#my mind absolutely derailed at the end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

depravitycentral · 9 months

Note

im sorry if this is a lame ask, but i just had the idea and thought i would share it to see if it would strike any inspo! of course on this blog you’ve talked about all the things our beloved troupe members are into, but have you ever considered what their absolute turn offs are? like things that pull them out of the mood almost immediately? or kinks that would seem to fit certain members, but end up not being their thing for one reason or another

Ooh yes anon this strikes inspo !!

This is a good point - it's all fine and dandy to imagine sex with your yandere as being so bad but so good, as if they know every secret, dirty kink and fantasy you have. (That's because they do know, whether through extensive stalking, pouring through your search histories, or raw, natural sexual chemistry with you. They all think they've got that last one, but normally any positive sexual encounters between the two of you will be a consequence of the former two rather than the latter.)

But of course, everyone has turn offs, and while your yandere would be willing to do pretty much anything to please you, even the most obsessed, unhinged yanderes have a few hard, fast exceptions.

I'm assuming you meant just hxh yanderes for this, so let's proceed moving forward with that in mind! If you meant for another fandom, please let me know and I'd be happy to discuss those yanderes too <3

Let's discuss !!

(Tw for petnames, watersports, recording, anal, pegging, crying, hitting, and other smutty things)

Chrollo Lucilfer is pretty hard to frazzle in bed, and is one of those who have done extensive, eager research into both your own personal sexual preferences, and made educated guesses on kinks that seem to correlate with ones he already knows you possess. That said, Chrollo himself isn't especially risky in bed - he'll indulge you, sure, but he doesn't have a strong desire to try anything especially crazy unless you're a big fan. And while he'll let you have your fun (particularly in the beginning of your sexual relationship, just because promising you that he'll choke you or dominate you or whatever else you may like just to get you into bed with him and somewhat willing, just because he needs to pleasure you and get you warming up to him) , most of the time sex with him is quite vanilla. He's open to listening to whatever you want, with one very, very large exception: there is no amount of pleading or bargaining that will let you peg him. He doesn't inherently believe that men should always be dominant over women, but he does believe that he should always be dominant over you. And if you were to peg him, this power structure would collapse, allowing you too much control over both his pleasure and him. He doesn't mind being in a more physically submissive position (he'll never deny you when you straddle him and tell him that you're in charge for the evening, the only response you get being a twinkle in his eye, a soft smirk and a hummed we will see, my love), but the idea of you fucking him just rubs him the wrong way. He's more vulnerable with you than he is anyone else, but Chrollo has his limits. (Besides, the idea of absolutely falling apart for you is both alluring and terrifying, because the moment you discover his prostate, he'll be a gasping mess, his cheeks tinged a light pink and his grip on the sheets below him very, very tight. It would be embarrassing, and he can't allow you to see him in such a weak position - it would derail all the hard work he's done to convince you that you need him.)

Feitan Portor really detests being called Daddy. He thinks it's weird, and even if you - sweet, perfect, irritatingly attractive you - were to say it, he still wouldn't like it. There's just something about it that rubs him the wrong way - it feels too paternal, and while he doesn't remember having a family in any biological capacity, it still just makes his skin crawl. He won't get soft immediately upon hearing you say it (he's always just slightly hard when you're in his vicinity, so rarely ever is he truly flaccid around you), but he'll need to pull out and take a breather, mentally trying to erase the sound of the petname rolling off your tongue. He can deal with other petnames - he'd be okay with sir, if only because he's always kind of had a thing for roleplaying, or at least having some sort of overarching power dynamic present during sex, and being called sir would place him in a position of absolute authority, meaning he could do whatever he wants to you and you'd just obediently obey. (You already kind of do, too scared to say no to him, but it doesn't feel as authentic - he feels less comfortable, more vulnerable and exposed and raw, and he doesn't like that.) You could even call him master if you really wanted to - similarly, it feeds his desire for playing a powerful, dominant role, but he doesn't have any sort of particularly liking towards maid costumes or anything of the sort, so it wouldn't do too much for him. He's good with nearly anything else you could throw at him, but never Daddy. Frankly, he really just prefers his own, actual name - it just sounds so damn good when you gasp it, the sound going straight to both his cock and heart.

Phinks Magcub's brows always get pinched and his lips quirk down when he thinks about the idea of you bleeding during sex. It makes his hands itch, this protectiveness welling up inside him that makes him antsy and nervous and jittery, the energy all pent up and needing to be released because god, he doesn't like seeing you hurt. Even if it makes you feel good, your moans increasing because of the pain twinged pleasure, he's unwilling to indulge you - he couldn't bring himself to purposefully make you bleed, and while he does occasionally (often) leave you bruised and incredibly sore after having his way with you, that's a whole different thing from seeing that crimson color against your pretty skin. It just makes him uncomfortable - if you asked nicely enough he'd consider maybe lightly slapping you or getting rough with you (though he's already pretty rough when he gets lost in the moment - finger shaped bruises litter your body and hickeys dance along your collarbone and neck), but he'll draw the line at drawing blood. (Similarly, he doesn't really want to bleed himself either, but he'd be more willing to be in the position of pain than putting you into that position of pain. Besides, it might help him last longer, the pleasure warded off by negative stimulation - and god knows Phinks needs all the help he can get in delaying his orgasms.)

Uvogin is pretty adventurous in bed, all things considered, but even he has a few hard turn offs, one of which being degrading you. He doesn't mind calling you needy or possessive terms of endearment, but anything with even a slight negative connotation is always preceded by a 'my', so that when he's calling you a slut it always becomes my slut. Even then, he doesn't like doing this - his natural default when he's naked with you is to be praising you, because those are honestly the thoughts running through his mind when he's got his hands on you and he's feeling your soft skin against his. He genuinely only has good, lustful, reverent things to say about your body and the fact that he's getting to touch, kiss, squeeze, and fuck you, and he's not shy about telling the truth. And so, if you were to request for him to degrade you a bit in bed or be a little meaner, he'll oblige, but it'll feel just slightly forced, his words not holding their usual deep, growling timber that always sends shivers down your spine. He ends up compromising by mixing praise and degradation, but absolutely destroying you with his thrusts and well placed circles on your clit, channeling all the harsh, humiliating energy of verbal degradation instead into how he assaults your body with an overwhelming amount of pleasure. He just doesn't like the idea of lying to you, even if it turns you on in this context, because it just feels wrong to tell you that you're only a hole for me to fuck, and holes don't talk. You're not - you're so much more than that, and he doesn't want you to think otherwise. Hell no, not with all the work he's put into making you get comfortable with him and want him. One roll around on the liviing room floor (he'd gotten impatient and didn't feel like making the thirty step journey to the bedroom) isn't worth reversing months worth of warming you up to him. Not even if you leave his back scratched up or end up so stuffed full of his cum that you're literally leaking.

Nobunaga Hazama is, frankly, just thankful and elated that you're touching him. He's delusional, compeltely out of touch with reality, and fucking weird, but he's also a major sap and literally gets heart eyes everytime he sees you. And so, in the bedroom he wants everything to be as close and sensual as possible, and for every bit of pleasure and love shared between the two of you to be expressed in full. This, of course, includes any and all noises he draws out of you - that is, Nobunaga has to have you gasping and keening and moaning. He's loud himself, and he expects sex to be full of wanton cries and a cacophany of sound; one that you are expected to eagerly contribute to. And if you don't deliver? Well, Nobunaga will just try harder, licking at your faster or thrusting harder or pinching tighter - anything and everything to get you to make a damn sound, to give stop him from having to confront the reality that you aren't enjoying this nearly as much as he is. He gets turned off when you're quiet, which is a real bummer if you aren't naturally loud - you have to be, because he won't quite until you are, even if that takes hours and hours and hours.

Alternatively, Franklin Bordeau can tell when you're faking it, and he doesn't like that. At all. He doesn't want your forced moans or fabricated shaking or anything that isn't real - he wants you, your genuine reactions to his touch, and your genuine personality in bed. He doesn't want you to sound like some pornstar - with your moans constant and high and shrill and more pained than pleasured - for two main reasons, the first of which being that it's just annoying. He's never understood the allure of a woman screaming during sex, and even in the context of actual, real pleasure, it still makes him uncomfortable. It's too close to the sounds he hears when he's working a heist - he doesn't want you to sound like them, because he has no intentions of hurting you and just the mere thought of you bloodied is enough to get him soft immediately and clutching onto you like you'll disappear any moment. The second reason why he doesn't want you to be forcing anything is because although he's decently confident in his sexual abilities, he knows he isn't making you feel that good. He's sure him fingering you isn't capable of getting you gasping and whining his name constantly - sure, it feels good, and you'll probably moan and sigh, but still. When he's fucking you, he's hopeful that you'll cry out his name, but he knows you shouldn't be screaming and rythmically, shrilly moaning. He values honesty, and hearing your real, raw reactions to his touch and his presence feels a thousand times more pleasurable than anything you could ever forcibly manufacture - especially your orgasms. He can always tell when you're faking, so don't try it. Don't.

Honestly, it's pretty difficult to get Shalnark turned off. He's kinky, adventurous, and misinterprets a lot of your responses during sex - he likes to think you're just as wild as he is, and even when you clearly don't like something, he still thinks seeing you struggle is just as arousing. (Besides, most of the time he will get you to orgasm - and seeing the internal dilemma of hating what he's doing alongside the pleasure you can't hold back is absolutely delicious.) That said, there are very specific situations that Shalnark doesn't find any attraction in - specifically, he absolutely is not willing to be cucked. Having another person in the room while he fucks you hard enough to make you cry isn't a problem at all - on the contrary, he's very, very interested in that idea, because having another man watch him claim you makes both his possessiveness and nostrils flare, his palms getting sweaty and his pants feeling tight. Cucking, on the other hand, implies that there's someone else touching you - another person sullying you, getting their disgusting hands on your perfect skin that's all his his his, and that's just simply unacceptable. He didn't go through all that trouble of kidnapping you and keeping you in a secure location just to have you touched, fucked, loved by another man. It doesn't matter if it's a stranger or someone Shalnark trusts with his life - you will not be getting intimate with another soul for the rest of your life, simply because he firmly sees you as his property, and him yours. So don't even bother bringing the idea up - he'll fuck you in front of the stranger, no problem, but they're prohibited to strictly watching. (Or, maybe, they'd be good at helping get those camera angles that are really tough to capture - right up in your face, or right zoomed into where his length - flushed red and swollen - is sinking into you over and over, the home video the perfect thing to watch tonight as he cuddles you to sleep.)

Alternatively, Machi Komacine can't stomach the thought of doing anything public. It's not that she fears getting caught, but rather that it makes her uncomfortable that anyone could see the two of you. Someone could just pass by and happen to get an eyeful of you - your pretty skin and curves, your lovely body that her eyes always seem to get stuck on, watching, wanting, yearning. She's not spontaneous in any way when it comes to sex, and she just doesn't see the allure of the risk or danger involved. She's too possessive; it takes her so long to even allow herself to see you naked, and to have a stranger do that and even see your face while she's pleasuring you, while you're coming? The thought makes her nen flare up, the urge to wrap you in her arms and keep the world from even catching a glimpse of you only growing stronger. Even aside from her possessiveness, the idea of doing something where others could see you makes her nervous, too, because Machi isn't entirely confident in her abilities to actually please you in the bedroom. Sure, she understands female anatomy and has a good sense of what you like from all that stalking, but actually doing it? That's a different thing entirely - and the pressure of pleasing you coupled with the pressure of other people potentially watching her struggle makes her feel uncomfortable, a foreign, heavy sense of self doubt settling heavily in her gut. It's just not for her - sex belongs in the bedroom, or perhaps the couch or kitchen table. Not outside of your 'shared' apartment, and certainly not where someone else could get an eyeful of what's hers.

Pakunoda will still jump on the opportunity to pleasure you and be pleasured, but in general she'll be hesitant if the both of you are still fully clothed. She doesn't see the appeal of clothed sex - she wants you completely bared to her, utterly raw, your body on display for her to worship and touch and mark. She thinks keeping the clothing on is not only impractical, but diminishes the intimacy between the two of you. You'll get all sorts of sticky, hard to clean things staining the clothes, and because she can be a little snobby about materialistic delights like luxury clothing, she's not exactly keen on getting your slick all over her nice clothes. (Although, she wouldn't be entirely opposed to having your slick all over her skin, like you're leaving a mark of possession on her. Just not the clothes.) Clothes stop her from being able to fully explore your body, and, as much as she'd never admit it, when you have your clothing on it makes it much harder to use her nen on you. That is, while it makes her feel a little dirty and slimy, she will be using her ability to dig into your memories for any information on your kinks and fantasies, just because she wants to make sex as perfect and pleasurable for you as she possibly can. So shed the layers with her - it makes things so much better. Plus, the sight of you bare and squirming underneath her, looking all pretty and submissive and cute is certainly a drool worthy sight.

All things considered, Shizuku Murasaki is actually kind of picky about sex. She likes things to be her way or the highway, and as her darling you'll be forced to go along with all of her preferences and wants. And while she loves all things oral, there are a few things she's absolutely unwilling to do. Namely, while she worships you and cherishes you as much as a mass-murderer can, she will not indulge you in anything involving your asshole. It's a cleanliness thing for her; she knows you're clean (she'd just bathed with you this morning and personally hand washed you, paying very, very careful attention to your cunt), but she has a mental block against having her mouth anywhere near that part of you. She's always felt this way with every partner she's had - she just doesn't understand the allure of anal, whether that be fingering, oral, or penetration. She'd much, much rather pay attention to other areas of your body - your pussy, your thighs, your breasts, your mouth. She'll always shy away when she's got her face between your legs, but unfortunately for you, this courtesy does not extend to you too. She doesn't expect you to do anything with her ass, but she certainly won't stop you if you're getting too close, or if you get the desire. She'll just blink at you and tell you to be careful, then pull your head in by your hair and get you closer and closer and closer, enjoying the experience despite herself. Shizuku is a little hypocritical in a lot of aspects in sex, but this is one particular area where she's absolutely unfair.

Hisoka Marrow is a freak in every sense of the word. Genuinely, there is very, very little you could do that would cause him to fall out of the mood, or to rid him of the insistant, raging boner nearly everything you do gives him. He'll try anything once, and he firmly believes in keeping your sex life interesting and varied. That said, he certainly has preferences, and one thing that sits quite low on his list of preferred bedroom activities is to be worshipped. It's not that he doesn't want your attention and praise (he does, urgently), but rather that there's something about the position of being the one drowned in compliments and confessions of love that makes him a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it's because he's not used to being in such a submissive, vulnerable position, or maybe it's because he doesn't feel like he's got enough control of the situation. It doesn't really matter, because Hisoka will always send teasing remarks your way when you get the courage to be the dominant one, and that will almost always derail you enough to get you steering away from any territory that gets dangerously close to becoming too vulnerable and real for him. He loves you in his own twisted, strange way, but he's not ready to open himself up fully to you, to let you take full charge and just take care of him. He may never be ready, really, so any dreams you have of fully dominating him and reducing him to a trembling, fucked out mess will have to remain just that - dreams.

In general, Illumi Zoldyck will try most things you suggest. It's not that he's especially adventurous in the bedroom, but rather that you're the first person he's ever had any sexual contact with, and everything with you feels good, so he wants to try it all. He has very few boundries when it comes to you, and so consequently, there aren't too many things that turn him off. However, he does have two surefire things that he'll immediately and vehemently outright refuse. Firstly, he will absolutely not wear any protection. He turns his nose at the thought of condoms, and will only laugh in your face if you suggest using them for obvious reasons. He will be entering you in the most natural way possible, and he will be finishing as deeply inside of you as he can manage. Secondly, he absolutely will not allow another person to be involved in your sex life. There will be no third person in your bed, no other person for you to be pleasuring and be pleasured by. There is only you and Illumi - it's your sex life, and it makes his possessiveness flare up to dangerous proportions to imagine another person seeing you in such a vulnerable, intimate position. So really, don't even bother bringing up the idea - he won't even consider it, already shooting it down before you're finished getting the sentence out. (And after he finishes lecturing you about how another man or woman has no place in your bed, he'll promptly fuck you right then and there - no matter where you are - just to prove his point. He's all you need, after all.)

