#yeah romance as the height of vulnerability... would love other options I think

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Reading about a cool post about romancing a more diverse set of aliens in the next Mass Effect (yes please), I'm realizing I'd really want more focus on different ways to get close to NPCs that don't necesserily involve smooches or sex scenes. I know that would explode the budget, but... I don't know, I see room for a relationship system that does not 100% rely on the "is romanced" boolean, where cutscenes/missions activate or do not activate depending on the specifics of the relationship you're developing with a given character (with a tag system for example).

That way, there is a conversation where you pour your heart out with a given character that is available whether or not you romance them, but that you *could* miss out on if you decide to romance them but put the focus on the more competitive aspect of your relationship instead of the vulnerability. A sort of web of possible situations that would tailor more closely to who you are as a PC and how you want to engage with the world without betraying the NPC.

That would imply uhhhh budget, and a very strong relationship design system (let me design it bioware wait actually don't I could not handle working on mass effect emotionally I think). But. Would be cool, and would allow me to RP aroace characters without feeling completely alone and adrift in the uncaring void of space. :3

[troquantary]

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Maybe for requests, Jason x reader with unrequited love. Jason being the one in love and the y/n never truly loving Jason the same way. Maybe an established friends with benefits relationship. Smutty angst ? Xxxxxxxx

SUMMARY: explained by the ask......... might or not might have added some cheating, WHOOPS.

WORD COUNT: 3685

TW: Angst and smut. Some cheating might have been implied. Read until the end! You can decide on which end you want first by commenting!

A/N: Tomorrow (today cuz here it’s 6:17 AM!), I’ll answer another ask I have pendant from some time ago, and I’LL START ON MY FIRST PART TWO, BABIES. I know that Heal, Cool Girl and others have attracted a lot of attention, but I think I’ll start on Heal, cuz I have it all planned. On Cool Girl I was planning on doing some endings: two with Jason (good and bad), two with Dick (good and bad) and one neutral but... Well, angsty. Tell me what you think!

People that asked to be tagged: @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @dora-the-grownup

I just want to be yours — Jason Todd x Reader (x Dick Grayson, implied)

You told yourself this would be the last time. Fucking this up this much shouldn’t be a thing, should not happen this often; people joke around the big mistake that is fucking with an ex, and the worst thing is that you actually joked about those things: as if you could ever do such a thing! How pathetic can someone be, right? The room is dark, and it takes you a bit to actually find your clothes; disorientated as you were when you first opened your eyes, this is a really big step. Your bra is somewhere near the bed, and your underwear between the covers. The rest you can maybe take here and there, as long as you find your pants. Jason won’t mind.

           His wounds are slightly fresh, even when you had taken care this time with your nails; seeing how beat he had been, you had tried to take care, not leave more red marks behind this time. Looking back, drunk and high on adrenaline, letting him walk you to your door had not been the best option; but who knew Jason would get into a fight for you on that same night? People think of Jason as someone smaller than Dick, and that may be so in age, but in no means in weight or height. He is the biggest of all of the Wayne adoptees, and maybe the one with the worst self-control too. You used to like that when you were going out, but that was getting old, right? Still, he had taken you out of that bar in his bike and it all had felt so juvenile, like the first time he’d done something similar. He was irresistible when you two met, and it had been lust at first sight - you could swear on that. Now? All that was left were ashes of a very intense but mediocre romance at most in terms of deepness.

           Sex was easy, no questions asked; the problem always was when Jason got clingy, a bit antsy and inquisitive. It made you flee. Thus, you get up as quietly as you can, drag your clothes out, take one of his shirts, and escape the house. If he finds you, you think you won’t be able to say “no”.

***

           “I don’t-I don’t know”: You frown, holding your cellphone between your ear and shoulder. It’s getting hot, and you hate that, but your hands are a bit busy. Fuck you hate your job.

           “I think you do, (Y/N)”

           “Ugh, I hate it when you call me by my name, Richard.” You emphasize your voice in the last noun, making him chuckle because of your revenge. He hates his name too. “I’m just-look, you don’t want the details. We both wanted it, that’s it.”

           “(Y/N)…”

           “I know, I know! Shut up, I swear to God I planned on having some drinks and going back home. Just that. I actually like talking to him”

           There’s a bit of a silence on the line, enough to make you know what he’s going to say. The thing he has been insinuating for the past months, of course.

