#(argument/discussion of emotions/whatever the fuck you want to call it)

[laughinglynx]

.

[seungminsbaldspot]

Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 3805

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years, Reader is referred to as female and wife

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal: References to an affair and its emotional fallout, Emotional Turmoil: Repeated cycles of using others for support followed by pain, Unwanted Pregnancy: Discussion of a potential pregnancy with uncertain paternity, Conflict and Blame: Arguments and blame related to the affair and its effects,Intense Conversations: Emotional discussions filled with guilt, regret, and frustration, Relationship Breakdown: Decision to take a break from a relationship due to ongoing issues, and Self-Destructive Patterns: Seeking comfort in a way that leads to more distress.

Author’s note: I think if I could give this fic a song, I think it would be 'don't speak - no doubt’

Taglist:(comment if you wanna be added) @fate-posts

Spoiler: All you get is, there will be a part 4

Click here for part four !

Click here for the previous part two!

It's been a few weeks of this cycle: you using Five whenever the loneliness and anger become too much to bear, then pushing him away, crying in the aftermath, and repeating the cycle. Each encounter is a mix of bitterness and need, a desperate attempt to fill the void left by his betrayal while simultaneously punishing him for it.

Every time, you find solace in his presence, yet the relief is fleeting. The passion you once shared has become a battleground, where your emotions clash and your pain is laid bare. Afterward, as you watch him leave, you are left with a profound sense of emptiness, the tears you shed a stark reminder of the unresolved hurt that still lingers.

Even though this cycle is far from ideal for either of you, it has provided a certain measure of relief. Diego and Lila seem to be finding their way back to happiness, and as for you and Five—well, you’re not divorced, but it's hard to say if what you share can still be called a marriage.

It’s more of a fuck-buddy system now, with you being the only one reaching out. You start to wonder if Five ever gets tired of this arrangement. A flicker of sympathy for him crosses your mind, but it quickly fades when you remember the betrayal. He cheated on you—with his brother’s wife.

A knock on your bedroom door reels your out of your thoughts.

You open the bedroom door to find Lila standing there, her expression a mix of concern and resolve. She’s dressed casually, but there’s a seriousness in her posture that catches your attention.

“Hey,” she begins, her voice tentative but steady. “I was wondering if we could talk.” You nod, stepping aside to let her in. She walks into the room, glancing around as if taking in the remnants of your own turmoil. You close the door behind her, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Lila takes a seat on the edge of your bed, her eyes meeting yours with a searching look. “I know things have been... complicated between us,” she starts, her voice gentle. “And I know that everything with Diego and Five has been tough on you. But I think it’s time we had an honest conversation.”

You sit down across from her, your mind racing with the possible reasons for her visit. Her sincerity and the weight of her words prompt you to brace yourself for what’s to come.

“First off, I want to say I’m sorry,” Lila begins, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry for allowing what happened to happen.”You throw your hand up, shaking your head in frustration. “It takes two to tango, Lila. It wasn’t just you. It wasn’t just him.”

She nods, her eyes reflecting a mix of guilt and regret. “I know, but still…” She trails off, lost in thought for a moment. After a deep breath, she looks at you with a conflicted expression. “I’m not sure if telling you this is going to be a good idea.”

Your eyebrows furrow, curiosity and concern mingling in your gaze. “What do you mean? If there’s something you need to say, just say it.”

Lila hesitates, her eyes darting away, and then finally meets your gaze again. “I think I’m pregnant.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, each syllable carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken fears and uncertainties. You stare at her, your mind racing as you try to process what she’s just said. The room feels suddenly smaller, the tension could be cut with a knife .

I—” You start, but no words come out. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Are you sure?” Lila nods, her expression a mix of fear and resignation. “I’ve taken a few tests, and they’ve all been positive. I haven’t told Diego yet. I wasn’t sure how or when to bring it up.”

You run your hand through your hair, sitting in silence and shock. The room feels like it’s closing in around you. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how far along I am. And there may be a slight chance… that… Five could maybe be the father.”

The weight of her words lands heavily on you, the implications sprawling out in every direction. Your mind races through the possibilities, each one more tangled and complicated than the last.

“Five?” you repeat, trying to grasp the full extent of what she’s saying. “You think… there’s a chance this could be Five’s baby?” Lila’s eyes are filled with a mix of regret and uncertainty. “I don’t know for sure, but I dunno, with the timing of everything, It could be his.”