Sex with Kurapika Kurta is soft and sensual. It can be a little rougher if he's had a particularly bad day, or if he's recently had a run in with the Troupe, but for the most part he makes love rather than fucks. And because of this, he really, really doesn't like seeing you cry during sex. It makes him uncomfortable, his instincts begging him to comfort you and eliminate whatever caused your tears. He associates crying with the early days of when he'd kidnapped you, back when you were still terrified of him and much too scared to even stand to look at him, much less allow him to touch you. And particularly in the context of sex, he does not want to be reminded of all the horrible things he's done to you - things are good now, happy, and you've finally come around to the idea that he loves you, that you'll spend the rest of your life with him. And so, the moment there are tears beading at your eyes, he's immediately going soft, his palms cupping your cheeks as he stares wildly at you, asking in a rushed, still breathless voice if you're alright, if you're hurt, if you're upset and who he needs to kill to right this wrong. He overreacts, and it always, always turns into either self hatred aimed at himself for ruining your happiness, or a bloodthirsty desire to kill whoever is upsetting you. The only exception to his hatred of you crying is when it's done because you're too overstimulated, the pleasure too much for you to even process. When you're so fucked out from the pleasure he gave you, then the tears are acceptable. He still doesn't like them all that much, but it's at least a sign that he's treating you well, that he's able to make you feel good and pleasured, and it makes pride swell in his chest. So in general, try not to cry in front of him - he goes flaccid in mere seconds, his protective nature ramping up and any semblance of sexiness gone immediately.

When Leorio Paradinight has you in bed, he's almost in a state of utter awe, almost unable to really process what's going on. He's just so incredibly aroused by you, even if you're just laying beside him with your clothes fully on, and because of this he's game to try pretty much anything you want in bed. He's genuinely just so fucking excited to be with you that he'll do basically anything you want, no matter how degrading or gross or off the wall. That said, however, he doesn't really understand the appeal of pet play. He doesn't harbor any fantasies of you donning a set of bunny ears or a tail or anything of the sort, simply because he doesn't really like fantasies that change you, even if it's something as trivial as your ears. He thinks of you as perfection, and that includes every proportion of your body, every freckle, mole, hair and blemish you could have, and he doesn't want to pretend that you aren't exactly who - and what - you are. Besides, he just doesn't see the appeal; he wants you to talk and moan for him when he's touching you, not have you purr or whine or any other animal noise. He thinks it's a little weird, if he's being honest, and while he'll begrudgingly agree if you beg him to try it out (he'll do anything to see you smile, after all), his orgasm won't come as pathetically easily as normal. This extends to pet play where he's the one dressing up as a pet, too - he's more likely to enjoy it this way, but there's something humiliating about the butt plug tail and the fox ears, and it's humiliating in all the wrong ways. He's just not too big of a fan - now if you wanted to get some sort of ownership roleplay going that didn't involve pets or animals, he'd be all over that - the moment you refer to yourself as mommy or his mistress, he's practically creaming his pants, getting on his knees for you and begging for you to touch him. (And maybe even step on him, depending on how needy he's feeling that day.)

Razor, despite sometimes losing control in bed and getting a little rougher than he means to, will never willingly hit you in bed. He doesn't like the idea of slapping you. He might gently pat your ass when you're bouncing on top of him, but it's only just enough to make you yelp, only enough to make a slight smack noise of skin against skin. Hitting you - even in the context of sexual pleasure - reminds him too much of his younger days, back when he was a criminal and was much less controlled, much more dangerous. And really, that's the last thing he wants you to see him as - he wants you to take comfort in him, to want him to hold you and touch you, and he's sure that even if you want him to get rough with you and manhandle you, to smack your cheek and tell you to behave for him, you will start associating him with pain and violence. And he just can't have that - not after all the work he's gone through to prove that despite kidnapping you, he's not the monster you think he is. (Besides, there's just something more meaningful about softer, sweeter sex - he's fucked more women than he'd care to admit, but you're the first one he's gone slow with, the first one he's really taken his time with. And while it might be stupid, that makes you different in his eyes - like he's saved something special for you, like the passionate, romantic side of him that comes out when he's got you naked and stretched out on his fingers is something only you'll ever get to see.)

Another man who tries to keep things a bit vanilla in the bedroom (not for the same reasons as Razor, but rather because he just genuinely prefers more intimate and tame sex) is Knuckle, who can't stand the thought of recording your intimate times. He does objectively think the idea is a bit hot, but he's too worried that somehow the recordings will get leaked, that somehow other people will get their hands on precious recordings of him making love to you, of him making you moan and sigh and fall apart on his tongue and fingers and cock. He views the time you both spend together in the sheets as being almost sacred, like something special that's reserved only for the two of you, and having a camera rolling would just make everything feel too impersonal. It would make him nervous, too, because he'd want to rewatch the tapes with you just so he can see your face the whole time (he tends to lose himself the closer he gets to his orgasm, and always buries his face in your neck to try and make himself last longer, so he misses seeing your facial expressions when he's finishing inside you), but he'd be worried about the way he looks, about whether he looks attractive to you, dominant to you, sexy to you. However, despite his reservations about recording himself fucking you, he will photograph you in the pretty, feminine lingerie he buys for you. He'll get a new color or cut, and have you try on the set, posing for the camera while he takes a few shots, his pants visibly straining around his swollen cock because god, you look good. He'll keep the photographs in his pants pocket and never, ever share them, always looking back at them when he's away on missions and missing you. He's a bit hypocritical, but the moment a camera gets trained on him, he's turning red and clamming up.

Morel is another one who's very flexible in the bedroom, and would be difficult to completely turn off. However, one thing that Morel just simply can't get behind is watersports. He'll try it, if you really beg him to, but he just doesn't like it. It feels unsanitary to him (and god, the mess), but even beyond that it just feels a little degrading, and not in a good way. If you really, really pushed him on it, he'd give in and do as you please, reluctantly forcing himself to release onto you, but the entire time he'd be feeling guilty, discomfort eating at him because isn't it horribly disrespectful to be literally pissing on you? He loves you, and it just sits wrong with him. He'll refuse after that first time, and while he's not particularly into it, if you really, really wanted to, he'd let you reverse the roles. He's not particularly eager to have you wet yourself or piss on him, but that's better because now at least you're the one in the position of power. Plus, you're begrudgingly a little cute when you get all embarrassed about it. But still, it's most definitely not something he desires, and while he'd entertain your fantasies once in a blue moon, it certainly won't be a regular occurrence in your sex life together.

256 notes · View notes

ozzgin · 8 months

Note

Hey! Could you write a Yandere Hector Doyle with a reader who is trying to escape him? And she maybe get caught by him and gets punished for this? This would be so cool! Thank you in advance :DDD

Ooh, I’ve been wanting to write something about the death row convicts and I think you picked the perfect yandere for it. Doyle is my favorite.

Yandere! Hector Doyle x Reader Headcanons

Featuring Hector Doyle and his escapee reader that should know better. Warning: Dubious consent/non-consent, violence

Doyle likes to think that life has a certain degree of determinism to it. But not in the romantic, fateful sense of higher meaning waiting to plan out. Rather a mathematical logic, a Markov chain that takes its course based on what the current state has to offer. So what begins to unfold with assumed probability might only need a little push in order to derail. Look at him, for example. He came to Tokyo so he could taste defeat and ended up absolutely smitten with you instead. Which, in a way, could be considered as the fulfillment of his initial goal. All of his intentions have been crushed within the second he laid his eyes on you.

And what’s so special about you, anyways? He doesn’t know himself. Maybe it’s the way you stopped when he asked you for directions, so innocent and oblivious to the fact that a death row convict stood before you. He could’ve ended you in an instant. You just smiled, browsing your phone for the location. Not a single tense muscle, nor the faintest suspicion of the immediate danger. Utterly defenseless, at the mercy of his disposition. He briefly pictured his protracted blades soundlessly puncturing your throat, followed by your pretty little face twisted in asphyxiated panic.

Tsk, no good. If you were this unconcerned with him, how long would it be until someone actually acted on these perverted thoughts? You’re pitifully vulnerable. Once the idea of foreign hands having their way with you settles in, it becomes apparent to him that he must interfere. Why it would bother him so much is beyond explanation. As rational of a man he is, Doyle also doesn’t mind giving in to his vices. Otherwise he wouldn’t have landed in prison. Or on a plane to Japan.

Oh, what corruption you’ve brought into his very soul. Obsession has seeped into every sulcus of his brain, throbbing with demands. He must have you, and most importantly he must keep you away from others. A wild rescue that has failed to show their survival capacity is condemned to a life in a fenced sanctuary. You’re no good outside. You have no sense of self-preservation, otherwise you wouldn’t have willingly embraced his presence without any attempt of guarding yourself.

Therefore, it should be rather obvious that remaining with him is the best case scenario. You no longer need to worry about outside threats under his fail proof protection. Spending time with you has also shown him that you’re not dumb by any means. Quite the opposite. So why are you acting so foolish right now, (Y/N)? Running away from your guaranteed safety and well-being…ludicrous.

What’s even more preposterous is thinking that you can actually escape. It should be clear to you by now that everything you’ve done wasn’t a mark of your volition, but of his benevolence. He has been allowing you to do things. Don’t mistake that for freedom. It seems you’ve forgotten, and as always he’ll be so kind as to remind you where you belong.

His kindness, however, seems to have led to your misdemeanors. Perhaps this reminder needs to be in the form of a punishment. Hah, forced discipline was a favorite toy of prison guards. Doyle, unfortunately, is not someone that easily bows down to authority. You, on the other hand… He can see it in your wide, frightened eyes, just how much power he holds over you.

An involuntary shiver crosses your back once you discover his approaching figure. You’ve been caught, and Doyle might not be as forgiving this time. You feel yourself becoming smaller in the shadow of your captor, pondering on your possible sentences. Like the helpless body being torn apart in Goya’s “Saturn devouring his son”, the only thing in front of you is blackness. The entrance of a starved, hungry mouth, ready to swallow you whole. Don’t ever leave him again, (Y/N). You know his only mistake is loving you too much.

#baki #baki the grappler #baki hanma #baki x reader #baki headcanons #hector doyle #hector doyle x reader #yandere baki #yandere hector doyle #yandere x reader #yandere

180 notes · View notes

lurkingshan · 4 months

Text

Random BL Grievances, 2023 Edition

Listen. I was going to be nice. I was going to listen to my better angels. Shan, I said, there is no need to hate, it's all love! Just let it all go! But then my Tay Tawan was cruelly ripped away from me and @my-rose-tinted-glasses gave me inspiration. So fuck it, we ball. Hateration turned up to 11, let's go.

Worst Waste of a Good Start: Jun & Jun

Remember when this show started and it was all about scent kink and extremely horny energy, and then suddenly that all evaporated so we could add a bunch of side plots and do four different love triangles instead? Yeah I'm still mad about it!!

Most Overused Metaphor: Dangerous Romance

Hey y'all, did you know windmills need wind to power them?

Rudest Boy: Lomfon, La Pluie

The audacity of this boy. The chaos he sewed. Look at this scene! Immediately after this he not only plotted a secret date with his situationship's brother, he kissed said brother without consent. He made Tien cry. I may have forgiven your lanky ass, but I sure didn't forget!

Worst Retcon: Naughty Babe

This is not Men in Black and you can't just mind wipe me into forgetting these two already worked through half these issues in Cutie Pie. Not to mention suddenly turning a dog into a CGI tiger!! Thanks to Nat and Max for their service though those sex scenes at the end did help me cope.

Biggest Audience Betrayal: Minato's Laundromat 2

Plot contrivance amnesia! In my painstaking slow burn self acceptance journey that I have spent two entire seasons on. I will never forgive them.

Most Egregious Lack of Threesomes: Only Friends

You put me through all that messy drama and all those teases and I did not get to watch even one (1) threesome? Just a couple of kisses and everybody vacates the pool. I ask you, what was the point of Boeing if he wasn't here to fuck everybody! For shame, Jojo.

Most Undeserved Forgiveness: Eun Ji and Tae Hyung, The Eighth Sense

These two assholes are really up there amongst the worst friends in drama this year. I don't care what Jae Won says, I do not forgive you. Ji Hyun should have kept that petty energy for the both of them.

Biggest Character Letdown: Sand, Only Friends

Eternally pouring one out for the rougher, more cynical version of Sand who was wielding a baseball bat in the trailer. I don't know what happened to you, my guy, but you live on in my heart.

Most Baffling Dropped Plot: Thyme, A Boss and a Babe

Why was Drake even in this show? What was the point of all that plot set up in the first half if they weren't going to resolve it?? Why wasn't Thyme the mole??? Make it make sense.

Most Obvious Lack of Purpose: Between Us

How on earth did this happen? You have literal years to write a compelling sequel story for a wildly popular side ship and this is all you can come up with?! Aside from a couple nice sexy scenes at the start, this show really had no idea what it was about and nothing interesting to say.

Biggest Waste of Everyone's Time: Absolute Zero

New Siwaj, you're getting the triple dose on this list!! And AZ is your biggest sin this year because what the fuck was this! You had all that money, all that talent, all that time at your disposal, and this is what you did with it. UWMA squad was lined up to see you finally do another masterpiece, and you delivered this mess instead. What is going on with you, sir, I feel it's time for an intervention.

Worst Derailing of a Good Show: Step by Step

You didn't think this post was ending without me mentioning this disaster, did you? An all-time cautionary tale in how to waste a good slow burn. Jeng deserved better and so did we.

#bl grievances 2023 #la pluie #only friends the series #step by step #the eight sense #jun & jun #dangerous romance #a boss and a babe #absolute zero #minato's laundromat 2 #naughty babe the series #shan shouts into the void

150 notes · View notes

the-unconquered-queen · 4 months

Text

With Blades 2 coming to an end, I just wanna get it off my chest that I'm really not a fan of how they wrote Nia for a great part of this one, particularly vis-à-vis the way they wrote MC. I know I've been saying some stuff along those lines for ages now, but it hasn't left my mind so now I'm gonna actually get into it.

For starters, I think a lot of the issue with Nia's writing was captured pretty well in the tags of this post, particularly on point 2. Like I've said, Nia unfortunately falls into the category of a Mary Sue in that every "flaw" she's given just serves to elevate her to perfection. Hell, even when corrupted—when a person is supposed to be in their most volatile state—the worst she does is be snarky that first chapter (she is aggressive toward MC at one point before this, but it's neither acknowledged nor repeated later). After that, she is entirely normal, just not as much of a pushover, and while I much preferred shadow!Nia, I do think that this really undermines the whole gravity of corruption and b2's emphasis on shadow-light balance, since shadow!Nia comes off as quite balanced already, especially compared to other corrupted characters we've seen.

But here's the thing, that post that got me thinking is months old, and we have gotten more story since then, and what I have noticed is that Nia does, in fact, have one real flaw in canon, but it's the one flaw she's absolutely not meant to have: Nia in canon can at times come off as self-absorbed. She either makes things about herself or doesn't stop people from doing this, and there are multiple examples of it. There is the instance in Riverbend when MC is taking a moment to finally try to process Kade's capture (which, following their own capture, they never got the chance to process) and Nia derails the conversation and makes it about her own grief and is comforted by MC and Mal. Another example is the moment on Gerhard's ship when she vents about the pressure she's been under and lets MC comfort her without at any point considering that MC might have been under similar pressure.

