they might normally. Most of the other women seemed alright, for the most part. Jacqui was kind, definitely opinionated and observant. Amy and her sister Andrea kept mostly to themselves but seemed pretty nice for the most part. Carol seemed to have really clicked with Lori and Dove found herself not minding the other woman. She'd heard bits and pieces about her husband, Rick, and it made her heart break for Lori and Carl.

Dove had kept her distance from most of the men. Dale seemed pretty nosey, especially when it came to matters like the bruise on her face when he'd first shown up to the camp with Amy and Andrea. Shane had taken over as leader right away. No one seemed to want to question a cop's authority even in what might be the end of the world. Glenn was sweet; she was pretty sure he'd delivered her a pizza a few times when she was late night cramming for college but she didn't want to ask. Even though she didn't want to be around Merle, or his brother by extension, she didn't mind them coming around in the group. They were contributing to feeding the group, after all. Dove was pretty sure they were holding out on some of their hunt, but could she really blame them? Ed had almost lost his mind over Carol offering Lori some of his food on the highway.

In spite of their faults, the Dixons had actually managed to enlighten the people around the campfire on the first night they'd joined them. "Shoot em. Right in the damn head. One of them comes at you, you take the fucking shot. Ain't nobody there anymore." The tone of the younger Dixon had actually made Dove shudder. He was dead serious, there was no doubt about that. Then Merle had called him a fucking buzzkill.

It wasn't hard to notice their sibling dynamic wasn't exactly the healthiest. Maybe her relationship with Carol wasn't the healthiest either. She was a therapist, not a god. "Time to put the mask on," Dove mumbled, causing Carol to let out a quiet laugh as Amy turned and waved at them.

"Hey guys! We thought you were about to ditch out on laundry duty," Amy beamed at them.

"And miss out on some quiet time? Wouldn't miss it for the world," Carol replied brightly as she walked up and sat her and Ed's basket of laundry between her and Jacqui. Damn, she's good at this.

"I mean, I wish it was more like sitting in a laundry mat relaxing instead of manual labor, but I can't complain. I'd rather be doing this than sitting up there debating about what's more important to grab on a run to the city." Dove rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner and Jacqui laughed.

"Were they arguing about what's more important, toilet paper or batteries for the flashlights again?" Jacqui raised an eyebrow and Dove nodded.

"Please, tell me you'll talk some sense into these men on the run if they ever let anyone else go. I mean hell, grab both. I'd say they're both priorities. The campfire is nice every night but once it gets dark? Hell, it's like we walked into fucking Deliverance territory out here." Dove finished by whistling a part of 'Dueling Banjos'. Carol swatted at her with one of her shirts as she went to dip it in the water.

"You stop that." Carol shook her head in an attempt to seem disapproving, but she let out a quiet laugh. Andrea and Amy were laughing next to Dove.

"You think this was what people did when they had to wash clothes together before washing machines and stuff," Amy broke the silence a few minutes later.

Dove wiped the back of her hand across her forehead and moved her hair out of her field of vision. "You mean sweat to death?"

"Give themselves back problems?" Jacqui added before she nodded at the other women. "Probably."

"Probably complained about their husbands too," Andrea added with a subtle look towards Carol. Dove straightened up, ready to say something to the other woman about minding her business when a branch cracked in the woods behind them.

Everyone straightened up at this and Dove reached for the knife she had set next to her basket of laundry on reflex. She overextended herself, not realizing how far it was from her in her panicked state and fell to her knees, fingers closed around the handle of the knife as two figures stepped out from the trees.

Jacqui let out an annoyed sounding sigh as she lowered her own weapon, not bothering to hide the fact she rolled her eyes. Andrea scowled at the two men as Amy attempted to look composed even though Dove was sure she'd heard her panic too.

Carol looked the most shaken up of all of them and Dove couldn't blame her for that. It was what her home had created for her. Instant panic at the thought of the person stepping into their conversation being Ed.

Dove stood up slowly, throwing her knife back into the dirt as she brushed her knees off. "Jesus Christ, Merle. You're lucky none of us had a gun. Would've blown your head off," She grumbled as she turned her back to the older man, heart still racing at the potential of one of those walkers coming out of the woods at them.

"Oh do you think one of you would have, Birdie?" Merle didn't bother to hide his amusement. Dove turned slightly and flipped him off.

"Leave us alone, Merle. Can't you see we're workin' here?"

"Dove..." Carol tugged at her arm and Dove relented, picking up another shirt as she sat half turned towards the woods now.

"Well, shit. We just came to tell you lovely ladies that we hunted squirrel for dinner later. But if you're gonna be ungrateful about it then, shit."

Andrea frowned. Amy tried her best to hide the fact that she was disgusted at the fact that they were having to eat 'little woodland creatures' again. Dove had heard her complaining about it a few nights ago.

"Not being ungrateful, Merle. Just prefer you call me by my name is all," Dove rolled her eyes.

"Oh I'll call your name..." Merle was for sure going to say something that would make Dove want to go for her knife again when Jacqui cut him off.

"Will you be skinning them then? We'll cook them, so long as you do that." Dove shot Jacqui a quick look, trying to convey some kind of thank you without any words.

"I'll do it," a different voice spoke and the two set of sisters turned back to the hunters.

Dove raised an eyebrow slightly. They'd all barely heard Daryl speak since the first night when they were talking about walkers and Chupacabras. He seemed to let Merle do all the talking; or maybe Merle let himself do all the talking.

" Thank you," Carol nodded at him and turned back to the laundry. Ed would be mad if they were gone too long like they were last time.

"Yeah, thanks Daryl." Dove said as the two brothers turned to march back off towards their own campsite. Merle kept walking, the others kept washing their laundry, but Dove didn't miss the fact that Daryl turned slightly and nodded at her in recognition.

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

Dove was always good at keeping herself busy The only way she kept track of days was after she happened to find her planner in her bag as she was looking for clean clothes. That was how she came to realize that three weeks had passed so quickly. How had they been out here for a month at this point? She couldn't imagine how bored the kids around the camp felt and that was when she decided how she would spend the rest of her evening.

Dove sat in one of the folding chairs with a look of concentration on her face. Dark eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed as she glanced up and then back down at her hands again. "Got it," she said so suddenly that Sophia jumped a little in the chair across from her. Carl leaned forward in anticipation as a smug smile appeared on Dove's face. "Got any eights?" She sounded so sure of herself.

"Hm...go fish!" Sophia said brightly after a few seconds.

"Ah hell," Dove grumbled. She didn't miss the sideways look that Carol shot her when she swore. "Alright, Carl. Don't let me down, buddy."

The little boy shrugged, a smile on his face. "Go fish."

"Ah, double hell," Dove almost shouted, much to the amusement of her niece and the little boy.

"Children, that's enough of that," Dale chuckled as he walked past them towards the campfire, "besides I think dinner's ready anyways."

Before Dove could say anything else, the two children jumped to their feet. Sophia following close behind Carl as the two of them ran off to join their mothers near the fire. "Fine! Y'all were a bunch of cheaters anyway," Dove called jokingly after the children and she heard Glenn let out a laugh.

"How can someone cheat at go fish?" Glenn inquired as Dove strolled over behind Dale, who was shaking his head at the younger woman.

"Well, Glenn," Dove sighed as she sat down next to the Asian man, "You can have an eight in your hand and not give it to someone when they call it. Ain't that a good example, Carl?" She turned to look at the boy and waved a finger at him disapprovingly.

Lori ruffled Carl's hair as Glenn let out a quiet laugh. Dale shook his head as he started passing around one of the paper plates that was piled up with meat. "Well, it should be reassuring that fish isn't on the menu for tonight," the older man said which caused Amy to giggle.

"It smells good," Sophia piped up from the spot on Dove's left as the plate got passed to her. Dove shared a look with Carol before her gaze shifted up slightly. Ed didn't eat with the group, but still he lurked there like an albatross around her sister's neck. Carol forced a smile as she handed a piece of the currently unidentified meat to the little girl before passing it on.

It was actually peaceful that night as everyone sat around the fire. It was clear to Dove that most of the men, Shane and the Dixons especially, seemed to still be on high alert. However, the quiet was welcome.

"Ya know, I gotta say. This is probably the best thing I've eaten in almost a month," Shane chuckled as he moved to run a hand through his hair. The group nodded in agreement, a few mumbled 'Thank you's being uttered as everyone gradually finished up their meals.

"Yeah, rabbit is a little more tender than squirrel," Merle Dixon announced loudly as he threw a small bone into the fire.

Sophia let out a little squeak from next to Dove and the dark haired woman moved to put an arm around her niece as Carol brushed Sophia's hair back. "No, no, Soph. I'm sure Merle's just joking." Dove shot a dark look across the fire at the older man. She momentarily thought about jumping over the fire and punching him right in the mouth. The thought would have to be enough for her for today, though. Ed mumbled something from behind Carol, but she was grateful that her sister seemed to ignore it.

"A very mean joke, but I'm sure he's joking," Carol whispered as she pressed a kiss to her young daughter's forehead.

Dove still rubbed the little girl's arm in a comforting manner, her gaze shifted to the other man across the fire from her. Daryl looked miserable as ever but she locked eyes for a split second before he stared back into the fire.

"Yeah, Sophia, I'm sure he just cooked up Daryl's Chupacabra," Morales smirked from beside his wife. The laughter wasn't so quiet now as almost everyone around the fire struggled for a moment to hold in their laughter before Merle let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Knee slap right along with it.

"You hear that, baby brother? You'd know all about that Mexican goat sucker, wouldn't you," Merle shoved Daryl's arm roughly.

Sophia shifted uncomfortably in her mother's arms, but a small smile was on her face. Lori rolled her eyes disapprovingly. "Are we really going to bring that up again? You gave the kids nightmares with that story..."

"Mom," Carl hissed through gritted teeth, "I didn't have nightmares, I swear." There were scattered chuckles around the fire this time. Shane reached over and ruffled the young boys hair, though this only caused the scowl to deepen on Carl's face.

"Yeah, I don't know why y'all try to make fun of that story, either. There's a lot scarier things out there than a Chupacabra," Dove announced to the fire. She couldn't stop the smirk that crept onto her face when most of the attention shifted to her.

"Dove's right. The walkers..." Amy frowned and leaned closer to her older sister.

Dove shook her head quickly, a hand ran through her dark hair. "Nah, I don't mean the walkers. I mean the wendigos," she stated matter-of-factly, "which, hell, might mean the walkers for all we know."

Ed snorted from behind her, "You sure you were workin' in that psych ward and not a patient there? I mean, you were not around enough to be in the loony bin," Ed kicked at the dirt by his feet. 

Dove sneered at her brother-in-law, "You know what..."

"Yeah I thought you were a psych doctor, not a psycho doctor," Merle snickered as he leaned forward in his chair.

"You know what, to you too, Merle Dixon," Dove turned again, a finger pointed at the older man. "I wouldn't make fun of things that you don't have knowledge of! The mind is a powerful thing. Chupacabras might not have been real once, but they might as well be now. There were these monks who practiced this super deep thought...meditation shit, you know? People said that if they focused hard enough on something in their heads, they could make it real. I mean that's the basics of it, but if enough people believed in it, they could make it real." Dove noticed now that most of the attention was shifting from her to Merle. Daryl, however, seemed to have finally moved his focus from the fire right to her.

"Sounds like psycho bullshit to me," Merle leaned back in the folding chair he was sat on, arms folded across his chest.

"Call it psycho bullshit all you want," Dove shrugged her shoulders, "but wendigos seem pretty damn real to me right about now." After a few moments of silence, it was Carl who spoke up.

"What's a wendigo," the quiet little voice spoke up from where he was perched at his mother's feet. Carol narrowed her eyes at her sister, their eyes locked for a moment before Dove looked away. There was movement next to her as Carol stood up, taking Sophia with her. "Thanks for the food. Night. C'mon, Sophia," Carol's voice was quiet as she placed a hand on Dove's shoulder for a moment before moving to usher the young girl off to bed. Dove thought she heard Sophia say something in protest but she didn't come back to the fire.

Dove cleared her throat and shook her head. "Well, Carl. I'll tell you." Dove looked at her feet for a moment before she turned her attention to the little boy, a reassuring smile on her face. She was going to tell this story now, even if just to spite Merle Dixon and Ed Peletier. "You see, back in the olden days, they used to tell stories to people in order to keep them from doing bad things." That was probably the easiest way to explain that to people, especially with children present. "There were these people called the Algonquians," Dove started.

"This is some of that featherhead bullshit. I should've known," Merle snarked.

"No one's making you listen, son," Dale said in a tone that was probably meant to be warning.

"If you don't want to hear the story, why don't you just wander off back to your tent and hope the Chupacabra doesn't get you," Jacqui piped up from the right side of Dale.

"Go on, Sawyer. I wanna hear the rest of it," a quiet voice spoke up. Maybe it was the fact that Jim, who barely spoke, actually said something to her that made her want to continue.

Dove narrowed her eyes slightly, "Anyways, yes they were a Native American tribe. Someplaces in Canada too, I think. There was this story about this trapper from Alberta, I think his name was...Swift something. His family was starving and one of his kids ended up dead."

"What happened to them," Andrea questioned.

"Well...by the time they found them, the guy had killed and ate the rest of his family that was still alive." There were murmured comments of disgust and horror from around the fire. Carl stared up at his mom with wide eyes for a moment before trying to seem like he had some composure. "But mostly, wendigos are seen as these supernatural beings. Cannibals. It was something they used to keep people from eating each other when they were starving in the winter. Legend said that whenever someone resorted to cannibalism, they would never be full again. They would just keep eating and eating. Never stopping. Constantly searching for new victims." Dove finished with a sinister tone.

"Well shit," Merle uttered from across the fire.

"And you know what their favorite food was?" Dove continued in a quiet tone, eyes flicking quickly from one person around the fire to another. "They especially liked to eat....little boys!" She almost shouted as she jumped slightly in Carl's direction.

Laughter echoed around the campfire, Lori shook her head as she tried to suppress a laugh. Carl was trying to look like he hadn't clung to Shane's arm for a split second, a nervous laugh escaped his lips.

"Nah, I'm just joking. What they really have a taste for is bald rednecks," Dove smirked as she reached over to ruffle Carl's hair. She thought she saw a smile for a split second across Daryl's face before Merle flipped her off.

Dove was tempted to say something else, but the smug look stayed on her face as Shane cleared his throat. "As much as I love campfire story time," Shane gave Dove a look that caused her to simply shrug her shoulders, "I think we should all be getting to bed. Especially the little ones."

"Sure thing, Deputy D-" Merle began.

 Andrea cut him off by jumping up from her seat. "Right well, night everyone."

Everyone said their goodnights as they began to trickle off to their respective tents. Merle and Daryl were some of the first ones to leave, not surprising anyone.

"Nighty night, Merle. Don't let the walkers bite," Dove called to the retreating backs of the hunters.

Lori shoved her shoulder slightly as she laughed quietly, "God, you're bad."

"Ah he can take it," Dove shrugged her shoulders.

"Night, Lori." Dove turned on her heel after a few minutes of helping clean up around the fire and started off towards her own tent. As she ducked into the tent, she hoped that sleep would come easier tonight. All she could do was listen to the quiet arguments from the tent closest to hers. She waited for a moment and, just like the past few nights, her tent unzipped.

"Dovey, are you sleepin'?" Sophia's voice, groggy and half asleep sounding, came from the flap of the tent.

"Not yet, bug. C'mon. You can stay with me again," she moved around in an attempt to make room in her sleeping bag for her niece.

Sophia shuffled over and once they were all settled, she yawned "Can you tell me a nice story to help me sleep?"

Dove flinched as she heard Ed shout something from a little farther away, followed by an unsettling quiet. "I sure can. You want me to make up one about Princess Sophia?" Dove tried to hide the stress in her voice. Her hands shook as she stroked her niece's hair.

Sophia nodded slightly, probably already starting to nod off in the safety of another tent. "Alright, there once was a beautiful princess named Sophia. She lived in a big castle in the mountains with her mommy and her auntie where everyone was always happy and she got to eat cupcakes whenever she wanted...." Dove continued the story until Sophia nodded off, the story made little sense by that point as Dove allowed herself to finally fall into a restful sleep.

__

@crossbowking​

[pansexual-pied-piper]

I posted 3.558 times in 2021

195 posts created (5%)

3363 posts reblogged (95%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 17.2 posts.

I added 139 tags in 2021

#anon - 73 posts

#aro - 15 posts

#queer - 10 posts

#enraged-fangirl-and-co - 9 posts

#aromantic - 9 posts

#pan - 5 posts

#ply - 5 posts

#omni - 5 posts

#aro-spec - 4 posts

#always reblog - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but hey people only have a problem with 'queer' forcefully being applied to ppl or as an umbrella term for tge whole community :) totally :)

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

(For the version without coloured text click here)

If your biggest problem is the way somebody else decides to describe their sexuality, identity or expression, please get some goddamn perspective.

Are you pissed that some people identify as omni, ply, pan, multi, ambi, abro, fluid, homoflexible, heteroflexible, m-spec, etc?

Do you get mad when somebody who is into multiple genders but not into all genders - who isn't into one of the binary genders, even - calls themself bi?

Do you blame people calling themselves m-spec lesbians and m-spec gays for straight people's homophobia?

Does it piss you off to see people calling themselves homoromantic bisexual, panromantic heterosexual, etc? Do you try to stop other people from using the Split Attraction Model because you personally found it unhelpful for your identity?

Does it irk you that people call themselves, their experiences and their community queer?

Do you try to limit who can or can't use butch and femme?

Do you get mad at m-spec people calling themselves fags and dykes?

Do you hate that there's people calling themselves aro, ace, demi, aego, akoi, etc? That we don't consider ourselves "basically straight"?

Do you blame nonbinary people for cis people's transphobia?

Do labels like dittogender, chaotigender, autigender, etc annoy you?

Do you hate that people are constantly finding new ways of describing their personal experiences, new labels to use, new pronouns too?

Do you hate that there's people having fun with their identities instead of putting themselves in established, sufficiently respectable boxes?

Do you get mad at people using acronyms like QUILTBAG, MOGAI, LSBTI, LADT, HBTQ, etc? Do you harrass people from other countries over it?

If you answered "yes" to any of these, here's a reality check:

The way other people describe their identity, their experiences and their community is not for you to decide. It just isn't. You don't get a say.

The way other people describe their identity, their experiences and their community is not the cause of bigotry.

The way other people describe their identity, their experiences and their community is not tearing the community apart. You are.

The way other people describe their identity, their experiences and their community has nothing to do with you. Stay the fuck out of people's business.

In conclusion:

Why the fuck are you getting worked up over what people call themselves?

1057 notes • Posted 2021-03-28 15:09:29 GMT

#4

Do not be fooled:

There are no explicit kink scenes happening at pride

People are not having kinky public sex at pride

The "no kink at pride" discourse started because people took offense to the leather pride flag - the second oldest pride flag after the rainbow one - being displayed just as proudly as any other.

They took offense to the non-explicit kinky outfits of leather daddies, puppy players, etc. who attend pride.

They took offense to their "good clean pride" being shared with those ~dirty kinksters~ and to the implication that they are at all comparable to them.

And in their hysteria over kinky people visibly existing, they managed to convince some of you that kinksters are breaking indecent exposure laws and having public sex at pride, because you took their screaming about how "inappropriate" and "not child-friendly" those ~dirty kinksters~ are at face value.

The fact that so many of you genuinely think that the idea of kinksters engaging in these things in a huge public event like pride is realistic says a lot about how you view kinky people, tbh - and kinky gay men especially, since the made-up examples of things you don't want to see at pride are always about men.

1991 notes • Posted 2021-06-02 16:03:04 GMT

#3

Can we all just take a breath and remind ourselves that we can refuse to be referred to in a particular way without shitting on people who do like being referred to that way?

You can say you don't identify as "queer" without demonizing the queer community.

You can not want "gay" being used as an umbrella term for you without taking it away from people who do like to use it for themselves.

You can hate being called "it" without taking it out on people whose pronouns are it/its.

You can be uncomfortable being called "they" without blaming people with they/them pronouns.

You can not like neopronouns for yourself without making that the problem of people who do like them.

You can dislike having terms like "joyfriend" applied to yourself without mocking people who'd love to be called someone's joyfriend.

If you're fed up with some kind of expectation that you ought to be okay with being called any particular term, then rage at that expectation, not the term or the people who like it.

4972 notes • Posted 2021-02-06 18:56:05 GMT

#2

Sometimes your relationship with a label is more complex than "I identify with this" or "I don't identify with this" and that's fine!

"I sometimes identify with this" is fine!

"I partially identify with this" is fine!

"I don't really refer to myself this way, but I do feel included when people talk about it" is fine!

"I use this for the sake of ease even though it doesn't fit 100% 'cause I haven't found anything better yet" is fine!

"I use it 'cause it may not describe my feelings, but it does a good job of explaining how people perceive me" is fine!

"It's the closest fit when trying to find a community of people that face the same problems I do" is fine!

People are complex, your experiences don't need to neatly fit into "100% this label" or "definitely not this label". If you have a complex relationship with one or more labels, that's completely fair and I hope you have a great day.

8360 notes • Posted 2021-04-17 15:00:47 GMT

#1

What is or isn't a slur can be highly contextual, y'all.

"Jonny Sims bummed a fag off my ma" doesn't contain a slur, but "What are you, some kind of fag?" does.

"Queer studies", "the queer community" and "I'm queer"? Not a slur. Some bigot calling you a "dirty queer"? Slur.

"Be gay, do crimes" and "He's gay" ≠ slur, but "Ew, that's so gay" = slur.

In conclusion, stop buying into this fucking "q slur" bullshit. Queer people talking about the queer community aren't using it as a slur any more than a gay man calling himself gay is using that term as a slur.

62600 notes • Posted 2021-04-23 17:38:55 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[jtsfavslut]

Stages [5/6]

Description: In which a girl goes through six stages to realize and accept the fact that her marriage is going downhill.

Stage Three: Depression

- Stages 1

- Stages 2

- Stages 3

- Stages 4

Description: Yeimy finally has a conversation with Grayson, and comes to terms with herself that she had been putting off for a while. But what happens when she finally realizes everything is over?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1k+

Work was something that was keeping you distracted from what was currently happening in your life. 

You were able to clock in and out whenever you wanted, but being in the office made you forget all of your problems.

You knew avoiding your feelings and problems was wrong, but you weren’t ready to come on terms with yourself or reality at that. 

The sound of your phone’s notification made you stop writing an article you were working on about fashion business etc.

Grayson Bailey :/

Meet me in my office at 6, please :(

You stared at it for a couple of minutes, debating whether or not you should go, or ignore him.

Me:

Kay. 

That was your response. A dry ‘kay’. You knew it annoyed him when people responded to him with that. Something about him feeling ignored, but you didn’t care. Not anymore. 

The sounds of ‘Summertime Sadness’ by Lana Del Rey, were blasting through your Jeeps speaker as you awfully sang along, meaning every word of it. (I was listening to this while writing this and all I can think about is the vine with the chicken wearing the red dress.)

“What is it, Dolan? Don’t waste my time,” you said walking inside his office his eyes scanning over your small Robbie wrap dress (this is the reference cuz I suck at describing) you were wearing along with your docs.

“Yeah, umm-” he said, clearing his throat and taking his eyes off your body. “I signed the papers,” he softly said, handing you the folder you had given him a few days ago. 

“Thanks,” you awkwardly said as your hand accidentally touched his while grabbing the folder. 

“Can we talk, Yeimy I-” he began saying before you cut him off. 

“There’s nothing to talk about Bailey, you banged my friend that’s it,” you sighed, getting up from your chair as your patience started to die down. 

“Yes, there is. There is Yeimy. There’s my side of the story,” he said making you roll your eyes.

“You have ten minutes Grayson, ten minutes,” you said looking at the overly priced Rolex he gifted you for your One Year Wedding Anniversary. 

“Okay. Thanks,” he said and let out a sigh before he opened his mouth to speak again. 