You sit in stunned silence, struggling to process the revelation. “This is... a lot. I mean, Five and I, we’ve been—”

“Using each other,” Lila finishes for you, her voice barely a whisper. You sigh, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the revelation. “This—this is a lot, Lila. I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, feeling utterly defeated.

She nods, her eyes reflecting her own fear and regret. “I know... I’m sorry. I just wanted to be honest. I’m terrified of what this means for Diego and me, and for you and Five.”

You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around the enormity of what Lila just shared. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, Lila.” Your voice is steadier than you feel, masking the chaos that’s erupting inside of you.

Lila takes a deep breath, her hands twisting in her lap. “Because you deserved to know the truth. I thought... maybe if we’re honest with each other, we can figure out what to do next.” Her voice wavers, but there's a glimmer of determination in her eyes.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “And what exactly is there to figure out, Lila? We wait. We wait for this child to grow enough to get a paternity test, and then we deal with whatever the hell happens afterwards.”

Lila flinches at the harshness of your words, her expression a mix of guilt and resolve. “I know it’s not that simple,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But what else can we do? I just wanted to be honest with you, to try and make things right somehow. I don’t want any more secrets between us.”

You shake your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “You think being honest makes up for any of this? You think it undoes the fact that you two fucked?” Your words come out sharper than you intended, the anger being unable to be contained.

Lila's face crumples, her eyes welling up with tears as she looks down, unable to meet your gaze. “No,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I know it doesn’t make up for it. I know it won’t change what happened. But I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t happen, either. I’m trying to face it, to deal with it... even if it means facing you like this.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair as you try to keep your emotions in check. “You want to face it? Fine. But I can’t pretend this makes us friends or whatever. You broke something—something that can’t just be fixed with a sorry and some honesty.”

Lila nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I know. I’m not asking for forgiveness... I’m not even sure I deserve it. I just wanted to be truthful, to at least try and do the right thing for once.”

You look at her, seeing the raw emotion in her eyes, the genuine remorse etched across her face. For a moment, your anger softens, replaced by a heavy, painful understanding. She’s just trying to figure everything out too, struggling to navigate the chaos and consequences of her actions, just like you. But it doesn’t erase the fact that she played a big part in all of this, that her choices have led to this mess that now binds all of you together.

Still, there’s a part of you that wants to hold onto the anger, to use it as a shield against the hurt and betrayal. Yet, seeing her like this, vulnerable and regretful, you can’t help but feel a flicker of empathy. Maybe she doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but neither of you deserve this situation either.

You exhale slowly, trying to push away the conflicting emotions that swirl inside you. “Look, Lila,” you say, your voice more steady now, “I get that you’re trying to do the right thing. And I get that you’re scared. Hell, I am too. But I can’t just pretend like everything’s okay because you decided to come clean.”

Lila nods again, swallowing hard. “I know,” she whispers. “I don’t expect things to be okay. I just… I need you to know the truth. I thought it was the least I could do.”

You let out another sigh, feeling the weight of her words settle over you like a heavy blanket. “Yeah…” you murmur, trailing off as the enormity of the situation sinks in. Lila takes a deep breath, her gaze shifting nervously before she speaks again. “Do you think you could... tell Five for me?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Why in the hell would I do that?” you snap, unable to hide your frustration.

Lila bites her lip, her eyes filled with a mix of desperation and vulnerability. “Because I’m scared,” she admits softly. “I don’t know how he’s going to react, and I don’t think I can handle another confrontation right now.”

You stare at her in disbelief, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re scared?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. “Lila, I’m barely holding it together myself. You think I want to be the one to tell him that there’s a chance he might be the father? That’s your issue to deal with.”

She flinches at your words, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I get it, I do,” she says quietly, her voice trembling. “But I thought... maybe he’d take it better coming from you.”

You shake your head, frustration boiling over. “That’s because I’m his wife, Lila. Or at least, I was before all this happened,” you snap. “But I’m not your messenger, and I’m certainly not going to be the one to clean up your fuck-ups.”

Lila flinches again, your words hitting her like a physical blow. Her eyes brim with fresh tears, but she blinks them back, trying to hold herself together. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I know this is my mess. I just… I thought maybe… since you know him better…”

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, your frustration reaching its peak. “Don’t you dare put this shit on me,” you snap, your voice cold and unyielding. “I didn’t cause this mess, and I’m not going to be the one to clean it up for you. You made your choices, Lila. Now you have to deal with them.”