And don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with a character putting themselves first. But when the book doesn't waste a single chance to tell us that Nia's character is the complete opposite and that she is chronically incapable of not being considerate 25/8, it's quite contradictory. I mean, you can even call out Ethan Ramsey, PB's golden boy, on making things about himself at some point in OH, but because, unlike Ethan, Nia is written for you to consider her super sweet and wholesome and perfect, the Blades MC actually contributes to this by performing mental gymnastics to turn something around to be about Nia.

Which brings me to my final point: Blades 2 pushed MC to the side to revolve around Nia, but MC is exactly the person they meant for Nia to be, by virtue of the dissonance between showing and telling. They tell you that Nia is selfless because she always puts everyone else first. Well, I can and did name examples showing the contrary, meanwhile, MC is the one who was been through the most traumatic ordeal and is constantly checking in on everyone else without expecting and without receiving much of the same courtesy in return, even apologizing to Nia because she was "carrying all that weight on her own", never mind that MC always has the weight of the world on their shoulders. They tell you that Nia is the heart of the party, but they both told and showed us that everything fell apart without MC.

Even some of Nia's most defining character traits, MC has in similar measure. Nia sees the best in everyone? MC can be the #1 believer in Aerin's redemption after all the shit he pulled. Nia is trusting to the point of naivete? MC literally trusted Valax while she outright told them at every turn she would turn on them at the first opportunity, and was genuinely hurt by the betrayal. Miss me with MC calling Nia "our better self".

Every trait that they've gone out of their way to tell you Nia has they've shown twofold in MC, which is why it's so exasperating to me that they reduced MC to the conduct through which other characters' (particularly Nia's) stories get told while their own is an afterthought. I am by no means saying that two people can't have similar traits or that two people can't be good people at the same time, but there is something about praising these traits in Nia when, based on these, MC should be held to a similar standard. Instead, they relegated MC (main. character.) to a supporting character in Nia's story, elevating every trait that MC possesses only in Nia while ignoring them in MC to the point that many scenes felt frustrating to play.

#it's not that she's a bad character but I do resent making her the protagonist of b2 at the expense of MC #I really hope MC gets their flowers in b3 and the chance to really be in the spotlight because this aspect of b2 was not it #I do like that she had the whole light v shadow thing going on and got to be super powerful and I think her arc was overall good though #it's just those other things that bug me

64 notes · View notes

aelinschild · 4 months

Text

Season Of Forgiveness

Main Masterlist

Happy Holidays everyone!! I'm a little (Very, sorry!!) late with this post, but this is my gift for the 2023 Rowaelin Secret Santa! Big thank you to @rowaelinscourt for organizing it!! This is dedicated to the lovely @shyvioletcat , I wish you a very merry holiday season, and hopefully you enjoy this absolute monstrosity. I actually do not know what took over me during writing this, but I'm just happy its done.

SYNOPSIS: Holidays are known to be the season of joy, but when that joy is no longer Aelin's, she is forced to find peace in the unknown. WORDCOUNT: 9k GENERAL WARNINGS: Very light one bed trope, mentions of sex, angsty for no reason, swearing, alcohol, arguments, choking and CPR, happy ending dont worry

(A/N: After writing this, I realize it has the same vibe of calling Die Hard a Christmas movie. Granted, I actually didn't finish the movie, but from what I watched, how the fuck is it a Christmas movie?? This is me telling you that this fic is probably like that lol)

Hour One

Fuck.

There was really no other way to put it. Fuck is such a versatile word, situationally. Aelin can recount the times she's moaned out breathy fucks, and the times she's roared them during moronic altercations.

This type of fuck? Certainly not the cathartic type.

This fuck is the sum of all past mistakes in her life, multiplied by her best friend's scheming mind, and then raised to the power of the irrational choice to return to her old university town.

On the queen-sized bed were two plush towels. A robe. Face cloths and minimal toiletries.

Oh, and a fucking red rose.

In Lysandra’s plush apartment – a classic Victorian style, with ivy creeping up the brick fireplace, and stained glass windows at odd intervals – she was the owner of three bedrooms.

And to Aelin's luck, there happened to be two couples staying here this evening. Which meant two of the three bedrooms were now occupied. Mathematically speaking, the two other individuals would each need their own room.

It seems that math slipped Lysandra's mind when she organized her little yearly anniversary Yulemas Eve dinner. How…pleasant.

Chest rising and falling with barely contained frustration, Aelin didn't know whether to yell or cry. Her hand held her overnight bag so tight her knuckles were pressing at the whites. Nails digging into supple skin.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Lysandra had done. But it took a lot of willpower for Aelin to not storm out of the room and choke her friend for the transgression. And just past the blood rushing in her ears, she could hear the friendly greetings of her other friends as they crossed the threshold of Lys’ little home. Welcomed into the warmth of tradition.

Oh, I'm going to kill you, Lysandra.

Aedion and Lys would – obviously – take their master bedroom. Located around a corner and at the end of that hall. Far from where Aelin was. A feature she was grateful for, given Aedion and Lysandra's… healthy love life. And Lorcan and Elide would slip into the downstairs spare room. The one the couple had claimed during the first year of this tradition.

Leaving Aelin, in this spare room with a queen-sized bed and the bloody rose, to bed with Rowan.

Oh, how she loathed her life at this moment. What foul god had she angered to be punished this way. Maybe that same god would derail Rowan’s cab en route. Shucking it into a frozen lake, or something of the like.

Gently brushing over the towels, Aelin traced the other memories this room held.

The queen-sized bed hardly fit her and Rowan, that she knew from experience. His height alone ruined the tucked edges of their duvet, which always ended up on his side of the bed by morning. The pillows would have to be mushed together in the middle so that they would not fall off. And Rowan, he at night would roll around. Restless, even in the deepest hours. He would usually end up on top of Aelin, face along her breasts and hair tickling her chin.

Her fingers moved from the towel to the rose. Plucking it up, she held it at eye level. Studying the contours of the flower, it was beautiful. But Aelin couldn't get past the fact that Lysandra had set this up. And put a godsdamned rose on the towels.

Aelin might just take the couch.

The front door opened and closed again, voices rose up from the entry through the open bedroom door. Aelin began unpacking mechanically. The drawers where she set her clothes were the same as she had for the last decade. The dent on the wall by the left corner was also the same. Seems like Aedion never got around to patching it. Aelin chuckles under her breath, the talking-to she and Rowan had received after denting the wall from a vigorous…activity, would never fail to not make her laugh.

Once the unpacking was complete, only taking a few moments as Aelin wouldn't be staying longer than the night, she took a moment to sit on her side of the bed and breathe.

This would be disastrous. And she had no way of getting out. Unless she jumped from the window to her left.

A decade ago, Aelin and Rowan had met through their friends. Their family. Aedion had bridged the gap by dating her best friend, Lysandra. Their quickly evolving and fiery romance meant that there would no longer be Aelin-Elide-Lys days. Now, they included the Ashryver cousin. Lorcan and Rowan had been over Aedion’s lovesick puppy act and had forcibly inserted themselves into the group. As her cousin rarely left Lysandra's side anymore.

This meant that Aelin and Elide were left to deal with two grumpy college guys. It was like babysitting rocks, who could probably show more emotion than the lot of them. But somehow, somewhere along the line, Elide fell for Lorcan. And when Aelin was forced to watch another friend fall in love, she turned to the only bastard left.

But Aelin and Rowan had always been…different. Difficult entirely. It started as sex. Each of them too busy with their respective degrees to foster any more of a connection.

It worked, and it worked well.

For two years, Aelin was exclusive with Rowan Whitethorn without anyone knowing the depth of their friendship. To her girlfriends, he was the hot guy whom Aelin should really give a chance. To his boys, she was the girl who could obviously help blow off a little steam.

Time stretched out, and steadiness had replaced the need for romantic connection. Post graduation, Rowan and her barely crossed paths anymore, unless the entire group got together. But there still existed an attachment built during years of intimacy – which Aelin never voiced, not wanting to ruin the entire affair by breaking the principle rule of their arrangement. And due to that principle, Rowan had also never expressed any interest above surface-level desire.

She had been left in the dark of his feelings for her, just as she had left him in the dark of hers. They were two polar magnets, separated only by the fear of shattering the fragile closeness built from tentative familiarity. Neither were any good at subtly hinting at something.

When the parallel lines of their lives crossed, ever-diligent Rowan proposed something rather different. Unpredictable.

He offered a relationship.

Looking back, it was hilariously clinical. It wouldn't surprise her if he had stored papers in her bag with a list of what their relationship could entail. Numbered – or alphabetically ordered. Probably about who did what and when hand-holding was allowed. Such a stickler for the rules.

But Rowan had shocked Aelin that night. When she had said yes, fuck it let's give it a chance, and they had gone back to his apartment, there was a bouquet of fragrant red roses placed on the counter. A box of her favourite chocolates beside it. Things she had mentioned in passing, probably after a hook-up. Maybe during a romantic comedy that they would often watch together. Where she’d point out the little things men can do that show a deeper appreciation.

They had cracked open a bottle of wine, and talked for hours under the stars and above the rushing traffic. And it was like peeling back a layer, revealing this steadfast and romantic man. The one who had refiled her glass more than once. Used his hand to cover sharp edges when she leaned around after a few too many drinks. Who had carried her to bed, gently unclasping her stiletto heels and massaging the tired soles of her feet. Who had carefully removed the maxi dress she wore, hanging it up to prevent creases. Then, with permission, undressed her further.

That night hadn't been like before. Aelin wasn't sure she had ever felt that way. Not a blinding, stretching heat or an all-consuming pressure. No, rather a connection. When Rowan had caressed her like a piece of art, she felt revered. Holy. Her skin had tingled with the unfamiliar feeling of adoration.

Breathless whispers and tight holds had conveyed words that were far too new to speak aloud.

That night had been the beginning of a long-standing understanding. The two of them weren't open about their connection. Rather, it was a pleasant slice of life, cut out to fit the shape of two lovers who aimed to navigate the crossroads of their future. And for years they existed peacefully in the space they had made for each other.

Until they couldn't anymore.

The door creaked open, its hinges never oiled. Lysandra was allergic to a chemical in WD-40.

A whoosh of breath came from the entrance, and Aelin’s spine felt the all too familiar tingle of the presence of the man she had loved.

“Aelin,” came the voice, like gravel smoothed by arctic winds. There always existed some sort of unrest under Rowan’s skin. It could be heard in his voice, worn from use. Had she still been his, she would have made him a cup of tea. Extra honey. As he liked.

Humming out a noise of acknowledgement, Aelin turned slightly. Cheeks starting to heat. “Hello, Rowan.” She said, breathlessly.

She watched his throat work. He had gotten leaner since she last saw him. His eyes less bright. Cheeks sunken. His unachievable tan had faded.

He was still the beautiful boy–man, she had always known. Pleasure and pain united, each moment in his presence stole some of her oxygen. She loved him. Loved.

A shrill squeak this time, and a crafty brunette head popped into the doorway. “Ah! Okay! Guess, how many candies are in this jar!” Lysandra asked the both of them. Their moment shattering and instead opening up to accept another's presence. Lysandra was holding a large mason jar filled with red and white peppermint swirl candies.

“Uh,” Rowan scratched the back of his neck. “Two hundred?” Lysandra just snorted and then turned to Aelin.

Aelin studied the jar, fighting to not break out into goosebumps with the feeling of Rowan’s eyes on her. “One hundred…and… forty-three–no! Twenty!”

“Final answer?” Lysandra taunted.

“Yes.”

“Wrong.” She cackled. Turning away and hightailing it down the hall, laughing like she was possessed. “Come downstairs, you losers!”

Hour Two

Aelin had left with no word to Rowan. She couldn't bear it. The wound still so fresh. Instead, she had sauntered by and shut the door gently on her way out. Missing the pleading look in his eyes as she walked away.

“Ae!” Elide shouted at her approach. Aelin couldn't help but smile. As awful as the next eleven hours may be, Aelin was grateful she had her best friends by her side. Lysandra's still on thin ice.

“El! Look at you!” Aelin grabbed a hold of her friend's hand, letting her do a little twirl. The sequined skirt she had on fanned out around her. Reflecting the lights in the room across the walls. “You like our own little mirrorball.”

Elide just let out a soft laugh. Grinning. “Gotta get the party started somehow.” She said. Stepping back she put her arms on Aelin's elbow, holding tight. She made a show of looking around the room, and upon it being clear, Elide looked her right in the eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“For what,” Aelin asked, perplexed.

She gave her a pointed look. “I tried to explain to Lys that she wasn't being fair. It's not fair. I offered to get a hotel room for me and Lorcan, but you know how Aedion is about traditions.” She rolled her eyes. “I realize that this isn't… you know. This was not on the healing plan–”

“Maybe, El, just being with my best friends could be healing. Maybe we switch the healing plan around for a little.” She said softly, speaking from a place of honesty.

Elide’s eyes were misty, and Aelin had to look away. This was a hurt that was deeper than her.

She took a breath, “Okay. But–no I'm serious. Don't look away. If you need anything, anything at all, I'm here. And we can have a little girl meeting with Lys after we put the boys to bed.” She gave a choked laugh.

Aelin nodded. An understanding passing through them both. Everyone knew that tension would be high this evening. Aelin herself knew it would be brutal. Facing her ex at Lys’ annual Yulemas Eve Dinner, a tradition shrouded in love and comfort. But she was eternally grateful for Elide – and Lysandra, but maybe not currently. How she found such caring women would never fail to surprise her.

Elide nodded back, smile and eyes watery. They both let out laughs. This solidarity was something Aelin needed more than she knew.

“Okay, no more tears.” Aelin sniffed, disconnecting their hand-elbow position to wipe at her waterline. Elide laughed and did the same; laughing at the growing pains. Embracing and squeezing love into each other.

Hour Three

They had all moved to the living room. It was three o'clock, and the festivities would run until midnight.

This tradition of theirs started years ago, when Lysandra had been given this apartment by her uncle, conveniently on Yulemas Eve. As a group of broke college students, they had gotten together at noon at Lys’ new abode, flocking towards the offer of free food and drinks. But, they had spent the next twelve hours renovating, each of them finding different tasks every hour to keep the boredom away. At midnight, the promised food had been delivered and all of them had pigged out and slept on the worn carpet of the living room, full of holiday spirit.

That tradition continued on, and it proved to be extremely helpful in the days when family ties were harder to save than simply forget. When the lonesomeness of the holidays overtook the youths, twelve hours at Lysandra and Aedion's home would never fail to rekindle that merriment.

And so, for the past decade, everyone would arrive at noon, and each hour would be filled with something new; usually holiday-themed, but it was truly left to Aelin’s best friend’s imagination.

So at hour three, the group found themselves in the living room, sipping on sparkling wine and snacking on appetizers. This would – apparently – be the hour of catching up.

“... And so I told him, if he wanted a maid he could hire one. I mean, the man is rolling in money. What fucking scumbag hires someone, and then lets them play servant for the rest of the office, and then drops all his work on them? I mean, truly.” Elide was saying. Aelin was nodding along, enjoying the fresh gossip about her best friend's workplace. “But then he got all on his high horse, all you can't talk to me like that and I'm your superior, you know. Stupid bullshit.”

“So what did you do?” Lysandra asked, thoroughly enthralled by the story. Lorcan let out a hearty chuckle, his arm slung across Elide lovingly.

“I fucking stole the glass plate from his microwave. Then took all the ink cartridges from his pens. And all the extra toilet paper in his washroom? Not there anymore!” Aelin snorted out her bubbly wine. Lysandra was racked with giggles, and Lorcan was trying not to laugh out loud. Aedion’s cackle joined the fray. And like she always would, Aelin picked up on Rowan's breathy laugh, it ignited flames through her veins.