“I know nothing justifies what I did. At all” he said and you nodded your head taking a seat once again. “I don’t know why I did it. I don’t even remember how it started if I'm being honest. All I know is that it was really dumb of me, and that caused me to lose you, the only one that cared and loved me when no one else did,” he said and your eyes started to water as you tried your hardest to stop them from falling. 

“And she doesn’t compare to you. She doesn’t in any way. You’re better than her in every single way. God, you hated when I bought you stuff, saying how you didn’t want or need my money while all she wanted was things. And I was dumb, so fucking dumb Marie,” he said calling you by your middle name causing a tear to stream down your face. 

“Grayson-” you began saying before he cut you off.

“No, Yeimy let me finish. I know you don’t believe or trust me anymore but trust me that when I tell you that I love you is because I do. I love you with all my fucking life, and I never meant to hurt you. I never did. So I signed the papers. I signed the papers because that’s what you want and what you need.” he said and you looked up to him crying with red watery eyes and a frown.

“You were, and still are the reason why I’m here because you supported us-no me, you supported and stood by me when everything was going downhill, and you helped us bring the company back up. You stayed awake with me every night thinking of ways to attract business, thinking of new products, making ads, and articles, scheduling interviews and doing interviews just to help me and E,” he said. Remembering the many nights you and him stayed awake when Wakeheart wasn’t having a good time with the business. You did everything in your power to help bring the business back up, you promised him you would. And you did, in just a couple of months, Wakeheart’s sell rates were through the roof, just because of you. 

“I did it because I loved you. And I still love you,” you sighed, carefully wiping tears away, even if they were gonna continue to fall. 

“I don’t know what was going through your fucking mind Bailey, but at least you came to your senses now. Even if it’s too fucking late,” you said with a little laugh causing him to smile. 

“Grayson I’m always going to love you, but you hurt me. You hurt me in the way I was most scared to get hurt in. I’m a firm believer that once you love someone and it’s real, your love for them will never go away, you just have to find someone who you’ll love even more.” you said as he watched you with a pained smile on his face. 

“I don’t think there’s someone who I’ll love more than you,” he whispered and you nodded your head.

“Me too Bailey, me too, but I don’t trust you anymore and I can’t be in a relationship with you pretending I trust you when I don’t. Just because you hurt me doesn’t mean I need to hurt you,” you sighed. “Time will hurt and time will heal, it’s just a matter of patience and right now I’m running out of patience so I’m gonna go,” you sighed standing up before you fully broke down in front of him.

“Just remember that we’re still married by the church so thank the Catholic church for that,” you laughed causing him to chuckle.

“Why are you always funny, like it’s the worst time of my life and you’re making me laugh,” he asked while shaking his head with a smile on his face. 

“I’m a funny person Dolan. And plus you only live once so why waste my time being mad, plus I know I’m gonna be depressed later so YOLO,” you said with a peace sign a goofy smile on your face hiding away your crumbling heart.

“YOLO,” he whispered, shaking his head. 

“Take care of yourself, Grayson, I wish you the best,” you said walking to the door.

“You too Yeimy, I hope everything works out at Vogue,” he said and you nodded your head before walking outside and closing his door.

Hot mascara filled tears streamed down your face as you walked through the building and to your car. 

Once you got inside your car, you let out a loud sob as you slammed your hands on the steering wheel.

The realization just kicking in. It was done. Everything was done, you were no longer married to the love of your life, as you drove away, you drove away from the love of your life.

“BUT I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY,” you shouted at the top of your lungs, singing along to 505 by Arctic Monkeys, your glasses hiding away your raccoon eyes caused by your ‘waterproof’ mascara which clearly lied. 

You pulled up to the beach with the same song on repeat, something about it makes you feel slightly better.

You got out the driver's seat and sat on your trunk looking at the ocean.

Letting out a sigh that everything was over. Not everything just your marriage. Because when you told him, that you were always going to leave and no one else would compare, you were admitting it to yourself as well.

Grayson always made you happy, just knowing you were in the same room as he made you smile. Grayson was, and will always be your everything when it comes to relationships and dating. He was your rock, the one who took care of you when you were sick, even when you thought you didn’t need anyone. He stole your heart the first second you watched one of their videos when you applied for the internship. He and Ethan were one of the nicest men and human beings you ever met, and when he would flirt with you, you’d blush like a psycho. 

Everything about him was so perfect, and your life with him was so perfect until he had to go fuck it up.

But you didn’t blame him for all of it. Ambar had something to do with it too. She was supposed to be your friend, hell you were the one that made Grayson give her the job. You vented to her about how you thought he was cheating on you, just for her to be the one he was doing it with.

You laughed at the thought of Ethan and Karina telling you she had bad vibes but you just pushed them away. Every time they told you that she did the same thing you did just two days after. If you got a new purse she would buy it the day later, a new dress? She was wearing it two days later. And when you would tell them about the things Grayson bought you, that you told him you didn't need, Karina would tell you about her angered facial expression and you would just tell her to chill. 

You thought it was sad and funny that you realized that she was trying to be like you in every way possible this late. You just thought she was inspired by you, but she wasn’t. Deep down in Ambar’s heart, she hated you. She hated how you always seemed happy. Hated how the way you would talk about Grayson made him seem like there was no other girl in his eyes that was as pretty as you. She hated how you were always a good person. Hated how you would help anyone, even if they weren’t the nicest to you. And she hated how simple you were. She knew Grayson would give you the world if you asked for it, and she hated how you didn’t take advantage of it. 

So she tried to ruin your life. Her jealousy got the best of her and she knew that by taking away the thing you love the most, it would balance out the universe and make you suffer. But she was wrong, because by trying to hurt you and being successful at that may I add, she lost a true friend, her job, her other friends. She lost everything leaving her even more miserable. 

But she got what she wanted. Because now you were sad and heartbroken. Your life is missing a big piece of it. 

You cried for three weeks straight. Every day before, between, and after work. You cried every day. Cried because you missed him. Because you missed home. 

You missed being around him. Waking up in his arms. His forehead kisses. You missed waking up to him blasting Lil Wayne in the morning when he went to work out in the basement. You missed joining his workouts for less than five minutes because it was too much for you. You missed hearing his loud voice. You missed his laugh. His jokes. His un-funny jokes that you would still laugh at because it was funny he tried. You missed him trying to speak Spanish. You missed the flights to Jersey and sleeping in the laundry room because he wanted his alone time with you. You missed the car rides with him that were filled with music. You missed falling asleep on his chest. Trying out his new recipes that were sometimes a fail. Making cookies or just baking with him in general. Going to restaurants with him. You missed him teasing you about the way you were moaning from his touch. You missed the way he made you feel when he was fucking all the knowledge out of you. You missed laying in bed with him. 

You missed him. 

It’s been almost a month since you last saw him and you were feeling as if you were going through withdrawals. 

Withdrawals because she took your drug away. Because the universe took your drug away. 

Withdrawals because he was your drug.

Grayson was your drug.

Stages 6

Tags:  @angelgrayson @rhyrhy462 @333dolans @vinylhazza @foxglovedolan @dolanissues @mercurygrant @persistence-ofmemories @dolansficsandpics @blindedbythelightt @kinkygrays @pineappledols @the-evolution-of-stupidity @evergreendolan @beatement-l @graydolan12

[thomas-reynolds]

CAUGHT UP // 001

WHO: Griffin x Jamie x Thomas WHERE: The apartment. TW/NOTES: Nsfw. Griff and Tommy-boy come home early from the bar thanks to Griffin’s heavy drinking, and catch Jamie in the act with some dude. Things get heated and not in the fun way, and they end up a little worse for wear.

JAMIE ::

"My place doesn't work." Those four fateful words would normally leave Jamie shrugging and moving on to the next guy. It was a night out, after all, and he didn't have to take home the first hot guy he found. But this one was so hot. Taller than him, but just slightly. Bright blue eyes and a come and get me grin. Maybe it was more the attitude than the looks, and maybe James had downed one too many gold rushes. Maybe it was the fact that it was the beginning of summer, and hot was taking on multiple meanings here. James couldn't put his finger on what the hell it was that made him say these bolds words, but he heard himself saying them all the same. "Let's go back to my place." A husky whisper in the other guy's ear, and the two of them tumbled out of the club and into a cab.

Jamie lost his shirt at the front door, a solid thud echoing through the place as he was backed against it, and then a moan as his hookup- David? Daniel? kissed along his neck, his hands moving lower. "Don't leave a mark." He was already living dangerously. Odds were that Thomas and Griffin wouldn't randomly end up coming back home, but you could never be too careful. Now that he'd gotten that one stipulation out of the way, it was all too easy to let go and focus on the feelings. This would only ever happen once, and since he was already damned anyway, he might as well make the most of it.

More clothes were shed as they made their way to a bedroom. He didn't stop to shut the door, his hands too busy roaming Daryl's body to think of such a mundane detail. He didn't need to prepare himself much before he situated himself on top, sinking down onto the beautiful man's cock and thoroughly enjoying the view. He was close when everything went south. It was nice, having the place to himself, not needing to bother with being quiet. He was breathing hard by this point, choosing expletives that he wouldn't be caught dead saying in church instead of accidentally moaning the wrong name.

GRIFFIN ::

Getting kicked out of a bar was not new for Griffin Rollins, but getting kicked out just after nine o’clock was impressive. Or embarrassing, if he had any shame left, but he didn’t seem to, not with the way Thomas’ lecture was just rolling off his back. He could probably recite the speech back to him at this point - y’know, when he could string a sentence together without slurring. It probably meant something that the barkeep knew to call Thomas - his roommate, yes; his buddy, sure; but decidedly not a loved one, not his significant other - but that was the nice thing about being this hammered: Griffin could blissfully ignore all the flashing neon signs from the universe that he was, in fact, still a fuck-up.

That same universe was spinning by the time the men reached their front door, the dark-haired one making a valiant effort to retrieve his keys only for his hand to be impatiently batted away. As they stepped into their place, Griffin moaned out a curse - or, he thought he did, but it didn’t sound like himself. And it was coming from the wrong direction.

His eyes flashed over to Thomas’ face, trying to decipher what the fuck was going on, and he looked as far from happy as he had when he’d showed up at the bar, but now the daggers weren’t being directing at Griffin. The blonde was looking past him, and it took a carefully-executed turn to discover what he was looking at: a naked hottie riding a cock in Pearson’s bed. Griffin’s liquor-fogged mind took what felt like an eon to realize that was bad, for two reasons. 1) The naked hottie was not Thomas’ sister, and 2) The naked hottie was Pearson.

Griffin’s fingers immediately fisted in the front of Thomas’ shirt, partially in an attempt to keep him exactly where he was, and partially to keep himself upright. “Hey, hey, Tommy, hey -”

THOMAS ::

Getting the call shouldn’t have come as any sort of surprise. After all, Thomas took more phone calls regarding Griffin’s health and well-being than he’s sure Griffin’s own mother ever took. Picked him up from enough bars, enough gutters, even football practice when they were teens and his mom conveniently ‘forgot’ him at the school. Typically, Thomas wore the eternal baby-sitter badge like a medal of honor - used it to badger and annoy Griffin into some semblance of shame when he was even a modicum of sober. Now though, when Thomas himself had been getting his feet wet at the bar, a young brunette with too dark lipstick and overly straightened hair, but big enough breasts to be worth his effort practically hanging off of his arm - now it was annoying.

Even when it was more tolerable, Thomas didn’t let Griffin think otherwise anyway, but still. The point still stands, he thought, staring at the doors of a crusty old bar that screamed ‘burn your clothes when you leave here’ and definitely had enough bikers and hookers outside to make your grandmother faint on impact. Convincing the bouncer to not knock his friend’s head in was simple enough, it was actually the waitress whom Griffin palmed on the way out that seemed to cause the most trouble - and by the time they were on the way back to the apartment, drunken hands pulling at the collar of Thomas’ shirt (and stretching out the goddamned hole), Thomas had almost begun his ranting on auto pilot.

A little, “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? Like a fucking gutter rat. What the fuck were you drinking anyway? You smell like fucking paint-thinner --” The words died on Thomas’ lips, cheeks, ears and chest heating in a way that would make him worry that he’s finally going six feet under (and maybe he is, if his blood pressure could go any higher), and it reminded him of the time he got incredibly crossfaded at Brittany Deering’s party back in 10th grade and blacked out in her bathtub for a few hours, barely avoiding being puked and pissed on by fellow students in the same position as him. It took him entirely too quickly, Thomas’ body moving on its own accord, Griffin’s hands pawing at him like a cheap stripper, and Pearson’s wide open door looked like a gateway to Heaven, or at the very least a convenience store with the automatic slider-doors jammed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thomas’ voice didn’t sound like his own, but he supposed that it was difficult to even hear properly with all of the blood rushing through his ears, “I will kill you.” The thump in his chest had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was clearly cheating on his sister with some...some fruity weirdo with floppy hair and stupidly blue eyes, but he was bound and determined to ignore that little fact - ignore the voice that said just tell him already and instead, encouraged the one that said, he’s got a nice neck for strangling.

“This is what you do when we’re not here? Fool around with discount Matthew McConaughey?” It definitely wasn’t a snarl, if you asked Thomas, but the clenching fist at his side, the one not hanging onto Griffin’s half-dead body, promised something lethal.

JAMIE ::

“Fuuuuck-“ turned into “Oh, fuck” entirely too quickly for Jamie’s liking. He was off that dick quicker than he’d moved in a long time. Hastily looking over his shoulder and seeing Thomas’ face twisted in rage should have killed his hard on in an instant, but it didn’t. He’d blame that on how hot Damon was and how far along into their hookup they’d been. “Fuck off Thomas, you two were supposed to be out, anyway!” He stepped into his underwear quickly, pulling on a pair of pants hastily as well. “What the fuck?” Danny was dazed, understandably confused that all of the sudden their hookup for two was now a foursome. Then, “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No!” James replied immediately, forcing a look of disgust at the mere thought of it. Or at least, his best attempt. “You need to go.” There was no salvaging this hookup, unfortunately, and he was just glad that he’d managed to make it to his own room so sweatpants were readily available.  Damian had apparently gotten the point and was quickly getting redressed as well. Thomas was still mad, and honestly it was probably best to just let him be mad instead of trying to placate him. Trying that would only make it worse. Nah, he was gonna let the anger run its course and then let it go. But then it hit him, and all the color drained from his face. “You can’t tell her.” The thought of that happening made him want to throw up, and he moved a little closer, eyes wide and a little scared even as he tried to hide it. “It was nothing. Just blowing off some steam, and it doesn’t even count, you wouldn’t have known because you two were supposed to be out!” His gaze turned accusingly to Griffin for a second, and it didn’t take long to piece together what had happened. “And besides, Griffin is drunk, clearly we have bigger problems to worry about.” Yeah, pull focus. Dawson could sneak out while the two of them had a serious talk with Griffin about substance use. Jamie’s gaze flashed to Griffin again. He couldn’t decide which one of them to look at at this point. Griffin was most likely to take his side here, so he probably shouldn’t have just thrown him under the bus.

GRIFFIN :: 

Griffin managed a small, two-finger salute to Jamie’s date as he passed by, clothing in his arms - or maybe it looked like he was putting a gun to his own temple, which also seemed applicable. His eyes followed the stranger’s naked ass until it disappeared into the bathroom, just in time to detect his name tumbling into this shitshow. “‘m always drunk,” he shot back in what he genuinely believed to be a solid defense. “Dsn’t count.”

God, he just wanted to be on a horizontal surface, even if it was Jamie’s bed of iniquity, and he considered making a move toward it until his last brain cell insisted that his deadweight was likely the only thing keeping Thomas anchored in place. If he could just defuse this disaster of a situation, he knew the blonde would get him into his own bed. Or the couch. Or at least onto the kitchen floor with a towel for a blanket.

“Tommy, Tommy, TommyTommyTommy, listen ... listen t’ me ... your sisterdsn’t have a dick!” he offered, finally releasing the other man’s shirt in order to wave his hands in a messy what’re-ya-gonna-do gesture. By his incredibly flawed, alcoholic logic, if Pearson wanted to fuck a dude - and understandably so, dudes being as hot as they were - he couldn’t go to Thomas’ sister. No harm, no ... whatever.

THOMAS ::

Thomas steadily ignored his own feline-reminiscent hiss as Hunky Brewster walk-of-shame’d his way out of their apartment, passing it off as some sort of controlling his temper, or silently letting out a prayer to the God he didn’t believe in but heard enough about from Jamie. The heat turned to ice in the pit of his glorious, god-like abdomen after every single ‘Tommy’ that left his friend’s mouth, “Griff, shut your fucking mouth -- and you,” He practically spit, pulling both himself and Griffin closer to the blonde in the bedroom like a boat and a buoy toward the middle of a storm, “It’s not cheeeeeeating as long as you don’t get caaaaught.” Thomas mocked his friend as the storm seemed to settle inside of his own chest, thunder and lightning begging to be let out through some sort of violence.

“I’m going to kick your ass - and then, I’m going to call my sister, and she’s going to come over here and kick your ass, you stupid, useless moron.” The dark feelings seemed to bubble and burst all in one quick second, and if Thomas could have taken a breath and really looked at the situation for what it was, and the jealousy that seemed to eat at him, the conflict likely could have been avoided. But the thick stench of sweat and alcohol from Griffin, and the same aroma from Jamie’s room seemed to override any sort of consideration that Thomas could have provided. And with that, he dropped Griffin like a sack of fucking potatoes and darted for Jamie’s face, hissing when his hit landed. Thomas was too busy cradling his knuckles to know if he’d even hit his damned target, but the swelling would be worth it if he’d gotten to cause Jamie some sort of agony he’d have to live for the next few days too. Once the blind rage passed and Thomas was left shaking, clutching his wrist like grandmother’s prized fucking pearls, he finally bit words for Griffin instead, “I don’t care that my sister doesn’t have a goddamned dick - she’s - he spouts all of this holier-than-thou bullshit that he doesn’t even follow! He just committed sodomized, pre-marital sex! And he wasn’t even on top!”

The words felt hysterical, and the laughter that left Thomas wasn’t one filled with any sort of joy; it was hollow and empty, or maybe not empty, but only filled with envy and anger. He darted for Jamie again, hissing between his teeth.

JAMIE ::

James wasn’t sure when he realized that there wouldn’t be any coming back from this. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Thomas this pissed, and that was saying something. Hell, in the past, he’d helped talk Thomas down from being this pissed at someone else. Now the fury was totally directed at him, and he fought the instinct to move back as Thomas dragged himself and Griffin closer. He wasn’t a coward. “It’s not cheating if I don’t even know his name!” It was. It absolutely was, but he’d learned from the best how to navigate with a broken moral compass. This was quite literally a situation of how what someone didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He’d done this for years, from hurried hookups behind the bleachers to an empty dugout, sneaking out at midnight and meeting someone he’d used to go to Sunday school with. It was a sin, sure, but he wasn’t gay. He went to confession after every incidence, and he was forgiven. It was just that simple.

“Don’t,” he warned, his expression going from worried to murderous. “Tell her, Thomas, and I swear to God.” Might as well add taking the Lord’s name in vain. Today couldn’t possibly be any worse. In that moment, the bubble burst. It occurred to him briefly that Thomas could have set Griffin down nicely, but then it was too late as he felt pain exploding across his cheek. Thomas packed a pretty decent punch, even if he didn’t much look like it. For the moment, he resigned himself to it, didn’t hit back even though his fist balled up by his side and he wanted to. He’d stumbled back after the initial punch, but he regained his footing. And then Thomas was talking again, listing off all the big sins, sins that were meant to be kept in private, in the confessional booth, just him and the priest. That alone made him itch with rage, but he held back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he didn’t really want to hurt Thomas. But then he laughed and it all went to hell. He surged forward at the same time Thomas did, and they collided. “Fuck. You!” He threw the next punch, hoping to land a matching shiner, putting his full force behind it. He didn’t care anymore. “It doesn’t count as pre-marital,” he growled, “if it’s not a possibility to marry.” He still couldn’t make himself use the right pronoun.

GRIFFIN ::

Now, granted, he had been wanting to lie down, but hurtling to the hardwood without any warning hadn’t exactly been ideal. Griffin laid there, still more or less grateful to be off his feet, listening to an argument that probably would have seemed a fuckton more intense if it hadn’t sounded so underwater. He even missed the first punch, arm thrown over his eyes as he willed the room to knock it off with the spinning - but he did here the telltale sound of two bodies colliding, and forced himself up onto his elbows. And then onto his knees. And then onto his feet.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey -“ The man had exactly one word in his vocabulary at the moment, which he repeated as he stumbled over to a mound of limbs made up of his two best friends. He was already pushing it, with the walking, but the attempt to pull one of the guys off the other almost knocked him right back of his feet. He survived, though - until a rogue fist that may or may not have been meant for him caught him right in the gut. He reeled back, taking one, two, three steps towards the door before doubling-over and vomiting in the corner of Jamie’s room.

Well, it had been inevitable. At least now that part of the night was over. “HEY.” There he was. Still just as unsteady on his feet, but with renewed frustration, Griffin threw himself back into the mix.

THOMAS ::

"You probably wish you could! I'm pretty fantastic!" Thomas screamed over the man, attempting to shove Jamie, and petulantly ignoring Griffin until the guy practically took an arrow for him, projectile vomiting in the same space as them. "Nice fucking job - punching the fucking drunk. Want to talk to God about that too? You like things in your ass and you hit your best friend!" 

Griffin managed to get between them and Thomas couldn't help the muttered, "You fucking reek, dude-" that left him, his arm reaching out to swing wildly at Jamie over the other man's shoulder. How ridiculous, they must have looked, three grown men throwing punches and shouting expletives at one another in the middle of the night. If the neighbors banging on the wall were anything to go by, they probably agreed with him. 

"Don't touch me - don't you fucking," Thomas hissed as a spare slap managed to get him right in the nose, rust immediately dripping over the bottom portion of his face, "I'm going to tell her so fucking hard, you son of a bitch," He whined around the hand cupping his nose and mouth, practically shielding himself with Griffin's larger body. "I can't stand you two - I - it smells like shit in here," The babbling continued, even though he really couldn't smell anything with his nose full of blood clots.

JAMIE ::

“I was on top!” Jamie insisted, shoving back at Thomas. He really hadn’t intended to punch Griffin, but he was the one who’d ended up throwing himself in between the two of them. What did he think was going to happen. “I was aiming for you, asshole!” His blood was really boiling right now, and Jesus, how had this night managed to go so horribly wrong? It had started out hot and fun and devolved into, well, whatever this shit show was.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned as he heard Griffin lose his dinner in the corner of his room. Add that to the list of shit that he didn’t want to deal with. He’d be cleaning it up, of course, because Griffin clearly wasn’t in any state to, and he didn’t want his room to smell like puke while he waited for Griffin to sober up and handle it. The one last slap was admittedly satisfying, but he had to calm down. He had bigger problems on his hands. He had to convince Thomas not to tell her.

It occurred to him way too quickly what he had to do, the only way he was going to appeal to Thomas’ sense of reason. “Fine!” He shouted numbly. “Tell her. But who else do you think is going to be with her? We break up, she ends up an old fucking spinster for the rest of her life. Is that what you want for her? Huh?” He gave one more shove to prove his point. “You tell her, and you break her fucking heart. And for what? Because I’m getting a little on the side that she can’t give me? I’m the perfect boyfriend, Thomas. She won’t get better than me, and you know it.”

GRIFFIN ::

Somehow managing to dodge what could have been a really unfortunate elbow, Griffin was perfectly content with standing between his roommates now that things had boiled over and resolved into a simmer; still hot, still able to burn, but not quite as active. The shouting, he was pretty desensitized to. Between the three of them, someone was perpetually shouting at the other two, or two were shouting at each other, or two were shouting at one (he was usually the one, and he was usually inebriated). It was a special occasion when the trio were all shouting, though, which is normally what got the neighbors involved. Griffin reached over to land his fist on the wall three or four times, acknowledging their neighbor’s participation.

His back was turned to Thomas, who, though taller, was probably less of a real physical threat. As a result, he missed the bloody nose, but he did catch sight of Jamie’s split lip and the scarlet mark that was going to bloom into one hell of a bruise. “Better tell ‘er ya got mugged,” he suggested, finally throwing over a glance over his shoulder to survey the damage that was Thomas’ face. “Botha you. Ah, fuck, are you bleedinon my shirt?!”