Lila’s face crumples, her composure breaking under the weight of your words. “I’m sorry,” she says again, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve hurt Diego, and now this… I just don’t know how to fix it.”

You feel a mix of anger and pity as you look at her, sitting there so lost and broken. Part of you wants to scream at her, to make her feel the full weight of the pain she’s caused. But another part of you, a quieter, more compassionate part, recognizes her remorse and the fear in her eyes. She’s struggling, just like you are, caught in a situation that has spiraled out of control.

“Lila,” you say more calmly, though your voice still holds a steely edge, “I’m not the one who can make this right. You need to talk to Diego. You need to talk to Five. You need to deal with this. I can’t do it for you. I won’t.” She nods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll… I’ll figure it out. I just… I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause, the silence between you heavy and loaded with unspoken emotions. Finally, you sigh, feeling some of the tension leave your body. “Just… be honest with them,” you say softly. “That’s all you can do now.” Lila nods, her expression a mix of determination and fear. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “For listening. For… for everything.”

Without another word, she turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind her. You stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door, feeling a whirlwind of emotions—anger, frustration, sadness, and a tiny, flickering ember of hope. Maybe, somehow, things could start to heal. Maybe, with time, you could all find a way forward. But for now, all you can do is take it one step at a time.

A little while later, another knock breaks the silence, pulling you from the depths of your thoughts. You’ve been sitting alone in the quiet room, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You feel drained, the emotional toll of the last conversation still fresh, and the last thing you want is another confrontation.

With a weary sigh, you stand and cross the room to open the door. On the other side, Five stands there, his expression tight with worry. His eyes quickly scan you, taking in your disheveled appearance and the exhaustion etched across your face.

"Hey," he says, his voice unsteady but low. He looks you up and down again, as if searching for some clue to your state of mind. You sigh, “What hell do you want?” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, “Lila told me.”

You stand there, feeling the weight of his words. “She told you?” you echo, trying to keep your voice steady. Five nods, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. “Can I come in?” he asks quietly.

You sigh, stepping aside to let him in. As he crosses the threshold, you can’t help but feel a lingering, complicated affection for him, despite everything that’s happened.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and you sit down beside him, the space between you feeling both intimate and charged with unresolved tension. Five runs a hand through his hair, his eyes meeting yours with a pained expression. “I have no fucking idea what to do,” he admits, his voice heavy with frustration.

You stifle a laugh, the sound coming out more like a bitter chuckle. “Welcome to the fucking club,” you reply, your tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and resignation. The absurdity of the situation is almost too much to bear, and yet, there’s a part of you that appreciates his honesty and vulnerability.

Five’s expression softens slightly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “So what now?” he asks, his voice quieter. You chuckle again, “Who’s ‘we,’ Five? Last time I checked, it only takes two to make a baby,” you reply, your tone reflecting the harsh reality of the situation. The words hang between you.

Five looks down, clearly grappling with the weight of your words. “I know,” he says quietly, his voice heavy. “I just... What if it is mine?”

You shrug, the gesture feeling as heavy as the conversation. “Then you’d be the father,” you reply coldly. Your tone is blunt, a reflection of the emotional exhaustion you’re feeling—tired of crying, tired of being upset.

He groans, “No fucking shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do? What are we going to do?” He gestures between the two of you, his frustration clear.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your own emotions in check. “Look, Five,” you begin, your voice firm but weary, “The only thing you, Lila, and Diego can do is wait. Wait for the baby to be old enough to take a paternity test.

He sighs but nods, “Sorry for getting angry at you.” You shrug. unsure of what to say. At this point, words seem inadequate. The situation is so far beyond simple apologies and explanations. You just nod, acknowledging his apology without feeling the need to respond.

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with the weight of your shared pain. Five’s eyes linger on your face, his concern cutting through the tension. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice betraying a genuine worry despite the strained circumstances.

You almost laugh, the irony and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, I’ve been so fucking good,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since the day I learned my husband cheated on me with his brother’s wife, and now that said wife might be carrying said husband’s baby.” You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head. “Everything’s just perfect.”

Five's face tightens with guilt and sorrow as he processes your words. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. “I never wanted any of this to happen. I know that’s not enough, but I’m trying— Fuck, I’m trying so fucking hard to make you forgive me.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his movements.