“Oh my gods, El. You absolute heathen,” Aedion got out through fits of laughter. Lysandra attempted deep breaths while wiping stray tears from the corners of her eyes. Aelin stared into her drink, suppressing giggles.

“Well, it's not like he didn't deserve it,” Elide added, smiling smugly. Lorcan just kissed her temple.

“Certainly not. Where’d you get those ideas though?” Leaning for a piece of cheese, Aelin asked. Grabbing a few pieces and rolling them around in her palm. Lysandra’s giggles were waving in and out, each time Aedion whispered something in her ear, they’d begin again.

“My gigantic brain.” Elide snorted, pleased at her joke.

“Nice, El.” Came from Rowan.

“See, I thought you'd crucify me for that. Mister straight and narrow.” Oh.

Rowan didn't falter, “No, actually, if anything that gives me ideas.” He said. “Sometimes the corporate world can be a little too uptight.” He glanced at Aelin.

Aedion laughed again. “Rich! That’s rich coming from you.” He taunted.

Rowan leaned into the jest. “Maybe I want to break free.”

“Uptight life not suiting you anymore, Boyo?” Came from Lorcan.

“Maybe.” Rowan shrugged. “Maybe life is worth a little more than corporate deviances.” He pulled at the seams of his shirt. Fingers twirling the stem of his sparkling wine.

Aelin didn't think anyone else had noticed the stall in the conversation. The way the bright energy slowed and sputtered. Pausing momentarily and applying enough pressure to Aelin’s soul that she felt winded. But everyone moved on, Rowan included. Laughing and sharing stories as they might.

The conversation didn't end, and Aelin’s buried sorrow didn't dissipate. But she would keep breathing. Keep moving forward, exchanging banter all in the hopes of drawing out the sound of her heart breaking slowly.

“By the way, Lys, how many candies were in the jar?”

“None. It was the paper decoration that it came with from the store.”

Hour Four

It was cocktail hour.

This was Aelin’s favourite tradition. One she actually prepared for. And it consisted of each of them having to make a holiday-themed cocktail, completely customized. There could be no research during the competition – before was a grey area Aelin loved to exploit – and they each had ten minutes.

The order would follow; Lorcan, Lysandra, Elide, Aedion, Rowan, Aelin. And so, a silver tray had been placed in the middle of the table, and six yellowy drinks in champagne flutes sat. The colour was truly horrifying.

“So, explain.” Lysadra motioned to start.

“Right,” Lorcan grabbed a flute, examining it carefully. Like he didn't even know what was in it himself. “So, this…drink–”

“Sound a little more enthusiastic babe, or I'll be really worried about what you made.” Elide interrupted.

“I'm already worried,” Rowan whispered to Aedion, face set in a perplexed grimace.

“Hush, you goons.” He waved at the other guys. They broke apart laughing. “In here there is…Gin, uh, some Limoncello and creme de Banane. And I call it the…uh, I don't know. Yellow shot?”

“...of death,” Aelin whispered to Lysandra. Who nodded solemnly. Elide looked disgusted at her fiance’s creation, but schooled it into a look of pride when he turned to her. The moment he looked away, she made a fake gagging motion to Aelin and Lysandra.

“Sounds wonderful, my dear Lorcan. Now, my great sir, would you please bring me my beverage.” Aedion declared, hands aiming to move in a dignified manner. He looked like he was trying to swat away flies.

“No.”

“It was worth a shot,” He sighed, reaching for a drink.

Aelin grabbed a flute, “Limoncello and Gin, what the hell were you aiming for here Lorcan?” She delicately sniffed at the drink. Oh god.

Plopping himself nearly onto Elide, who let out a squeak, he just shrugged. Grabbing his flute, he threw it back in one fluid motion. Everyone paused, waiting for the reaction. He swallowed, looked around, and then quickly turned away to gag and cough.

Laughter erupted.

Once everyone had a glass, clinking them together in cheers, and shot it down like Lorcan. He watched from on the couch, eyes a little watery. There was a pause as everyone swished the drink around in their mouth, tasting the flavour.

It was fucking godsawful. Aelin had never tasted anything so evil. The hint of banana flavour nearly had her spitting the drink back into the glass, and the way the Gin nearly curdled it was almost worse. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she tried to swallow. Forcing the atrocity that was Lorcan’s drink down. Catching Elide’s eye, as the woman got up and ran for the washroom. Lysandra was the only one who seemed unbothered.

“Fuck!” Aedion shouted when he could speak again. “Holy gods man, I have never put anything worse into my mouth. Ever.”

“And that's saying somethin',” Rowan choked out. Also beyond bothered by Lorcan’s monstrosity.

“You evil, evil man,” Aelin added. A shudder racking her body.

The cocktail hour carried on. Lysandra had made a mojito with cinnamon rather than mint, and it was not nearly as bad as Lorcan’s. Elide had done a ‘Sunrise Suprise’, which was simply tequila and orange juice. The ability to make a good cocktail skipped both Elide and Lorcan. Aedion had wanted to send everyone to their death, combining four different whiskeys and a melted spoonful of ice cream. It hadn't been as bad as expected, but there were much better choices out there. Rowan had mixed pickle juice and vodka, to create a dill martini. Interestingly enough, that had been the most palatable drink of the night.

When Aelin’s turn came around, she began to pull out the individual ingredients. Lining them up in the order in which she would mix. Her focus on the drinks made her unaware that another body was present in the kitchen. Until they spoke up.

“You look well,” Rowan said from the opposite end of the room, his body leaning up against the cabinets. Jumping at the sudden sound of his voice, her head snapped up. There he was, cataloguing her every move, a familiar feeling; his eyes on her.

Startled, she stared at him. And kept staring at him, not realizing she had been ogling him for a few moments. She took in the lines of his body, the way his dress pants hugged his legs. The black leather belt, cinching in his waist. The sweater – cashmere, most likely – was elegantly draped over his upper body. The hard planes of his stomach were slightly in sight as the soft material moulded to his form. Everything about Rowan meant something. And looking at him only brought back bitter-sweet memories. Her gaze snapped away when he gave a light noise of acknowledgement.

Blushing and caught, Aelin turned back to the drinks, cracking open the bottle of vodka she had slipped mint candies in a few weeks ago. She planned to let the flavours permeate the liquor and add a nice flair to her drinks. She felt Rowan’s inquisitive eyes on her every move.

“Thank you, Rowan.” Acknowledging him, she hoped he would just walk away. She wasn't strong enough to just stand here and allow him to be there. To feel the gaping divide between their beings.

Silence.

“I– Look, I need to talk to you Aelin,” He approached from the other side of the room, slipping around the counter where she was. “I know it’s not the best–”

“Rowan.” A firm command, all blushed drained. She could be strong. She could. She was back to looking at him again. Green eyes, full lips, strong jaw. The silver strands that ghosted his brow. Gods she hated how looking at him hurt her so deeply. His smile, and laughter, earlier had been the knife to the gut. His presence here now? A twisting.

“No, Aelin. I'm serious.”

“I am too.”

“Wait.” He breathed. Gentler this time. His hand stretched out, muscle memory. She knew it would land at the curve of her waist, how the weight of it would ground her. The warmth would slip under the fabric of her dress, warming her bones.

He retracted it before it got close enough, burning the neuron pathway that made the movement instinctual.

She steadied herself, leaning towards him slightly, but not enough to communicate any more interest in where this was going. “Not now, Rowan. Not now. You had your chance, let me be.”

“What chance? The fucking run-in at a cafe? That was not a ‘chance’ Aelin.” He snapped. Letting his frustration run into his tone. She hated him when he was like this. Not frustrated, no she understood that. But…seeking. She knew what he wanted, and she knew it would break her down quicker than she could turn away. Her sanity rested on the finalization of this conversation.

Smiling politely, in a way she knew brought more frustration, she turned away and began preparing the drink.

“Not now,” She whispered. More to herself, a silent prayer of resistance. She heard more than saw Rowan turn to walk away, over the entire conversation entirely. He missed the tear that raced down her cheek, or the hitch in her breath when the door swung close.

“Peppermint Cocktails!” Aelin announced, waltzing into the room with her usual charm, all emotions wiped. She avoided Rowan’s look like the plague. Offering a drink to each friend, she was pleased to hear that her concoction was the best of the night – an unsurprising win – and the group sat around talking still. The light buzz from all the alcohol had Aelin feeling looser. The unease from moments ago slipped away like sand between her fingers.

“I saw Rowan walk into the kitchen,” Elide whispered into her ear. Everyone else had been looking at a picture on Lorcan's phone.

“Mhm.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Hour Five

Rowan likes the cold.

He liked it in a way many others didn't. He liked the way it nipped at his body slowly in the beginning, a feeling that was urgently chased away by shivers. He liked it when it froze deeper. When it slowly crawled into the heat of his body, dousing it and cutting off feeling. He liked the stiffness. The slowed movement as the cold reached his core, seizing feeling. It isolated him in a way many things did not.

Sitting on the front porch of Lysandra’s apartment, he embraced the cold.

Everyone had just finished up with a game of cards, and Aedion had rushed out, forgetting some ingredients for dinner. He had excused himself, just need a moment, and walked all of three steps before stopping. Allowing his body to freeze, his cashmere sweater not saving much heat.

As he lost feeling of some body parts, he embraced the thoughts rushing through his mind, all seemingly racing in circles around the fiery blonde. The one whose embers never burnt out, but now seemed to be slowly dying. The consistent crackle and warmth of her presence, all leaking away in a manner he knew he was responsible for.

The cold he had embraced wholeheartedly was killing his fireheart.

His thoughts spun like the twirling snowflakes as they fell to the ground. Circling gently, melting away. But all things seemed to lead him back to his bedroom. To the moment this morning, before he had slipped away into the cab to make it here tonight. His thoughts brought him to the second drawer in his nightstand, underneath a notepad and tissues. In an embroidered box, sat a diamond ring, inlaid into a gold band that had sweeping leaf designs along its curves. Two emeralds set into the inside, to rub against one's finger.

All thoughts seemed to lead him back to Aelin

Hour Six, Hour Seven, Hour Eight

“Can you pass me the salt?” Lysandra called from Aelin's right. She was before the stove, stirring the gravy and watching the vegetables as they cooked in the pan.

Handing her the salt, Aelin brushed by her to grab some butter from the fridge. Needing it for the bread that would be coming out of the oven soon, steaming hot.

They worked in a comfortable silence, only waiting for Aedion to return with some forgotten ingredients. Lorcan, Elide, and Rowan were all in the living room, having not been drawn for cooking duty this year. A method that was quickly taken up once the group realized six people in the kitchen was less of a pleasant experience. Top many bossy chefs.

Post-cocktail hour, tipsy cards had commenced. And the many, many, shots of straight liquor had reached Aelin by that time. She was feeling much better, her heart no longer aching and screaming at her mind to just look at the man across from her. Rather, she had enthusiastically played cards. Letting the feeling of her family around her and the laughter that kept escaping cocoon her. Unfortunately, that joy had meant that Lorcan had swept everyone off their asses, wiping the board clean and winning the one hundred and twenty dollars put into the pot. That had sobered her up pretty quickly, arguing that he had cheated. He had just smirked.

Then when Aedion rushed out, Aelin caught sight of Rowan walking out the front door too. She had been standing at the other end of the hallway, out of his view. She had watched his expression fall as soon as he crossed the threshold. It was like night and day, the crinkle around his eyes and the brightness of his smile, wiped away. He just stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.

She had waited a moment, arguing mentally if she should go after him, until Lysandra had called, telling Aelin she needed her help.

She wasn't ready to face him alone.

“Aelin,” A soft hand was at Aelin's wrist, pausing her chopping of vegetables. She glanced up, shocked out of her reverie. Lysandra was staring at her, looking deeply into her, her brows pulled together in confusion. She must've been calling me for a minute. When it seemed Lysandra had the other woman’s attention, she added softly, “I couldn't not invite one of you.”

Dropping the knife, “Lys.” Aelin pleaded, not wanting to have this conversation. It felt like the entire night had been her running in circles around her and Rowan. Her and Rowan. Rowan and I. “Seriously, I can't do more of this.”

Lysandra paid no mind to Aelin’s plea, pushing forward. “Listen. I love you deeply, very very deeply. Sometimes I wonder why,” at that, Aelin cracked a mirthful smile. “But I see the way you two look at each other. And while I know it's not my business, I think this is something you two seriously need to talk out.” She said solemnly.

This was the point she'd been dancing around for such a long time.

Pushing the cutting board away from her, Aelin slumped into her arms, leaning against the counter.

“Did I make a mistake? Breaking up with him?” Like a breath after being underwater, Aelin let it out, asking the question that had rattled in the back of her mind for months. Breathing in a little deeper when some new space opened up because of it.

“I have my own opinions, but whether or not you made a mistake is up to you.” Lysandra was soothingly rubbing her back.

“Some days it feels like the biggest fucking mistake I've ever made, Lys. Some days it hurts so much I can't even get out of bed.”

She hummed, letting Aelin speak.

“I just– it felt right at the time. But it doesn't feel right now. How is that fair? How could I have made a decision like that? What would have happened if I stayed?”

“You wouldn't have done well, Ae. We all saw what was happening.”

“But you can't know that.” She whispered out.

“I can, and I did. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let go. And that's what you did, my love. Maybe something could have gotten better, but maybe not.” Lysandra took a deep breath. “I'm proud of you regardless, that's not an easy choice to make.”

“And it clearly wasn't the fucking right one.”

Lysandra's hand stopped, she grabbed onto Aelin's shoulder, squeezing firmly.

“You can say that all you want, Aelin, but ultimately it was the right choice for you at the time. You blossomed. But now? Maybe it's different. And maybe every time I see you two lovesick fools in the same room, I am simultaneously sick and overjoyed. I see his face when he looks at you Ae, like you hung the stars.”

“What's this? Therapy hour?” A loud voice broke apart their moment, jerking both women out of their moment. It was Aedion with the groceries. He was smiling widely, but it fell when he took in the expression of the other women. “Oh. Shit, sorry.”

Aelin just groaned. “And look at me now, ruining the festivities.” Watching Aedion's smile drop was just a reminder of the emotional burden she forgot to check at the door. Bringing that cloud of gloom inside. It was not fair to everyone else, they didn't deserve to bear witness to the sorrow leaking from her.

“You're not ruining anything, Aelin. Aedion, stop being an idiot.” Lysandra amended.

Aedion, clearly understanding the situation now, came over to drop the groceries on the counter and pull his cousin into a tight hug. “Lys is right. You have nothing to be sorry for. We all love you lots and want to see you happy, and if drinking shitty cocktails and spilling your gossip helps you feel better, I'll gladly do it alongside you.” He kissed her temple.

Aelin wanted to break down. This was not how she expected to spend this evening. Granted, she has predicted being in the same vicinity as Rowan would test her. Bring those choked feelings up to the surface. It would hurt just as it had when they split, as there was truly no way to prepare for seeing him again after months of no contact. Months of isolation and heartache. Months without the half that made her whole.

“Lys, baby, is the gravy supposed to bubble like that?”

“Shit!” Exclaiming, Lysandra rushed away from Aelin's side to check on her portion of dinner. Leaving Aelin, still bent over the counter, staring at the herbs she’d have to chop to sprinkle over the potatoes.

She felt a gentle shoulder push against her side, and then her cousin was beside her, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating off his huge form. “Your parents would be so proud of you, Ae. No matter what. And I think you should do what you feel is best. Even if that's walking away. I love you, we love you.” Mumbling into her ears, lower than anyone else could hear. Aelin nodded, brushing the moisture away from her face.

“I love you too, Aedion.”

“Cheers to this year!”

Glasses chimed as they clinked together, bubbly wine spilling over, onto the feast laid up on the table. Decadent smells wafted up, making Aelin's stomach rumble. She was ready to dig into the spread, and let the food smother the churning anxiety in her stomach.