Griffin was quiet for the rest of Jamie’s tirade, mostly because this was not his fight, but also because he was on both of their sides, so far as thinking the other was a royal fucking asshole. Kate was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he didn’t love the idea of her getting fucked over, but he would have been smart enough to not let an asshole like James anywhere near her to start with. And furthermore, he’d mean what he’d said, inarticulate as it may have been; monogamy was a societal construct, sexuality was a spectrum, and this was probably the best case scenario for both of them, really. Kate got to seriously level up in the boyfriend department, and Jamie got a doting woman on his arm for the sake of appearances.

“I think,” he opined on a big sigh, running a hand through his hair as though he was going to lay down some actual wisdom - but that wasn’t his brand. “I think that we should get nachos.”

THOMAS ::

Clicking his tongue, Thomas swished the copper around in his mouth, glaring daggers at his roommate. He probably looked like he'd been bobbing for apples in fake blood at this point, but it felt oddly satisfying to look a little deranged compared to his normal well-kempt state. "Should I let her be with a cheater and a liar anyway? Yeah, real fucking smart, asshole --" Even with Griffin's knocking effectively breaking the tension, the neighbors yelling back through the wall, there was something still boiling under the surface. 

Something volatile, something that went by the name Jade. 

"You don't need any nachos," He murmured, somewhat numb, yet manic. Auto-pilot had taken over, his palm running over his face, and Thomas wiped the mess on the back of Griffin's shirt. Eyes never leaving Jamie's, Thomas slowly slipped forward face impassive, blank. "One more thing," Oddly calm, Thomas reached out with a gentle, blood-smeared hand and laid the palm of it on Jamie's shoulder. He let the moment settle, let the silence take over for a moment, until it was bordering on confusing, before throwing himself forward and headbutting the man in turn, immediate pain blossoming behind his forehead, and spraying them both with his now-unclotted nose. "Bitch," he snarled under the waterfall of blood, before groaning and taking a hasty step back toward his drunken friend, ready to use him as a shield again if need be.

JAMIE ::

"Why, so you can throw 'em up in a different part of my room?" He usually had the decency to at least make it to a communal space, and yeah, James was still a little pissed that he needed to be taken home at all when the two of them had planned to be out and about for the night. It was a valiant effort, trying to get the two of them back on the same side so they could stop with the arguing, but deep down, Jamie knew this wasn't the kind of fight that Thomas would just get over. He'd fucked up, big time, and now instead of facing the music, he was doubling down. It had all seemed so innocent, harmless even, when it was just him and the flavor of the night. If what's his name that started with a D hadn't been so fucking hot, maybe this whole thing could have been avoided.

He ventured a glance at Thomas, partially hating himself for the fact that he'd messed up such a pretty face, but a small little part of himself was satisfied at the damage done. Served him right. How fucking hard would it have been to just turn around and go somewhere else for ten minutes? By that point, the hookup would have been kicked out, and they could all pretend that it had never happened. Jamie could have been blissfully ignorant, and honestly, that was one of the most underrated states a person could be in.

When Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, he tried to keep his expression neutral. As much as he hated to admit it, that hand on his shoulder had grounded him many times in the past, and its presence was all tied up with feelings of comfort and safety, feelings he definitely wasn't getting just now. Sure as shit, next came the sucker punch in the form of a headbutt, and the "Ow!" was almost equal parts pain and surprise. "Asshole!" he groaned, and he couldn't even get to him without Griff getting involved again. "Griffin, just get out of here. This is between me and him, and some of us can't take a hit." Unfortunately for him, all of the hits were starting to take a toll.

GRIFFIN ::

“Ahhrgh, God damn it,” he growled as he felt Thomas’ hand smear his bodily fluids down his back, rolling his shoulders in discomfort before yanking his shirt off, rolling it into a ball and tossing it out into the hall. At least the blonde’s shirt was just as fucked, he noticed, attention on the slightly taller man as he approached James. Good, fine, Thomas would say his final piece and then everyone could just - “Fuck!”

Before he could fully process the sudden movement and the accompanying spray of gore, Thomas has slipped behind him and he was staring down Jamie, the youngest of their dysfunctional little crew. “C’mon, Jay, jus-go lay down,” he muttered, intending to give a good-natured push to the kid’s chest, but still intoxicated enough to not know his own strength. The adrenaline he didn’t realize had been streaming through his system turned it into a fully aggressive shove, and Griffin felt the muscles in his shoulders tense as some part of him anticipated retaliation. Blue eyes flashed. “Go ta’ bed, Jamie.”

THOMAS ::

"Suck my dick, Pearson--" Dark pupils dilated at the shove, watching with intense interest. It wasn't often that Jamie and Griffin disagreed wholeheartedly, or at the very least enough to get into a physical altercation. Usually it was Thomas gravitating toward the violence, toward harsh words that stung and bit at insecurities - usually he was the flint and steel basking at either of his friends' heels.

Still, it ignited something in him, to see Griffin shove the younger man, even if unintentionally. While they all agreed to disagree at who really was whose best friend, Thomas liked to believe he was just as much of a fire as he was the glue keeping them together. "You shoved him, man," The words were weirdly tense, odd even to himself, in the quiet of the room. "You gonna take that?" Blue eyes flick to Jamie's.

JAMIE ::

For a second, he considered it. He wasn't going to just lay down, but getting himself to a different room, where they kept the cleaning supplies probably, and doing something else was probably the best way to handle this. But then he shoved him, hard, as if to make sure to drive his point home. "Seriously?" he demanded, his own gaze accusing.

"You're seriously gonna take his side? I woulda come to get you too, and then none of this would have happened." He shoved back, not knowing or caring if Thomas was close enough to catch him. "You go to bed. I have someone else's mess to clean up, as usual." The puke in the corner of the room wasn't going anywhere, after all.

GRIFFIN ::

As he stumbled back into Thomas, Griffin’s ego maintained that he never would have budged if he’d been sober. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t; really, how often was he truly sober, so there wouldn’t be exactly an opportunity to find out. If he’d been sober, he also probably wouldn’t have lunged for Jamie, taking him out at the waist and forcing him to collapse onto his own mattress. “Said, LAY DOWN,” he repeated, scrambling to straddle the man’s hips, and trying to grab at his wrists. “Enough!”

The word was paired with a death glare to Thomas, who may not have been pinned under him, but only because it was physically impossible for Griffin to sedate both of them at once. “You’re both douchebags!”

“I called you,” he muttered after a moment, still slap-fighting James for submission. “You were busy.” It was completely lost on the brunette, of course, that his current position wasn’t terribly different from the way they’d stumbled upon Jamie a few minutes before.

THOMAS ::

Despite the urge to cover his throbbing nose from any more of the crossfire, Thomas stood back from the other two men, eyes dark and irritable. Thomas was the reliable one - was the man you called when you needed someone to get you out of a mess, or pick you up at the bar on a Friday night at 9pm because you were so drunk you couldn't see straight. He was the ultimate provider, the best friend any guy could ask for. Clearly, Griffin appreciated that more than Jamie.

"Am I interrupting?" He blinked his eyelashes prettily, words mocking as they left his lips. His shirt was the only one left on, and it was...incredibly sticky at that point, if he was being honest. With a grimace, he plucked at the collar, hissing when his hand came away sore. He would be bruised and battered, and rough the following day - no amount of cover-up was going to suffice to hide the giant bowling ball of a bruise on his head, or the massive swelling of his nose. He'd talk like a fucking Lollipop Guild member for a week at this rate.

"I went to pick up this clown while you were out here blowing some guy." Thomas stuck his chin up, defiant despite the angry look sent to him by Griffin, who was oddly being the sensible one (not that Thomas would ever admit that. To anyone. Ever.)

JAMIE ::

James was honestly taken aback by Griffin's sudden lunge in his general direction. He was stupidly effective for being drunk, and Jamie wanted to be mad about it, but he was suddenly distracted by how Griffin was just on top of him like this. He blamed that on the surprise of it all as well. Griffin never would have gotten him into this position if James had seem him coming.

Ignoring the insult, he frowned when Griffin mentioned that he had called him. "Well, what the hell." He could have sworn he would have noticed a phone call from his best friend, but apparently hookup's dick game was too strong. Usually he was much more reliable than this. "Shut the fuck up, Thomas," he said, and the only reason that Griffin was still on top of him was because he didn't want to hurt him on accident. Again.

His face hurt and he wanted to either drink or take some ibuprofen or both and clean up the fucking mess that was still in the corner of his room. "Christ, get off me, Griffin." Why was he the one being restrained instead of Thomas? Thomas started this shit. He gave a considering expression before going for Griffin's ticklish spot instead, hoping the sudden distraction would give him some leeway to get out from under him and back toward his original target who couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his own damn life. "I didn't blow him, I was on fucking top!"

GRIFFIN ::

If he’d been able to read the other man’s thoughts, he probably would have chuckled, the low one that was particularly disarming when it was paired with his trademark sideways smirk. Sure, they’d blame it on the “surprise” and not the decade of running tackle drills before and after school, five days a week. Drunk as he was, muscle memory was a hell of a thing.

That, and puking up a stomach full of bourbon.

“Wash up, look like a fuckin’ horror movie,” Griffin ordered in Thomas’ general direction, not moving a muscle, not just yet. If the two of them were going to lunge at each other again, he could sit right there all night - or at least until the hazy, spinny kind of sleep that went along with being this sloshed came to claim him. “You, jus’ stop talking,” he muttered, quieter considering that James was only so far away from him. “Nobody cares ‘fya sucked a dick, Pearson.”

When he eventually slid from the younger man’s waist, Griffin moaned in relief at the feel of a mattress beneath him, bribing his body to move with the promise that if he stretched out just the slightest bit, he’d finally be able to close his eyes. “Why’s yer bed so nice?”

THOMAS :: 

A flash of something dark flickered over Thomas' face, his struggle with authority desperately trying to rear its head. With a calming breath, he tried to pull that little voice inside of his head that sounded like his dumb, quack sister that reminded him about breathing exercises and adrenaline. After counting to 10, Thomas gingerly pulled his collared shirt over his head, the polo wet with moisture and a stink of dried blood. Scrunching his nose, he dropped the offending garment into Jamie's hamper, on top of clothes probably covered in some dude's jizz. "Looks like you have a roommate tonight," He pointed out helpfully, making his way toward the bathroom.

He was back a quick moment later, having procured the small cleaning caddy from under the bathroom sink, including the hand-held spot cleaner. It was uncanny, how many times they'd had to clean up 90% alcohol-vomit, and Thomas hated that he'd grown so used to it after 15-odd years of knowing these morons. "Take your shoes off, you heathen," Thomas spit at Griffin without much effort behind it, focused instead on cleaning the puddle out of the corner of Jamie's room.

After scrubbing for a few odd minutes, and one glare in Griffin's direction later, Thomas picked himself back up, knees aching with the effort of the movement. He was getting old. He stored the cleaning products back in the cabinet and found himself leaning against the doorframe when he re-entered the room. "What food do you want, Griff?" Thomas asked, placated and quiet after the fall-out of so much drama. Getting his face bashed in was a reset button, apparently. Annoying, but effective. "I'm not dealing with the whininess when you're hung over tomorrow."

JAMIE ::

"He started it," James muttered in response when Griffin told him to stop talking. It was juvenile, but he couldn't help it. This whole thing could have been avoided about six ways to Sunday. If Griffin hadn't gotten drunk, if Thomas hadn't immediately started raging about it, if he hadn't brought someone home in the first place. It was pretty clear that they were all partially to blame for this shit show, but the petty side of him wanted to be the one that ended it.

He still had no idea if Thomas was going to tell Kate, but that seemed like a problem for future Jamie. For now, he just wanted to wallow in his failed hookup. He figured that since he hadn't even gotten the chance to get off from this one, there wasn't really a need to do any sort of confessional. Jamie scoffed at Griffin's next words. God cared if he sucked a dick, which also, he hadn't. "Don't tell anyone." These words were directed at both of them, quiet, yet deeply meaningful. He didn't know what he'd do if people found out. Hell, his two best friends had just found out, and he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.

Jamie had no idea where Thomas was going when he headed out of his room, and a part of him wondered if he was going to make that phone call. Anxiety prickled all over his body, and he had to remind himself to breathe. A moment before he was going to get up and follow him, Thomas came back with the cleaning supplies. A begrudging "Thanks," rolled off his lips as he sat up in bed to address Thomas' next words. Rolling onto his knees, he took off one shoe and tossed it out into the hallway, landing with a thunk. The other came next, tossed in the same general direction. "PB&J?" he asked Griffin, knowing that it'd be best to go for something easier on the stomach.

GRIFFIN ::

This was how the world worked for Griffin Rollins, the way it had always worked. He did what he wanted to do, it made a fucking mess, he smiled and fumbled his way into some unintentional wit, and it all ended up being taken care of ... usually by one of the two bloodied men who were currently milling around the room, no doubt accomplishing just that. He didn’t open his eyes to check. That was the way he preferred it, really; if he never fully noticed just how much other people did to save his ass time after time, he never fully needed to thank them.

“Nachooooos,” he moaned at the mention of food, knowing full well he’d likely pass out before anything that required delivery would arrive at the apartment. As it was, he was already slipping in and out of consciousness. The bed smelled like sweat and Jamie’s shampoo, the sortakinda expensive stuff he got frustrated at Griffin borrowing when his own had run out. It still came from the drug store, but from the higher shelf; not the 3-in-1 body wash bullshit that Griffin smeared through his own hair.

“Go shower,” he mumbled to both and neither of them.

THOMAS ::

With narrowed eyes, Thomas turned to retreat into the kitchen, slapping together a few hastily made sandwiches (which were still entirely too neat, cut diagonally into two separate pieces) and brought them back to the bedroom, just in time for Griffin to begin bossing him around again. "What, this isn't doing anything for you?" Thomas pointed to the bloody mess on his face, chest, and arms.

Rolling his eyes, Thomas passed Jamie the plate, their hands brushing as he released the paper to him. Always something unbreakable, when Griffin was involved. Thomas would have loved to frequently use real plates and cups, but when a bumbling, drunk idiot was constantly falling around your apartment, it was better to have something that couldn't accidentally kill you. "If anyone needs a shower here, it's you. The landlady lives 5 miles away and I'm sure she can smell you from here."

Despite his deflections, Thomas really did need a shower. His blood had become caked and sticky on his skin, drying into flakes that made him want to scratch at his skin like a mangy dog. "Just...eat." With a tired sigh, Thomas ran a bruised hand through his hair, closing his eyes for just a moment. How did he always end up back here?

:: END ::

[kookitykook]

Koya’s Used Bookstore (Namjoon x Reader)

Listen this is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written.

~genre: fluff, humor, sfw 

~word count: 4.8k

~warnings: liberal use of the word ‘weasel,’ reference to a fuckboy named chad

~tags: bookstore owner!joon x angry at the patriarchy!you, featuring annoying employees! vmin lmao