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, his voice rough and strained. “I’m trying, alright? I’m here, doing whatever fucked-up shit you need me to do. I thought maybe I could help in some way, even if it’s just by being here for you. But it feels like nothing I do is right. I don’t know how to fix this or if I even can. I’m just fucking lost.”

He pauses, his eyes searching yours for any sign of redemption or understanding. The frustration and self-loathing in his voice are palpable. You can see the weight of his guilt and regret hanging heavy on him, his attempts to fix things feeling futile and exhausting.

You look away from his intense gaze, the depth of his pain hitting you hard. “I just really fucking love you, alright?” he says, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek and turning your face towards him. The touch is tender, almost desperate, as if he's trying to hold on to the last remnants of what you once shared. His eyes, filled with a mix of hope and anguish, search yours for some sign that his words have made a difference.

You feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, the contact both comforting and excruciatingly painful. The depth of his plea and the sincerity in his touch make your heart ache, caught between the love you still feel and the hurt that's been inflicted. His gaze is unwavering, his desperation to mend what’s broken evident in the way he holds your face, as if afraid that if he lets go, he’ll lose you completely.

You sigh, your eyes closing briefly as you gather your thoughts. Slowly, you grasp his wrist and pull it away, creating a necessary distance between you. “Five,” you begin, your voice weary but resolute, “I can’t keep doing this. This is too fucking painful.”

He looks at you, confusion and hurt mixing in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words amidst the storm of emotions. “I think we need to take a break," you say, your voice quiet but firm. "This situation... it's too complicated, too messy. We both need time to figure things out, especially with everything that's happening with Lila." You pause, meeting Five's gaze, "I can't keep letting myself be hurt by you."

His expression shifts, a mix of shock and sadness settling in. “A break?” he repeats, his voice barely audible. You nod, your resolve firm despite the emotional weight of the moment. “Yes, a break.” You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

He looks at you, confusion and hurt mingling in his eyes. “We’ve never done anything like this before…” he states, his voice trailing off as he searches your face for some hint of a different solution.

You nod, unable to meet his gaze. It hurts, it hurts really fucking bad. You love this man—or loved him? You aren’t too sure anymore. You’ve been through so much together, and the thought of putting distance between you feels like a stab to the heart.

You finally look up, your voice breaking with raw emotion. “I think it’s— it’s for the best.”

You can see the pain in Five's eyes, the way his shoulders slump at your words. He takes a shaky breath, his voice cracking as he struggles to hold back tears. “If that’s what you need...” he begins, but his words trail off, unable to complete the thought. The weight of your decision hangs heavily in the air between you.

You look away, unable to bear the sight of him in such distress—the man you love - broken by your own choices. It’s a painful reminder of the betrayal that brought you to this point, and your heart aches even as you try to stay firm.

Five sighs deeply, gathering himself as he rises from the bed. He walks slowly toward the door, each step heavy with resignation. “I guess I’ll keep you updated on anything that happens with Lila and the baby,” he says, his voice a whisper, almost like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

You nod, the gesture feeling hollow as you wave him off. “Yeah, okay,” you reply, your tone subdued. As he exits, the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

[biohorror-human]

Trans people may or may not have popped off with the "block every radfem you see" idea because holy shit. You are all some of the most pessimistic and spiteful fuckers on earth. You all claim not to be bio-essentialist, and then turn around and say shit that is, at its core bio-essentialist. All of your ideas, in some way, revolve around hurting someone else. Want to destroy the gender binary? Certainly attacking trans people will help. Want to destroy child marriage? Tell people not to marry brown people, just, ever. Want to destroy the patriarchy? (This is the best one) Never organize, never protest, never coordinate, just sit around and cultivate a nightmarishly toxic environment and then have the GALL to ask "why are people so open about their disdain for radical feminism?"

Because all your ideas are rooted in hate. The last time I've had discussions this fucking bleak with people is when I got into an argument with an actual self-described Nazi. Btw, I know you radfems are super exclusionary and refuse to cooperate with any other social group, but maybe Nazis would be up your alley? Considering they also have an affinity for eugenics and wanting to eliminate general swathes of the population, I think you'd be great for each other.