           “You know he hasn’t gone out with anyone, right? He didn’t go to your stupid set-ups with other girls.”

           “Yeah, they’ve told me. How is that my fault?”

           The tiredness in Dick’s sigh makes you feel guilty, because of course you know whose fault it is. How can he move on if you are constantly moving back in his life like that, being all unfair? And you know, you know, but you love talking to him and sometimes, just sometimes, things go back to how they were before it all got messy.

           ***

           “But why?”

           “I don’t know, just because I don’t.” You answer, exhausted with yourself. It feels like a trap at times talking to him, and you hate that.  Jason is not being clingy, but he can’t quite make why you are so opposed to it. And he should.

           “It’s just meeting the rest of the family, babe. It’s not that big of a deal.”

           “You gave me a fucking drawer, Jason. It is a fucking big of a deal.”

           He drops himself into the sofa, sighing, quite exhausted. You are too, lax in the comfortable armchair you’ve made almost yours throughout the time you’ve spent with him.

           “Listen, that is because you are here almost everyday, (Y/N). I’m not going to ask you anything.”

           That calms you down, somehow, but there’s hurt in his eyes. You can remember it clear as a day; it had been a couple months after you’d meet, started to fuck here and there — and he had given you a fucking drawer in his bedroom. Like you two were something.

           The fact that you feel so anxious for meeting his family, knowing him a bit more, and having a drawer had not been good signs. Both of you had entered the relationship making very clear it was merely sexual, but now touches were becoming more usual, nuzzles and the occasional naps taken together…

           He is falling in love with the little thing she does, like walking around the apartment in her cold bare feet and putting them up Jason’s lap any chance she has, just so that he can “warm them up”. He finds that adorable for some reason, instead of annoying. Or the way her hair looks like that of a superstar when she takes her scrunchie off, occasionally – her hair is amazing, almost as if styled, but its purely natural, unintentional. He is falling in love too with the way his hand perfectly fits her waist when he hoists her back to him, grabs her by the naked lateral area showing skin before sleeping, calming him up immediately. He loves how she just seems to roam around comfortable around him, enough to laugh out loud like that, be in silence, or fuck him all sweaty and without a care in the world. He loves it when she starts things, making him feel so wanted, so loved.

           Jason has never felt wanted. Not much anyways. Dad fled and mom OD’d; Bruce Wayne (not Dad) had his touches, yes, but how could he win against golden boy, always perfect, always first in everything? Not to say the years he was dead, where he did nothing to avenge him, just mourn. He kind of just knew that things would have been different if it had been Dick, if it had been Tim – and Jason hated himself for thinking like that, but he couldn’t help it. People didn’t stick around him too long before leaving, and usually in bad terms. They left him behind, but then you came along, always soft, sweet, sarcastic – but never cruel. You fought to reach him, talk him out of certain bad thoughts, ruts where he didn’t feel like waking up and even confessing dark and unspoken secrets.

           No one but the social services knew how you had been abandoned in a bus stop by your mom when you were three years old. How long you’ve stayed there, hoping no one would grab you, take you, kidnap you or worse things – you had cried but you had stay in your position, hoping she would come back and just make it all a bad joke. You never understood or fully assimilated the problem, thus becoming the broken shell you are with twenty-two years old, a victim of the broken foster care system – just what Jason would have become had Bruce Wayne not appeared. Not everyone has an angel watching their back.

           You had expressed your tremendous trust issues, your desire to flee from happy things, good people: they made you feel broken, unwanted, less of a person, and worst of all small. You hated being small, being walked upon – there were people who when threatened, they made themselves smaller, bowed down their head in submission. But not you. Fear made you stronger, you knew how to take every blow and give it back with if not as much force, even more. Relationships made you feel caged, clingy, and Jason knew that when he had asked you stay the first night, uncomfortable as you had been the first minutes before falling sleep, maybe because you had stressed yourself enough or because you were truly tired and he had noticed.

           He noticed the smaller things. Jason wanted to know that her small things were big and loud as shouts for him. He noticed, he knew.

***

           She knew too.

           “I see you, (Y/N) (L/N).” He tells you one night, cuddled up against him, laughter dying in your throat from the self-deprecating joke. You can’t even remember what it was about, but his eyes, his gorgeous eyes had made you feel bashful, almost timid.