~summary: When you show up to Koya's Used Bookstore for the first time with red eyes, a rant about the patriarchy in hand, and a visceral reaction to Jimin's suggestion of Ernest Hemingway, the store owner, Kim Namjoon, can't help but want to know what details lie in your story ... he’s also a little afraid of you, but that’s expected.

~~~~~~~

“Hyung!”

Namjoon jumped at the sound of Jimin’s voice. He looked up from his paperwork, glasses teetering dangerously at the tip of his nose as he saw his employee looking into the office with oddly wide eyes.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did Tae spill coffee on one of the books again? I swear if that kid—”

“No, no,” Jimin said quickly, glancing quickly behind him before leaning further through the doorframe. “There’s a customer that you really need to come talk to,” he whispered.

Namjoon cocked his head to the side, straightening his glasses as he stood up. He didn’t mind talking with customers, it was actually one of his favorite parts of running his used bookstore. Jimin’s expression was filling him with worry though.

“Why? What’s the problem?” It was odd that Jimin felt compelled to come to his boss over customer service. Jimin was better with customers than him or his other employee Taehyung.

“Uh … well … she’s a bit feisty …”

“Feisty?”

“Yeah, feisty. I don’t know, I can’t put a word to it. I tried to help her but I think I ended up just making her angry.”

Namjoon laughed. “You? You made a customer angry?”

“I don’t know!” Jimin tossed his hands up in the air with exasperation, still whispering as if in fear of the customer overhearing. “She asked for a book recommendation then practically blew her top when I said Hemingway!”

“Jimin,” Namjoon sighed, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath. “Why do I have an inkling there’s more to the story?”

“Namjoon I swear, I—”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll go talk to the customer. Can you point her out to me?”

Jimin hesitated, but nodded all the same and Namjoon followed him out of the office and into the bookstore proper. 

Koya’s Used Books was Namjoon’s pride and joy. He had opened it up with his best friend and business partner Seokjin when they were fresh out of college. They had spent the four years of their undergrad pinching every penny they could, working multiple jobs and barely keeping their heads afloat in their classes just so this dream could become a reality. That had been three years ago, and the bookstore had absolutely flourished.

Well, it had flourished at first. Jin had always been the unreasonably beautiful face of the store with a keen eye for marketing, while Namjoon preferred to be behind the scenes focusing on the books and the paperwork. And that business plan had worked for them — perfectly. 

But then Jin had to move back to his hometown when his father got sick. That had been just over a year ago, and while Namjoon didn’t blame his friend whatsoever, it was clear that Koya’s Used Books needed real help in Jin’s absence. Namjoon already had to let two employees go just to keep paying the rent on the place, leaving the store with him as manager, Jimin running cashier and stocking, and Taehyung as their only barista for the cafe in the back of the store. 

And yet even though the store was on hard times, Namjoon still had love for his job. Even then, walking out to talk to an apparently disgruntled customer, he couldn’t help the swell of fondness in his chest as he smelled the books and coffee, saw a few regulars browsing the fantasy section and a university student on their laptop on one of the beanbags. Koya’s was his pride and joy. 

“That’s her.”

Jimin’s whisper cut through Namjoon’s thoughts and he blinked himself back to the task at hand. Following Jimin’s pointer finger, he looked over to see what he assumed was a young woman with her back to the two of them, her shoulders hunched and hands shoved into the pocket of a gray hoodie with the hood drawn up. He could practically feel their tension from across the room. 

“That’s the girl that just yelled at Jimin.”

Namjoon yelped and whirled to look at Taehyung, who was staring at the young woman while munching on a piece of banana bread, oblivious to the fact that he’d just scared Namjoon. 

“How the hell do you always do that?” Namjoon mumbled under his breath, facing you again. 

“She didn’t yell at me,” Jimin hissed. “She was just …”

“Plotting your death?” Taehyung suggested.

“Slightly irritated with my presence.” Jimin said pointedly. “Which I don’t understand because I am very likable.”

Namjoon could tell Jimin was genuinely perturbed by this situation. He’d yet to meet a single person that wasn’t instantly enamored with his young employee, and with good reason, considering Jimin was one of the most polite, well-mannered people he’d ever met. 

Taehyung on the other hand … 

“She was kind of bitchy about it,” Taehyung mumbled through a mouth full of food. “Not sure why she’s got a stick up her ass, but I’d be careful with that one, hyung.” He took another bite, crumbs littering the corners of his mouth. “If she bites your head off I’m out of a job.”

Namjoon swiped the rest of the banana bread from Taehyung’s hand, ignoring the barista’s whine as he handed off the food to Jimin, who smiled delightedly.

“You’ll be out of a job sooner than that if you keep taking food without logging it in your daily pastry allowance. You two get back to work, I’ll go talk to her.”

“Guard your balls, hyung,” Tae mumbled, which was promptly followed by Jimin smacking him in the back of the head and leading him back to the coffee bar.

Namjoon took a deep breath, drawing up his best smile and channeling his inner Seokjin as he approached you. 

“Um, excuse me? Hi, my name is Namjoon, I’m the owner of …”

Namjoon trailed off as you turned to face him. You were … striking. Utterly striking, that was the only way he could describe you. Sharp features, bright eyes, and thick long hair framing your face beneath the hood of your sweatshirt. 

And you also looked mad as hell. Your eyes were rimmed with red as though you’d been crying, but your tears were clearly dried up and replaced with an expression that said you were thoroughly pissed off.

Namjoon cleared his throat. “I’m the owner of the store.” He cursed himself for the crack in his voice. “Jimin said you were looking for some recommendations?”

Your cleared your throat and straightened your shoulders, meeting his gaze head on. Namjoon couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly intimidated. 

“Yes,” you said simply. “I know I could just go on Google and search for book recommendations, but quite frankly I think that’s too easy of a route.”

The corner of Namjoon’s mouth quirked up. He felt the same way, books were supposed to be about discussion, and while the internet was useful for sure, there was something beautiful about the community of book sharing and recommending. It was one of his favorite parts of running Koya’s in particular. 

“Well you’re in the right place,” Namjoon said with a more genuine smile — one that was definitely not returned. “What are you looking for? A certain author? Genre? Emotion?”

“That one,” you said quickly, pointing right in Namjoon’s face. “That last one. Emotion.”

Namjoon chuckled, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “Okay. Any … particular emotion, ma’am?”

“Anger.” The answer was so blunt that Namjoon could only blink behind his thick framed glasses. “Rage. Think Hulk level pissed off.”

Namjoon swallowed, willing away the urge to pull at the collar of his shirt. “O-Okay … sure thing. Uh, if you don’t mind, who is this book for? W-What I mean to ask is, who’s angry?”

“I am.”

“Oh. Right.” Namjoon did pull at his collar then, but you were unfazed. “Got it. Um … angry at who, if I may ask?”

“The patriarchy.”

“Ah.” Namjoon’s voice had gone up an octave at that and he could practically feel himself withering under your steely gaze. Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating. “T-The patriarchy?”

“Yepp.” You made a popping noise with your lips on the ‘p’ sound. Your eye contact was intense and Namjoon was genuinely afraid to look away. “Dudes. Men. The male gender. I am seriously pissed at you all as a whole at the moment, but quite frankly I am tiny, and even if I wasn’t tiny, the violence I want to enact would actually be detrimental to my cause. So as you can see, I don’t really have any options for catharsis presently, so I’m hoping to release my frustrations upon this stupid, inane aspect of society by reading a book that hopefully agrees with all of my current anti-men sentiments. Do you have any recommendations for that sort of thing …” You squinted at his name tag. “Namjoon?”

Namjoon couldn’t decide whether he should correct you on the pronunciation of his name or run away with his tail between his legs. You were staring him right in the eyes and he had no shame in admitting he was scared shitless. 

“I take it this is the reason you weren’t too happy with Jimin recommending Hemingway?”

He didn’t think it was possible, but somehow your eyes burned with even more rage at the mere mention of the author in question. 

“Ernest fucking Hemingway was incapable of portraying women as anything other than nagging, inadequate, and selfish, and that is a sick narrative that I am tired of dumb dudes getting published and I will not stand here and let yet another penis-driven specimen tell me Hemingway was a master of words — not even if he is cute and polite!”

In the back of the store, Namjoon clearly heard Taehyung say, “hey did you hear that? She thinks you’re cute!” followed by a distinct slapping sound. 

You took a deep breath, your shoulders rising and falling with the movement as your eyes fluttered shut. Namjoon on the other hand couldn’t quite find his breath. He also couldn’t stop noticing how pretty your were — despite the fact that the rising blush on your cheeks was definitely from rage at his entire gender and ogling your was only going to add to the list of reasons your were mad at at the moment. 

“Sorry,” you said through gritted teeth, surprising him. “I’m … a little on edge right now.”

“No shit.”

“Shut up, Tae!”

“Ouch! Stop hitting me!”

Namjoon chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry about them,” he mumbled, swallowing thickly. “And sorry about … men?” You just blinked at him. “Uh … I wish I had a female employee I could direct you to for this … n-not that I’m against having a female employee,” he said hurriedly. “I actually did have a female employee up until a few weeks ago, but I had to let her go. But not because she was a female! She was a lazy worker to be honest and — not that I think women are lazy! Women are — they’re hard working and capable and — and she was given the same pay as my male employees. Not that that makes me noble or anything, that should just be standard, you know? I mean I am a proud feminist and — wait, fuck, that’s not something I should be saying right now because then it seems like I’m—”

“Fucking hell Namjoon, stop talking!” 

Namjoon flinched almost violently as Tae shouted across the shop. It was only then that he realized the other few customers were all listening and watching in amusement, as were Jimin and Taehyung, the former of which was staring with his mouth open and the latter looking at him like he was the world’s biggest idiot. An accurate assessment, honestly.

With a sigh and what he knew was probably the reddest cheeks on the planet, Namjoon finally looked back at you. He was fully expecting a hand reared back ready to slap him or cut off his dick or something along those lines. 

What he didn’t expect though, was an open-mouthed dopey smile and adorably crinkled eyes. 

“Oh my gosh,” you murmured. “You’re adorable. It’s like all my rage at men just flew out the window.”

“Really?”

“I mean no, I definitely still hate men and they exhaust me, but you might be an exception!”

“Baby youuuuu areeeee the only exception.”

“Tae nobody listens to Paramore anymore.”

“Fuck you!”

Namjoon laughed in exasperation, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. When he looked back up at you, you were still smiling at him.

“You have a really pretty smile,” he found himself saying. His eyes widened a fraction of a second later. “N-Not that I think you should smile! You don’t have to smile for anyone you know, you can smile for who you want a-and when you want, you know?”

“This is painful. I’m in physical pain.”

“Hyung for crying out loud just recommend her the books and walk away!” 

With a huff and a whirl, you spun on your heel to stare down Jimin and Tae on the opposite side of the shop behind the cafe counter. 

“Would you two weasels shut the fuck up!”

Jimin froze, his hand shaking with the coffee halfway to his lips. Taehyung’s eyes went wide as he sunk behind the counter and out of sight without another word. 

Namjoon stared with an appreciative smile on his face as you turned back to him as if nothing of importance had happened. 

“Woah,” was all he could say. Eloquent, Namjoon, you truly have a way with words, he thought to himself. “Uh … thanks for that?”

“Anytime,” you remarked offhandedly, pushing her hair over her shoulder. While turning to tell off the boys, your hood had fallen back and now Namjoon could really appreciate your face. 

Shit, stop appreciating her face and talk to her, you moron! he thought to himself.

“Um, so about those books,” Namjoon said after clearing his throat and toeing the floor with his shoe to look away from your stunning eyes, “I actually have a section on female empowerment and feminism — w-well I don’t have a section, the store does, but I own the store so—”

“Really?” you cut him off — and thank goodness for that. “That’s perfect. Can you show me? This is my first time here.”

“Y-Yeah of course, follow me. Or just come with me, not follow me, I guess? I mean — ah, fuck it.”

You laughed out loud at that, and it was absolutely adorable and Namjoon was absolutely screwed. 

Nonetheless, you did follow his stride to the other side of the store to the ‘on female empowerment and feminism’ section — which just so happened to be right beside the coffee bar where Jimin and Taehyung still were. 

“Boys,” Namjoon nodded at them, Jimin wide-eyed and gulping as he promptly looked back into his cup of coffee, and Taehyung literally still crouched behind the counter.

When Tae’s crouched form was in view, you looked over at him and cocked an eyebrow. “Where’s all that bark from earlier?” You asked. “Oh no, did you forget to guard your balls?”

Taehyung chuckled nervously, but his cheeks flamed red as you repeated the words he had said to Namjoon just before he had approached you. 

“I just uh, I’ve got to go check on the … the pastries,” he murmured, standing up from his crouch and all but running to the back room. 

When it was only Jimin at the counter, he looked over at you and Namjoon and blinked rapidly. 

“I should go help him!” And with that, the two boys had scattered. 

You chuckled. “Didn’t mean to scare them so bad.” Namjoon looked down at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I did. Sorry about that, they seem like nice kids. Still stupid boys of course, but nice. Like I said … rough day.”

Namjoon swallowed, gathering his courage to lean his shoulder against the shelf and face tyou head on. “If you don’t mind me asking … what exactly spurred on this extra hatred for the patriarchy today? No judgment, just …”

“For the book recommendation?” you asked, her lips turned upwards slightly in a way that he knew you were teasing. He found himself smiling back. 

“Yes. For the recommendation.”

You took a deep breath, focusing on the worn out book spines in front of you, trailing a finger over Virginia Woolf’s name. 

“I quit my job today,” you said suddenly. It was as if a weight fell off of your shoulders just at the admission. “I’ve been gearing for a promotion for the past year and a half, I’m insanely qualified for it and honestly a shoo-in for the position. And I’m not just saying that, it’s one-hundred percent true. So when my boss called me in for a special meeting this morning, I’m ready to go, right? All my hard work is finally going to be paid off, I’m going to get the position I’ve been heading towards since I started there. But then …”

You let out a deep breath, laughing humorlessly as you looked down at you shoes. “But then he told me that I was in fact not getting the promotion, but my coworker Chad was. Fucking Chad. The frat boy from hell itself that had been working there for barely even three months and still couldn’t even fill out expense reports for crying out loud! He got the promotion I rightfully deserved because apparently the position requires ‘being able to exude a certain level of authority that the fairer sex simply can’t produce in the necessary fashion.’”

Namjoon sucked in a sharp breath. You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Right?” You shouted in exasperation. “Can you believe that? He literally called me the fairer sex! Like buddy, that’s not a fucking compliment. I don’t how you get off to talking down to me when if it wasn’t for me, your firm would’ve already gone down the drain. Gah, the nerve! I tried to keep my cool, but it was like all of this repressed anger just came surging up and I flipped my lid. I mean I really flew off the handle, I completely lost it. They almost had to call security, all of my coworkers saw it go down, it was … mortifying, but I was so pissed off I didn’t care. I finally yelled out that I quit and stormed out. I started to go to the gym to punch something, but that was definitely only going to make me more angry, and my mom used to say that reading a book always helped with whatever you were feeling so … I saw your place while driving and now I’m here. A crazy, angry lady scaring off you and your employees.”

You trailed off, staring holes into the bookshelf before you. Namjoon didn’t know what to say — he didn’t know what he should say. He wasn’t good with comforting, he didn’t know how to say the right words in the right way to make you feel better. 

But he did know books.

“Fed Up.”

You looked up at him. “Pardon?”

“Fed Up,” he repeated, reaching over and pulling the book in question off the shelf. “Fed Up by Gemma Hartley. It’s her first book, and it just came out last November. Really good though.”

He handed the book to you, who accepted it with surprise. “Oh. Th-Thanks.”

“Rage Becomes Her, by Soraya Chemaly — not sure I’m pronouncing that name right, to be honest, and I haven’t read it, but the reviews have been good. The Power, by Naomi Alderman, it’s fiction, and if you like The Handmaid’s Tale you’ll love that one. Oh! Sister Outsider, by Audre Lorde. The essays cover a whole bunch of topics, so it’s super well-rounded.”

With each recommendation, Namjoon handed you the book in question, and soon you had a stack of four in your hands, looking up at him in shock and surprise. The pleasant kind of surprise, he noticed. He hoped. 

“And of course,” he continued, reaching over your head (your really were tiny, like you had said earlier in your rant), “you can’t leave here without A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. I won’t allow it.”

You grinned, absolutely delighted with this turn of events. “Oh you won’t allow it?” you smarted back. “Will you use your big scary man powers and keep me here?”

“No, but I might send Jimin over here to tell you how much he loves Hemingway.”

“Namjoon!” Jimin shrieked from the back room, clearly listening to the conversation. 

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back as the sound filled the shop. Namjoon’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. 

“I know you know this, but I feel like I have to say this,” Namjoon said as you tamped down on her laughter. “Your old boss was a cowardly dickwad. And fucking Chad is going to suck at that job, and probably get fired or quit, and then go running back to his old money family and never have any real dreams or passion because at heart he’s a fucking loser. You exude a shit ton of authority and they were idiots not to promote you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly with a small, shy smile as you looked down at the books in your hands. Your duality was going to send Namjoon to the grave. 

“Namjoon,” you said, finally looking back up at him. 

“I … yes, that’s my name,” he said in confusion. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “I mispronounced it earlier when I read your name tag. Your weasly employees have said your name a couple times now and I realized I said it wrong. Sorry about that.”

Namjoon only laughed. “It’s fine. You’d be surprised how often that happens.”

“Seriously though, Namjoon … thanks. I was a real bitch before and that was all really nice of you to say. I appreciate it.”

Namjoon’s chest tightened at your words. “You’re welcome. And I meant every word of it. Fuck Chad.”

“Fuck Chad,” you affirmed with a nod. 

“Yeah fuck Chad!” Taehyung’s voice echoed from the back room. “Actually don’t fuck Chad, he seems like a real douchebag. Or do fuck him if you want. Your body is your body and you can fuck whoever you want and — ouch! Stop hitting me! I’m being nice now, what the hell?!”

You laughed yet again at that while Namjoon sighed in exasperation. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said suddenly. “I haven’t even asked your name.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you chuckled, shifting the books in you arms. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Namjoon repeated, smiling to himself. “I’m sorry such a bad day brought you here, but … quite frankly this has been the most entertaining thing to happen at Koya’s for a while.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Shut up!” Namjoon yelled over his shoulder before turning back to you with a sheepish smile. 

“Business been a little slow lately?” At the question, Namjoon’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I didn’t mean that as an insult! I just … I remember hearing a lot about this place a couple years ago when it opened, in the papers and stuff. And with what your employee just said and earlier you mentioned you had to let some other workers go and—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Namjoon reassured you, chuckling and scratching the back of his head — you were beginning to notice that he did that when he was nervous. “Yeah, things have been slow. My business partner had to leave about a year ago and Koya’s has been … on a bit of a decline since then.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Namjoon waved you off. “It’s fine, this stuff happens in business. We’ll get through it. Hey are you satisfied with those book choices? Did you want to look around some more or…?”

“No these are great!” You assured him, smiling widely. How on earth had you been so rude to this guy earlier? 

“Okay great, I can check you out over at the cash register.”

“Yeah you can, Joonie — hey, ouch!”

Tell-tale sounds of a scuffle broke out in the back room. 

“Uh, should you check that out?” You asked as a loud metal clanging and a few more choice curse words rang out. 

Namjoon pondered on it for about two seconds. “No, they’re fine. Come with me.”

Walking to the cash register, you took a closer look at the bookshop. When you first came in you were still simmering with rage over stupid fucking Chad so you hadn’t looked at the place proper. 

It was cute, albeit small, in an old building that you were sure had seen better days. It looked like there was an upstairs, but it was closed off. The decorations were pretty sparse (okay there weren’t really any decorations, at least not very good ones), and quite frankly the piano instrumental playlist over the speakers was boring as hell — even for a bookstore.  

“She’s not much,” Namjoon commented, watching your gaze. “But this place is my pride and joy.”

“It’s great,” you admitted. And it was, even if your overly critical eye was looking at areas that could use improvement. “Really. And you didn’t even kick out the psycho woman who came in shouting about the patriarchy. You actually managed to calm me down and honestly that’s a feat in and of itself.”

Namjoon laughed at that, looking up at your from underneath his long eyelashes with a dopey grin. Damn he was adorable. 

“My business partner Seokjin, the one who left a year ago, he would have handled it better than me. He was always better with customers.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, leaning over the counter and grinning up at him, “I think you did pretty good, Namjoon.”

It gave you quite the ego boost to see the shy smile and the heat in Namjoon’s cheeks at your words. Doesn’t exude authority my ass, you thought to yourself. 

“Seokjin he was uh, he—” Namjoon cleared his throat, working to focus on his task at hand as you flirted. You decided to show him mercy and stand back up to your full height, leaning away from the counter. “He was great at customer service and the marketing side of everything. Don’t get me wrong, I like working with customers, but honestly I … I’m here for the books more than the people sometimes. I think that’s one of the reasons business has declined since he left.”

You were quiet at that, and Namjoon looked up to see you staring at a spot on the counter in what appeared to be deep thought. He cleared his throat and finished bagging your books, reading off the total. Honestly he didn’t want to charge you for the books because of the crap day you’d had, but he also needed to pay Jimin and Taehyung that month. 

“Oh, right,” you said, pulling your phone out of your pocket and opening up Apple pay. As the transaction processed, you suddenly took a deep breath and looked up at Namjoon. “Did I happen to mention what kind of a company I was working for before I, you know, became a public nuisance and flipped a table in rage before quitting my job?”

“You flipped a table?” Namjoon asked incredulously.

“Not important,” you said with a wave of your hand. “But really, did I mention where I worked?”

“No, no you didn’t.”

You smiled, wide and unrestrained and Namjoon felt like you had punched him in the gut. 

“I worked for Atlas Marketing.” At the name of one of the biggest companies in the city, Namjoon’s eyes almost bugged out. “As of yesterday I was the youngest and most promising marketer in our branch. But as of today,” you dragged out the word and smiled even bigger, “I am currently unemployed, with plenty of money in my savings account to work for a few months on a meager salary, and ready to start a new project … if you get what I’m saying.”

Namjoon stared at you slack-jawed. Your old boss actually had the nerve to say that you didn’t exude authority? He’d known your for maybe fifteen minutes and you’d exuded more confidence and authority than anyone he’d ever met. 

And he wasn’t ashamed to say he liked it. 

He really liked it.

He also was fully aware that you were exactly what Koya’s Used Books needed. 

“Y/N,” he said, “how would you like a job?” 

“Sweet, we’ve got a pretty girl working with us now.”

“Tae, you can’t just say things like that!”

“What! I’m showing equaility! Isn’t that what — ouch!”

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires Pt.7

Title & Song: Making A Fool Of You

Characters: Alfie Solomons x OFC

Word Count: 2000+

Summary: Genevieve Durand is a force to be reckoned with. An intelligent, independent and brutal businesswoman. When she moves to London for a new chapter in her life, she finds herself very interested in the friends the father of her godson has found himself in business with. But where does the line go between personal and professional?

A/N: Every chapter of this story will have a song to work as the title and as a soundtrack. Chapter song is Making A Fool Of You by Homeshake. All text in italics is spoken in French.

Part 1: Thieves & Kings.- Pt. 2 Conquest - Pt. 3 Nail In My Coffin - Pt. 4 - 60 Feet Tall Pt. 5 I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor Pt. 6 Stop The World Pt. 8 l’amour et la violence

My Masterlist.

Warnings: Language.

Tags! Let me know if you’d like to be added or dropped! Thanks!

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer​ @cosettewinchester​ @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog​ @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix

You sit perched in the middle of your sunlight flooded painting room. Your red silk robe barely tied around your waist, the only thing protecting your naked skin from the colder air of the room.

"Still sitting in the sun like a cat I see?" Agatha, your head maid, who had worked in your family's summer home in France since you were a child enters the room.

"Yes. I find myself to be so disconsolate today, Aggie." you sigh. Your hand pushes the brush into a mixed pile of paint on your palette.

"And what's the cause of this, dear?" she pats your back as she crosses the room.

"I am inclined to say I do not know but I feel that isn't exactly true." you sigh, feeling entirely too clouded, your eyes wide with annoyance at your worry for your possibly prophetic dreams.

"Another vision then?" she says this like she already knows the answer.

"Oui." you nod and groan, looking out the window dramatically, feeling sorry for yourself for a moment. "Was this one you sought out or one that came to you?" she grabs a teacup off the low table in front of your fainting couch.

You let out a heavy sigh. "A man at the ball I feel means to harm Mr. Solomons and I do not know if he takes my advice as seriously as I feel he should."

"Much like a man." Aggie says with a chuckle, you frown, your eyes following her round form around the room as she stacked teacups up on top of the other as they'd accumulated over the past few days.

"Yes." you sigh again. "I suppose I was incorrect to expect more from a man like him. Blame that one on my mother." you pout, plopping your brush into a paint covered teacup with murky water in it. Aggie nods, holding your chin. "That is your mother's voice you hear in your head on that account dear. Listen to her." she releases your chin with a nod. "No matter the religion, they are still only men, aren't they?" she says with a smile and a shrug.

"Are we finally back to complaining about men instead of sitting around like we're back in the war? Worrying, staring out the windows all day waiting for something bad to happen?" she says exasperated, nodding to Agatha as she rolls her eyes at your moping.

"I won't apologize for being concerned over clear visions of death surrounding someone that I care about." you say flatly, straightening your back and narrowing your eyes at her.

"Oh, do we CARE about him now? I shall write that down in the diary." she says with a shake of her head.

"Now Claire, she may be a killer, but she is not a monster." Agatha says in a teasing tone. "She can't help if she was born under a sun and moon full of emotion." she adds factually as she heads out of the room.

"Aggie empathizes." you say your voice and face full of attitude. "And Besides! Apart from my boys, he's the only man to not be disrespectful to me based on my being a woman in this business since I've moved here." you state, your muscles tensing in frustration. "So yes, I do care if he lives or dies." he say loudly, your arms slapping your bare thighs to punctuate your point. "I'd like it if you didn't act like I've got some fucking schoolgirl crush." you cross your arms and pout menacingly.

"No need to raise your voice, Gen." she says scoldingly, patronizing you as she's rolling her eyes.

"If you would stop trying to make my emotions not valid they wouldn't be forced to overcompensate and overflow in these sorts of ways!" you shout your arms falling to your sides. "I also can't help how the full moon is fucking with my emotions and giving me these damned dreams that make me feel like a mad woman." you rush out, groaning in annoyance. "I find myself consumed by frustration at this entire situation." you say quietly, the anger starting to be replaced by melancholy.