She was seated next to Elide, and Aedion on her other side. Everyone else was spread around the round table – Lysandra hated the idea of a square table. Not wanting any fighting over the head of it.

Aelin had spoken to Lysandra and Aedion for a few minutes more, opening up a little about how she had been feeling. It took some pushing, given her displeasure at possibly ruining everyone's evening with her issues, but the couple had assured her that it wasn't possible. Highly doubtful of that. But it had been…cathartic, to really speak about how she had felt. How she was dealing with her wounded heart. It meant more than Aelin would realize at the moment, for the two of them to give her a little perspective.

Then, once the timer for the roast had gone off, and the main part of dinner had been pulled out of the oven, it was dressed up in the herbs Aelin had finally finished chopping – after getting a few more hugs in from both Lys and Aedion. Lys and her had started dishing up the plates and Aedion set off to cut some of the roast. Lorcan and Rowan had joined to set the table. And Elide had popped some bottles of prosecco, pouring glasses for everyone.

Seated now, in front of a plate of aromatic food, a balm for the soul, she felt the urge to voice her appreciation. “So,” she started, drawing attention from everyone, especially Rowan. “I- I wanted to say thank you. To all of you. I think… that because of the lives we live today, I really don't have the opportunity to look at all of you and say that. To be able to sit around with each of you means more than anything, and I can't imagine being anywhere else right now. It wouldn't feel right.”

“Cheers to that,” Lorcan added, a slight smile aimed in Aelin’s direction. If that wasn't the definition of a Yulemas miracle, she didn't know what else could be.

Glancing around the table, the circle of the most important people in her life, her eyes stalled upon Rowan. She meant what she said, meant every piece of it. She loved all of them. Grumpy Lorcan, meddling Lysandra. But gods, she loved Rowan, and she lied to herself every day when he was no longer a warm presence next to her. His side of the bed uncharacteristically cold. The feeling of it cooling her.

She hadn't noticed the change in the environment, her focus being locked on Rowan. Their eyes connected, as if reading each other's minds. A choked wheezing noise almost drew her away, but she couldn't. Not when she was swimming in him, not when–

SLAM

“Elide!” A shrill scream. Ripping Aelin away, she was met with a panicked Lysandra, and a horrified Lorcan.

Elide was facedown on the table, and amid chaos, Aelin noticed her chest was not rising and falling as it should. Shouts ensued, voices yelling about get her up and call an ambulance. What had happened in the seconds Aelin wasn't present. How could this have happened that quickly? What was happening!

“She can't breathe!”

“Start CPR. Now!”

“Has someone called an ambulance?”

What is going on!

Lorcan had gently laid Elide on the floor. He had his finger down her throat. His face was panicked, but he was hiding it well, focusing on Elide. Chairs were shoved back, and Lysandra was rushing away, Aedion was on the phone, Rowan was getting on his knees by Elide. They were saying something to each other. Rowan pushed Lorcan away. Lorcan fought back before he realized what was happening. Rowan placed his hands by Elide’s middle, his fingers laced together. She looked so frail there, on the floor.

Rowan started pushing down, one two three four. One two three four. Onetwothreefouronetwothreefour– What is happening!

Aelin was frozen. Frozen in fear, in disbelief, in shock. How. That's all that was going through her mind. How. It had been going so well, how could one moment lead to this? To Elide, down on the floor, not breathing as her fiance shouted panic commands at Rowan. Equally freaked out. To Aedion, shouting instructions from paramedics. Two minutes away! To Lysandra, distraught, not knowing what to do. To Aelin, standing as her best friend couldn't breathe.

Lorcan leaned down, his ear by Elide's mouth. His hand on her neck, searching. Rowan paused, breathing heavily.

Aelin thought she knew what it was to feel her heartbreak, to feel it shatter. But she had never felt it as it fell. Dropped straight out of her chest when Lorcan looked up, eyes wide as saucers, pupils fully dilated. As he looked at Rowan and a lone tear slipped from his eye, dropping down, down, down. Down to where Elide was not breathing.

Hour …

Seated in the emergency ward of the local hospital, Aelin listened to a dull Lorcan list off what had happened. She had choked. She had something lodged in her throat for so long that she passed out. It got lodged deeper. She has two broken ribs. It's not your fault Rowan. You saved her life. She had an endoscopic surgery. To remove the food. She’ll need to stay for the night. Observation.

Struck by disbelief, Aelin couldn't do anything more than trace the lines on the floor. Her hands shook, a later symptom of the shock that had paralyzed Aelin in the moment of action. As Elide was carried out to the ambulance –still not breathing – she had only stood there. Rooted to place. Snapping out of it only when Rowan said he was going to follow them to the hospital. Aelin hadn't even said anything, snapping out of her state and running to the door to grab her boots and jump into whatever car Rowan would be taking.

Only she and Rowan were at the hospital, alongside Lorcan. Aedion had made the executive decision for Lys and him to stay back. Lys had been hysterical, shouting, but shaking just as Aelin was now. She hadn't thought of them once, only what might happen to Elide. To her lovely Elide.

“But she’ll be okay?” Rowan whispered. Agony weaved into his question. He felt guilty, this Aelin knew. Even if he had saved a life, he felt guilty he had hurt someone. She could scream.

Aelin didn't hear an answer, assuming that Lorcan had nodded when Rowan let out a great sigh. Cut short by the sob that burst out. Lorcan was there in an instant, wrapping his brother up in a tight hug. She palmed her thighs, squeezing so tightly.

Eventually, Lorcan released Rowan. The both of them were slightly breathless. Eyes red and sad. Lorcan said he was going to check on Elide, and Rowan sat down next to her. For a few quiet moments, no words were exchanged. A too-real grief hung heavy in the air. They almost lost someone, and now here they were, waiting for Elide to be here again. Because she almost wasn't. She was so close to not being here anymore.

Standing up abruptly, “I- I have to go.” Aelin walked off, not waiting for an answer from Rowan. She was walking quickly through the halls, adrenaline coursing through her so quickly she could barely breathe. And then her breath was coming too quickly. And then she was running, running for the exit. And in her haste, she didn't hear the other feet running after her.

All she could hear was her breath. Elide’s lack of.

She slammed through the front doors, flat-out sprinting now. She had no idea where to go, and it was snowing hard. The wind whipped at her dress-clad form – she hadn't grabbed her jacket. But she kept running. Tripping up on ice, pelted by the rising blizzard. She had no idea where she was, but the blood rushing in her ears, and her hyperventilating had her in a dizzying state.

“AELIN!” A voice roared. She couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, completely surrounded by falling snow, as it blocked out the light. Spinning wildly, she could feel the tears as they rushed down her face, freezing on her cheeks.

She was panting, barely in control, when Rowan came from her side, nearly slamming into her and knocking them both over. He was breathing heavily too. His hair was out of place and his eyes were wild.

“What were you thinking!” He yelled, grabbing onto her. “You can't fucking run like that! Aelin! What the fuck!” His tone kept increasing. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Unlike Elide. No movement, no breaths. No breaths, no breath, not breathi-

“Aelin! AELIN! Look at me!”

Her eyes were wild, nails pressing into Rowan’s biceps as she held onto him for dear life. Where was she, where was she, wherewasshe…

A chilled hand grabbed her chin, pulling her – not roughly – to look into Rowan’s frantic gaze. Her breathing wasn't slowing, and Rowan’s gaze was unbreakable. He was whispering something, his lips moving. Aelin watched as they moved, shifting up, down. The corners of his mouth pinching. Another hand came up, and her face was now being cradled between Rowan’s large hands. And she saw his lips still moving, and then the crease in his brow, the worry dancing in his eyes. And then she was pressed against his warm chest.

Her head was against his heart. The thump-thump a grounding. She felt her breathing start to ease, felt arms tighten around her. Felt as she leaned further into Rowan. The tears falling faster now, but her breaths slowing enough that her brain could finally catch up. To where she was. Where she was, here in Rowan’s arms. In Rowan’s ar–

“No!’ She shouted shoving away from him, breaking the cage that was his grasp. “No! No, no, no!”

Rowan just let his arms drop, hanging by his sides. His expression was one of worry, and confusion. Frustration and dismay. “What?” He said. His voice carried through the snowstorm.

“Dont– Dont do that!” Aelin sobbed out, hands going to her hair. Pulling at the roots and turning around aimlessly.

“Do what.” His hands clenched. His worry wiped away, a vexed expression appearing instead.

“Do that! Care for me! Stop!” She kept shouting, the snow thoroughly soaking her now. The chill seeping into her bones.

“Care for you? What?” He shouted back. “What the fuck do you mean Aelin!”

“I mean, don't come r-rushing after me! Don't fucking p-pretend you care!”

“Pretend I care?!” He took a step forward, she took one back. An undecipherable look crossed his face, before it was set back into a frown. His shoulders lined with tension, and fists opening and closing around nothing. “Aelin, what do you mean?”

“You don't care. S-so don't c-come running after m-me like you do!” The chills were shaking her body now, and she wrapped her arms around herself as tightly as possible, trying to keep in body heat. The storm was getting worse. Rowan’s image was getting blurrier, maybe it was her tears, still flowing freely. Along with her nose.

“What… Aelin– I,” His hand went to his hair, raking through the soaked strands before pulling. “I chased after you because you fucking ran away hyperventilating! Out of a hospital! Into a fucking blizzard! What do you think I’d do? Sit there like an idiot and let you freeze to death or get hit by a car?!”

“It doesn-”

“Yes it does! Yes, it fucking does!”

“Why!” She screamed, shaking and watching as Rowan stepped forward. This time she didn't step back.

“Aelin.” He said, this time it was more of a command, a telling. “Are you asking me why I’d come for you?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded.

A moment passed before Rowan's face morphed into one of genuine pain.

“Because I would always fucking follow you! And I would always make sure you are okay, no matter what.” He snapped. “And I'm sorry I can't turn my feelings off as easily as you, but watching you walk away, no matter what, it fucking kills me!”

There was a pause as the words sunk in, as Rowan’s chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, as his eyes traced her face for any hint – of anything.

“You what?” Aelin squeaked out. Not knowing if the question was swallowed up by the storm until Rowan took a tentative step forward. Then another, then they were just a few breaths apart.

“I would always follow you, Aelin,” He whispered, face drawn in sorrow. Her cheeks hurt from the frozen tears, but they warmed at his confession. “Because… because I still love you. Still so, so much. Ae, it hurts.”

“What,” She said, more to herself. But Rowan's face crumpled, and she felt the fall directly in her heart.

“Aelin,” He whispered, reaching for her hand that was tucked under her exposed bicep. Slowly freezing. She let him grab the hand, warming it between his palms, and then pulling her forward to place it on his heart. “I have missed you every day, and I- I couldn't do anything about it, ‘cause I fucked it up in the first place. I made you have to leave. And so I watched you walk away. I let you,” He took a deep breath. “I never wanted that to happen. Ever. But I did, and… gods Aelin, I’ve never regretted something more in my life.”

She just looked up at him. Not really believing the words she was hearing, because how could this be possible?

“Rowan…” Her lips were turning blue, and she could barely feel her legs. She was going to freeze out here, in the midst of a blizzard, as she heard her ex-boyfriend tell her how he messed up, how he missed her.

A tear fell on his face, and she watched it trail down. “I love you, Fireheart. I still love you. I am in love with you.” He shook his head, his hair had froze. “I'm sorry.”

“Rowan, I t-thought you wanted m-me gone. I thought it w-wasnt working.” Her teeth were clacking together so hard, she could barely get the words out. That and the weird feeling erupting from inside her.

“I never wanted you gone, Ae. I was just so… I didn't realize what I had– what we had.”

“And now y-you do?” She mumbled, her feelings dancing on the edge of a knife.

His pine-green eyes scanned her face so quickly, moving over every feature. As if he was re-memorizing them all. She watched his throat work.

“Ae… I don’t know how to– I,” He closed his eyes.

Aelin took in her hand on his chest, the tear tracks along his beautiful face. The soaked sweater. Her frozen body, and she took a chance, stepping forward, pressing up.

Rowan must have sensed a change, because his eyes snapped open, searching, before finding Aelin closer than she had been in months.

“Rowan…” She breathed, “I love you so godsdamned much.” She slung her arms around his neck, and pressed a cold kiss onto his stunned lips. He didn't react for a second, and she almost darted away, before she was pulled back.

Her lips crashed back into Rowan, into a fiery and all-consuming kiss that warmed her from head to toe. Rowan's hands moved all over, making purchase along her frozen body. Never settling, like he didn't realize she was real.

There, in the middle of a raging blizzard, Aelin got back what she had been searching for. Her other half. The man who was only everything to her, all along, and forever.

Once Rowan had realized that Aelin might actually contract hypothermia, he had rushed her back to the hospital, where she was treated for minor frostbite, and then released soon after. The pair had visited a sleeping Elide and tired Lorcan, before heading back to the house to update Lysandra and Aedion. Once they had gotten past them, Rowan had gone up to their room to run a bath for Aelin.

Lysandra had told Aelin she could take Lorcan and Elide’s room – given that they wouldn't be home that night – and when she had objected, saying she preferred her room, Aedion and Lysandra had looked at each other questioningly. But they let her go without a fuss, Lysandra already planning to get this information out of the woman.

Aelin had paid them no heed, moving lethargically upstairs, where she found Rowan sprinkling some of the petals from the rose into the bath.

She had kissed him, and then gotten distracted kissing him, before timidly inviting him into the bath as well. He agreed, and the two of them spent a gentle moment together, not initiating anything further, but Aelin sunk into the feeling of Rowan, of having him back in her life, in her heart.

When they had both pruned up, Rowan hopped out and brought the towels over, drying the both of them off. Running on the dregs of her earlier adrenaline rush, Aelin leaned heavily into Rowan as he got her ready for bed. The soft moment bringing her back to where she felt safe, where she knew she belonged. And when Rowan picked her up bridal style, gently laying her on her side of the bed, tucking her in and then crawling in behind her, she knew she was home.

“I love you, Rowan.”

“I love you, Aelin.”

Hours Later

That morning, when they went as a group to visit Elide and Lorcan in the hospital, carrying some gingerbread cookies, flowers and a present for Elide, they found the couple asleep together in bed. Lorcan's large body curled protectively around Elide, his great arms placed with a delicateness reserved only for the woman he loved. They had tried to backtrack – let them sleep – only for Elide to snap at them. Telling them to get their asses back in the room because she wants to spend Yulemas morning with her family.

Aelin could have cried happy tears, and she had. Rushing forward to hug Elide. Careful of her ribs, and the giant man behind her. She had cried into her arms. Mumbling incoherent words into the woman's skin. And soon she was joined by Lysandra, who was equally as teary. Lorcan had mumbled something about wanting to spend the morning with his fiance and had slipped off the bed with a groan, headed elsewhere. His spot was quickly replaced by the two other women. All of them snuggling up together. Rowan had snapped a quick photo.

Aedion and Rowan pulled up chairs, and Rowan grabbed an extra for Lorcan when he returned. Chattering happily, Elide was in the center of her family. And even if she had been in pain, had almost died, she was forgetting about it instantly with their arrival. And she sat with them for the entire morning, basking in the love so freely available.

And when it was time for them to leave, she didn't miss the way Rowan folded his arms around Aelin, and the beaming smile she reserved for him. The way their hands snaked together when they thought no one was looking. And the kiss Rowan dropped onto Aelin's brow as they walked off, away. Intertwined again.