           And that scared you to death. You know what he means, what he sees – you, in your rawest form, your most humane and vulnerable sides. And he stays anyways.

           “Well how could you not with your stupid frog-like eyes, dumbass?”. You retort before laughing, pushing him from your body almost too scared.

           You have to fight, or otherwise you’ll lose. You knew that back then and you know that now. Falling in love with Jason is almost too easy, giving up into his eyes and his big cuddly arms, the loving monster that he is – and you mean that in a good way, always in a good way. You knew of his vulnerabilities as much as he knew about yours, and you had something deep, tainted by moments that made your stomach flutter, your cheeks blush at times.

           There’s only one remedy against that.

           ***

           Jason pushes you against your wall, making you gasp and the pictures behind you flutter, scaring you for a second – but then you forget, his incredible mouth on your neck making things, sucking skin, so deliciously that your thigs trap him deeper. His arms, holding you up by your ass against the wall, squeeze the flesh even with clothes between you. He groans, his bulge pressing against your hot core, mewls coming out of your mouth. It’s so easy to start, why hadn’t you done this before?

           Oh, right, because sex fucks things up like love. It’s the second most dangerous thing after opening your heart to someone, and you know that this is it. He will take you, and after that, he will be done with you, like the rest of men in your life. You grab him harshly, taking him back from hair so that he can look at you, with your very serious and commanding eyes:

           “Sofa, now.”

           He takes you there, almost pushing you into it as he descends. You take off your blouse, bra – and like a dog, by instinct, he attacks your chest, hardened nipples to play with as you moan, trousers becoming more and more uncomfortable.

           “Take it off, take it all off, Jay.” You beg, this time, helping him in the process before he starts taking clothes off your body, worshipping almost. That’s dangerous.

           You thought Jason would be a selfish lover – he seemed like the type, himself coming first before the rest (no pun intended), but to your great surprise you get to cum two times before he finally lets himself in, with your very tired but pleasured permission. You are in love with his body, you can say that much, as his cock and his dominating presence is all you can see, your legs opened for him, about to enter your dripping entrance-

           “Jay!”. You moan, nails going for his arms, the closest thing to you at the moment. He fucks you without abandon, mere lust and want behind, no love to be seen on a couch-fuck that will never be spoken of again.

           You get on top of him and ride him, as he meets your thrusts halfway there. He gives and gives and gives, thinking he will get something in exchange, maybe you will say something stupid like the stupid things he wants to say as he gets to see your pleasured expression, blissed out face and moaning and whimpers – but there’s no “I love you’s”, no “I want to be more”, no “I kind of haven’t been thinking of you as just a friend for the last past months”. He has been often thinking about it these last weeks, but there isn’t that kind of realization as he finishes you.

           But if that’s what you want for now, he will respect it. He will if it means holding you close to his body in your most vulnerable time, after coming down from an orgasm and grabbing her neck as she calms down. Jason takes her to bed after cleaning them up, and slowly, almost groggily, falls asleep, protecting her from the rest of the world. He just wishes he could have kept that night longer, eternal. Nothing is the same after that.

           ***

           The first times after that are incredible sex-wise, but there’s no communication. There’s moans, dirty talking and kinky conversations that they hadn’t touch on before, but nothing deep, most definitely not loving. But slowly, they make their way into something else, in the precious pillow talk that becomes his favorite moment after making her cum again and again.

           “No, no, that’s the thing! Everyone loves Picasso, but not a lot of people know what a misogynistic ass he was! There are far better alternatives than him, way too underrated and unknown from the same movement! And that goes for the little racist bitch that’s Lovecraft! He has his freaking cult and he was the worst person to exist on-“

           She rambles, rants on about writers, painters, artists which she loves and hates, things she seems to want to share with him. He loves that, her passion, how intelligent she is, and how he looks at her, expectantly before he shares his own, which most often than not is with hers. She likes that. Sometimes they don’t coincide, but that’s okay too because she gets even more fired up, and they end up kissing, just to “make-up” even when there’s nothing to make up for. But he likes that, he adores it. He just wonders how long that precious period will last before problems arise, and he’s right in doing so. Jason is prepared at least.

***

           “I just can’t say.”