"You're consumed by frustration because you've stopped all your vices for it since moving here." Claire state obviously in her frustration at you self-pity, turning to leave the room, giving you an observation she knew you needed to be reminded of. "In the past if you acted like this I'd tell you to go get fucked, but mean it literally." This is the longest she'd seen you go without sex in the over a decade of years she'd known you. You hadn't done much drinking or partying since you'd moved. You stuck to wine in liquors usual place. Business meetings got you out of the house instead of all-nighters in clubs in the city. She knew you were trying to calm your life down a bit from your wilder days in Berlin and Paris but she also knew those parts of you ran so deep that you pretending like they didn't exist was just going to backfire and she didn't want to be around when you burned the estate to the ground in a fit of frustration.

"Oh, fuck off." you groan loudly after her, you hear her laughing as she heads down the hallway, knowing she's right. You slouch and your anger fades quickly as look over to the nude male statue in the corner of the room, opposite the female one, the corner of your mouth pulled back as your eyes look it up and down. "UGH!" you groan loudly as you take a paint-splattered sheet off a chair and throw it over the statue. ---------------- It'd been a week since the ball and you hadn't heard anything. You'd sent Joseph to town for your favorite little pastries so he could give you any news he heard. You heard nothing for days. You assumed this was both a good and bad thing. No news was not bad news, after all. But it was the good news you were after.

"Genevieve." Claire says already annoyed with your low mood today. "No man is worth this worry. Should I just call him to end this suffering you're putting us all through along with you?" she walks next to you, perched in a random room in the guest wing, sitting on a tufted velvet cushion on a bench that sat beneath a large window, looking out onto the forest and hills. You turn your head to her, you move your eyes up slowly and she exhales noisily at your tired face. "Hmmm?" you ask quietly, your face fallen completely.

"Have you even slept?" Claire asked, moving her hands to your shoulders.

"No. I tried and the dreams became more and more disturbing." your voice is soft and flat. "I don't want to deal with them anymore." you mumble. You do as Claire physically directs, moving you out of the room towards your own.

"You are going to go take one of your little night vials and you're going to sleep this off." she says slowly, hoisting you around to move quicker.

"No, Claire." you whine, your feet dragging, your brow furrowed.

"Then what do you want to do, huh? Do you want to never sleep again? Is that your plan?" she says exasperatedly. It'd been a week of this moody blues funk you'd fell into out of nowhere. "Because it's a shit plan," she says obviously, grabbing your arm and you move reluctantly but willingly. You groan as she shoves you into your room. "You're good to no one without your rest." she says, her voice less harsh.

"Don't treat me like a child. You don't know what they're like, Claire, I don't want to be stuck in those dreams." you say loudly, your hands falling to your sides heavily, your shoulders slumping.

"Then stop your crying and fix this problem or I will have Aggie hold you down and give you something to make you sleep." you says, fixing her shirt hastily.

You glare at her and plop onto the bed. "I'm not crying. Which is honestly surprising at what hour of consciousness I am on at this point." you let out a yawn as you sink into the bed.

She scolds, pulling the curtains of the canopy down and around your bed. "Like a little bird." Claire tsks, "Put the sheet over your gilded cage and you'll shut up." she says in a more playful and less hateful way as you frown as the last light from the daylit room disappears. You cuddle into your breast and chirp in the comfort or the bed and fall asleep.

----------------- You awake and it's dark. Your eyes snap open. You had exhausted yourself and your sleep had shown you dreams of him but with nothing bad attached. Just him, floating about in dark water alone. You groan and stretch, rolling about the bed. You peak your head out of the curtains before pulling one to the side and tieing it back.

The full moon's light comes in from your window, the curtains not being touched since you fell asleep. You stand in the middle of the towering window, letting the moonlight seep into your pores, you let out a long sigh and move to an armoire in your room. You open it to find your oils. You change your silk robe for one more substantial. You pile things into your pockets, your robe untied, your maribou tipped, soft-soled shoes carry you, almost mindlessly through the rows of raspberries, your labyrinth to get to your sanctuary in the middle.

"I saw her going into the garden, practically naked with a bottle of rum in her hand, ma'am." the newest maid softly says, reporting to Claire that you'd woken up.

"I expected as much." Claire says, chewing on her thumbnail, her feet kicked up on the dining room table as she reads by the fire.

"This isn't concerning at all?" the young maid says, uncertainty in her voice and Claire lets out a loud laugh and pats the girl's arm to comfort her.

"None of us have anything to fear from Genevieve, dear. She may have habits you've been raised to be frightened by but her heart is always in the right place." she grins, it'd been awhile since you'd hired any new house workers and she'd forgotten how eccentric you appear to others who didn't know you as well. "Speak to her at the next kitchen meeting, you'll find her very warm to you, I'm certain."

"She has been, very much so. I'm afraid I'll be full of stupid questions until I can accustom myself with the home and those who live in it. But may I inquire as to what she's doing out there in the rows?" she says meekly, not wanting to step out of her bounds.

"Going out to her secret garden to do some of her grandmother's old world medicine to get rid of those dreams she finds herself imprisoned by, I imagine." she says casually, her eye returning back to her book.

"And this is good?" the girl responds with wide eager eyes.

"Yes, dear, it means she's finally stopped letting it happen to her and is now getting back her control of the situation." she nods, chewing her bottom lip, relieved you were finally snapping out of it and getting back to being the reasonable, logical, power source she preferred you as. You were out in the outskirts of your rows of berries, among the iris's in your spherical space of hanging flowers and willows, your stone bench and small viewing pool the only other pieces taking up the space besides you. You drink a good few big swigs of his rum, connecting yourself to him.

"You better be worth all this fucking trouble, Solomons." you grumble quietly, sighing with a furrowed brow at how you'd gotten yourself into this mess, now to try to get yourself, and him, out of it. You light your candle and begin what Claire had assumed, but you try to focus specifically on protecting Alfie as you begin to rub the oils into your skin and try to center your mind.

Pt. 8 L’amour et la violence

[indieks]

Silent Treatment 🔇 Mark Tuan || Part.1

💭 Pairing : Mark Tuan x Reader

💭 Genre : Angst, Fluff, Supernatural-ish

💭 Word count : 11k.

💭 Synopsis : Ever since his accident, he has forbidden himself from speaking ever again, as his voice hasn’t been useful the time he had needed it the most. Until he meets you, the one and only girl that could possibly help him overcome his trauma, as you make his heart and mind want to speak up again. You, who can hear his deepest thoughts through your special ability, yet still doesn’t see him as a desperate mute, but a mysterious man worthy of your care.

💭 Notice : The sentences written in bold are Mark's thoughts, and when *written like this between stars*, it means the character can hear them.

    Part 01 🔇 Part 02 🔈 Part 03 🔉 Part 04 [END] 🔊

   💭 A/N : I’m back!!!! Finally, I’m writing for GOT7, I’m so happy! This time, it’s a short series (normally 3 parts) that came up into my mind a long time ago but without the knowledge of where to take it nor who to choose… Until I finally opened my eyes on my own bias that suited the story too damn well, and helped it growing on its own…

I just wanted to add that I would never pretend that I know about psychology and how to treat patients! Everything comes out of my pure imagination! And please, if you ever feel bad for any reason, reach out, you matter! ♥

Thanks for ever reading this! As usual, I hope you’ll like it, and any comments, good or bad, are welcomed! I love your feedback ♥

Disclaimer : For the first time in my life, I can proudly say that the GIF is mine!

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The young man was sitting lazily on the leather couch, his eyes deprived from any light or life, with his fingers gently scratching the damaged pieces of fabric that were soon going to fall to the ground.

"Hmmm I see..." the psychiatrist mumbled as he wrote down some key words on the blank sheet in front of him. "He still doesn't want to speak?"

"No, doctor. I've tried everything I could. When I'm forcing him a little or approach him too close, he pushes me away pretty brutally... I don't know what to do anymore."

"And what about his best friend, J... Jason? Jason is that it?"

The mute had been about to break his vow of never speaking ever again in order to correct that annoying error, but he bit his bottom lip right before doing so, only glancing at the doctor who gladly caught that small reaction.

"Jackson, and he's doing really fine! He keeps on telling him that he doesn't blame him... Why would he even–" his dad sighed. "They still are best friends, well, at least I hope so... They used to laugh all the time, the house was so lively whenever the whole group of friends came, but ever since Jackson got out of the hospital, each one of their visits has been them talking to a wall and leaving with an upset expression on their faces..."

"How long has it been since the accident? Two months right?" the doctor asked while swinging slowly in his black chair.

"Yes..." the father answered, his voice trembling and, anticipating the fall of heavy tears that had accumulated under his tired eyelids, he grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk in front of him. "Two months since my wife died... And two months since Mark hasn't said a word."

The eyes of the said Mark landed on his father's back, whose shoulders were so down that he could clearly see how heavy the weight he carried on them was, and his heart squeezed in his chest.

"Mark? Can you come forward for a second?" the psychiatrist and hypnotherapist, Dr. Woodam Hwang, called for him along with a motion of his fingers signaling him to sit on the empty chair across his father's.

Mark executed himself, all the while looking at the ground as he exhaled quietly, and he sat on the chair, spreading his legs nonchalantly. After the tatters of the couch, he started to play with the ones of his ripped pair of jeans, not showing a bit of interest in the man in a white blouse facing him. Everything coming from his demeanor and facial expressions could tell how annoyed he was to be here and to have those psychiatric sessions that were far from helpful, at least in his eyes. Two months and four different doctors without a concluding diagnostic had passed ; why his father still hadn't given up on him just like he himself had?

Like the previous times, the doctor would pretend he knows everything that was stepping on his mind as well as the reasons he was doing this to himself, but up till now, it only had been wrong assumptions.

Like the previous times, his father would believe in the doctor's words, as they sound pretty right when they're coming from a professional's mouth. And because he can't talk anymore, Mark won't be able to tell him how ridiculous the diagnosis was, nor to explain himself.

Like the previous times, the link between his father and him would only shatter even more, destroyed by Mark's silence and the scary names that were given to his "sickness", or "trauma" as they say.

Aphasia, check ; temporary disablement, nope ; post-traumatic syndrome, maybe… Four doctors, and none of them, after having gone around those popular medical possibilities, had saved a final solution to the main problem : Mark had made a choice. None of them, had found the key to unlock his blocking that made him aim to shut himself up, forever.

So, in the end, Mark was once again going to be everything the doctor would want him to be. Two had said it would stop "sooner or later", remaining the vaguer possible – probably to get his father's hopes up ; and the other two had somehow reached the truth, as they had concluded that no one can really do anything against the power of human's will – at least without using force.

But still, where all of them had went wrong anyway, was when they had prescribed him a psychiatric treatment in the end – to cash the check, right? Or was it really because of their duty to take care of their patients, even the lost causes like him?

And, like the previous times, this psychiatric treatment wouldn't work, because Mark wasn't sick ; he was doing this voluntarily and didn't want it to stop. And that, his father either refused to accept it, or wouldn't believe it.

"I'm not expecting you to talk when it's only our first session together, Mark. But I'm going to deliver you my first conclusion, and if you don't agree, or if there's anything you want to tell, write it down there."

Dr. Hwang slid a blank sheet of paper along with a pencil in front of the empty-looking boy who nodded without great conviction. Mark felt the hopeful look of his father on him burn his cells, but he didn't mirror it as he laid back in his chair, waiting for the fantastic diagnostic this doctor would have reached. He quickly eyed the pin on the man's blouse and almost rolled his eyes at the sight of its lettering.

A hypnotherapist? Seriously dad?

"The shock must have affected you a lot, and I totally understand that. But what I'm fearing right now, is that it is transforming into a trauma that would block you for life..." the psychiatrist started, his eyes going back and forth between the two gloomy men on the other side of his desk. "Everybody knows that the loss of a mother is really hard for the child, whatever age he or she is, but even more when it has been as brutal as what you went through. In fact, the main problem is, that you were present when it happened."

Mark finally looked up to gaze at the serious doctor's face, who bent forward to lay his elbows on the desk, linking his fingers together as he was slowly reaching the heart of his analysis.

"And what I think is that... You feel guilty. For not having cried for help when you should have in your eyes, because you were the only one that was still conscious when the car crashed. I think, that you believe that you speaking is useless now, because your voice hasn't been of any help at that time. You believe that she died because of you, so overall, you feel guilty for having survived, and not her. Am I wrong?"

Shit, that bastard. He's… right?

Mark only shrugged before looking away from the doctor who smiled quickly, feeling proud to have seemingly pinpointed the problem.

"But what I believe, Mark, is that your mother surely wouldn't want you to inflict this to yourself."

He caught the angry stare of his client and it made him even prouder. He was getting closer.

"I believe you're too young to waste your life like this. Do you know that it is only normal that you didn't cry for help? You just had an accident, Mark. You were upside down when they found you that night ; you were hurt and shocked as well! Yes, people came late, but they still did, and it saved both your life and your best friend's! You shouldn't feel guilty for that, but lucky!"

Mark felt a sudden wave of rage running in his whole body. What did he even know? Was he there? He hadn't been that hurt, there was the proof : he only stayed three days at the hospital, while his best friend laid one month in a bed and his mother... His mother... 

"I know. I know you're deadly mad at me right now, and you have all the rights to be. I saw how you had been about to curse at me earlier when I misspelled Jackson's name, so I know you can talk. I know you can, but you won't. And my job consists in, helping you. So I'll try to help you as much as I can. I'll help you until I've found the thing inside of you that would make you want to talk again. You're a good person Mark, I can see that, as you take all the blame for yourself. But let me help you overcome this trauma, will you?"

I'm not sick. I'm not traumatized. Leave me alone, fuck.

Unexpectedly, a quiet sob broke out, and when Mark turned his head to the left, he spotted his father hiding in his coat's sleeve, a hand up in the air to excuse himself, as he was crying. The only time Mark had seen his father cry, in his whole 21 years of existence, was no other than at his mother's funeral. Not at the hospital when the doctors had pronounced her dead, not on the first night they had spent home without her presence to lighten the mood, not at the church when they had celebrated her beautiful personality and heard touching speeches on how a good woman she was, no ; at the cemetery, when her coffin had sunk deeper and deeper into the ground. When he had finally realized that she was gone.

But there he was, the proud and strong man he had always been, crying in the doctor's cabinet because of him, again. Mark's own tears were about to come out, but he rolled his eyes in the back to prevent them to do so. Because of me. I'm the one who should've died.

"I think we should at least try, for you, but also for you and him" the doctor smiled. "You're 21, so I won't treat you like a child. I can't impose you to come. It's only up to you, Mark."

Mark hated this idea. He wanted to be left alone and live his own life as a mute ; hell, he was fine like that! He grabbed the pen in front of him and was about to write an immense "BULLSHIT!" that would have taken all the paper before crumpling it and throw the ball at the psychiatrist. Yet, as he caught his father looking at him expectantly, the tears now wiped away from his face but his eyes still shimmering with hope and something near a plead, Mark resigned himself and reluctantly wrote a small "ok.", and he heard the doctor sigh in contentment.

"Fine! I'll set you an appointment in two months. You can come, if you want to."

     *

 **

 *

Two years later

    He approached his face to the mirror, searching meticulously for any sign of tiredness that needed to disappear as soon as he'd went out the door, because he hadn't the right to be tired. His boss had been kind enough to accept him in spite of his disablement, so Mark felt like he had to do extremely well as a payback.

Suddenly, the bathroom's door creaked and Jackson pushed it open, the morning's mist still readable in his squinted eyes, and after having blinked a few times to get accustomed to the light, he finally recognized his best friend that was looking back at him.

"Oh, hi Mark, woken up early" his raspy voice managed to be heard and Mark chuckled before reaching out his hand, waiting for their own greeting.

A few tricks of palms and fingers later, they both were now brushing their teeth with their eyes closed, undeniably wishing they could've stayed longer in their beds.

"Why do we have to wake up and go to work or classes, huh? I'm going to collapse sooner or later" Jackson whined with his toothbrush still in his mouth, but Mark kicked him in the arm before placing a finger on his frothy lips, signaling him into the glass to make less noise. "Ah right, the boys are sleeping, them, at least."

Mark had moved out of his house seven months ago, right after he had finished his cooking distance lessons and found his job as a kitchen clerk – if he wasn't dishwashing during the worst days – in a restaurant downtown. It was the perfect job where he didn't need to talk, as he was only executing orders without questioning. The perfect job that also fitted him and his lonely character, as he was most of the time left alone while preparing the steps of one meal or dressing up the plates. That, was the only thing he was thankful for Dr. Hwang, who had come up with a great plan B when he had dropped out of college – to his father's despair.

He was now living along with his six best friends in a huge colocation that was noisier, cheerier and livelier, yet more comfortable than with his own father. Some would say he was avoiding him like a coward as well as the tensed situation he had come to build between them ; still, his true friends right here had deeply understood when he had explained in their groupchat that he felt the need to leave, persuaded it was for the better.

He hadn't expected a positive response from each one of them when he had randomly offered to move in with him, as he still was thinking he was an ultimate burden for everyone he was close to, even more now that they had to speak through messages or properly learned – yet personalized – sign language. However, here they were altogether, and Mark could really tell the difference : he could finally breathe.

No more duty to go the appointments with Dr. Hwang every two months in order to please his dad ; no sensation of guilt every time he would catch him looking at pictures of his mother, still mourning two years after that ; no need to see him desperate as he was facing the non-evolution of his son's situation. He loved his father, deeply and truly, and that's why he felt even more satisfied that he had left, as he was sure it was taking a thousand of worries out of his mind.

Also, Mark had turned 23 years old, and his young adult's aim for independence had dragged him out of his house full of sorrow. His days were no longer guided by the routine of his distance learning for the cooking diploma – sending pictures of his creations and being with people only for the final exams had truly been better than dealing with his disablement at college –, nor by his fucking psychiatric sessions – seven months he hadn't gone to one, oups.

Now, he was a full-time worker, earning his own life, and living his youth the best he could with what he allowed himself to have. He mostly had a social life thanks to the random parties his roommates would throw from time to time at the apartment with their other friends, or the late-night snacks he shared with them before TV series, or the beer-and-chicken after dinner – if there even was a dinner ; sometimes the boys were too lazy or tired to cook.

Because aside from those six dorks, Mark hadn't made any acquaintances, not even at work where colleagues remained colleagues, as even if they were all really kind, the barrier of his silence and his secretive personality were making it difficult to get close to him. And unfortunately, his will to speak again was nowhere to be seen. 

Deep inside, Mark had been in perpetual suffering and blocking, his dark thoughts resurfacing more frequently than what he had expected, even if Jackson was doing more than well now, and his mom was surely resting in peace. Even if his friends were trying to reach out to him and make him talk sometimes, once he was drunk or when they had serious conversations about life, hoping their mate would break his walls and finally let go.

Mark hadn't put any efforts in his psychiatric sessions, and while Dr. Hwang clearly knew about that, he hadn't given up on him. Every two months since he had left his father's house, Mark had been receiving a small text reminding him there still was an appointment reserved for him – same time, same place – and that it would be the case until he clearly tells he doesn't want to come anymore.

Nevertheless, Mark had always left the psychiatrist on read. Not that he thought of returning anytime soon, no – maybe ? –, but because every time he had been about to turn it down once and for all, the face of his father had popped up in his mind, and he had been unable to do it. Guilt. Always that fucking guilt. His father, whom he lied to when he was telling him he had went, as the latter wasn't accompanying him anymore under the doctor's wish. For now, he had been lucky enough that Dr. Hwang hadn't said a word about it, but for how long… 

      Bzzt bzzt.

Is it this time of the month already?

Mark looked down on the sink where his smartphone was placed, and when the screen lit up, he indeed saw the text popping up and he swallowed a sigh. Maybe I should tell him I won't come anymore. Maybe it is time.

Jackson had looked down too from the corner of his eye, and if he had bit back his tongue for the past three sessions, this time he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Aren't you going to go?" he asked while combing his hair.

Mark looked surprised as he addressed him a curious gaze, his brows up on his forehead, so Jackson grabbed the opportunity to go on.

"I wasn't going to say anything but shit Mark, I know these appointments are doing you good bro!" he half-exclaimed half-whispered, and suddenly his friend's expression turned into a pissed one.

No they don't, Mark implicitly answered with a move of his head and index from the left to the right.

"Yes, they do."

Silence. Jackson sighed as he was searching for the right words to say now that he had opened his mouth.

"You know… Shit, I'm telling you I don't care." he muttered in a low voice at first, before looking straight into his best friend's eyes. "I heard you talk a few weeks ago, in your bedroom" he bluntly confessed as he crossed his arms on his toned chest.

    ***

  Indeed, one night, Mark hadn't been able to sleep. He had tossed and turned in his bed, sometimes looking at the ceiling of his empty bedroom, sometimes scrolling down his social media, sometimes putting his head under the pillow. Numerous thoughts had crossed his mind, out of nowhere, from his souvenirs with his mother, to some with his friends from back then, to the work he would have to do only in a few hours. And to add to his suffering, his throat had been terribly sore. It had burned and itched, and after some clearing of it, Mark had been surprised himself when his voice had come out.

Out of curiosity, with his heart pumping in his chest to the point it felt like it would tear his ribcage apart, Mark had dived under his sheets and, once he had been hidden like a child in his hut of blankets, he had dared to talk, after two years and a few months of locking up his own instrument, of sewing his lips, of punishing himself.

"A-A-Aaah. Aaaaah. Ah. Oh shit I can talk. Shit shit shit. That's weird. Fucking… weird. Enough now. Ouch, it hurts… Oh god it's… so weird. I should stop now… They're going to hear me. Why can't I stop? Stop it Tuan. Oh… fuck."

Putting a hand on his mouth, a heavy-breathing Mark had finally stopped ranting as soon as he had felt some kind of pleasure in talking again, because if he really did, he knew he wouldn't be able to stick to his vow anymore. So he had laid back on his pillow with his mouth still covered, his eyes wide open in shock and the tone of his voice piercing his eardrums. No need to say, that he never found sleep.

   *** 

    "What?" Mark's eyes told Jackson.

"Yes I did, and because I'm smart I let you live. I was fucking shocked too you know, I just woke up to go to the bathroom and when I heard your voice in the middle of the night, I got scared at first, thinking someone was there!"

Mark blinked a few seconds more, and for the first time in their friendship, he felt uneasy under Jackson's eyes that clearly were daring him to try and lie about it into his face.

"Look, even if I still think that's nonsense, I can continue to respect that you don't want to talk. It's been two years already but well, I can try to get that. But you have to understand that it's pretty frustrating to know you actually talk to yourself, when even with us you don't..."

The fake mute quickly grabbed his phone and started typing something hastily, too irritated to think of the hands' moves he had to do to depict what was on his mind.

"It was accidental, and it only happened once! I didn't talk to myself after that! And I won't!"

He showed the memo piece right under Jackson's eyes, which he instantly rolled before sighing loudly.

"Don't tell me it didn't feel great when you did! It's been two years, you can stop now! I'm doing fine, your mom's in peace, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"You know why" Mark simply wrote after having snatched the phone from his best friend's hands which had been up in the air from frustration.

"No I don't know anymore! Let's count down the reasons you shouldn't be that way : she was the one driving, you were shocked, pretty hurt too, nobody in this situation could have cried for help, we are alive, I can walk and dance, it was an accident…"

The skinny man's hand suddenly hit the glass and the noise resounded in all the room, making Jackson jump in surprise before he took a few steps forward to firmly grab Mark's shoulder. The latter didn't shove him away, as he was busy dealing with his heart that was vibrating along with his arms because of his clenched fists. He exhaled slowly so that he wouldn't smash the mirror into million broken pieces, just like he were.

"Mark. I'm sorry but you leave me no choice. I won't repeat it twice. It's either you go to this session and the ones that will follow and try a little bit harder to overcome whatever is blocking you, either I go myself and tell what I heard to the doctor. And I might tell the boys as well, and they won't leave you alone, especially Jinyoung and you know it, he's still actively searching for a way to make you talk after two years."

Mark straightened himself and he turned around to face Jackson who gulped in anticipation, because even if he was being straightforward right now, deep down he knew the risk he had taken by digging up the past to finally let it all out.

"You gotta be kidding me right now" Mark carefully wrote this time before showing up the screen, his eyes darkening with annoyance second by second as he watched Jackson's next moves.

How could his closest friend do this to him? He felt betrayed at the highest point, and the Chinese boy in front of him could read it in his turned off eyes that targeted him.

"No, I'm not. I want you to feel better. Don't tell me you're fine as it is, I'm done with this bullshit. Go. To. This. Session. Or I'm waking them up right now."

Mark didn't want to. He hated being treated as a mentally ill patient. He was fine. He had a job, he had true friends, and he had a nice flat, what else did he need? Yes, this memory still tortured him, but how talking again would do him any good? It wouldn't change what happened, would it?

However, now that he was facing this ultimatum that was more challenging than what he had expected, now that he could decipher on Jackson's traits how worried but determined he was, Mark's weaker side took the best of him and he was about to give in.

"C'mon. Grant me like, five sessions, where you actually make an effort. And if in the end I am wrong, I'll let you live as I always have" Jackson's raspy voice pierced through the thick silence that had settled for long seconds after his threat, and slowly, Mark nodded with his brows furrowing, showing his reluctance as he did. "Yes! You'll thank me later!"

And with that, Jackson left the bathroom in a dancing pace to go change, leaving a numb Mark that couldn't think about anything else but the session that was tomorrow. Not even about the fact that the clock had been ticking with all this mess going on, and that now he was almost late.

   *

**

*

  Grey. The sky was just grey. A light tint of grey with a glimpse of gold, the one that could hurt your pupils and burn your eyelids if you stared at it for too long. But still, it was a pretty grey. The sun's rays shined right above the accumulated clouds who luckily hadn't cried yet, making the overall light outside so bright, and leaving a calm veil over the town in the streets of which you were now walking with a smile on your lips.

The only thing you were hearing was the loud music in your earphones, its volume almost turned to its maximum, but you needed to make sure your eardrums were focusing on the singer's voice and that only. Not on the million concerned speeches of the people buzzing around you – like it had done lately, to the point it had given you headaches. Well, now that you were thinking of it, it had been a while since you hadn't heard a single unfamiliar voice infiltrating your head before those constant hummings, another one than your own that is.