I mean, just to list some of the bullshit you people constantly say which doesn't line up with any of the other shit you say: "trans and GNC people destroying the gender binary (which is good because we radfems don't like the gender binary) is actually BAD now because we were using that gender binary to call all men oppressors, and now we have to actually confront what specific societal issues enable someone to be an oppressor, instead of just saying that being a man makes you an oppressor (which is bio-essentialism, which we disagree with, unless you're amab, in which case then bio-essentialism is actually something we super-agree with)

And that's just one of the ones that I actually went into the effort of tracking down. In terms of shit that I've just seen on a whim: you say you hate bio-essentialism, but also people born male are naturally more oppressive. You say women should have the freedom to do whatever they want, unless that "want" is dating men, because even if they're happy in their relationship, they're actually secretly sad and lying. Because since when did feminists hold the belief that women could understand their own emotions? Pretty clothes are also bad, because men like to look at clothes. Nevermind what the woman behind those clothes thinks, you shouldn't be able to enjoy anything for any reason because a man might look at it and also enjoy it for a split fucking second.

You know what that last one makes me think of? How abusive husbands tell their wives that they can't wear revealing clothes because it will attract the gaze of other men. But history is obviously not your forte, because if it was you'd understand that the only way social movements like feminism prosper is if they cooperate with other social movements, a concept you could really stand to learn a thing or two about. Another cool historical fact is that segregation is, historically, frowned upon. But I still see you talking about how white women shouldn't date brown men, and how asian women shouldn't date white men.

You know, they actually made a haven for people like you. And no, this isn't going to lead to a "Nazi Germany" bait and switch. It was a place where women could only marry into their own race. Where police were around every corner. Where women actively ratted out people betraying that law. Where women were literally not allowed outside past a certain time. It was South Africa under fucking apartheid. You believe, on a fundamental level, the same shit that traditionalists (nazis) and conservatives believe in. You make yourselves miserable as a form of protest, but because your circles are so exclusive, the only people there to witness your misery are other radical feminists. You're creating a hyper-dense misery sphere that doesn't even take that pain out on the patriarchy, only on other women. You have absolutely, undoubtedly got to be the worst rebels in the history of rebellion. You're literally making the patriarchy's job easier by pre-misery-ifying women. You're streamlining the misery process. I've never seen another social movement do that.

I think the only thing you guys actually accomplished was making men who cared or were curious about your movement equally miserable. You know what I got when I tried to join the radfem discussion? When I made the MISTAKE of trying to learn about your cause to better support it? I got fucking berated. you people finally had a man WILLINGLY come up to you to internalize your ideas. And you know what you chose to say to me? When I had a question, you mocked my voice. You compared me to an ogre, or a giant. You said women SHOULD be scared of me because of the way I was born. You said I was a natural-born rapist. You spoke about how my androgens made me develop into a beast- made me resent my own body, on top of how I already dissociated with it. You demonized any thought of sexuality, shot down any idea of body-positivity. And even then, even after all that I thought it may have been positive. I thought maybe it made me stronger, that maybe I was more like you because I was able to see the flaws in my own biology. Nah. You just wanted me to be miserable, like you. I was your willing punching bag for all of your anger and resentment. You're the femme-fascist matriarchs of self loathing. The only boiling bucket of crabs who not just drags the crabs trying to escape back in, but actively coaxes new crabs to join. You want a revenge story in a world where revenge only leads to more suffering. Your definition of equal is only met when every man is twice as miserable as you. That's not a world anyone, man or woman or anything else deserves to live in.

I have a bunch more shit to say but even thinking about you miserable fucks is starting to rub off on me. Fuck the patriarchy. Trans pride rules.

[vctrvn-ls]

Treat Me Better part III

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part 1

part 2

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“Girl, you’ll be fine. It’s Kenny’s Birthday, all attention is on him. Sharky won’t even notice you.” Nella bumped into your hips with hers.

“I just- ugh.”

“What?”

“I don’t want it to be like that. This whole thing,” you waved your hands around “Is so stupid.”

“What thing?” Nella raised an eyebrow.

“The feelings and the vibes I’ve been getting over the past week after that awkward call that you gave me the confidence to make.”

“You’ll talk it out. Not today though. Don’t make a scene, I’m begging you.”

“I would nev-”

“Sshhhh, we’re here.”

You cautiously stepped into the brightly lit party venue, following Nella. 

You didn’t even have enough time to close the door when the familiar sight of Sharky triggered a rush of conflicting emotions within you instantly. 

“God,” you whispered to yourself.

You took a sharp breathe.

You hadn’t properly spoken since your heated argument a couple of weeks ago, and the tension between you was still palpable even from across the room.