           “But why? It’s just-we’ve been through so much together, Jay! I’ve told you everything, and I thought you had done the same, how can you not then? Trust me with that?”

           “That” happens to be his vigilante life, one he plans on keeping form her as long as they live. He’s seen people die, get attacked, be kidnapped – he won’t forgive himself if someone is to take you, especially with the Joker back in Gotham once more. To Jason, the more he loved and opened to you, the more you became a target, a weakness: his weakness. It was the eternal superhero’s dilemma, wasn’t it?

           “No, fuck you! You knew how big my trust issues were, you knew how long it took me to open up! And then you just can’t take that big step for me? Are you serious, Todd? I really don’t know where we are headed, it’s just a mystery at this point! Sometimes you-you do that where you stare at me with-with love! And then there’s this comfortable silence, the kisses in-between! I’m not comfortable with the idea of taking things to the next step, but if it’s with you, I can make do! But not if we are going to be like this, if you are going to be this way”. Your finger accuses him, almost making a hole in his chest. It hurts, because more than anything she’s disappointed. Dealing with anger was easy – take the blow, the insults, let them steam off, and then hug. Nothing more. But with disappointment, he never knows what quite to do. And she’s a bit like that as well. “I need space. Don’t wait on for me.”

           ***            You still fuck for the months to come, but there are few kisses in between, just on the stupid days you let yourself be swept on by his charm, his hands that undo you more times that you can remember. It’s easy to concede a bit, be sweet for a time before retreating, hiding yourself – nothing has been the same since the fight, and Jason is desperately trying to gain the closeness he’s lost in the months that this has been going on.

           There’s movie marathons, still you come to his apartment and he comes to yours late in the night – but whenever he comes from a vigilante mission, she kinda somehow knows because of the hours and thus, Jason always finds her asleep, giving him her back before getting into bed. He kisses her nape, the naked skin between neck and shoulder, and presses his head into her back as if saying “sorry”. It never works, because you never turn around, as wake as you are. It won’t make the cut, because he’s still not talking.

           But then the unimaginable happens.

           Jason discovers that (Y/N) and fucking Dick Grayson are keeping in contact.

           Things spiral down from that point on.

           ***

           You fall slowly in love with Dick. He has a girlfriend and insinuates so in one of your hangouts (they are no longer meetings, just friends chilling), but you couldn’t care less. Dick has something that Jason hasn’t quite show you: honesty, undoubted charm, and easy-going attitude. Nothing is intense, you never go home angry or disappointed, upset that he doesn’t trust you. Richard Grayson seems to, to your own surprise, hold you in great admiration. In between some things because you are Jason’s girlfriend – and the rest because of your personality, the charm he says you have.

           “It’s like I never fully get to know you. Some days you say this, and then you say that – it’s fascinating.” You take it as a compliment, chuckling with slightly pink cheeks as you look at his eyes, dilated and flirty.

           “Well, that keeps things interesting, doesn’t it? You’ll never get tired of me.”

           Sometimes he gets nervous; others he fully blushes and other he flirts back; you are sure of that. And the comfort of his arms around you when you say goodbye is something you aren’t sure you can ignore for much longer. The meetings started as informative reports, if you are to define it in some way; the relationship with the Wayne’s was not at his best, but still Dick wanted to keep in contact, see how Jason was doing, seeing as he had no apparent job. Things started politely enough, brief talks before parting ways, until you started giving in more of your relationship problems (or whatever the hell Jason and you had, seeing as you are not officially going out) and Dick slowly started to voice things out.

           And it all seems to go good enough so that Jason starts to get worried. Then he plainly follows you, stalks you, one of your days – he observes you eating out with someone else, which makes his instincts calm, but the moment they step out into the cold and the guy helps her with her coat, he can catch the profile of his face. And he launches himself before he can think about it through, going for his face and making his head bounce almost back from the window.

           ***

           You shout his name and grab a hold of his arm as you take him back, try to take him apart from Dick Grayson, whose stomach he’s currently going for. No one else seems to want to step in, thus making your job more difficult. But you’ve seen it before, and he won’t stop – he doesn’t know how to stop when this kind of things happens, something gets triggered inside his head. He’s told you so many times that you can actually remember, and you can fully understand the feeling – he’s lost control. But still you grab his arm, try to push his chest back and make him look at you. When you make contact two times in a row, he stops, letting himself be slightly pushed back, stopped.