Taglist: @backtobl4ck // @goddess-aelin

Thank you for reading!! Happy holidays to you all :))))

#rowaelin #throne of glass #aelinschild #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowaelin fanfiction #aelin x rowan #rowaelin au #aelin fireheart #rowan x aelin #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin galathynius

61 notes · View notes

asimplearchivist · 7 days

Text

𝓢𝓪𝓭 𝓔𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you and jake enjoy having movie nights, but he has the habit of spoiling the endings for you. this time is different, though. pairing(s) ☽ jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 1.9k a/n ☽ ⤏ my fifth entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. this takes place post-chapter iii. ⤏ this one derailed from me as well. I swear these guys have minds of their own. this ended up being a lot sappier than I intended, but...c'est la vie. I love one jake lockley. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

“I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“Come on, querida. You should’ve had some idea that this would happen.”

“No, I absolutely did not!” You lifted your face from your hands, twisting to the side with your elbows still planted on your knees in order to glare up at your smirking fellow historical drama critic. “It’s not my fault that I don’t have a sixth sense for figuring out plot lines in the first ten minutes like you do!”

“Says the writer,” he chuckled, eyes glittering. “If it makes you feel any better, Steven wasn’t expecting it, either.”

That did, actually. You and Steven had long since developed the practice of conducting ongoing commentaries and speculations on the potential plotline based on the details revealed in whatever media you’d enjoy together—be it TV shows, movies, or books (print or audio)—whereas Jake was more the type to verbalize his predictions as they came to him, disregarding any suspension of disbelief. At least Marc only remarked on the glaring inaccuracies regarding combat, weapons, or injuries that Hollywood lauded for exaggerated effect.

On one hand, it used to drive you crazy—you preferred to experience things as they unfolded and let the story tell itself, following along for the ride…but, on the other hand, the knowing gleam in Jake’s eyes, the smug tilt of his close-lipped grin, and the way he’d start to pay more attention to you instead of the film (particularly with his hands—rubbing his palm over the line of your, at times, tense shoulders, grasping the nape of your neck and stroking the pad of his thumb along your hairline and under the shell of your ear, or petting your head like one would a beloved pet—about which you could never truly complain) eroded your exasperation over time. Now you almost looked forward to it—even if you still gave him a hard time about the inevitable spoilers involved.

Tonight, it would seem, however, that he’d decided to bide his time in order to see your unprepared reaction without dropping an obvious statement that would have indicated the plot twist to you ahead of time. For once, admittedly, you would’ve appreciated the warning.

“How could they say that about her?” you bemoaned, eyes returning to the screen with prolific lamentation. “She’s literally done nothing to them—she doesn’t even want to marry him, they didn’t have to drag her reputation through the mud!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, querida,” Jake chuckled, “it was visible from miles away.”

You huffed and turned away from him, refocusing your attention on the television screen. You watched the protagonist’s subsequent emotional breakdown with trepidation, frowning as she was scorned and criticized by the people that should have been her allies and had claimed to have been her friends. The only people that believed she was innocent in the matter were her sister and, fortunately, her love interest. He arrived late the next rainy night on a raven-black horse that shivered and bellowed mist from his nostrils as the man, drenched and pensive, dismounted to greet the distressed young woman at the door of her family’s home.

“Hey,” Jake murmured, nudging your side with his elbow. “It’ll turn out fine.”

You glanced up at him, relaxing slightly. You’d been teased in the past by several people for being so emotionally invested in fictional characters and their plight—your ex included—and while you weren’t ashamed of the fact you had the ability to extend so much empathy (even in hypothetical situations), you were sensitive to what others might think. Steven didn’t mind—he was much the same as you, honestly, and that was such a relief. Marc didn’t seem to mind one way or the other, thankfully. But Jake was a notorious tease and found a lot of joy in flustering you, and you were still getting used to gauging his personality since you hadn’t known him as long as the other two—so that he wasn’t poking fun at you about this was a monumental relief.

“I know,” you breathed, sinking into his side. He coiled his arm around your shoulders in response. “He’ll save the day with his money and marry her silly. These things never have sad endings.”

Jake hummed and drummed his fingertips on your upper arm. “It’s a good thing. Wouldn’t want you to be sad, chaparrita. Might have to pay that studio a stern visit otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart squeezed at the sentiment—as aggressive as it was. There was one thing that you had learned for certain since meeting him: Jake showed his love through protectiveness as opposed to the gentler means of the other two men. You’d never want him to hurt someone for you, necessarily (unless they deserved it, of course), but the thought that he would be willing to go up to bat for you, that he had your back no matter what, was far more reassuring than you had ever expected it to be. (Something, something, scary guard dog privileges.)

“Some movies need them, though,” you pointed out. “Sometimes that’s the whole point of the story—something out of the characters’ control happens, and they have to decide how they’ll react. Other times it’s pointless, serves no greater purpose to enhance the plot.”

“Shit happens in real life for no reason, though,” Jake pointed out, voice low as the music onscreen swelled. The love interest was embracing the weeping protagonist, having informed her that he had, in fact, solved the issue. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You nodded, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Some people are fortunate enough to have happy endings, though,” you murmured. “It’s a dangerous thing to claim, because things could always go wrong, but…” You swallowed, tucking your nose under the lapel of his shirt. “...I’m glad I met you guys. It was worth everything I’ve gone through.”

Jake stilled, falling silent. You had also learned that such intimate proclamations tended to throw him for a loop—he was not accustomed to revealing his inner emotions, since he’d repressed them (and himself) for so long. He was getting better at communicating in general, thanks to Steven’s long-suffering patience and gentle coaxing, but you could tell anything ‘mushy’ made him slightly uncomfortable. (Having noticed this, you’d asked him early on if he wanted you to slow down on giving him affection—but he’d visibly recoiled at that suggestion, more demanding than asking you not to stop. You could only really speculate since he didn’t talk about it much, but you knew that if you were in his position, even if such attention was new, you’d be famished for it. You’d decided he was just embracing his adjustment period instead of avoiding it, like Marc had tended to do at first.)

He shifted, angling his body closer to yours, and tucked the end of his nose behind the shell of your ear. “...We’re glad we met you, too, querida,” he finally murmured, his free hand slipping down to curl around the knob of your knee. He pressed his face into your neck, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding pulse against his lips. “You’ve done us a whole lot of good.”

Chest tightening, you focused resolutely on the television despite the warring urge to arm him up and press a litany of kisses all over his face and head—any affection he felt comfortable doling out was precious indeed, and you would grant him the privacy of tucking himself out of sight, even if it was under your chin. Marc struggled the most with letting himself be seen as any semblance of vulnerable—and while Jake was more inclined and apt to it, he was still learning to trust you in particular, so allow himself to lower his guard and be himself with you (while, simultaneously, discovering and determining exactly who he was).

To receive a compliment of such caliber from Jake, though, was the highest bestowment of honor anyone could receive. He was picky, you’d learned, extremely so—especially regarding people with whom he associated. He had high standards, given the fact that his top priority had always been protecting the system first and foremost. Allowing anyone with dangerous intentions close enough to potentially hurt them was simply unacceptable, and thus he kept most everyone at arm’s length. That was why he’d acted in such a way towards you when he’d been forced to intervene for Marc’s sake, leading to your first ‘official’ meeting—he never gave anyone the benefit of a doubt until they proved themselves worthy of his extremely loyal regard (and his protection).

“I’m glad,” you responded softly. “I always try my best.”

“It’s all we could ever have asked for.”

You caved, but just slightly. You tilted your head down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of his head, nestling your nose into the neatly combed curls and inhaling the complimentary scents of their shampoo and hair gel. You curled an arm around his back and rubbed your palm in a series of circles between his shoulder blades, forgoing the movie for the sensation of his breath hitching against your throat.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For letting me have my happy ending.”

He swallowed roughly, and when his muscles went rigid you almost expected one of the others to surface—Jake had a habit of retreating when emotions got to be too much for him, which you’d never taken offense to (only had ever worried, but it wasn’t usually very long before he slipped back into the driver’s seat to reassure you by diverting the topic to let you know he was okay)—but instead of Steven’s falsetto lilt or Marc’s flat baritone emerging to notify you of the switch, Jake’s rumbling rasp vibrated your skin via his scruffy lips brushing your artery. “It’s I who should be thanking you, chaparrita, for not running for the hills when you had the chance. You’ve…been there for them when I couldn’t be. And you didn’t…you stuck around for me.” He cleared his throat quietly. “Gracias.”

“De nada,” you returned, kissing his head again and reaching up to play with the errant locks at the nape of his neck. “Eres precioso a mi.”

He let out a breathless, if slightly wet, chuckle, and snuggled in closer. You counted it precious. You counted them precious.

“Tengo hambre,” you commented after a while, sensing he might like to have an out. “¿Qué tenemos qué podemos comer?”

Jake retracted, but it was slow and borderline reluctant, if you didn’t know any better. “Let’s order something, chaparrita. I don’t feel like futzing around in the kitchen this late.”

You smiled and reached for your phone. “Sounds good to me. Asian or…?”

“Thai.” To your surprise, Jake tugged at your arms as he reclined, coaxing you to recline on top of him, your back to his chest. He wrapped you up in an unyielding, tight embrace, smothering his face into your neck once more to mumble against your ear. “Those glass noodles Marc’s gotten before are good. With the chicken.”

You tried your best to bite back your smile, but you couldn’t help the heat building beneath your cheeks. You raised your phone over your face to pull up the corresponding delivery app. “Anything for you, handsome. Anything for you.”

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #moonknightevents #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fluff #reader insert #jake lockley #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley/you #jake lockley x you #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley fluff

47 notes · View notes

utilitycaster · 10 days

Note

You described C3 as frequently feeling like it's accelerating only to pump the breaks, and that really perfectly articulates some of the mixed feelings I have about this campaign. There have been a couple of times now when I've been really excited and invested in where the story is going (Laudna's death, the party split, Ashton blowing up, now with FCG's death, etc.), and then it's felt like that momentum has been either derailed or softened (either immediately or after an episode or two). It's all moments on the darker end of the emotional spectrum, so I wonder if it's folks wanting to pull back from it, but it feels like it's been a theme in this campaign in a way it wasn't in C1 and C2. Maybe there's something else going on that I'm not thinking of though?

So I think this post about pacing I made earlier this week covers this indirectly. I think it's a mix of the early groundwork for the party developing a culture of checking in with each other, working through conflict, and deciding what to do being constantly interrupted; and the fact that this is a more heavily railroaded campaign. I want to be clear - I don't think the railroading is bad at all! But I think that the prep for a campaign that had a more defined plot, especially starting quite early on, needed to be more extensive. I think it should have probably had a session zero that was a tradition one - not a playtest of two or three characters who knew each other, but the main cast members sitting down and saying "oh, huh, no one here has a high INT score" - or a heavier hand from Matt.

I think, for example, Ashton exploding was great and the choices afterwards were sound, it's just that the party doesn't have the tools to resolve this sort of conflict and so they shy from it. I also think some of the players who tend to embrace difficult choices and conflict that ultimately lead to those darker places and, in my opinion, better story, have chosen to take a back seat; and some of the players in the position to make those bold decisions have declined to make them, which is their right in terms of agency but is less of the story I personally wish to see.

I do want to note that like...they have interrupted the story but they have not yet been proven to have pumped the brakes now; it is possible the cast will pick up seamlessly with the next episode. It's really just that like...as you said, it feels like a pattern.

I suppose the next thing I'm going to say is going to be unpopular, but let's be honest, that has never once stopped me. I think a lot of Campaign 3's more passionate defenders are people who prefer what I'd consider quick, easy, feel-good highs, with a trade-off of a deeper narrative since that requires effort. The people who unironically said "must a story have conflict?" The people who just want weeks on end of downtime after this moon plot (and look this campaign has surprised me many times, and as this question indicates, not all were positive nor narratively satisfying, so I absolutely could be wrong here but I'm just increasingly like...what will they do after this moon plot. Name a significant plot hook that isn't part of the moon plot.) The people who are like "why would the party attack Bor'Dor simply because they tried to kill them? Why would Orym contact the person he clearly has a massive crush on when he's upset when other people are right there? Why would the people of Gelvaan have reservations about mind readers? Why doesn't Ross, the largest friend, simply eat all the other friends?"

But getting back to the original point I really do think that because of the different nature of this campaign - and it is different, structurally, and I don't think that's the root cause - more intense prepwork needed to be done both leading in (character creation) and in the early stages, and I think because it was going to be so tightly plotted later on I think it needed looser plotting earlier to allow the party to mesh and be easier to guide.

#cr spoilers

33 notes · View notes

vhstown · 7 months

Text

spider-teens ★ D&D HEADCANONS

— hobie, gwen, miles, pavitr (+ peter b & mayday!)

warnings: d&d jargon (there's definitions at the end if you're curious), shenanigans, miles being a NERDDD, a lil shorter than usual

a/n: how id imagine these lot playing d&d!!! ive only played / ran 5e so forgive me veteran players 😭 again feel free to add / disagree w me it's all in good fun

If MILES doesn't run the game, he plays a warlock for sure. Not because it fits him personality wise but because he wants to be a magic user but also not be held back by it. My man is thinking STRATEGY and takes every opportunity to geek out about the specifics of his abilities. He also definitely has a ridiculously fleshed-out backstory he's kind of too embarrassed to tell anyone about.

Either warlock or the nerd multi-classes and it confuses the hell out of EVERYONE... I feel like he tries a lot of the classes though so warlock is kind of a starting point when he's playing with his spider friends (he defo played fighter or sorcerer in the past)

Miles is the one who gets everyone together though (and jumps through universes to make sure everyone's on time 😭 he will NOT tolerate scheduling issues)

Peter B runs a lot of their games except he used to play 3e or Pathfinder back in the day (nerd...) so Miles is just like... gritting his teeth a little whenever Peter misses a little detail or a skill check. He probably used to play in high school / college I mean come on...

Speaking of Peter B OF COURSE he lets Mayday roll the dice. The entire party could depend on that roll and she's rolling it and everyone is TENSE (And he tries not to let her eat the dice... Tries.)

HOBIE plays a barbarian or rogue. He'd play a barbarian just for the hell of it (sounds cool) and would most definitely carry everyone by total accident because he's like... the only one alive.

Rogue also for the hell of it cause stealing is rebellious and that 😭 Though if he does play a rogue his character becomes one of the most unintentionally complex characters in the game.

Hobie would figure out the entire plot of the adventure completely by accident and Peter just laughs awkwardly and goes "You'll just have to find out next session!" and maybe dies inside (but it's not like he prepares for his sessions anyway 💀)

Absolutely crits at the most ridiculous times and derails the whole campaign because he decided to interrogate a minor political figure and now they're destabilising the region's government instead of fighting dragons

And he accidentally becomes the leader of like the whole village and maybe starts a revolution and Peter is sat there lips pressed together hands pressed together elbows on table like "...I guess that happens then."

Might cheat a little bit. Just a little. Not enough to ruin the campaign but enough to have Peter sweating 💀 A lil strand of web under his dice hurt nobody right? (Those goblins are DEAD dead)

Miles is gob-smacked and definitely a little jealous of him 😭

PAVITR originally wants to play a fighter because that sounds... cool as hell BUT when Miles explains the bard class to him he takes it and runs

I'd say Pavitr is relatively new to the game as are Hobie and Gwen but he hones in on the roleplay (not as seriously as Miles but definitely participates)

Probably leads the group and goes head-first into danger (Miles is literally pissing himself) and his character probably knows loads of languages cause he just conveniently picked a race with very useful languages for the adventure (as per Miles' suggestion)

But he goes out-of-character more than once to go "WTF????" when he doesn't manage to rizz up an NPC and they're have to roll for initiative (attempts to be a pacifist)

The goat when it comes to fights though he plays such a good supporting character and if he were to die everyone would totally be finished 😭🙏

GWEN plays either a monk or a wizard. I feel like she doesn't particularly mind but she plays wizard for a little bit before realising that she doesn't really like the magic stuff? Goes for monk and it's a lot simpler and more fun

More of an observer but is helpful when it comes to investigating areas and carries like EVERY item possible: potions, magical items, 20 rocks for some reason. Bag of holding girlie (like how she holds that trauma she has in real li—)

Has THE coolest weapons. Because her character can't rely on magic she's constantly upgrading or getting new weapons and her unique monk abilities come in handy again when exploring!!!