Your godfather, who was a talented psychiatrist and hypnotherapist you were really close to, had told you that you were gifted once he had acknowledged that you weren't crazy. Because as crazy as it sounds, ever since you were little and without you being able to explain why, you could read minds. No, more specifically, you could hear the negative thoughts of people you came to know personally, without them wording it to you.

It seemingly depended on two things : either you had a sufficient bond with the person – a classmate you saw each day, a friend, a lover…–, either they had so many bad thoughts that you couldn't help but hear it. So sometimes, just talking to them or greeting them shortly once made their worries, their pain, their boredom, their anger flood through your ears.

At first, your parents hadn't believed you when you had told them you could "hear voices" while everybody in the class was quiet, and that it was disturbing you so much you couldn't concentrate on the lesson. You didn't have any idea of whose voices it was or what they were saying, as you were too young to master your power and focus on it yet. However, firstly when they had seen your grades dropping from your lack of understanding of the teaching ; and secondly when they had witnessed themselves your ability the day you had repeated word for word what they had thought deep down after you had complained another time, they finally had let go of their rational side in order to help out their daughter.

They did a great job at protecting you, not even talking about it to their closest friends, too scared that anyone could become a greedy enemy once they got to know that the supernatural did exist, or that, even while being of good faith, they would spread the news so that soon enough you would have been under the spotlight, exposed as an alien or whatever gifted child the medias would have labeled you, stealing your childhood and putting you at risk of scientific experiments.

But in the middle of all that implicit protection you hadn't seen, you yourself still had to deal with those non-stopping rantings into your head. And as a young and innocent child, you couldn’t know the harm it would do to you once you tried to help the others. You couldn't understand the concept of privacy, nor the one of family's secrets, nor the idea that you alone couldn't find a solution to everyone's problems.

Still, you tried to, with your school's friends and their own little concerns – not that being hungry and craving for something to eat was difficult to solve –, but when it had come to really mean yet childish comments about someone into their heads or more serious problems, you quickly had started to feel depressed to know of the dark side of this life and world, moreover because you couldn't do anything about it.

You still remembered that friend and classmate of yours back when you were in 3rd year of primary school, who had constantly been complaining to herself about how bad her arms hurt and how much she didn't like her father when he hit her and her mom and yelled at them ; and every time she had been watching other's loving dads at the school's gates, you had heard her envious comments. So one day, as you had finally seen him coming to pick her up, not a smile to curl his lips as you had approached him along with her who had been looking at the ground, you had blurted out :

"Why are you hurting Myeoli, mister? She's hurting, why?"

Your own father that had been standing next to him had suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you closer, apologizing on your behalf with his heart beating loud as he had quickly gotten a hold of what you had been insinuating. It had been innocent, a true and thoughtless question from a kid who couldn't quite understand what domestic violence was at that age, and while your friend had looked at you with surprise and fear pulling her traits, the scary man's face had decomposed itself for a second before it turned into something unreadable.

And unexpectedly, you had caught only one of his thoughts : "So you're talking about it to your friends, huh? Let's see if you would want to after we go home". Little did you know what it had meant back then ; but the next day, you had caught her covering some blue bruises while changing for the sports lesson, and overnight, she had started ignoring you and never talked to you again, because she would have been "beaten to death" if she did, as you heard.

And then, with the bond being broken, with her striking you out of her life, you had stopped hearing about her concerns, while the situation the little-you couldn't have saved anyway, never ceased. It was another aspect of your weird power, its capacity to turn off as unexpectedly as it had turned on with someone. It looked like you only had one shot to repair the person's situation, and with her, you had missed the target.

After that girl, you assumed the thing you had was a serious deal. After that, your parents took you to your dad's best friend who also was your godfather, a psychiatrist and hypnotherapist who then was eccentric enough to believe into psyche and any mystic thing that could explain your ability. After having listened to the whole story and without even using his hypno tricks, he confidently told you he would help you deal with it thanks to the bit he knew about it.

And he did. Thanks to him, you learned to focus on some voices only, but also to shut every one of them up whenever you didn't want to know. Because the more you grew up, the less you wanted to know. Indeed, when you finally understood the notion of intimacy, you felt awful for trespassing it even involuntarily, mostly because it was with your own friends. You felt as if you were a traitor only building unhealthy relationships where the person couldn't help but getting naked in front of you, and that even before she had legitimately granted you the right to see her wholly.

On top of that, hearing all the misery of the world pulled your own moral down, because the sensation of being powerless while facing the worst situations ate you. And even when you tried to help, it only resulted in you being hurt because you had given too much of yourself doing so, either as some people took advantage of your kindness, or as you got way too implicated.

However, at some point, you had had enough. Enough of being kind and understanding, enough of having headaches by trying hard to ignore the constant white noise in your ears, enough of dealing with people's shit and whines when you had your own to begin with. This angry state of mind along with the will to throw your Mother Teresa's costume out the door once and for all made it harder and challenging for your godfather's helping words to reach you. Still, he didn't give up and kept on telling you how and when you could use it in a way that would make you proud because, as he loved to remind you, you were gifted.

And in the end, you had been left with no choice but to grab his hand, and you learned to use it more than to duct it. You learned to feel things. To feel when your friends truly needed your help and support, so that you could permit yourself to open your ears and, instead of bluntly revealing what you knew, you threw clues at them that you were getting the problem and were here for them. 

To feel when you definitely had to shut the voices up, mostly when it came to acquaintances or the people you cherished so much that it killed you to violate their intimacy – you first had tried it on your godfather himself, successfully. And when you caught something bad but not on purpose, just because of your loss of focus, you learned not to feel guilty, nor to take it to heart or too seriously.

"We have over 60 000 thoughts going on our minds per day, Y/N. How can you believe each one of them is accurate, is full of sincerity, or is actually what's the person's thinking?" your godfather had said once, leaving you speechless, as always.

And when college time came along with the choice of your main course, you picked yours without hesitating, the one leading you to become like your role model : your godfather himself. You decided you'd help people every day but through your job – "without cheating" like he would say – as you had now developed some true psychologic and understanding skills without even using your power, and you liked it. No, you loved it, helping people, finding solutions, removing some burden off their shoulders and seeing their faces lit up.

So right now, your 23 year-old self was on its way to Dr. Hwang Woodam's cabinet with pressed strides, as it was the first session of many more he had proposed you to attend after classes, in order to build yourself a better idea of the job. Many sessions which would lead you, hopefully, to being a well-prepared and irreproachable psychiatrist at the end of your diploma.

         *  

**  

*

  The second you slid your headphones from your skull to your neck, murmurs joined the sounds of the busy town you were in and you frowned. It was really weird. How come you were hearing random voices now? Or had you met every single human being in this huge town? Impossible. You knew your power was constantly evolving, changing its characteristics whenever it wanted to, but what you couldn't stand was the fact that you felt like all your hard work to control it was in vain. You sure would share a word about it to your godfather at the end of the day.

You pushed his cabinet's door at 1:59pm precisely and, the second he saw you come in, a smile lit up his face.

"Y/N! My lovely niece, come here!" he called for you as you hurried yourself before him, and he held you in his arms. "We don't have the time to chat as the first client of this afternoon is already here, but let's have dinner together after that, okay?"

You nodded as you retreated, and you thanked him a thousand times when you saw he had prepared your own little desk next to his, with some files waiting for you to go through, an empty notebook with a beautiful cover, pencils in a little pot and a mug waiting to be filled with whatever would help you stay awake throughout the afternoon. 

You immediately started to read the first patient's folder, and its seriousness instantly plunged you into the intensity of the job. If sometimes you had thought you were having a hard life hearing negative thoughts all the time, you once again reminded yourself that if your godfather had been that helpful with you, it was because he too had a hard time dealing with this, yet he still did, without failing or complaining. It was so fascinating, but you could already guess how tiring it should be.

Because hypnotherapy had become a trend nowadays, some patients that came by merely had problems, or ones you didn't consider as really serious psychologically speaking, so you allowed yourself to stop taking notes of the sessions in order to read further the upcoming cases. And one particularly grabbed your attention, because of the number of missed rendezvous – already three? –, as well as the question marks next to a list of the patient's "potential syndromes" on the front cover.

You discretely put it in front of you and, after having tied your hair up in whatever hairdo that would keep them from your face, you started your lecture of the first page, slower than with the previous ones as your godfather's notes were really intriguing. First of all, the man – named Mark Yi En Tuan – was the same age as yours, so his case interested you even more : maybe you would be able to understand it a little bit better and suggest something this time…?

Wait a minute. Mark Tuan. You definitely knew this name. Where had you heard it? Where did it come from? You kept your right index on the name printed in bold characters before closing your eyes as you searched through your memory, and some bell finally rang into your messy head, making you gasp. You suddenly put both of your hands on your mouth to smother the exclamation of shock that had been about to follow. Mark Tuan, of course you knew him! He had been your crush a little more than 2 years ago at the university!

He was a guy with some crazily handsome features, and you had come to know, while digging facts about him back then, that he could spin swiftly in the air like a ninja and that he was able to speak English, Korean, Chinese and Japanese fluently, without languages studies being his major – what had been his major already...? You had never talked to him, only luckily sharing one English class with him during your 3rd year, where you had first spotted him and slowly went head over heels for his looks, his sexy English accent and his quiet aura that made him even more attractive somehow.

Simply looking at him from afar during a semester, too focused on your studies and your friends to even think of approaching a guy, you still had remarked when he had suddenly been absent from classes during the second part of school year, depriving you from your weekly daydream spent at eyeing him. And later, you had heard the boy had dropped out of college, for a reason you never got to know. Some of his friends were still attending the same university as yours this year, yet they had never shared a word about it to anyone. Not even Park Jinyoung who you knew quite well and talked a lot to, as you shared a few classes with him since he majored in contemporary literature.

Maybe the reason was lying right under your eyes? You were torn between contrary emotions, the embarrassment of being about to read something so personal about someone you "knew", the familiar sensation of guilt you were fighting every single day because of your power suddenly submerging you ; but at the same time, excitement and curiosity were bubbling in your stomach, preventing it from knotting harder and harder under your discomfort. Anyway though, you would eventually come to know about it if he ever passed the cabinet's door so…

… So you opened the file. And the more you were going down the lines, the darker his story was becoming and you felt as lost as your godfather – who was busy transcribing in his own notebook the last session at the moment. Your brows furrowed as you discovered the testimony of Mark's father, telling about an accident in which the wife and mother died. It had happened a little more than two years ago… Mark and his best friend called Jackson – oh my God Jackson Wang? The student council vice-president?! – had been coming back from a trip to China, their flight landing at 2 in the morning, and Mark's mom had been kind enough to come and pick them up before driving them home.

However, the boys soon fell asleep because of the travel, and the mother, from the lack of something to keep her awake, had found her eyelids closing for longer and longer as the miles went by, also tired from this round trip in the middle of the night. And unfortunately, her car had went out of the road, making tons of rolls down to the side to end upside down in the middle of nowhere, at night. Being the only one conscious, Mark had been too weak to come out of the car and crawl up to stop a driver for help. 

He had witnessed his mother's last breath, he had seen she was dying under his eyes, and he hadn't been able to do anything, neither his body nor his voice responding. And… What?! He felt guilty for that?

Your eyes almost popped out of their holes as you read, reread, and rereread those last words your godfather had underlined. Ever since, he had been refusing to speak because, according to the diagnosis, he considered that his voice hadn't been useful when he had needed it to be, so it was its punishment. Mark was punishing himself… for an accident.

Why hasn't he come to the last three sessions…?

You flipped the pages that always concluded the same thing : "No progress". It seemed like Mark was really out of reach, but it somehow made you eager to try yourself. You took it as your own personal challenge, and you couldn't wait to see if, today, you would be lucky enough to sit once again in the same room as him. Deep down too, you were eager to see his beautiful face again after all this time.

Your eyes started to look up at the door on your left every two seconds after you had finished, waiting impatiently for his frame to appear. And under the table, you kept your fingers crossed, wishing he wouldn't recognize you nor accept the proposition of you leaving that your godfather had made with every patient up till now.

    * 

**

*

You were lucky, because Mark did come. At 6:00pm, a really deep, low, and masculine voice resounded into your ears, even if you had successfully suppressed the ones of every single client you had met today.

*What am I doing here… Jackson I'm going to kill you. Why did I oblige? I shouldn't have. Shit.*

Jackson? Jackson… Oh my God! The best friend! It must be Mark!

You bit back a smile and a giggle of excitement as you needed to remain silent during the session going on, still you bounced a little on your chair as you put his file on the top of your pile once again. He had a really pleasant voice ; such a shame he was hiding it from everyone's ears, but it made you even gladder that you had caught at least a glimpse of it. Yet, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing in order to stop hearing him as you had promised yourself you wouldn't use your power if you were willing to be professional. However…

*Great, he's late now. I have the time to go, shouldn't I? It's even more embarrassing now that I skipped 3… Fuck my life.*

As you still could hear him, you realized he should be of the category of people that had so many bad thoughts that you couldn't help but hear them. It alarmed you about his true lack of well-being, because three years earlier, you had never heard his voice inside your head, not a single time. Well, now that you were thinking of it, it only made sense as he presently never let them out, so they surely kept buzzing again and again into his mind.

The patient before him left the room, and if your godfather had been about to sigh in defeat at the sight of his next appointment, when you lightly tapped his shoulder, it was as if you instantly shared your thrill with him before you even had announced the great news, as he felt some chills go down his arm under your touch.

"He's there" you smiled, and Woodam almost jumped out of his chair, his brows up on his wrinkling forehead as he smacked his hands together.

"You must be kidding me?!" he exclaimed a little bit louder than expected, and you eyed the door with concern, worried that it would make the angel-like boy fly away before you even got the chance to watch him land into the room.

"I can hear him. And he's pretty stressed out right now" you chuckled and in no time, your godfather was in front of the door frame, greeting that particular someone with a bright smile.

You stood up, drying your palms that had grown sweaty from anticipation on your thighs and, for the first time in your life, you suddenly stopped hearing Mark's ceaseless ranting voice, but not because you had chosen to ; because it got covered by the loud beatings of your excited heart that sped crazily its tempo the second he entered the room.

Handsome. He still was so handsome, as depressed as he was supposed to be, as affected as he should be, as fragile as he must be. Mark walked quietly in the room at a lazy pace, targeting the leather chair on which he naturally seated, not even greeting you with his eyes that were stuck to the ground – well, no sound had come out from your mouth anyway, as your crush for him was resurfacing and oppressing every single one of your muscles.

He was wearing a black trench coat which length almost reached his ankles, with a black turtleneck under it, and a navy blue pair of skinny jeans suiting his thin legs, ended by a pair of black sneakers that seemed huge on his feet. His deep brown and shiny hair wasn't styled in any way, parting naturally in two after he had combed it with his ringed fingers, and when he sighed discretely, your eyes went down on his face that had dug with time and probably depression, and you almost could decipher the small dots of a beard above his plump lips.

The question was : for how long had you been staring at him to be able to see even those small details?

Too long, obviously, and you realized it when you had to shake yourself out of your trance to notice that the boy was now looking at you with his brows furrowed, while your godfather was smiling at you awkwardly.

"He's okay with you staying, Y/N, you can sit now…?" Woodam tried and you jumped in surprise, looking at him with doe-like eyes before you executed yourself, your head becoming a hot-air balloon about to pop under the pressure and embarrassment.

Woodam has already asked the question? Why didn't I hear it? Y/N, focus!

Mark hadn't recognized you, and it was the only thought that came to soothe your internal lecture and make you dare to look at him once again. However, you hadn't expected for him to be staring at you in return, a curious light in his dark eyes that quickly avoided yours when it reached more than two seconds. He tilted his head to the side and you gulped, scared that he was about to change his mind, because it now looked like your face was familiar to him. Had he paid attention to you back then? Stop it Y/N, you're raving and giving yourself too much credit.

I've seen her before. Where? Where… Where?

Luckily for him, it wasn't a bad thought, so you didn't catch it. Unfortunately for you, though, but you probably would have succumbed to the shock. You needed to suit yourself back into your professional skin, not the one of a ridiculous and immature girl in front of an old crush she should have forgotten about by now. But why did it inch at every end of your tensed body to have him in the same room as you after all this time?

"Well, Mark, I'm really happy to see you today. I must confess that I thought I'd never see you again at this point, but looks like my persistence has won! Here" your godfather finally spoke up as he slid a pen and a few sheets of blank paper along with a book as a hard surface to easy the writing to his patient, who put them on his knees before actually starting to write something.

"Thanks for not telling my father."

You eyed Woodam who smiled warmly and nodded, his chin resting on his hands he had joined.

"I've told you since the beginning that I won't treat you like a child. The only adult I'm doing this to is my niece right here, she's still a baby sometimes even though you're the same age!" he chuckled and you frowned as you felt embarrassed that he was making fun of you before Mark.

This time, Mark clearly squinted his eyes while looking at you, and you read in his pupils that he was analyzing your face in order to picture it somewhere into his memory. Don't recognize me please, I'm a nobody, I swear…

Who the hell is she? *God why am I not good at remembering like Jinyoung or Jackson seriously!*

You gulped and your eyes grew big at the hearing of such a thought, indicating he was indeed investigating his memory because you were familiar. Mark knew your face, a face he was sure he had already commented himself about its prettiness, but why couldn't he bring his memories back together? Somewhere in the mist of his confusion and his deep thoughts, he could picture those two eyes that were looking back at him, still he didn't know which was the right landscape he should be drawing them in. Had it been at the uni? At one of his friends’ party? At a random café?

"And may I ask you why you decided to come back, out of a sudden?" the psychiatrist interrupted his torments and Mark finally stopped staring at you intensely, helping you breathe again as you had started to feel smaller and smaller under his gaze.

As far as you could remember, he already had seemed to be this kind of straightforward and nonchalant guy that was doing whatever he wanted to do and how he wanted to do, not slightly disturbed by the fact that he had been staring at you without blinking, contrary to normal people who wouldn't dare to do the same with strangers, unless they'd feel embarrassed, just as you had been earlier.

Mark drew a line under his first answer, concentrating to make it the straighter possible with his fingers displayed on the sheet to prevent it from moving, and you admired his taste for perfection. While his face was down, you permitted yourself to look him over one more time, changing your cosplay back for the young student with hearts in your eyes before the beautiful guy at school, but you couldn't care less. You loved being a teenager for the last semester you could allow yourself to, before you officially could become an active women, a psychiatrist with her own patients under responsibility and no time for those kind of daydreams anymore.

"Jackson blackmailed me this morning." Mark wrote honestly with a neat writing he showed your godfather, before drawing another line in anticipation for the next question.

You could see it wasn't their first session together, as they had their own codes for communicating, and as Mark was laid back really lazily in the chair that looked like his own.

"Oh he did? I guess you'll have to thank him for me! What was so challenging that you said yes? I'm sorry but I can't help being curious" Woodam pursued in a lighter tone, a smile never leaving his lips.

Mark hesitated an instant, his hair falling before his eyes that hadn't left the paper under them, and he sighed once again.

*He can be so intrusive sometimes…*

You caught that. You clenched your fists, your natural instinct of a niece feeling attacked by this poor remark about your godfather who was nothing but caring, not intrusive.

"He threatened me to tell something to the others at home" Mark showed, and your brows furrowed, wondering what kind of secret he was refusing to unveil fully.

"Oh a secret? A secret between best friends?" Woodam joked and Mark only shrugged, his facial expression telling him he could qualify it as whatever he'd like to. "Looks like it was kind of personal or embarrassing for you to take the deal" your godfather then concluded and you read quietly Mark's face, which changed into an annoyed frown.

    *

**

*

 The session begun with a few asks/replies that you took note of diligently, yet you quickly got disturbed by an intrusive voice murmuring in your head so many harsh things that became crucial, at least for you. It froze you into your seat, however you were burning with frustration. 

Indeed, while Woodam was busy trying to ask him some accurate questions, Mark was literally not putting any effort in the session, keeping every single bit of his true self deep inside, when he should be giving in return for things to progress. When he wrote yes, he meant no, and the reverse. At every assumption Woodam made, he shrugged it off while thinking how right it was and how bad that upset him ; at every proposition Woodam offered, he wrote he'd think about it when deep inside he was already convinced that he wouldn't even give it a try.

In your eyes, what Mark couldn't bear, was the fact that your godfather was seeing a little bit more through him at each session when he didn't want anyone to know, inducing him to close his ears and laugh it off every time Woodam would point out what he had been thinking deep inside. Meanwhile, his voice kept on flooding into your eardrums, filling them to the fullest, with his real pain, his suffering, his self-curses that should have pained you too ; but damn, their roleplay pissed you off so much you couldn't think straight or listen to your kind heart anymore.

Two years had passed since the accident and he still thought he could trick your godfather? Speaking of the latter, why hadn't he broken this dead-point situation already? What ridiculous duet were you witnessing right now? Why was Woodam being way too cautious around Mark when he obviously knew he was faking to be an honest and mysterious man on the outside, making them turning round and round endlessly? 

If you could understand the fact that Mark was "traumatized" and would naturally refuse the help from anyone, you couldn't stand him choosing to lie again and again instead of simply having the guts of telling he didn't want it and hated it. However, it went on, this laughable masquerade that did nothing but irritate you more and more as the two men seemed satisfied to be playing the hypocrites.

*What does she want, looking at me like that?*

"Can I ask a question?" you suddenly spoke up after having blocked a scoff, looking straight into Mark's pupils that eyed your figure, and the quick light of surprise that passed through them helped you gain confidence.

"Do you mind?" Woodam asked him without questioning your attempt, his trust in you limitless.

Mark shook his head from the left to the right and with that, you stood up from your seat, your legs surprisingly trembling but still guiding you to lean against the windows behind the desks. You felt thrilled at yourself for being that bold, however it was nothing compared to the flames of anger flaring your guts.

"Could you tell me, would your friends and family describe you as a good or a bad liar?" you asked precisely, on your way to a provocation that would hopefully earn at least a grunt from him.

*What the hell is this question?*

Woodam eyed you curiously, while Mark, the second he saw the proud smirk on your face, lost his composure he had worked on up till now so that people couldn't decipher when he was lying.

"Good liar, I guess, they used to call me poker face" he briefly wrote on his paper, his brows furrowing as he waited for your reply, and Woodam voiced the answer to you.

Weirdly though, Mark's heart started to beat a bit louder and his hands turned moist, as if you actually were putting some kind of pressure on him. He had tried his best not to pay attention to you during the whole session, or else his mind would've lost it from the countless "Who is she?" he would've asked himself. But right now, he wished he had accommodated himself to your presence a little bit more, as the more he was watching you, comfortably leaned back with your arms crossed and your chin up in defiance, the more he felt some powerful aura coming from you, with your eyes clearly lightened by something dangerously passionate, and giving him some chills he had failed to feel since quite a long time. You had such a presence even when your mouth was shut, and unexpectedly, his own turned dry as he started to anticipate what your point could be.

"Oh is it true? Because I wouldn't, truthfully. You're such a bad liar, Mr. Tuan, sorry if you're disappointed" you half joked, stepping to your chair to put both of your hands on its back. "I've met you only a few minutes ago, and I already can tell that you keep on lying. You know, we're only doing our job, and our job, is to help you. And from what I see, either you don't want to be helped at all, either you're scared of being helped. But let me tell you one thing : if you keep on saying the reverse of what's on your mind whenever you step in here, it's not necessary to come at all, we won't go anywhere. I can tell you're lying, Dr. Hwang can also tell you're lying, still you're thinking we're not aware of it? So what is it that you want from us? What's the purpose of all of this?"

Before you even knew it, words had flooded from your burning lips, the annoyance clear in your tone that you still kept as firm as possible so that he would get how serious you were about the issue. You couldn't help anyone who wasn't willing to get helped, that was a matter of fact, even if you hardly could admit it on a daily basis as you still were learning how to let go. But hearing too much of Mark Tuan for non-stopping 30 minutes and getting to know more than your godfather would ever reach even after two years because of his seemingly lack of guts to confront the boy, had made you greedy to be the one to wake him up.

Mark opened his mouth for a short time as if he had been about to protest but he quickly closed it, his lips forming a thin line, yet you caught the beginning of an eye-roll his pupils had been willing to do. Was he pissed at you right now? Was he offended? You'd be glad he could be if that ensured your words had an impact, yet, surprisingly, nothing came to your ears this time. Because, your raw ranting had somehow rang a bell inside of him and if, usually, he could quickly go over the truths Dr. Hwang pointed out about him, yours were resounding into his mind right now, making it turn blank.