           People are staring, and Dick is on the floor coughing; Jason’s knuckles are red and slightly bruised, and Grayson’s shirt is dark and dirty because of his boots. He hates that, losing control, you know – you grab him by the jaw before telling him sweet nothings, making him relax almost in your touch. He’s explosive, dangerous like that but you still stay. That amazes him.

           ***

           He takes you desperately, like fucking his way into your body until you can’t remember anything anymore, you will get tired of him – when will it be, when will it be? He wishes he could stop thinking that as he makes his way inside your body, desperately bruises your lips with love, as if making you understand: I love you, he too timidly mouthes into her as her eyes close, on the ceiling out of pleasure. It’s a slow rut, but deep and pleasurable – you cum once and then he finishes off on your stomach, kisses in between, (Y/N) whispering sweet confirmations, phrases of pure love and desire:

           “You can let go, you can cum. Cum on me, get me dirty too, baby. You are fine, you are safe, I need you. I need you, just you. Okay? Okay, Jay, baby. Just go, let go.”

           He does. He kisses you. You kiss back, and soon after, turn to sleep.

           Slowly, you are slipping away.

           ***

           The inevitable happens: sex stops, and you stop talking. Sometimes you don’t ever get to see each other. What’s the point? You cut things off, and Jason just accepts. How had it been that easy? You cannot fully understand, but it’s something you definitively appreciate. Were you in the wrong perhaps? As Dick opens his mouth, apparently to greet you, you realize. It’s clear to you as the day:

           “I have to tell you something.”

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,448

Tag List: @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali​, @hobipluto​

Chapter 40: Let Go

”No, but I accept your blame. Really, it’s time to say goodbye.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Two weeks had passed since his encounter with Kihyun. Yoongi never would have guessed that seeing Kihyun under those circumstances would rattle him to the core. He’d been uneasy ever since, wondering when he would next run into the man; wondering if he would be better prepared for whatever words would come tumbling from his mouth next.

There was no lingering attachment there. At least not from Yoongi. That part of his life he’d put far behind him. He’d let it go when he traveled to the States and met Eden for the first time. He was able to see someone come from nothing, yet determined to make something of herself. She wasn’t the sort of person who accepted handouts and she always returned a favor – not wanting to place herself in the debt of others.

For the first time in a while, Yoongi thought of his family; the family he’d left behind in Hwaseong. His father, ironically, was the former police chief in the area. His mother ran her business from home, making calendars for people from the photos she’d taken. Yoongi adopted a love of photography thanks to her, but there were few moments when he ventured out with his camera. He just hadn’t had the time for it like he had when he was still a school kid.

Until now.

The shutter clicked wildly as he roamed around one of the parks in Gangnam. Spring was upon them. The blossoms from the cherry trees fluttered in waves on the ground and through the skies. The soft breeze tickled the hairs around his ears, reminding him that he probably needed to get a haircut soon. His legs carried him through the park, memories flooding his mind as he took nature shots and pictures of unsuspecting pedestrians.

There was a time when he would come to the park, usually late at night, with Eden. She hadn’t minded since there were nights when they both worked late. He frowned, recalling the memory of her laughing as she sprayed him with the bottle of water she had in her hand. His hair was drenched and water dripped from his eyelashes and chin, allowing her to get about a five-foot head start before giving chase.

She always let him catch her.

Yoongi sighed, shaking his head to chase the memory away. Stop, he chastised himself, you need to stop. She’s not here and she won’t be.

An image of Jungkook smiling widely as he embraced her replaced the vision in his mind. He paused in his steps, his hands cradling his camera lowering slowly. They finally fell to his sides and the weight of the camera tugged at the strap around his neck. A heaviness filled his chest until it finally collapsed into the pit of his stomach. Yoongi knew he had no right to feel anything at the sight of them together, whether in real life or in his own mind. The reality was still the same. He’d fucked up and his younger brother was doing the one thing he never had the courage to.

He was honest with the woman he loved.

Yoongi scoffed, reaching up to scratch at the side of his nose. A sardonic smile passed over his features as he admitted to himself that he had, in fact, loved that stubborn woman. That he was still in love with her. But he knew he’d blown it and there was no turning back the clock, no matter how much he might have wanted to. The situation was plain and clear as the daylight breaking through the canopy of trees over his head.