Totally makes fun of Miles (endearingly!) And maybe points out a plot hole in his backstory and he wants to curl up into a ball and disappear for a good minute (he rethinks his entire character for 2 nights straight)

Has an NPC she would protect with her LIFE. Barmaid at the inn? Anything for you sweetums 😁😁😁 *trips over and dies*

That's all given if they have an actually functional game... It takes them probably about like a year to finish a one-shot adventure

But it is SO worth the memories (albeit very chaotic memories.) Even when they're arguing over a roll (usually Hobie's) or someone's character has literally died they make it work through the power of friendship...! And a broken table

These guys are crazy I love them

"Embrace the chaos is the mood for tonight's session. AKA you guys are screwed... Roll initiative."

"What the hell?!"

"Don't swear in front of the kid!"

Jargon!

Campaign: A world containing one set of characters where different adventures take place

Dungeon Master / DM: The person who creates the story and runs the game

Skill check: Rolling a die to see if you've passed or failed a certain skill when performing an action (for example charisma when trying to persuade somebody)

Crit: Critical hit. When you roll a 20 on a 20-sided die. You deal loads of damage in a fight basically.

NPC: Non-playable character. Any characters who aren't the players within the universe. Controlled by the DM.

Initiative: The roll you have to make before a fight to decide the order of turns. "Roll initiative" means "you guys are in a fight now!!!! lmao!!!!"

🕸️🕷️💫

thank you for reading my insane midnight rant LMAOOO

i haven't played d&d in like 2 years so apologies if anything is diabolically wrong here 💀would love to hear your thoughts!

reblogs appreciated <3 read the rest of my atsv stuff here!

#pavitr prabhakar #spiderman india #gwen stacy #ghost spider #miles morales #hobie brown #hobart brown #spider punk #atsv headcanons #miles morales headcanons #gwen stacy headcanons #pavitr prabhakar headcanons #hobie brown headcanons #atsv #across the spiderverse #vhstown #dungeons and dragons #d&d

107 notes · View notes

glorious-imagines · 5 days

Text

Don't Wanna Be Torn

1 2 3 4

Jason lay on his bed, staring at his stained ceiling as he tossed a stress ball. He hadn't gone to see Isabel or the twins. Not yet. Not when he had Gabby's words swirling in his head like a maelstrom. Not when he had to make another choice that would shake his foundations. In hindsight, he should've thought about the first foundation-shaking choice more deeply. He probably would've been able to still be happy with Y/n.

Y/n... Not a day had gone by that she wasn't on his mind. The true object of his affection. He missed the catch, and the plushy ball landed on his face with a soft thunk. A light huff escaped his nostrils, and he just laid there, eyes closed. Basking in the silence. Images of Y/n flashed in his mind. His heart is aching for her.

When the image of her laughing with Conner shot forth, his lids opened abruptly. Of course. Even in his own mind, there is no peace. He should be used to that by now. His mind has never been a place of comfort. Y/n probably wouldn't be happy if he came running back to her. Uprooting the work she's taken to heal her hurt. He wouldn't forgive himself, either.

He sat up, the stress ball rolling down his face as he did so. He stared at it for a moment. It was a stupid gift from Roy. He'd gotten it at the at the last minute for one of his birthdays. Jason hardly celebrates such a day. But this stupid two-dollar toy from a nearby gift store was all that remained. He didn't fully understand why, but he cherished the ball. When Roy gave it to him, he said, don't forget to think about you. Jason had since taken it everywhere.

He stuffed it in his pocket with a centering huff. "Time to face the music." He wasn't at all enthusiastic about what he was going to do. But almost thirty minutes later, he was outside Isabel's hospital room.

He takes a breath. And another. The haze in his mind cleared, but his heart seemed to constrict. His hands were getting clammy as he reached to open the door. He swallowed when he saw Isabel sitting between the twins incubators.

Isabel's face lights up when she notices him. "Jay! Hi, I didn't think you were coming."

He grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it to the foot of her bed. "Hey, Isabel. How are you? You feeling okay after everything?"

"Yeah, it was a surprise, but myself and our babies are fine." She took a sip of the little orange juice cup.

He nods with a barely noticeable, somber smile on his face. "Good, I'm glad."

Silence quickly invades the room. It steals the air of normalcy and creates a smog of tension. Isabel's eyes seem to be trained on her juice cup. Jason's were fixed on her.

And they stay like that for what feels like hours to Isabel. She huffs in annoyance and looks back at him. Her face is scrounged in an awkward mix of apprehension and annoyance. "She told you, right? Gabby? About that guy?"

Jason snorts and grabs one of her juice cups, poking a straw into the top before taking a drink. Isabel watches with a growing pit in her stomach.

"I don't wanna cause you too much stress, so I'll get to the point." He started when she finished the small drink and placed it back on the table. "I know they're not mine."

"Jaso--"

"I think you've said more than enough these past months. It is absolutely shit that you derailed the trajectory of my life to make me play father to someone else's kids.

"Jason, please--"

"Not done." He levels his oceanic blues into her, through her. "I was prepared to marry her. She was it for me. And you stole that life from me."

To her, he is scarily calm. He should be yelling. Yelling would be less stressful. Even if it woke the twins, she would prefer his anger to... whatever the hell he was giving her. If the twins suddenly woke, they would have no choice but to end this conversation.

"I will never forgive you for that. It hurt me, but more importantly, it hurt Y/n. And she deserves so much more." He could feel the heat of his pain welling up. He took a deep breath. "I'm not upset about that guy. I never said we were official. From the start, I was only here for the twins. I would've helped, Isabel. You were my friend. I would've helped if you asked."

"Were?" She involuntarily questions.

"After all this, there's no way we can maintain the relationship we once had."

The tears pooling in her sapphires spilled over. "Jason, please, I'm sorry."

He stands and stretches. "M'gonna call in some favors. Get you set for when you leave."

"Jason..."

"If you need anything for the twins, and I doubt you will, you have my number. But only for the twins. I won't respond to anything else, and if you try to trick me, I'll cut you off completely." He opens the door and says, "Goodbye, Isabel."

...

At the gala, Conner let Y/n know what he'd said to Jason. He described it as childish and stupid, and he was very sorry. And he dropped to his knees and begged her not to ghost him or something.

It was super embarrassing, but also incredibly hilarious. Such a huge guy was on his knees, begging for forgiveness, and putting on such a show. She laughed, genuinely and heartily as she pulled him up. She gave him another shot, but he had to work double time if he wanted her to be with him. He was more than happy to agree, of course.

From then on, he'd been attached at the hip to her. She didn't mind; she liked having him work so hard for her. She wished Jason had done the same. They wouldn't be in the mess they currently find themselves.

Not that she actually knew what he was going through. She just knew that chick would be a hand full. If she wasn't pregnant, she'd have hit her. And she definitely would've deserved it.

Thinking about her made Y/n's blood boil. So she stopped. And maybe that's what she's needed all along. To just stop. Though her heart aches for Jason, his sense of responsibility takes him elsewhere. And even if he were to come back...

The thought of leaving Conner pulled her full lips down and made her stomach swirl in the worst way. He felt comforting and warm. A feeling that wasn't new to her but was severely missed. Like he was hot tea on a bitterly cold night.

"Y/n?"

She looked up from idly circling her martini glass rim. "Hm?"

"You okay? Seem a bit lost."

"Just a bit of thinking."

"Not about boys. Pleeaase not about boys," Shana whined childishly.

Y/n puckered her lips, her head turning up a bit and away, her eyes going back to her friend like a puppy that made a mess of the trash. Shana chuckled and elbowed her lightly. "Because of course you are," she said, rolling her eyes. "So, what's the problem this time?"

Y/n shrugs, taking a sip of her martini. "There isn't one. I think I'm finally moving on from Jason."

Shana's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and her lips pursed. "Yeah, alright."

"I'm serious. No gotcha's. But listen, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"What would you say if I said I was thinking about moving to Metropolis?"

Shana's eyes go wide, completely confounded, as she stares into Y/n's soul. "Perdeste a cabeça?! You didn't even move on Jason this fast! Did that super freak brainwash you?" Shana snatches her head up and examines it with her magic.

Y/n shoves her off. "Shana, girl, I love you, but if you ever put your hands on me like that again, I'ma forget you my best friend."

Shana is still looking at her as if she's hiding something, to which Y/n rolls her eyes. "I'm not going for Conner, fucking duh."

"Then why?"

"I may or may not have been aiming for a spot on the Justice League for the past few years."

Shana freezes for a moment, scrutinizing her for a moment. After a minute, she snorts and then bursts into laughter. "You're kidding, right?"

Y/n's lip quirks up in a frown, and she plucks her on the forehead. "Here I was talking about something other than the men in my life, and here you are being an ass."

"Ow, okay," Shana says, rubbing the spot where she plucked. "Sorry, geez."

"Anyway, Superman and a few others wanna hold interviews, and they want me to do some kinda trial run in Metropolis."

"Why? You're great at what you do."

"Yes, but am I JL great? That's what they wanna find out. Besides, I never planned on staying in Gotham for so long. I think my true calling is Manhattan, anyway."

"Why am I just finding out about this anyway?

"Because you have close relations with the Batfamily."

"Batfamily? What the fuck? Where did that BS name come from?"

It was Y/n's turn to scrutinize Shana. "Batfamily? You not bouta tell me you've never heard that before."

"Should I have?"

"Literally everyone says it."

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do."

"Nuh uh."

"Yuh huh."

"Nuh uh."

"I'm not doing this with your ass right now." She downs the rest of her drink and gathers her things. "Pay for this martini, and I swear I'll spot you later."

"We both know that's a lie, but sure, get outta here. Amo-te, desarrumado." They kiss each other on the cheeks, and Y/n departs.

As Y/n is walking to her apartment, she has the misfortune of running into a couple of low-level criminals trying to steal a car.

"You know, I don't think that's yours."

"And I think you'd best move along." He pulls a gun on her, but she is unphased by it. "Less you wanna be a victim to this crime."

"I bet you thought you ate that one." The criminals look up just as a figure falls from the sky and lands on one of them.

Y/n knew that physique well. It used to embrace her while she cooked breakfast at three in the morning. Shield her from the demons that plagued her in the dark. That voice that whispered sweet nothings when he thought she was sleeping. That voice that chortled mockingly at something that she hadn't meant as a joke, but she joined in the mirth. And when those eyes landed on her, she could feel the moment he first told her, I love you.

And just for a moment, she wanted to run into his arms and say it back. Just for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to feel all those things again.

"Can we talk?"

"I really don't want to do that."

"Please, Y/n?"

She had to look away from him. The slight tremble in his tone as he pleaded, the glossy bit of hope that seemed to fill his eyes overwhelmed her. Even with his mask on, she still knew him so well.

She crossed her arms tightly over her abdomen, her hands cradling her biceps protectively. She huffs and does nothing else, but Jason quickly deals with the criminals and calls the police.

She follows him to his motorcycle, where he puts her helmet on her, making sure it's secure. She wraps her arms around his midsection, and he pats her hands twice. The whole exchange is silent, and the ride follows suit. As well as the climb to the roof of the clock tower, where Jason walks behind her, ready to catch her.

Both hearts hammer in their chests. Both minds fuzzy and anxious. Hands fiddling with each other.

Above them, the stars twinkle and glitter. Their own conversations endless. She wondered what they spoke of. If the language they used ever became a hindrance to them.

Jason took a seat just a bit behind her. His arms were propped up on his knees as he gazed at her. He swallowed, and his mouth opened, but nothing came out. His teeth clenched and his jaw set, his brows furrowing while he scrutinized the way her eyes shimmered in the moonlight.

"Just like stars." He murmured abruptly.

And when she turned those eyes on him, he felt his breath catch. The world seemed to slow along with his heart. A wave of serenity washed over him.

"Hm?"

"Your eyes. They always remind me of stars."

Warmth fills her face, and her nose tingles. "O-oh, I-- th-thank you." Just as her words her heart stutters. Because, of course, he can make her feel just like a schoolgirl confessing to her crush.

"I miss you, Y/n." He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips and a weight lifting from his shoulders. "I miss you so damn much."

She bites her bottom lip to keep from saying it back. She takes a deep breath through her nostrils and blinks away tears. A war started in her the moment she saw him. And she was determined not to succumb to it.

She looks away. Back out at the plagued city below. "You wanted to talk. So talk."

His head hangs, a tired breath escaping his lips. "The kids turned out to not be mine.

Her heart picks up pace, and her head whips back around to him. Brows slowly knit together, her bottom lip quivering with her shakey breath. "Kids?"

He explains everything that's led up to this moment. "I won't pretend I'm not entirely hurt and disappointed by this. I just—I want you back. I was an idiot to ever leave you."

He lets his words sink in a bit, and they do sink in. They permeate and invade. She feels... dizzy? Dazed? Her mind is fuzzy, and her loud heart is beating her ears. And his words--.

Gently, his hands cupped her face, soft like petals to his touch. His eyes, intense, warm, and focused drink in her own, uneasy, anticipating, and longing. His lips quirked up slightly on the right, strained and bittersweet. He brought her forehead down to his lips, planting a lingering kiss, then pulled her into an encompassing embrace.

"I'm sorry... I can't seem to stay away from you."