As you tentatively made your way through the crowd, you caught a closer sight of Sharky. He was talking animatedly with Kenny, AJ and Chunkz. His gaze met yours, briefly, his expression unreadable. 

You could feel a knot forming in your stomach as you and Nella approached them, knowing that this encounter could potentially turn sour.

“Kenny!” Nella spread her arms out to greet the birthday boy.

“Hey girls,” Kenny giggled.

“This is from both of us,” Nella handed Kenny a big paper white bag “Open it later.” 

You smiled awkwardly and nodded.

Kenny hugged you “Thank you guys.”

Nella quickly joined the conversation with the boys while you stood there, pretending to listen.

"Hey," you said to Sharky in a moment when everyone else was focused on Chunkz’ story, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.

He turned towards you, his eyes dark and guarded. "What do you want?" he snapped.

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you.

"I just wanted to say hello. Can't we at least be civil to each other for the sake of our friends?" You replied, trying to keep your tone level.

Sharky scoffed, his tone dripping with bitterness. 

"Civil? Is that all you think this is about? You have no idea how much you hurt me, and now you just waltz in here like nothing happened."

The words stung, and you could feel your own anger simmering beneath the surface. 

Thank god the music was loud enough to cover your conversation while the others continued discussing whatever they were discussing.

"I hurt you? What about the way you called me sick in the head multiple times!?" You shot back, voice rising with each word.

The argument escalated quickly, your voices raising above the background noise of the party. 

Finally your friends noticed. Kenny and Chunkz gave you wary looks, sensing the clear tension between you, while Nella had a ‘seriously?’ expression on her face.

“Hey guys, why don’t you show me where the drinks and food are.” Nella swiftly grabbed AJ and Kenny by the elbows and Chunkz followed.

 As accusations flew back and forth, it became apparent that this encounter was spiraling into yet another explosive confrontation that now others around were starting to notice.

Sharky felt the unwanted gazes.

“Fuck,” he hastily grabbed your arm, practically dragging you into an empty hookah room.

He aggressively sat down and pulled you with him.

“Listen here, stop being so fucking selfish and let me and the others enjoy the party.”

“Selfish!?” You exclaimed.

“Oh my god,” he laughed sarcastically “Stop being so fucking dramatic and speak properly.”

You felt your face warm up in embarrassment.

“All I did was say hi,” you mumbled “you’re the one who started.”

“Yeah just fucking don’t talk to me. I really want to forget you. I really do.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“No? Why? Cause I’ve always been so nice to you? Let me guess, next words are ‘this ain’t the real you Sharky’” he mimicked your voice in an annoying high pitched tone.

Your eyebrows knitted “Sharky-”

“Don’t do that.” He pointed, referring to your innocent gaze “Don’t bother me. Don’t even come near me. Ever.” He got up and left, slamming the door.

A second later you began to quietly cry in the dark room.

There was only one thing left to do tonight…

Get absolutely wasted.

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[tieronecrush]

꒰ა ONLY ANGEL ໒꒱

javier peña x f!reader

chapter six: an angel cries

series masterlist

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: After his return to the US, Javier is trying to settle back into a normal life without the pressures of Colombia and the DEA, but he finds himself feeling isolated with no one to spend his nights with. Now a newly appointed criminology professor at Texas A&M, he is drawn to you, a post-grad student in one of his classes. You’re intelligent and witty, sweet and kind, and he can’t get you out of his mind. To cope with his growing loneliness and to rid himself of thoughts of you, he signs up for an “arrangement service” to connect him with somebody—a sugar baby—he can care for. After he is matched up with Angel, he finds himself developing feelings quicker than he ever expected, but what happens when he finds out Angel is really you?

series warnings: power imbalance (prof and student), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, discussion of money, criminal activity, judicial systems, graduate school, smut, daddy/papí kink, praise kink, degradation, self deprecation, discussion of self worth, multiple sexual or romantic partners, sex work, cursing, use of spanish, likely more warning so read at your own risk!

word count: 8.2k

a/n: no smut in this chapter but i promise (i hope) you'll all still love it!!!! so sorry this took so long but life got messy this last month and now hopefully has returned to somewhat normalcy (whatever normal is for me is still mostly chaotic but hey!) and i can get this series and some other new writing posted for y'all CONSISTENTLY. and thank you thank you thank you as ALWAYS @northernbluess for beta-ing. couldn't survive this hellscape of a website without you <3

In the first class after your argument, Javier doesn’t bat an eye when he marks you absent on the attendance log. He figured that you would skip, wanting to be able to avoid the lecture hall himself but being forced to do his job regardless. A small part of him hoped you wouldn’t break your perfect record, ever the attentive student, but that small part was naive to think that what he said — what he shamed you for — was easily forgotten in the name of a flawless attendance grade for the semester.