However, the backfire of your boldness manifested itself quicker than what you would have thought, since now that the heavy words you had rummaged in your head had come out, the unexpected trance you had been in and that had given you the confidence to talk disappeared as soon as it had bloomed.

"E-Excuse me for a second" you suddenly said, and you rushed to the exit under two pair of eyes that watched you curiously.

Once you reached the empty waiting room, you collapsed on the first chair you saw before letting a long sigh escape your lips as you grasped your hair to get yourself straight. Mark's voice in your head became a distant humming, letting instantly place to a headache you hadn't really acknowledged as you had been too submerged by your frustration, but it was as if your thoughts were finally getting in order. What had you just said?! Mark wasn't the only one who would be lying in front of you later when you'll be seating right behind this desk, so why had you taken it to heart immediately?

"Y/N? What's wrong with you?" Woodam unexpectedly spoke up a few moments later, his tone calm. "Mark's gone now, you can come back."

You lifted your head up to see he was standing in the door frame, his eyes full of worry while yours became veiled by a deep red filter the second they landed on him.

"What's wrong is that I've heard every single thing inside his head, and that he just keeps on lying to you! And you? Why don't you say anything? You know he's lying but still you're not doing anything? I've been quite disgusted by your merry-go-round! If he doesn't want to be helped that badly, why waste your time, both of you? You know we can't do anything for someone that doesn't want to be helped at first!"

Y/N, BREATHE!

"Y/N, you know really well that a lot of patients express their disagreement to get helped because something's blocking them, right?" Woodam answered and some guilt dressed your pupils up, then when he suddenly smiled, you felt your tensed hands on your skull finally relax. "I'm not able to force him to open up to me, still I don't want to give up on him. It's our job Y/N, it's to still reach out to them whenever they need it, whatever time it takes, and even when they can't or won't express it. Mark came today, and even if it was because of Jackson, I had the feeling he was going to come back anyway."

A wave of self-deception crashed against your whole body as Woodam's wise words made you realize how wrong you had been to flare up in the first place. Whatever your reasons had been, as good as they had sounded, you needed to canalize your greed to be helpful that had made you implode like a bomb. 

What had disturbed you was one thing : Mark had chosen to stop talking, and he was choosing to lie. No blocking, no post-traumatic syndrome you could treat with the methods they taught you, simply a choice. What he was doing, only him could undo it just by the power of his own will. What could you do against it? Once again, you had felt so powerless, and you hated it ; surely that had been the reason why you got overwhelmed to begin with. You were 23, still you had acted like when you used to be so affected whenever you couldn't decipher a way to help someone as fast as you wished. Bravo.

"I'm going home, I want to reflect back on myself because right now, I'm doubting my capacity to do this job, at all. It seems like I can't be as patient and understanding as you" you mumbled, tears prickling at the corner of your eyelids, and without letting your godfather reassure you as he always did, you walked to the cabinet, grasped your things with a mechanical but strong hand and within a minute, you were outside the building.

    To be continued...

  A/N : I’m actively working on Part 2 right now, I hope you’ll like me to post it! Let me know? Thanks for ever reading my work, once again!

[pastel-flapflap-blog]

The Holy Grail, ch 1

I have always been around But you never really noticed Cause I don't draw a lot of attention I'm a stranger in a crowd Blame it on the evolution Trying to find a way to say this

 Thea’s home was a quaint, two-story house with fading yellow paint that was situated in a cul-de-sac in what probably used to be a nice, quiet neighborhood at one point in time. She would have killed to own this type of property two years ago when everything was alive. There was a long-gone garden that she liked to imagine might have had the most beautiful hydrangeas; not the pink kind, but blue-purple bursts of color that she’d always wished she would have had the room to grow someday. Instead, the garden grew nothing and was full of long-dead hedge bushes and weeds that took over nearly all the way to the porch. There was a lot to mourn since the beginning of this apocalypse, but the lack of pretty flowers would always be a sore spot for Thea.

It was selfish, especially when she thought of all the people who had died in the two years since the start of everything but goddamn, a little color would make things so much more bearable. Everything was so dingy and dirty nowadays.

Thea was on her porch in the swing that faced the road, using her legs to slowly swing back and forth as much as she could without making the rusting chains creak. She gnawed on a well-used toothpick between her teeth and her arms were spread on the back of the swing carelessly. It was a sweltering, lazy day and she had absolutely no desire to move any more than she had to. She’d scavenged more than she thought she’d get her hands on the day before—a stroke of luck—and she had always been a procrastinator. When she ran out of food and water… well, that was a problem for Future Thea.

Present Thea just wanted to pretend to have a normal day for the first time in a long time. She’d been watching the road but let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling of the porch before letting her eyes close. If she really tried, she could believe the dead didn’t roam the Earth and she was still waiting to play with her band at the local coffee house in a few hours.

A soft whine drew her out of her brief reverie and she opened her eyes to look down at the source of the annoying noise; a greyish wolf-dog that had been following Thea for so long, she had finally admitted to owning the damned thing. Another mouth to feed at the end of the world.

She sighed when Mads nudged her knee and put a hefty paw on it, digging her claws into the soft flesh right above the kneecap. Thea put her hand on Mads’ head and gave the wolf-dog a scritch behind her ear, which seemed to somewhat please the beast. “We have to wait to eat, baby,” Thea said. “I don’t feel like going out again anytime soon, so we have to make it last.”

<You’re being selfish,> Mads said, her eyes judgmental.

Thea slit her eyes at the creature. “You’re a fucking wild animal. Go hunt.” This was a normal exchange between the two of them; Thea had started “hearing” Mads’ thoughts soon after the wolf-dog started following her around. She was sure she was being crazy and was just lonely, but sometimes she really didn’t know. Who’s to say people didn’t get weird powers when the dead started walking? She hadn’t been around enough people since the beginning to even ask what their names were, much less start a conversation on super powers versus schizophrenia.

Mads huffed and dragged her paw off Thea’s leg, the claws scraping down her skin. Thea hissed in pain and furiously rubbed her knee to try to stop the hurt. “Fucking bitch,” she said.

<You’re not a liar,> Mads said, walking to the top of the stairs to lie down.

They stayed like that for a while—Thea stewing and swinging, and Mads lying with her head in her paws while she looked out across the overgrown front yard. Thea’s head went back to staring at the ceiling and wasn’t paying attention to where Mads was looking, so when the wolf-dog began to let out a low growl, she snapped her head back up to stare.

<Something is coming,> Mads said. Her lips began to curl to show off her sharp canines and Thea saw her hair begin to bristle at the base of her neck.

The swing stopped, and Thea leaned forward far enough to lean her elbows on her knees. Her eyes scanned the cul-de-sac and waited to see what Mads could sense, her own muscles beginning to tense up and ready to launch her body up to defend herself or hide. Whatever was coming, Thea had no doubt they would be able to deal with it accordingly, as she and Mads had done since near the beginning of end of the world.

She was readying herself to see a dead man, or even an entire herd of them. So when a very much alive man in black burst through the back yard of the house diagonal from her own, she was slightly taken aback. Mads began to snarl loudly and Thea waved her hand at her. “Shut up,” she hissed, hoping the man wouldn’t see them before she could sneak into the house with the wolf-dog in tow. But he seemed to have the hearing of a goddamn bat because his head jerked from searching frantically behind him to stare at Thea dead in her hazel eyes.

Thea froze, her toothpick ungracefully falling out of her mouth; she was embarrassed that she even wondered if she was stuck in place because she thought that she was in danger or because he was ungodly handsome, even from this far away. His rough appearance seemed a little purposeful; the leather jacket and jeans form-fitting enough to show off his assets but roomy enough to allow him to move freely. The man and Thea stared each other down for what seemed like minutes when Mads snarled again.

<I don’t like him, Thea,> she said. Her voice was gravelly and mean. When Thea tore her eyes away from the man and glanced over to her, she saw that the wolf-dog had stood up and looked very intense. Her head was low, and her tail was tall. She looked to be very much a wild beast that absolutely should not be reckoned with.

When she turned her gaze back on the man, he was staring with wide eyes at Mads. He looked back at Thea and licked his lips nervously, like he wanted to say something, before his head turned to look behind him.

“Is he running from something, girl?” Thea whispered.

<Very likely. I don’t trust him.>

When the man started toward them again, it was with his hands up in a mock surrender and a pace that looked as slow as he was willing to go. He was definitely being chased by someone. Or something.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, trying to be friendly. A huge grin was plastered on his unshaven face and Thea wondered if he really thought that would make her put her guard down; if anything, it made her reach for the knife strapped to her waist. He noticed the movement and stopped at the beginning of her yard, his gaze skipping between her and Mads nervously.

<Don’t trust him,> Mads repeated. She silently showed her teeth to the man. Thea finally stood and moved behind her wolf-dog slowly. A nervous sheen of sweat was starting to make her tank top stick to her skin and she felt a pulse of anger when she realized the man gave her a once over before smirking. He was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, though.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Thea asked the man. Her voice was steady and stern, and she mentally pat herself on the back for that because she was beginning to feel unnerved.

The man licked his lips again and looked like he was thinking whether to answer truthfully but when they heard a yell in the far distance, he met her eyes and frowned. “I’m Negan,” he said. They stared each other down for a moment and he looked as though he wanted to say something else. When Thea failed to say anything in response to his name, his leg started to move forward and Mads growled again. He stopped moving.

“You answered one question,” Thea said. “Now what do you want here?” Her fingers grasped the knife handle at her waist and she moved to stand directly next to Mads, her leg touching the wolf-dog’s side to show solidarity with her partner.

<We will attack if he gives an insufficient answer. This one will not let us run and hide; we will have to find a new home.> Mads growled once more.

Thea glanced down and gave an affirmative noise, and the man named Negan furrowed his brow at her. She continued to glare at him. She knew she probably looked crazy as hell, but that was not her main concern at this point. Hell, maybe if he thought she was a bag of cats, he’d turn around and hightail it out of her neighborhood.

Negan swallowed before answering. “My group was caught in a cross-fire with another group who were trying to raid the same store we were. My men have either been killed or they scattered to the fucking winds,” he said, the last words almost spit out bitterly. He was trying to remain as calm as he could even though he still looked like his anger was threatening to boil over, Thea noticed. She wasn’t sure what to think about Negan. She heard another yell in the distance and noticed the man stiffen slightly as he looked into her eyes, awaiting her judgment.

“I take it those aren’t your friends,” Thea surmised.

“Far fucking from it,” he said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice.

Thea felt her grip on the knife loosen. Mads seemed to sense her change in demeanor and looked a little less ferocious. She still showed the man her teeth, but her tail lowered slightly, and her head was higher up. <How do we know he won’t hurt us?>

Thea took only a moment to think, since she knew the men who were hunting Negan down were getting closer with every second they stared at each other. She didn’t owe anyone anything in this new world, but she had never left anyone to die; this man looked at the end of his rope and when she scanned down his body, she noticed a red splotch of blood on his white shirt under his jacket. It had been hidden until he had started moving forward the last time and his jacket had opened a little more than it already was.

“How do I know you won’t hurt us?” Thea bit her lower lip as she repeated Mads’ question to the man.

“Darlin’, I give you my fuckin’ word. I know it isn’t much, but I swear to you that I’ll make it worth your while.” Thea furrowed her brow at the slight sexual undertone of the promise, but she couldn’t be sure he had meant it the way it came out. He looked her in the eyes and she felt that he was being earnest. Another yell came from behind the man, even closer this time.

“Come on, then,” Thea said. “But you’re going in first and you do exactly as I fucking say.” She took her knife out of the sheath and pointed it at him.

<Is that the right decision? How can you blindly trust someone like that? Are you that lonely?>

“Anything you want, darlin’,” the man said, oblivious to Mads’ harsh questioning. He smiled widely again, and the way his eyes began to glitter made Thea decide he had known exactly what idea he had implied earlier. Her frown deepened as she stepped aside and let Negan walk up to the stoop.

“Mads, back,” she said to the wolf-dog next to her as she pushed her back with her leg. Mads huffed and growled, but obeyed.

Negan hurried up the steps and onto the porch with Thea moving quickly behind him. “Hurry inside,” she said. “We need to hide.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled. He opened the door and Mads pushed past him in a show of dominance. Thea followed them inside. She closed the door as quietly as she could and moved her non-dominant hand behind her to lock it, her right hand still holding the knife to Negan’s back. He seemed nonplussed about it when he turned to give her a questioning look. She waved the knife toward the stairs.

“There’s a spot upstairs in one of the bedrooms that you can probably fit into,” she said. She didn’t miss the slight upturning of his lips. He didn’t say anything, though, and began the trek upstairs. “The door all the way at the end of the hallway,” Thea told him.

She followed him into the master bedroom and he stopped in the middle of the room to take a quick survey of his surroundings. It was as clean as it could get in the apocalypse and it was quite cozy; almost completely free of dust and grime. The bed in the middle of the back wall was a four-poster king with black curtains draping down the sides. Mads had jumped onto the bed as soon as the door had opened and laid down near the center, staring at Negan through cold dark eyes. <You are an idiot, girl.>

Negan turned to make a comment and Thea interrupted him before he could even begin. “Shut up and go to the closet. There’s a hidey hole there; it’ll be a tight fit, but I think you can manage.”

Negan looked a little more than grumpy at being shot down, but nodded and headed for the closet across the room. When he opened it, Thea pointed to the lower right hand side. “On the far, far right there’s a space for your fingers to open the wall. The people who built this place were pretty shifty, I think.”

As he reached to open the crawl space, he turned to look at her. “Thanks, doll.”

Thea’s nose wrinkled at the nickname and she frowned. “Just don’t get any blood on my stuff.” She turned quickly on her heel and clicked her tongue to call Mads, who jumped off the bed and followed her owner out the door and into the hallway. “I’ll come get you when the coast is clear,” she said without looking at him.

As Thea shut the door, she began to think about what to do next. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms, and began to nibble on her lip. <You are a very, very stupid girl,> Mads said. Judgment laced every word.

“I can’t just leave him to die,” Thea said.

<Why not? You don’t even know him. What if he’s the instigator who started whatever shoot out that he says happened?> Thea eyed Mads and continued to chew her lip. <He could come out to kill you as soon as he hears you leave the hallway.>

Thea brought her hand up to her mouth and began to nibble on her index knuckle instead of her lip. What if Mads was right? She had been stupid enough to not properly pay attention to her surroundings just because she had been feeling lazy and now it was probably going to come back to bite her in the ass. She should have run inside to hide in the damn crawl space and let him fend for himself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t right; even though she hadn’t seen enough people to feel good about the remaining populace in general didn’t mean that she had to purposely leave someone to die. That wasn’t her.

She would just have to ride this out and see where she landed; hopefully, it wasn’t going to be anywhere six feet under. “No,” Thea said to the wolf-dog. “I think I have to do this. I wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

Mads huffed. <We barely sleep, anyway.> She began to pad downstairs and Thea reluctantly followed her friend, throwing one last glace at the bedroom door behind her.

[taexual]

You Belong To Me [2] / Youngjae x Reader (SMUT)

OTHER PARTS: 01 - Got7 Mafia AU / 02 / 03

According to the rules of the Mafia, the wife belonged to her husband. After repeatedly catching you in the company of guys who seemed to follow you wherever you went, Youngjae felt like he needed to remind you of this rule.

Pairing: Mafia AU!Youngjae x Reader

Warnings: smut + possessive and jealous youngjae

Words: 3.6k

Requests:

please do a continuation of the arranged marriage mafia w youngjae pls✨ 

A Youngjae mafia scenario pleaseee        

Youngjae had once half-jokingly mentioned that he didn’t particularly enjoy it when you were hanging out with other men. Then, he told you he had a sensor that vibrated whenever some asshole was harassing you. And all through it, you thought he wasn’t being serious.

But then you were proved wrong.

Youngjae wasn’t kidding. He was dead serious.

You uncovered the truth about his jealousy when five months into the marriage (although it was arranged, the marriage was still filled with flirting and occasional seemingly innocent touches) you were at a club with a few of your friends. Youngjae had stayed at home because he had to leave town early the next morning.

You were starting your third cocktail and already felt quite intoxicated when a guy you’ve never seen before approached you.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

You turned to look at him, a straw from the cocktail you just started to drink still in your mouth. You had expected that showing him that your glass was full would have been enough, but the guy kept on staring you expectantly, so you pulled the straw out of your mouth and gave him a weird look.

“No, thanks,” you finally said. “I just bought one myself.”

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be paying for drinks,” he continued.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic attempts at flirting, you tried to keep the polite smile on your face.

“But I am,” you replied. “This may come as a shock to you, but being pretty is not my only occupation.”

Clearly at a loss for words, the guy just laughed. “And she’s got a mouth on her.”

“Are we talking about me in third person now?” you asked. “Because she – that is me – would really like to be left alone.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” the guy continued, not knowing how to give up. “Let me just buy you a drink, yeah?”

“Are you deaf?” you asked, losing patience. “I just told you I already bought a drink for myself. And I also asked you to leave.”

“Let me change your mind about that.”

“About me having a drink?” you asked. “I’m pretty sure the only way I will no longer have a drink is if I pour it in your face. Goodbye.”

You stood up from the bar chair, taking your glass with you, and just as you prepared to walk away from him, you suddenly felt him grab your hand.

“Baby girl, let’s—”

You turned around angrily and tossed the drink in his face without thinking twice about it.

The people around you gasped loudly and the guy immediately released his grip on you, turning to look at you with a dangerous expression on his face.

“Now you’ve pissed me off.”

He took a threatening step towards you and just when you checked the back of your jeans for the gun that Youngjae insisted you always carry with you, you realized the gun wasn’t there because you had chosen to wear a skirt today instead. Panicking what to do next, you suddenly heard your husband’s voice.

“She told you to fuck off, buddy,” Youngjae said, making his way through the few remaining people, who immediately stepped away to let him through.

It seemed as though this scene was now the source of entertainment in the club because nearly every person stopped dancing. It felt as if the music got quieter and turned into background noise, too.

“Youngjae?” you asked frowning. “How the fuck did you get here?”

“Yeah. And who the fuck are you?” the guy directed his anger towards Youngjae instead of you.

“I’m her fucking husband,” Youngjae said. “And I’m also the last face you’re going to see before I beat your ass into dust if you don’t get the fuck out of my sight.”

The guy weighed his options for about a second and then took a step towards Youngjae. You closed your eyes, knowing very well what was going to happen.

Even before the guy got a chance to open his mouth to say something back, your husband’s fist pierced through the guy’s jawline, sending him backwards. He hit the bar stools and knocked off the few empty glasses from the bartop.

“You motherf—”

“I told you to leave while you still had the chance,” Youngjae cut him off, walking towards him, more than ready to strike another punch.

“Listen, buddy. I don’t know why you think you can act like you own the place here,” the guy replied.

Instead of replying, Youngjae threw another punch right into the guy’s nose. You swore you could hear his bones crack.

“I do own the place. Buddy,” Youngjae told him, dangerously towering over the guy who was now lying on the floor, wiping the blood from his face.

“Fuck you,” he said, getting up and taking a few cautious, yet unbalanced, steps backwards. “I don’t mess with psychos like you.”

“Good! Don’t mess with the wives of psychos like me either,” Youngjae said, watching as the guy walked away through thick crowds of people, who were all watching the scene in front of them.

“Youngjae,” you said quietly. “Let’s go home.”

“You’re damn right we’re going home,” he said, letting you know that the anger he felt when he punched that guy wasn’t gone yet. Far from it.

Not wanting to piss him off even more, you followed him out of the club, choosing not to cause any more unnecessary drama.

You were certain that the police was already on their way and that the guy Youngjae punched was probably going to sue him, but you knew that this was the least of Youngjae’s problems because no one ever sued the Mafia. Complaining about it was the equivalent of walking right into a brick wall.

The Mafia had its own rules, one of which was possession. You knew that. And, although technically, it wasn’t your fault that a random guy approached you, you knew you were going to be blamed for not standing up to him in a proper way. Because you were taken. You belonged to your husband.

Even though he was angry, Youngjae still opened the car door for you, slamming it shut as soon as you sat down in the passenger seat.

Once he walked around the car and sat behind the wheel, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you told him. “Why are you mad at me?”

“You knew this would happen,” he said simply, pulling the car in reverse so he could drive out of the parking lot.

“What?” you frowned. “How could I have known that a random asshole would start hitting on me?”

“Because this happens every time!” Youngjae shot back, clearly annoyed by your cluelessness. “Whenever you go out to drink, you end up getting hit on by guys.”

“And how is that my fault?” you asked. “It’s not like I send out a mating call whenever I step out in public!”

“You might as well be doing that,” he said. “Considering how many guys throw themselves at you when you go out.”

“Okay, so do you want me to stay home every night and entertain myself?”

“That would actually be great.”

“You sound insane, Youngjae,” you shook your head. “And I swear, I still don’t understand how you always appear whenever I am when there’s guys giving me trouble but—”

“See, I don’t appear when guys are giving you trouble. I just appear. And there’s always guys giving you trouble.”

“You know what, Youngjae?” you glared at him. “If you didn’t bother to spend time with me only when other guys were giving me attention, then maybe I wouldn’t go out every night.”

Youngjae almost swerved off the road. “Are you saying you’re looking for their attention on purpose?”

You stayed quiet, choosing not to respond to his statement on purpose. He was starting to piss you off just as much as you seemingly pissed him off.

Noticing that you were now playing his game, Youngjae pushed the pedal, suddenly going way over the speed limit.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you yelled at him, watching the city lights pass behind the car windows. “Do you want to kill us?!”

“I’m going home,” he told you. “So I can teach you a lesson.”

Feeling a weird shift in your stomach, you looked away from him, not coming up with anything you could reply to that. Maybe you were afraid to find out what he meant. Or maybe you were excited.

As soon as Youngjae parked the car outside of your shared house, he walked around the car to open the door for you, once again remembering his manners despite the situation. Giving him an angry look for not stopping at any red light and nearly running over three pedestrians, you got out of the car and walked inside of the house.

You heard Youngjae’s footsteps right behind you and as soon as you entered the house, he followed you inside, instantly closing the door and pushing you against it.

“Youngjae—”

“You think it’s okay for you to do this?” he asked, his face suddenly too close to yours for you to think clearly. “You think it’s okay to break the rules?”

“What rules?” you whispered, even though you already knew what his response would be.

“You’re mine,” he said, his eyes darkening. “You have no fucking right let anyone else touch you. Or even look at you.”

“I didn’t—” you started to say but stopped when you felt Youngjae roughly place his hands on the door on either side of you, completely trapping you.

“You will not talk unless I give you permission,” he said. “Is that clear?”

Your mouth opened slightly at his tone, and you nodded, unable to believe that you were actually anticipating what would happen next.

“Good girl,” Youngjae said, leaning in even closer to you so that his lips now hovered right next to your ear. “Now can you tell me what you did today?”

“I went clubbing,” you answered slowly. “And I—”

“No, no, baby,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck, but not yet touching it. “Tell me what you really did.”

“I… I disobeyed the rules.”

“That’s right,” Youngjae confirmed, finally placing his lips on your neck as your reward for getting the answer right.

He placed a butterfly kiss on your neck, pulling your shirt lower so he could have better access to the skin on your shoulder and kiss it, too.

He pulled back a little then, so he could look you in the eyes again.

“Do you know what I’m going to do now?” he asked you in a low voice.

“I can imagine.”

He hit his palm harshly against the door behind you, causing you to flinch. “Lose the attitude.”

“Sorry,” you said instinctively.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson, baby,” he said then, his eyes burning into yours. “Are you going to let me?”

You knew he didn’t need your permission to do whatever he wanted with you but you also knew that he’d never touch you if you didn’t let him. And you were going to explode if he didn’t touch you in the next few seconds.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good girl,” he said again. These words sent heat all through your body. You ached for him.  

Finally, you felt Youngjae’s hands leave the door and instead move to your waist to bring your body closer to his. He connected your lips as soon as you felt his tough body press against yours and you swore your brain went into overdrive when his soft lips touched yours in a heated kiss.

A huge flame burst inside both of you when Youngjae deepened the kiss by brushing his tongue against yours. You thought you’d set the house on fire with your passion as you gripped his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

Youngjae pulled away for just a second then. “I’m going to show you who you belong to.”

You exhaled deeply when he bit your bottom lip softly and kissed you again, grinding his hips against yours, letting you feel what you were doing to him and how much he wanted you.

You moaned, when he slid his hands down your hips and under your skirt, and grabbed your ass, squeezing it and earning a hiss from you. He pulled away to show you a cocky smile on his face. He still hadn’t removed his hands from your back and relocated his lips to your neck as he fiercely sucked on the skin there, forcing you to squirm under him.

“Youngjae,” you moaned, feeling him smile while he sucked on your sweet spot, leaving another mark there.

“I’ll make you scream louder baby,” he promised, pulling away from you. “I’ll make it so so good for you, you won’t even think about saying a word to another guy.”

“Youngjae, I—”

“What did I say about talking without permission?”

“I’m sorry,” you said but the dark look in Youngjae’s eyes told you that sorry wasn’t going to do it anymore.

“Come here,” he told you, and you followed him with no hesitation.

Youngjae lead you to the living room where he sat down on the couch and watched you for a moment.

“Strip for me,” he said finally.

Biting your lip, you hesitated, not really sure what to do next but Youngjae’s hungry eyes told you that no matter what you did – as long as the ending would result in you being naked – anything would have been okay.

Slowly, you started to unbutton your shirt, your eyes never leaving his as his gaze slowly trailed down your chest once you finally took the shirt off. Licking his lips, Youngjae took a deep breath when you threw the shirt away. Even though you were standing across the room from him, you could still see the way his jeans restrained his growing length.