It was over. All he had to do was admit it to himself. Truly admit it.

Taking a few steps, he broke through a row of trees and deviated from the path. In the center of the park was a large rock near a man-made creek. The sunlight was always the best here, shining down without prejudice on whoever wished to seek out its light. His feet shuffled through the grass as he ducked under a low hanging branch, using his hand to shield his eyes from the mid-morning light that threatened to blind him.

Just as he was mentally cursing himself for not remembering to bring his sunglasses, he stopped and stared. For a moment, he thought he was seeing things and began to roughly rub his eyes with his fists. Blinking the prism-like spots from his vision, he looked again and saw that he hadn’t, in fact, been imagining things.

There, on the rock, laid Eden – sprawled out like a tiger who’d just finished devouring a kill that was hunted and sleeping off the heavy meal. Her olive skin glowed in the sunlight and he was surprised to see that she was willingly allowing the sun to touch her flesh. He remembered her saying how she hated the sun because it often baked her to a darker shade of brown than she liked, making her look Middle Eastern at times. Not that she had anything against them, but people were always getting her ethnic background wrong and it annoyed her.

Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, signifying that she was, in fact, asleep. Deep asleep, in fact. The gentle babbling from the creek and twittering of birds served as the perfect ambiance to rest and relax. There was a book opened face down on her stomach and her fingers splayed over the spine, holding it in place. But with each breath she took, it slowly slipped further and further from her hand. At the angle she was lying, the moment it left her fingers it would fall into the creek.

As if predicting the future, Yoongi watched the book begin its descent and he rushed forward, snatching up the book before it could meet its watery end. His heart hammered heavily against his ribs as he sighed, standing to his full height before closing the book. Eden mumbled something incoherent before rolling over on the smooth rock to readjust herself to a more comfortable position.

Yoongi was almost flabbergasted by this. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d allowed herself to be this vulnerable. Unless she believed she was safe, she would always jolt awake to the most innocent of sounds – a knife at the ready in her hand.

His brows furrowed while canting his head to the side. Is that it? Yoongi reached out with one hand, his fingers just barely touching her cheek. Do you feel safe here?

She groaned sleepily, causing him to flinch involuntarily. He yanked his hand back, as though he was being struck by a snake. Seconds later, Eden’s phone went off and she immediately sat up – patting her pockets for the item to get it to shut up. Yoongi stood rooted in his spot, unable to flee the scene. He continued to stare at her even as she groggily fisted her eyes to rid them of the sleepy haze sitting on the backs of her eyelids. Eden smacked her lips and then began looking around, her eyes falling on Yoongi.

As she looked at him, Yoongi didn’t move; he didn’t even breathe. Eden seemed to gather up her surroundings and the sleepiness in her gaze was quickly replaced with realization. Her eyes widened as her lips parted, prepared to scream at him. Without thinking, he reached out and covered her mouth with his hand, silencing whatever verbal onslaught she had prepared for him.

“Look, before you say anything, this is completely a coincidence,” he explained rapidly, feeling her huffing over his fingers, “so don’t get crazy, okay?”

Slowly, he removed his hand and held his arms up in surrender. She narrowed her eyes at him, the irritation evident. But she didn’t say anything. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or upset by her lack of clapbacks at that moment.

“Why are you sleeping here?”

“It’s a nice day out and I felt like taking a nap,” she said while standing from the rock, snatching the book from Yoongi’s hand. He’d almost forgotten he’d had it. “Sleeping on the rooftop gets too hot and I burn that way.”

“Yeah, I know…”

For a moment, no other words were shared between them. Even though Yoongi had so much he wanted to say, he couldn’t formulate the words the way he would have liked. Everything he tried to start with sounded like an excuse and all the other options made him sound like an idiot. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yoongi sighed as he roughly rubbed the back of his head.

“Eden,” he began, his heart rate escalating a measure, “I just…” Eden’s gaze practically bore into his forehead and Yoongi considered averting his gaze. However, he thought better of it and, instead, cleared his throat loudly. “…I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked quickly, catching him off guard. Licking his lips, he just looked at her as she folded her arms across her chest. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi-ah? Hm? That you got caught or that I’m with Jungkook now?”