And she was sorry, too. She didn't want him to stay away. Fuck.

~~~

damn part 5. I remember when I said this would be no more than 5 parts... welp

Tags: @b4tm4nn @iyuuii @jaguarthecat @rhyanna6012

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc universe imagines #conner kent x reader #if you squint #original post #glori imagine

42 notes · View notes

clumsy-jiminie · 2 months

Text

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

❝ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ ʜᴜʀᴛꜱ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 3.8k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, public displays of affection, angst with resolve, mentions of anxiety, ⚠️ verbal abuse - light but still not ok ⚠️

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"yeah, I got issues, and one of them is how bad I need you."

- ɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ, ᴊᴜʟɪᴀ ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟꜱ -

It only took a few days before everything returned to normal between the couple. No apology was issued, but they continued as if the argument had never happened. That's how things typically were with the two. Arguments would always fade away without them talking any further about it. It wasn't something Kiara particularly enjoyed, but after trying to talk things out, it would only result in restarting the cycle; she settled for his method instead. It kept them both happy in the end, anyway. At least, that's what she thought. The conversation would always sit with her a bit longer than him. So, while he was normal, touching her and smiling, she had to force herself to keep up the facade. It was tiring but a better outcome than arguing all over again.

Kiara stared at her phone while slowly pushing the shopping cart through the aisle. Her arms rested against the cart's bar, leaning against it comfortably as she looked through the notes on her phone. It was chore day, and chore day also meant grocery shopping day. Usually, she would love to take her time through the store and hopefully find some exciting snacks, but she couldn't wait to get home. She was in the middle of her last piece for her latest collection. The blush pinks, baby blues, and teals were so pretty to her, reminding her of babies and how she wanted a family of her own one day. Three bundles of joy and absolute chaos running around made her excited. She sighed softly, straightening out her spine before feeling gentle resistance. Her brows drew together before she felt slight pressure against her backside.

"Taehyung," she sighed despite the small smile forming on her lips. His hand, placed firmly on her hip, kept her in place as they walked.

"Mm, what?" He responded lazily, eyes fixated on the view of her golden skin peeking out from under her cropped hoodie. The black leggings she wore were no help either. The fabric became so thin when she bent over, stretching to accommodate her round ass. He could almost see the outline of her thong.

"What are you doing?"

"Appreciating my girlfriend. What did you think?"

"Oh, I don't know...." She stopped suddenly, halting Taehyung as well. His hips pressed into hers, causing him to bite down on his lower lip briefly. "Someone may think you're trying to start something in public." Taehyung hummed as his mind was far from his current reality, somewhere in a realm where public indecency wouldn't get you fined. He returned back to Earth when Kiara decided to turn around and face him. She tilted her head back, looking up at him as she bit back the smirk that desperately wanted to spread on her lips. "You do know we're in public, right?" The sass that fell from her lips only made Taehyung wish to play more. He rested both of his hands on the cart behind her, essentially caging her in.

If there was one thing she could do all day, it was look at Taehyung. He was so gorgeous. Model worthy. Even as he had his round-framed silver glasses resting on his straight nose, she wanted nothing more than his lips on her.

"Nope," he grinned.

"Dangerous."

"You love it." He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, causing her to inhale deeply. Her hands rested on his chest before sliding up to meet behind his neck. Warmth spread through Kiara's system despite them being in the freezer aisle. One of his hands left the cart to rest against her back, pulling her in closer.

"Uh, we're gonna need a clean-up on aisle 14." A familiar voice suddenly rang through Kiara's ears, causing her to pull away from her boyfriend. She glanced around before meeting with the owner of the voice, a smile forming on her lips. "It looks like someone wet themselves," Momo teased the girl with a playful smirk.

"You're so lame!" Hoseok heckled while he reached into the freezer, chuckling softly.

"You knew this, and you're still choosing to marry me," Momo stuck her tongue out at the man, who did the same to her. Afterward, she directed her attention to Kiara. "But seriously, you should really get a room." She placed her hand on her chest as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There are children around!"

"Fuck them kids," Taehyung quickly said as he wrapped his arms around Kiara. He leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder. "They gotta learn about the birds and the bees somehow."

"Taehyung, you disgust me," Momo scowled. The man winked at her, and Momo recoiled as if he had reached out to touch her. Hoseok then returned, tossing some frozen fruit pops into the cart.

Kiara's eyebrows furrowed as she scanned over the couple's cart. There were some colorful party plates, cups, hats, and napkins. There were also a few bags of chips and liters of various sodas. "You guys having a party or something?" She asked while resting her hands on Taehyung's arms.

"One of our students is turning eight today!" Hoseok beamed as if it was his child.

"She's the absolute cutest, and she's going to go far. Right, Hobi?" Momo added, gleaming as well.

Hoseok quickly nodded. "Yep, AIM has itself its first prodigy."

Taehyung furrowed his brows as he stood up. "AIM? Is that...."

"Art In Motion! The dance studio we work at!" Momo answered. Taehyung made a small o with his mouth, slowly nodding his head.

"It's not like they don't talk about it all the time," Kiara teased, earning a squeeze from him.

"You guys should come in sometime!" Momo said before walking over to one of the freezers. "We teach duets on some days."

Kiara quickly shook her head. "You know damn well I don't dance."

"I know you don't dance sober," Momo side-eyed her, causing the girl to roll her eyes.

"Yeah, I was about to say; I know a certain dance you do, but it's only when you come back from bottomless mimosas," Taehyung grinned, earning an elbow to his rib. "Don't hurt me because I'm right!" The group laughed together before bidding their farewells. Kiara grabbed the cart once more to continue on their shopping adventure.

"So, Tae...," Kiara drawled as she trailed behind the man. He hummed while looking at an item on the shelves, encouraging her to continue. "I was looking at houses out here, which are really expensive. Do we have to move out this year?"

"Do you want that ring?" He responded as he tossed the item into the cart. Her eyes went wide as her heart sunk into her chest. She assumed that was why she wasn't engaged yet, but to have him say it so casually. To have him say it as if it was something she had to earn. She could hear her best friends yelling at her to leave him, to turn around and not look back.

But she loved him.

"Taehyung!" A man suddenly called out, ripping his attention away from Kiara. Both of them turned to look at the interruption. A smile formed on Taehyung's lips while Kiara's eyes narrowed. Directly ahead of them was none other than Jimin. Kiara huffed, trying to pry her eyes away from the man, but she couldn't for some reason, maybe because it was the first time she'd seen him dressed down—sporting a dark purple hoodie with a denim jacket over it and a pair of black sweatpants that slimmed to a cuff around his ankle. His hair looked messy despite him trying to hide it under his hood—fluffy blonde strands sticking out like he had just rolled out of bed and decided not to style it. How could one look just as good dressed down?

"You stalking me, Jimin?" The brunette teased as he went in to hug the man.

"For fucks sake," Kiara sighed before her eyes went wide. Taehyung shot her a warning glare, making her muscles stiffen as she looked down at the linoleum floor. She was usually good at keeping her thoughts to herself.

Jimin looked at Kiara for the first time today, and his eyebrows piqued in interest. Was it wrong to be lusting over a man's girlfriend right in front of him, especially when you're trying to rekindle a relationship with said man? Yes, yes it was. He possessed enough self-control not to react physically but couldn't deny that she looked good. She had an impeccable style. Even when she dressed down, she stole the room. Instead, he feigned an eye roll. He wanted to do nothing but push those buttons of hers and watch her eyes be set ablaze with fire. But he wouldn't be able to handle that switch to fondness whenever she eventually looked at Taehyung, at least not today. He peeled his eyes away from the girl to look at the brunette, a warm smile forming on his lips. "Isn't it funny how small the world becomes after bumping into each other once?"

"Oh, it's hilarious," Kiara mumbled quietly this time, sarcasm dripping from her words. Boy, she wasn't making it easy for Jimin. He had a thousand and one remarks for her sassy little quip, but he'll save those for another day.

The two men proceeded to catch up while Kiara focused on anything besides the blonde before her. Honestly, what were the odds? There are a million different grocery stores on Long Island alone, and this is the one he chooses? It hasn't even been a week since their little dinner encounter. The universe wanted to see some drama in her life as if she didn't have enough. What the universe needed to do was send signs to the tall blockhead so she could get proposed to before selling her soul for a house.

As much as she loved that Taehyung was reconnecting and making new friends, she didn't want to spend another second in this vicinity. Jimin's aura was sickeningly addictive. He oozed charisma, and it pissed her off that she wanted to have a conversation with him, to be included. She stared at the back of Taehyung's head, eyes sensing daggers in hopes he turned around. Instead, her amber eyes locked with the blonde's. His eyes flickered up and down subtly before a mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his plump lips. He looked away, assumingly giving Taehyung his full attention once again. Kiara's brows furrowed. What was that look for? Did he think he had a one-up on her?

Enough was enough.

Kiara stepped forward, nudging Taehyung with the cart. He suddenly stopped talking, pausing momentarily before looking at her. "Babe, can we go? I'm getting a little tired." She lied through her teeth, her voice as sweet as candy. She had to pull out all the cards to pull Taehyung away from this so-called friend. What if Jimin was using Taehyung now to get some sick inside scoop on her? She couldn't have that.

"In a minute, I just want to smooth out these details for the next guys night." His voice was colder than the freezer aisle they were just in. He turned back around, fully facing Jimin again.

She sighed in defeat. She knew Taehyung meant no harm, but each second near Jimin felt like an hour. Kiara had no idea what this man was capable of, and that devilish, slick tongue only made things worse. She quickly glanced away, hoping to find anything she could fiddle with as a minor distraction. Touching random food items seemed too obvious, so she opted for her cell phone. She pulled it out, sending a quick text to the group chat.

Kiara: guess who just pulled up to your local grocery store Kiara: it's your favorite person kookie Jeongguk: JUSTIN BIEBER??? Jeongguk: drop the address NOW Samira: you're an idiot

Kiara pressed her lips in a line, holding back a smile.

Kiara: no it's the blonde from the coffee shop Kiara: I hate it here Jeongguk: do me a favor and throw your shoe at him Jeongguk: specifically the left one Jeongguk: the right one won't do Samira: I second Samira: why the left one tho Jeongguk: so he'll be surprised when I get him with this right hook

Kiara burst into a quiet fit of laughter, using her hand to cover her mouth. She loved her best friends dearly. While she giggled, Taehyung's and Jimin's ears perked up like a dog hearing the word walk, although both for different reasons.

Taehyung couldn't help but glance at his partner, seeing a wide grin on her lips as her fingers typed away on her phone. Something flared up inside of him, triggering him. It was the same feeling he had from the other night. He couldn't run away this time, so he had to sit with the heavy feeling in his chest and tensed muscles.

Jimin also looked, but he felt something in his chest from the sight. Something warm. Something that made him want to spread his lips and mimic that smile. He couldn't put his finger on it and didn't think he wanted to. He couldn't have that. It felt familiar, and familiarity needed to stay in a locked box in the deepest corner of his mind. Despite it, his eyes twinkled as a mischievous smirk played on his lips. He returned his gaze to Taehyung. "You know, one of my friends is having a game night later in the week. You should definitely come through."

Taehyung's met his eyes, and he pushed down whatever feeling was bubbling in his chest as he smiled at the man. "Definitely! That sounds like fun!"

Kiara was too busy giggling at the messages she received to pay attention to the plans that were made aloud. It wasn't until she felt eyes on her. It made her uneasy, a chill running down her spine as she looked up. Jimin's evil eyes met hers.

"You should bring Kiara along too," Jimin suggested while his eyes remained glued to the girl.

Kiara glared at the blonde. "I would rather jump off the Manhattan Bridge."

Taehyung's eyes went wide, shooting her a look. That look. Kiara couldn't help but cringe, feeling herself shrink into her shoes as she looked down at the ground.

"She'd love to come," Taehyung responded, returning his gaze to Jimin. "We'll be there."

Kiara's head shot up, sending daggers into the back of Taehyung's head. If looks could kill, both men would be casualties right now.

Jimin grinned at the other. "Great! I'll see you then!"

As they bid their farewells, Kiara subtly flipped the blonde off. All Jimin did was smirk playfully, winking at her in response. The girl shivered with disgust.

After he left, the couple was silent for the rest of their trip. Kiara couldn't understand why Taehyung would think she would want to attend any event with Jimin. She ranted to the man about their horrible first impression and how he ruined her favorite hoodie. Kiara didn't want to fake nice for hours on end; one, it was draining as hell, and two, that prick didn't deserve it. They paid and exited the grocery store. A cloak of silence wrapped around them dropped once they approached Kiara's car. She huffed quietly, almost shaking her head out of pure disbelief.

"I thought you couldn't stand him," she grumbled.

"I thought you wanted me to make more friends," he countered.

Kiara rolled her eyes, sighing softly as she regretted giving him that push. "I don't want to go to this thing, Tae," she admitted. "I don't even know why he invited me. He's your friend."

"Why can't he be our friend?" He asked while looking at the girl, meeting her eyes.

"I'm not friends with people who don't like me," she deadpanned. She started packing the groceries into the car, exceptionally cautiously placing the bags. She would hate if something got smushed or broken because she grew annoyed.

Taehyung watched as she did so, arms folding over his chest as he leaned against the car. "You don't know that."

"I'm pretty sure you don't call the people you like selfish."

Taehyung shrugged casually, "You got off on the wrong foot, so what? You don't think you could push past that or at least pretend to for me?"

Kiara froze briefly, pressing her lips together as she thought. It's for Taehyung. She would suffer a ten-hour flight full of crying babies for this man, but Jimin was just slightly more insufferable than that. She stopped loading the groceries to look at him. As she opened her mouth to answer, a text notification emitted from her pocket. She wasn't going to look at it, already knowing who it was, but she watched as Taehyung's demeanor changed. The corners of his lips pulled into a frown. He tensed as his eyes narrowed into slits. Before she could even process what was happening, he opened his mouth. All at once, he remembered why he fell silent earlier.

"Give me your phone."

"What?" She chuckled, completely bewildered. He had to be joking. Just two seconds ago, he asked her to play nice, and now this?

"I'm not gonna repeat myself." He held his large hand towards her, like a parent demanding something of their child.

She chuckled again, this time wholly filled with nerves. She instinctively gripped her phone in her hoodie pocket to protect him from the device. "Are you kidding? I'm not giving you my phone."

His eyes narrowed at the shorter girl, letting his hand fall back to his side. "Why? You got something to hide?" Kiara shook her head, opening her mouth to say something, but was promptly cut off. "I saw the way you were smiling at your phone earlier. You got some nasty shit from Jeongguk, huh?"

"What?" Her eyes widen for a moment before narrowing at her partner. "What the fuck are you on about?" Kiara tried keeping herself calm, paying close attention to the tone of her voice, but she thought the days when she had to defend the relationship with her best friend were over.

"Give me your fucking phone, Kiara!" He yelled. The bass in his voice startled her, depth moving straight to her heart and increasing the beat suddenly. She jerked as if someone hit her. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her breathing quickened. It happened all in an instant. She pulled out her phone and handed it to him without a thought. It was like her body was suddenly on autopilot.

He snatched the device from her, unlocking it without an issue. "I swear to god I do so much for you, for this fucking relationship, just for you to go behind my back and—" As he went through the text history with Jeongguk, all he saw was various memes from inside jokes, opinions of art going back and forth, and the occasional double text. Taehyung's jaw hung loosely briefly before quickly biting his lower lip. He even checked their group chat, but there was nothing besides Samira asking for help with Momo's wedding and the conversation he assumed she was laughing about. No, he couldn't be wrong. He knew what he saw. That smile.... There's no way he could've been wrong. There had to be something, anything, to prove her infidelity.

But there was nothing.

Taehyung locked Kiara's phone as the silence sat on them like a bag of bricks. He slowly looked at the girl, seeing tears brimming in her warm eyes of amber. Shit, he thought to himself. She was shivering, and he was sure it wasn't from the cold weather. Her chest was heaving like she just finished running a marathon.

"Ki...," his voice softened, barely above a whisper.

"No," she whimpered right before her throat decided to shut. Tears fell from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She turned from him, loading up the rest of the car with haste. She tried not to make a sound apart from the occasional whimper that slipped past her trembling lips.

Taehyung sighed quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watched her. "Kiara, please...," he pleaded as she stood upright. She ignored him, walking the cart back to its slot. When she returned, she had all intention of heading straight to the driver's side, but Taehyung's hand wrapping around her wrist stopped her.

She sniffled as she turned to face him. Kiara yanked her wrist from his hand, causing him to sigh. "When is this gonna stop?" She asked as she wiped her wet face with the sleeves of her hoodie. "When will you finally trust me enough to know I wouldn't ever step out on you?" Taehyung pressed his lips together, staring down at the girl. "I fucking love you, Tae, with every fiber of my being. I've loved you for years! But...," the girl trailed off, looking up at the night sky. She couldn't stop the tears, no matter how much she wanted to. Just thinking of the words hurt her.

Taehyung reached for her again, pulling her into his chest. He held her tightly in an embrace while she sobbed into his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered as his hands rubbed her back soothingly. Kiara's cries slowed to a stop. "I'm so sorry. I..., I just get jealous sometimes. I think you'll leave me because I've never seen a bond like you and JK's. I feel like he's in love with you."

"He's my best friend," she mumbled before pulling away from the man. She wiped her nose as she stared down at the ground. "He does love me, but not in the way you love me." She rubbed her eyes once more before looking up at him. The whites of her eyes were now red. Taehyung couldn't help but frown, using his thumb to wipe the remaining tears. She flinched from his touch, looking away from him. "But that isn't an excuse to treat me like that." She took a step back from him. Her warmth left him with the winter cold. "So this jealousy stuff has to stop now."

Taehyung nodded his head quickly. "I'm sorry, I'll try harder." He reached out for her again, and she didn't pull away. He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb while Kiara inhaled deeply, leaning into his touch. "I will be better."

She let out a shaky breath before throwing herself into the man. She pressed her face into his chest, feeling the vibrations from his body as he chuckled. "So, about that game night...." She hummed, waiting for him to continue. "Will you try for me?"

She pulled away enough to look up at him, her warm eyes making his heart skip a beat. "I'll try."

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

29 notes · View notes