When you slowly started to pull the skirt down your legs, you heard him groan, as his eyes followed the material that was slowly leaving your body. Left just in your underwear and your high heels, you watched Youngjae for a moment, who seemed in a daze, too overwhelmed by the sight of you to say anything.

When you leaned down to take your heels off, Youngjae stopped you.

“Leave them on,” he commanded. “Come here.”

Anticipation burning within you, you slowly you made your way towards him, suddenly overcome with confidence at his needy tone. You walked with your hips swaying and kept eye contact with him all through it, not even realizing that you’ve been smirking.

Once you were close enough for him to reach you, he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards him, so you landed right on his lap.

“Decided to tease me, baby?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “That’s not very nice. What will I do with you?”

As his hands moved down your neck, shoulders, and your waist until they landed on your ass, pulling it towards him so that your heat rubbed against his length, you moaned quietly. “You can do anything you want.”

Youngjae smirked at this. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He lowered your body, so that you lied down on the couch, and leaned down to place a quick kiss on your lips. He removed your bra in a few seconds and then kissed you again, while his hands brushed softly against your hips, and then in one quick motion, he tore your panties off, throwing the ripped material away from you.

“Shit, Youngjae!” you gasped.

“They got in the way,” Youngjae replied, pulling away from you to take his shirt off. You watched as the black material left his body, revealing his defined abs that made you stop breathing for a moment.

Youngjae caught you staring at him and smirked. “Get on all fours for me, baby, will you?”

Obeying him, you quickly flipped over so that you were on your hands and knees. Immediately, you felt his hands slide down your back and roughly grab your ass before slapping it. It wasn’t very hard but the sound of his palm slapping your ass cheek echoed around the empty living room and you exhaled deeply.

“Tell me,” Youngjae said, caressing the reddening skin with his hand to soothe the pain. “What is the first thing you’re going to say when a guy tries to talk to you?”

“That I’m married,” you replied.

Another slap. You screamed out this time, hissing at the piercing pain that came after the slap, and yet still enjoying the way Youngjae softly brushed his hand against the red spot to ease the pain.

“What else?” he questioned while untying his belt to take his jeans off.

“T-that I’m yours.”

“That’s right,” Youngjae said, pushing his clothed hips into your naked core as he slapped your ass one more time. “You belong to me.”

You moaned from the amount of pleasurable feelings he was causing you. But you needed more. “Youngjae…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Youngjae asked slowly and waited until you nodded. “Beg for it.”

You felt his hands caress your body as his hips pushed into yours again. You were able to feel his hard length that was still confined in his boxers.

“Please, Youngjae,” you whispered, no longer caring about the desperation in your voice. “Please, just fuck me.”

As quickly as he could, he pulled his boxers down, pumping his length a few times before finally lining it up against your entrance. You couldn’t see him but you felt every movement of his body when he slowly pushed himself into you. You moaned at the feeling of him stretching you out in the best way possible. Once he was fully in, he stopped.

You thought he was giving you some time to adjust, but he leaned in to whisper to you, “You better fucking scream for me.”

And he pulled out of you, only to slam back inside, without letting you take a breath.

“F-fuck,” you managed to whisper while Youngjae began to thrust into you relentlessly.

The movement of his hips caused the entire couch under you to move. The way he held onto your hips as he slammed into you from behind told you that you’d have red marks tomorrow, but you didn’t care about any of that. The pleasure he was giving you with each thrust clouded your brain and made it hard to form coherent sentences.

Suddenly, Youngjae moved his hands to your stomach and slowly brushed his fingers against your clit.

“Fuck, Jae,” you moaned, feeling your hands give out, so now you were on your knees with your head buried in the cushions of the couch.

“Louder, baby,” he encouraged, reached deeper parts of you now that you had your head down and your hips up. “Let everyone know who you belong to.”

“Ahh, I c-can’t,” you tried to tell him that forming sentences was difficult when his hips were slamming into you at a rapid pace, but then, he hit your g-spot head-on. “Fuck, Youngjae!”

At the sound of you finally screaming his name, Youngjae repeated his previous action, managing to hit your sweet spot with every thrust of his hips, while his fingers continued to slowly work on your clit.

He had turned you into a moaning mess and made you feel so good, you were starting to see stars.

“I’m so close,” you moaned. “P-please don’t stop.”

Youngjae started to rub circles on your clit that matched the rhythm of his thrusts and helped bring you over the edge.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” he growled, feeling himself come close to his release.

He wasn’t going to come before you, though, so he had to bite his lip when he felt you clench around him.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moaned, trying to scream into the pillow so you wouldn’t wake the neighbors up, but Youngjae wouldn’t let you do that, as he leaned in to pull the pillows away. This caused him to reach new depths inside of you, and you screamed out, no longer caring about any neighbors. “Ahh, Jae!”

“Come on, baby,” he said in a breathy voice and that was enough to finally send you over the edge.

Your entire body shook as your orgasm washed over you. You screamed out Youngjae’s name while he used one of his hands to tightly hold your hips as he continued to slam into you relentlessly, while his other hand rubbed your clit, magnifying the pleasure your orgasm brought you.

He came seconds after you, groaning loudly and holding onto you. He saw white as he came from his high and lost control of his body completely. His hips slowed down until he recovered from his orgasm and slowly pulled out of you, falling onto the couch next to you, his breathing still heavy.

“Fuck,” he whispered as you turned around to face him. Your pupils were still dilated and there was hair stuck to your forehead due to sweat. Your entire appearance screamed sex. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You leaned in to quickly kiss him on the lips and gave him a soft smile when you pulled away. “I’m all yours, Youngjae.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t get enough of you,” he said, kissing you again, and then sitting up on the couch, pulling your body up along with his. “Now let’s go take a shower. I want to hear you scream my name again.”

masterlist / ask (requests are closed)

[teenguyen92]

Why Friends With Benefits Are the Best Relationships

Just a nice article to read. It seems true to me though.

In a few days, I’m going to Cuba on vacation with a guy I’ve been sleeping with for eight years, but whom I've never once called my boyfriend. We live on different continents, but inevitably, a few times a year, we find each other somewhere in the world, have a few days of romance, and then go our separate ways. This arrangement would generally be called a friend with benefits, or a fuck buddy, or a romantic friendship, or perhaps even a relationship—with “no strings attached.” But let’s be real: There are always strings, aren’t there?

It was while planning this vacation that it hit me: The two longest relationships of my life have both been with men who I was never officially dating. Boyfriends and girlfriends have come and gone, but my friends with benefits have stood the test of time. I mean, eight years. That’s longer than I predict my first marriage will last. And while I can’t imagine being with my Cuba date “for real”—I mean, he’s a low-key homeless anarchist who once took me on date to his Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting; there are red flags—I still value our relationship immensely. And he actually knows me better than a lot of my partners ever did. So what is it about the friends with benefits dynamic that is more sustainable, and often more transparent, than an actual relationship?

People are skeptical of fuck buddies. They’re like: How can you have sex with the same person, again and again, without falling in love? Or at least, without getting super-jealous and Fatal Attraction–esque? Some assume that one of the “buddies” is always being strung along, secretly hoping that the fucking leads to something more serious. Others dismiss fuck-buddy dynamics as just being compulsive sex that’s devoid of emotion. But why do things have to be so black and white? Surely it’s possible to find a middle ground between eternal love and zombie-fucking a stranger: a place where you can care about someone, have good sex, and yet not want to literally implode at the thought of them sleeping with someone else. Right?Case in point: The most significant romantic friendship of my life was with an ex-editor of mine, whom I’ll call Malcolm. We started “a thing” five years ago and have yet to end it. When I met him, he was 45 and charmingly grumpy, and he would always tell me: “Sex is so perfect. Why destroy it with a relationship?” I’d go over to his apartment for a couple hours in the afternoons, we’d have sex (soberly, which meant I could actually cum), and then afterward we’d drink tea and complain about stuff. It was the best.

There were times when we saw each other frequently, and other times when things dropped off for a while, usually because one of us had a partner. And sure, when he would get a girlfriend I would be a little bummed out—I’m (unfortunately) not a sociopath—but it didn’t cause me to spiral into an emotional cyclone the way I would have if I’d been cheated on by a boyfriend. After all, disappointment comes from expectation.Over time, Malcolm and I became really close. It felt like we had entered this secretive bubble of transparency—we were emotionally intimate, yet free of the burden of jealousy and ownership. We could spill our guts to each other because we didn’t have anything to lose. I told Malcolm about my previous relationships, my fantasies, my heartbreak. Once, he told me this long, complicated story about an affair he had with his cousin, adding, “That’s not something I tell most people.” Probably wise on his part, but I loved that story, as problematic as it may be, because I loved knowing something about him that no one else did. Sometimes it feels like we are more honest with our friends with benefits than we are with our partners.This paradox always makes me think of that Mad Men episode when Betty seduced Don at their kid’s summer camp, well after they had both remarried. Afterward, when they’re lying in bed together, Betty says of Don’s new wife, “That poor girl. She doesn’t know that loving you is the worst way to get to you.” Harsh. But sometimes, romantic friendships can offer a type of intimacy that committed relationships can’t.I was curious to know if Malcolm felt the same way I did about all of this, so last week (for strictly journalistic purposes), I paid him a visit. “Having a friend with benefits is great because it’s just—it’s just less annoying,” he said, smoking a cigar and dressed in an inexplicable beige silk onesie. “It’s more of a low-intensity intimacy. It’s not encumbered by obligations, which just lead to resentment.”He then gave me that look—the one that means he’s about to admit to something despicable and blame it on humanity. “We are all selfish—we all live in this Ayn Rand–ish self-centered world, whether we like it or not,” he said. “When you’re in a friends with benefits situation, you don’t have go to the other person’s awful friend’s birthday party. But if you behave like that within a conventional relationship, it causes problems.

“With [FWB] there’s no illusion about the carnal aspect,” he went on, “so you can be really literal about it: You are two people who like and respect each other—and you like to fuck. There’s beauty and freedom in that honestly. And you can be playful. You can have your sex-power persona, or you can play the super-misogynist pig, or the bimbo, and it’s okay, because you’re not being judged. But if you change that dynamic into being a real relationship, then those games might not seem so sexy anymore.”In other words, your fuck buddy gets all the good stuff about being in a relationship—the wild sex, the cuddles, the juicy dark secrets—minus all of the boring, would-rather-die activities that go hand in hand with commitment, like having to help assemble your boyfriend’s IKEA bed, or having to watch your girlfriend stab at the ingrown hairs on her bikini line while she watches the Kardashians. (That’s me—I’m the girlfriend who does that.)Essentially, you’re taking a relationship and removing the creepy ownership of another human being, which leaves more room for hedonism and sexual exploration. Like, who do you want to bring to the sex party—your boyfriend or your fuck buddy? It’s a no-brainer. I’ve done so many things with fuck buddies that I never would have tried with partners, because I was too much of a jealous monster. (Like once I let Malcolm tie me to a dresser while I watched him have sex with my best friend. Unsurprisingly, it was literally awful, but now at least I can say I’ve done it?)One of the most masterful fuck friends I know is my friend Casey, a 26-year-old Ph.D. candidate in English, who until recently had a FWB for 12 years. It started when she was 13, with a boy whose family spent every summer in the same beach town as she did. (Cute alert.)Over martinis at Cafe Mogador, Casey told me, “When I’m dating someone, my immediate impulse is to be like, ‘Let’s lock shit down! My anxiety will decrease if I know you want to marry me in six years from now!’ Which is crazy and not hot or sustainable. But my longer romantic friendships have been a safe space. They’ve helped me figure out how to relate to someone romantically without the immediate trigger of, Where is this going?” In other words, having a fuck buddy is a great exercise in non-possessiveness.

“The thought of my boyfriend fucking someone else makes me want to wear his skin like a goddamned wetsuit,” she said, eyes bulging. “But with my fuck buddies it’s been like, ‘Oh, my God, tell me more.’ There’s almost a level of titillation to sex stories when it’s somebody who’s not your boyfriend. But why is that? I wish I knew, so I could bottle it and never be possessive ever again.”For all the benefits of fuck friendery, it’s still possible for this dynamic to screw with your emotions. “At different points in our relationship,” Casey recalled, “it was hard to respect the line between friendship and flirting when he started dating someone, because I’d known him more intimately than his new partner. It’s like my morals were thrown out the window, and I felt this gross egotistical sense that I should come first, because I’ve been around longer, like, ‘Girlfriends come and go, but I’m forever.’” Sometimes it’s hard to accept that these dynamics usually have an expiration date, which tends to be when one person gets into a committed relationship. And, unfortunately, not only do you lose the benefits, but you sometimes lose the friend, too.We are taught that all relationships that don’t end up in marriage are failures (because, ya know, hetero-normativity and patriarchal narratives or whatever). But subscribing to that belief ignores the fact that romantic friendships can be extremely fulfilling, enlightening, and straight-up fun. Of course, I’m not dismissing the benefits of committed, long-term, loving relationships. But both dynamics are valuable in their own right. And perhaps the reason romantic friendships are often so sustainable is they lack the soul-baring vulnerability and intense emotional investment.Maybe the coolest thing about the fuck-buddy economy is that it allows women to actually enjoy sex in a casual way, without having to enter an old-fashioned ownership contract. It celebrates female sexual autonomy. It’s a chance to explore ourselves and other people. And in the interim, we can discover who we are and what we like, instead of committing to a pseudo-marriage we aren’t ready for.

[batboys-batboys-whachu-gonna-do]

"Let's finish this, brat! I want to go home," Jason yelled under his helmet while kicking one of the men that surrounded him.

"Todd, I'm not freaking magical so shut the hell up and do your damn job!" Damian yelled back from the other side of the room, where Jason couldn't directly see him. The only confirmation of Damian's work was his cursing and the bodies of the enemies hitting the floor loudly.

He chuckled under he's breath as he saw two of them trying to get up and then immediately sitting back down because of the current Robin's threats.

"Dare to come back here, and.." he said whilst flipping a man and making him hit the floor with a thud "...and you'll definitely NOT like it," he finished kicking another one's kneecap.

A strong punch in the stomach woke Red Hood from his trance, the poor guy wasn't even in a defensive stance so instead of using any weapon he just threw an uppercut knocking him out.

Jason had to admit that he tried to call the attention to him, but the kid was and easy target, or that's what the bad guys thought...and that affected greatly to the point where Damian had almost 15 more people around him than the legendary Red Hood.

Even if Jason knew that the brat could handle it, it was still unfair. For them, not for Damian, who seemed to enjoy it.

The Hood headed rapidly to the other room because of the sound of a threatening blade.

"What did I tell you about being too mean, Dames, huh?" He said, eyeing the many unconscious men in the room. Did he just talk like Dick? Dear god.

"T-T," Damian answered him using the handle of the sword to break some guy's nose.

Jason joined him amused by his little brother's way to obey his orders, they worked rarely in silence and more effectively than normal, just a few comments between them. Even if they weren't the best friends, there was always a promise of protection between them.

Almost half an hour later, they were done. Mostly because it was very easy: clear the place, no killing.

The master mind of the organization had already been taken out of the equation and the people in the building weren't even near the high ranks...they were just thieves and the trash that desperately craved something in the streets.

"Guys, we have a problem," Tim spoke in their ears as they waited in the rooftop of that place in the middle of nowhere and added, "you'll have to wait, we're having trouble in here."

Jason groaned,"How much, Timbers?"

"Five hours, more or less," Red Robin answered trying to sound at ease but failing epicly.

"Drake," Damian said softly but with a clear hint of anger, "What the hell happened?"

"Madness. No one is hurt, but this new whatever that is got us in a trap and with some kind of device blocked the Batwing and almost everything else. We're working on it," Tim explained quickly as if he was in a rush.

"I want a call at any change of situation, Drake." sighed Damian. Tim huffed at that, but answered affirmatively.

Jason started wandering around the rooftop, touching everything and looking more bored with each step. Damian analyzed the night, noticing in a weird gleam by the door, maybe the moonlight reflecting, but suddenly realized what it really was.

He moved faster than he thought he could and pushed Jason and himself off the roof.

"What the fuck, kid?" was the only thing that escaped Jason's mouth. He desperately tried to catch Damian in the air but something up there exploded, they felt the heat and the strength of the bomb making everything blow away,pushing them apart.

From that height, it was granted a certain death and in the commotion he couldn't even find Robin.

Out of nowhere a hand found its way to his and took a tight grasp. Damian had improvised, his eyes looked determined but he knew pain was going to come as soon as the rope tensed.

"Damian, I need you to push me up,"Jason shouted. They were in a horrible position, if they stayed like that both of Robin's arms would end up broken.

Damian tried his best, but there was no way he could just lift a man twice his size just using his body and there was no time. The rope tensed, and the sound of a loud crack and a feral whine flooded the air.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Dames," Jason said pulling himself up when they reached the wall. "Don't move, I'll take it from here," he added in a whisper watching the pain in Damian's eyes. The poor kid couldn't even talk.

Jason grabbed something out of Robin's utility belt and secured him to his chest.

The harsh surface of the building made climbing easier, he broke the nearest window and carefully entered the room trying to not cause Damian any more pain.

The kid soon started to drift into sleep, almost passing out.

"Damian, I'm gonna have to put them in place," warned Jason without hesitation, "or it'll be worse."

Robin just nodded and prepared himself by biting some cloth that Jason handed him. He closed his eyes and screamed as he felt the waves of pain hit him, big tears formed and disappeared into the cloth.

A soon as all Jason could do at the moment was done, Damian fell asleep.

"Timmy, we had a problem," Jason informed him, emotions mixed with his voice.

Tim made an annoyed sound and was interrupted by Jason,"Damian got both of his arms broken and I seriously don't want him to stay injured in a place like this. He's asleep because of the meds that I found in here, but I wouldn't trust them. Plus, we didn't kill anyone so they'll be probably waking up soon and if the police arrives..."

"Damn," his brother huffed on the other side of the line, preoccupation very present in his tone, "We'll get there as soon as we can or I'll send you someone"

"Okay," Jason simply responded, almost irritated, looking back at Damian, who was spreaded on the floor. He took his helmet off and putting the boy wonder in his arms he sat down, resting Damian's head in his shoulder and covering him with his cape.

An hour later Damian woke up with a grunt, "shit," he whispered waking Jason up too with the sound.

"Don't move too much," Jason warned him, so the little Wayne just rubbed his head on Jason's shoulder trying to find comfort.

"I'm sorry, I should have noticed before,"he said to the kid in his arms.

"Don't be," he answered and chuckled, "but it actually was your fault."

"I know," Jason stated bluntly, taking all the blame on himself. There was a change in Damian's eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, "don't worry about it. We're a team, like hell I was going to let something like that happen."

"And here I thought you hated me," he answered, surprised and filled with guilt.

"Tt, I'm just bugging you. If I truly hated you, I'd just ignore the hell out of you." Damian added, fully awake but still weak.

"Wait, but you do that with Tim all the time, does it mean...?" Jason stopped talking because of the bat-shut-up-now-stare the kid was giving him.

"Obviously not, if I really hated him I'd just start to question his job. You see, while you are in need of someone who acknowledges your presence, he is in need someone who trusts his decisions," Damian slowly explained with a stern look, like it was obvious

Jason was startled by how much the kid was talking in such pain, but let him continue, Damian never talked much to him anyway.

"The only moments I truly intervene physically is when he's stuck or about to do something stupid." The kid added thoughtfully.

"Dames, you two fight like every day"

"First of all, Drake is 24/7 in a state of sleep deprivation, and he needs to get out of the damn cave from time to time. Plus I get to bother him, it's a win-win situation," Damian told him glaring annoyedly to the ceiling and continued, "but I'm almost always aware of what he's investigating. Being in that state can compromise the missions."

"And what about me, pup? Do you have an eye on me too?" Jason laughed as he saw Damian nodding in an odd manner, with unfazed but surprisingly warm eyes.

"I know where all your safe houses are. Remember whe you got pizza delivered every time you were in one? Yeah...and no sleeping unless I know everyone is home. Pennyworth doesn't like it, but I use the time wisely." Damian was slipping many of his secrets in that conversation, maybe it was because of the situation or the medicine, Jason thought.

"What about the girls?" Jason asked.

"I respect them too much to do anything to them, and Cass will still eat my food even if I lick it so it's pointless. I've gotten to appreciate our current Fatgirl" Damian smiled at the thought, "..and everyone gets enough annoyed with my fights with Tim so there's no actual need. The only one that never seems to be bothered is Dick, I'd have to really kill someone to for him to be mad at me and I think he would still forgive me."

"He would, but you don't want to see him truly mad. He's worse than Bruce"

"Really? He never seemed to be like Father," Damian wondered and perked his eyebrows up, encouraging Jason to speak.

"He's different in many ways, but Bruce raised him up and some things always stay with us." Jason explained, hoping Damian would understand him.

"Father is.." Damian started but Jason asked right away, "why do you call him like that?"

"What else should I call him, idiot? He's my father," said Damian harshly, making his question sound way more stupid than it was.

"It's just that it doesn't sound affectionate, I don't know," Jay said.

"Maybe it's because of the way I learned English." The kid said as if it explained everything.

"Wait, English isn't your first language?

"Nope, it's Arabic" Damian responded. Suddenly his eyes lighted up remembering something.

"The first Christmas I spent here was very weird, mostly because reading about something is pretty different from experiencing it.

Anyways, for some Dick of a reason," the boy said gaining a a hard laugh from Jason, "Father didn't let me go on patrol because Dick said that I had to stay home and enjoy the real Christmas. How the heck would I enjoy being alone? on Christmas? But at the moment I really didn't get what it all was about so I followed what Pennyworth said. And I'm not gonna lie, I actually had fun, but it was just the two of us, and surely Pennyworth wanted to have everyone already home as much I wanted." He made a pause, making sure Jason was listening and kept going, " All of you arrived later than expected and I was so tired because of the patrols of the nights before that somehow I just switched languages. I called Father Baba , he almost choked." A grin spreader on Damian face, but the pain could still be clearly seen.

"What does it mean?" Jason inquired mostly because he wanted to hear Damian's voice, because in fact he knew what it meant.

"It's something like daddy, more or less" the kid confessed, and switched his position to face Jason. He didn't look bothered nor embarrassed, just tired.

"Maybe he wasn't ready to hear it," Jason suggested shrugging slowly to not hurt Damian, but he managed to hurt him with his words.

That's when it hits him, the hopeless look on Damian's eyes, the pout on his mouth and the way he tried to hold back his tears: Damian was just a kid. Jason would call him that to annoy him, not because he thought that the Robin was one. It didn't matter how hard his eyes looked in the field, he had seen worse stuff in his short life than Bruce in his own, and the boy was still a little kid.

He had been programmed since he was a baby to be perfect and he had betrayed his mother by joining Batman, a man he didn't know, and Jason bet it was way harder that it sounded.

Jason remembered his time with the League and wanted to shout, he wanted to kill Talia with his own hands. He wanted to slap Bruce in the face and tell him that Damian needed him, that he himself needed him. He wanted to erase the bad memories out of his brother's head, but the sad truth was that maybe he'd have to erase everything.

Instead of saying anything, he just pressed his foreheads together as he had seen many mothers do to their children . Jason didn't expect the sound he heard, it was a genuine giggle. Damian Wayne was giggling, that broken kid. A kid that got dragged into a cruel world, that had no chance,no choice, that didn't think he could choose.

Jason giggled too, the boy's laugh was contagious enough to make him feel something tingling in his chest. He really needed to stay away from Dick and his gross brotherly behavior.

"What is so funny?" He asked Damian while opening his eyes only to see a pair of green ones staring him back.

"I can't explain why, but it makes me feel better."

"Yeah?" Jason asked incredulous, still the smile in his face

"Affirmative," the boy answered resting his head against the Hood's shoulder.

"Hey, pup," Jason called after a while, "do you like being a Robin?"

"Honestly? I don't know, but I have to do it. Father needs a Robin," he answered simply.

"No, Bruce needs a son. Batman needs a Robin," the man closed his eyes, "you've been fighting for too long and you didn't even choose to do so. Is there something you wanna do, kiddo? I know you're super intelligent and probably in the League they already thought you all any school could teach you, but...?" He inquired, feeling Damian moving nervously in his lap.

"I enjoy painting," the kid said, kind of embarrassed and proud at the same time, "Pennyworth says I'm as skilled in that matter as I am in sword fighting," he added.

Jason let an approving sound escape his lips," and that's much to say since you'd kick all of our butts if we were challenged to a duel, including Bruce"

"Probably," he answered, but didn't sound proud or anything else. It was a plain voice, he probably had bad memories about it. Maybe even nightmares in which he had to fight his family.

"Let's do something," he told his younger brother, "while you recover I'll do all of your patrols and when you're back on the game I'll ask you again if you want to go on field. If you want, maybe you and I can put our patrols together and if you don't want to I'll talk to Dick and Bruce. Maybe I can make them understand, you know, that way you avoid getting in fights."

"If I decide to quit, I want to be with you when we tell them" Damian stated, still unsure but determined to stand for himself.

"Okay, buddy" Jason answered, caressing the boys hair.

Damian fell asleep again in that position, curled in Jason's legs. Jason talked to the device in his ear.

"Timmy, how are we doing?" He asked, but instead of hearing his brothers voice there was a deep rage filled voice: Bruce.

"What the hell happened there? It was a simple mission, almost impossible to get hurt and you still managed blow more things up." The man said in the other line, not that Jason wasn't used to it, but one thing was getting himself hurt and other thing was being the cause of someone getting hurt. So for once in his life, he didn't talk back, he just listened to Bruce ranting and telling him all the stupid things he had done that night, and in all his life. He could hear the preoccupation hid behind the rage, but it was unreachable for everyone.

"Father," they heard Damian in the communicator, his voice muffled and sleepy, "no blame must be held, the trap was placed to be undetectable."

Bruce released a grunt of disapproval, but he sounded also relieved.

"I want the details of what happened when you come back, and you two are grounded" Bruce stated firmly.

Jason just couldn't contain himself and said, "Bruce I don't even live with you and Damian has both of his arms broken" he could feel how Bruce was about to snap again, but Damian snorted just before Batman could even start. Bruce stopped himself immediately and asked with an alarmed voice, "what's wrong? Something happened?"

"What? No, Bruce, he's just laughing. Have you ever heard of that?" Jason answered, looking at Damian in his lap, who chuckled and said, "You're an idiot, Todd."