There it was. The dig he was waiting for. He’d prepared himself for it, but he didn’t expect hearing her say it out loud to hurt so much. It was like he’d been hit in the gut with a cannon ball, the proverbial wind knocked straight from his lungs.

It was quickly replaced with anger.

“Goddammit, woman,” he snarled, taking a step forward to close what little distance there was between them, “you are fucking impossible, you know that?”

She sniffed, smirking. “I do, actually.”

Eden moved to pass him, but he quickly grabbed her by her upper arm, yanking her back so that she was flush against his chest. A gasp spilled from her, causing her book to fall against the grass as it slipped from her fingers. She tried to jerk free from him, but he squeezed tighter. He saw her brow twitch, probably from how hard he was holding her, but Yoongi couldn’t stop.

His body moved faster than his brain could process, unable to prevent him from doing what he was getting ready to do. Still in his grasp, Yoongi pushed Eden until her back hit the trunk of a tree. The leaves shuddered with the sudden force placed on its surface and she let out a soft cry. Glaring up at him, he matched her gaze as he looked into her eyes – his reflection cast back at him from her dark umber tones. Eden’s lips pressed together into a thin line, slowly blinking at him. But he saw the tell-tale red flare around her neck to show that her anger was mounting with each passing second.

Yoongi pressed his hips against hers, further bracing her against the tree and preventing her from escaping. But she made no move to remove herself from the situation. Whether she believed it was fruitless or if she was unable to was something that Yoongi couldn’t figure out. Her expression was so impassive outside of her clear outrage. She could have pushed him aside, slapped him, kicked him in the shin or, hell, even kneed him in the nuts.

But she did none of that. The only sign of a visible struggle was the flex of her muscle against his fingers. Why wasn’t she fighting back?

“Yoongi-ah,” she said, cutting through the turmoil raging in his head. He blinked, looking at her – really looking at her. But he couldn’t read the face she was making. “What do you want from me?”

“W-What?” He felt his mouth go dry and he involuntarily tried to swallow.

“You heard me.” She lazily blinked again. “What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?”

Eden made a point to enunciate each word of the question. It stung, like someone plucking hairs straight from the root of his head. But it was a question he wasn’t ready to answer. Or maybe he didn’t have an answer. He had every opportunity to fix the problems he’d caused. He had every chance in the world to come clean and he hadn’t. Asking anything from her, even now, would have been plain selfishness.

Yet, Yoongi wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy. He wanted to play dirty and he wanted to be as unfair as humanly possible.

Instead of answering her, he leaned forward and forcefully pressed his lips against hers. He heard her sharp intake of breath and there was a sound of bark scraping from the tree and hitting the grass. Yoongi waited for her to shove him, slap him, or even to feel a sharp pain in his gut as she stabbed him. None of it came.

Nothing happened.

When he pulled back, Yoongi saw Eden’s eyes filling with tears. Whether they were angry tears or something else, he couldn’t be sure. When they finally leaked from her eyes, he took a step back and released the hold he had on her. His breath came out rapidly – like he’d broken the surface of the ocean after nearly sinking to his death.

There was clarity. Absolute clarity.

And it hurt him.

“Eden, I—”

“Wow,” she said, her bottom lip trembling as more tears streamed down her face, “you’re a real asshole, Min Yoongi. You know that?”

He sighed, nodding.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re scum.”

He averted his gaze, too ashamed to look at her.

“I know.”

“And you’re the worst kind of pretender.”

He closed his eyes, wincing.

“You’re right. I am.”

Yoongi heard her leaving, her body shuffling through the grass and branches to exit the park. When her footsteps were far enough away, he felt his legs begin to tremble. Taking a step forward, he spun and let his back fall against the tree Eden previously was pressed on. It was still warm.

He looked down, spying the book that still laid abandoned on the grass. He slid down until he was sitting, his hand reaching out to grasp the book and finally looking at the title. Yoongi smiled bitterly.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?”

A pathetic laugh escaped his chest as he covered his eyes with his forearm. It was over. It was really over. To think otherwise would have been a fool’s errand. Mistakes were made, even now, and Yoongi had no choice but to admit to them. To admit that she was no longer his.

That she never would be.

Hugging one knee to his chest, he buried his face into the crook of his arm and released a painful laugh. “…I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “Your Hyung is so fucking sorry.”