The venom laced in his voice that night felt so foreign coming out of him. The words spewed out of his mouth with only the aim to hurt you as badly as he had hurt when he saw you with the other man.

Callow, brutal, vile, spiteful, scared. No matter how many adjectives he used to attempt to brush away those words, that night, the broken look on your face, the tear streaks on your cheeks, he couldn’t get rid of the searing acid bubbling up from his stomach and blistering his throat. Every time he found himself surrounded by some quiet, found himself alone in his office or apartment or car, closed his eyes to fall asleep, all he could see was you, shattered in the streetlamp light, and all he could hear was your voice, coated in emotion and hurling pain back at him:

“I really thought you were different…”

“How can you say that shit when you tell me how much you care?”

“Fuck you, Javier. Fuck you.”

“Don’t fucking call me, don’t pull me after class. We’re done.”

As soon as he said the words, he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth. If it were about any woman, he would be shocked to hear them from himself.

But especially regarding you.

His angel. His Bebita. His fresh start. His girl.

The woman he had tripped into meeting and fallen for as quick as that first flash of your smile. He wasn’t going to let you go without trying.

Which is what led him into a routine of waking up each morning, giving your cell a call, and leaving a voicemail. He did the same before going to bed, and would call to leave you messages when something reminded him of you during the say.

“Morning, angel. Jus’ thought I’d try you again. And I know you said not to call, but I need to keep telling you how sorry I am. What I said was…vergonzoso. Disgraceful. Horrible. You never deserved to hear that…I’m so sorry, Bebita. You probably don’t care what I have to say, but hope you have a good day.”

“Hi, baby. Callin’ again. Missed you in class today, I haven’t gotten notice that you dropped from my course, so I do hope to see you Wednesday. Don’t worry about your grade…doin’ just fine, sabelotodo (smarty pants)...I, um, I’m wearing that navy suit of mine, and I reach into the pocket to try and find my faculty ID. Pulled out one of your lil’ doodles, and it’s of me — think ya nailed it. You captioned it too: ‘Relax your brow and smile, grumpy pants.’ Thanks for the reminder, Bebita. Sin embargo, eres la única razón por la que sonrío (You’re the only reason I smile, though.) I’m so sorry.”

“At this point, I know you’re not gonna answer, angel. But I can hope you listen to ‘em before deleting ‘em, so I’m saying goodnight…haven’t seen you in a couple a’weeks. Baby, I know I don’t have any right to ask but can you just let me know you’re alright? That you’re alive? You can call me and give me another ‘fuck you’ if you want…m’worried. Te extraño. I miss you. Parte de mi corazón falta sin ti. (Part of my heart is missing without you.) I’m so sorry.”

He knows it’s a bit pathetic to be calling still after two weeks of unanswered calls. 34 calls, to be exact. 34 voicemails left. About 134 times he wanted to time-travel backward and punch himself in the fucking face before he said shit.

And he’s gotten even more pathetic, even more desperate for any sign of life from you, that he’s taken up a daily email in the last week.

To: B (TheOnlyAngel)

Subject: I’m A Fucking Idiot and I’m So Fucking Sorry (#4)

Hi angel,

This might push you over the edge to receive yet another email and all of the voicemails I’ve been leaving, but I think if you know one thing about me, baby, I am un culo terco (translation: a stubborn ass). And you are probably going to block my number and my email at some point but until then, I’m going to keep apologizing.

Can we please talk, Bebita? I don’t deserve forgiveness but if you can give me some of your time, I want to apologize to you in person. It’s the least you deserve.

Any sign of life would be appreciated. I’m worried about you, baby. I’m so sorry.

J

To: B (TheOnlyAngel)

Subject: I’m A Fucking Idiot and I’m So Fucking Sorry (#7)

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I hate being away from you. I hate the words I spoke to you. I hate how I belittled you. I hate how I made you cry. I hate how I didn’t care for you. That’s all I want to do, Bebita.

I hate myself.

And definitely not what you want to hear from me, but in case you are reading these and in case I am still in fact your professor, midterm assignments are due in my office mailbox by Friday noon. I know yours is going to be amazing, sabelotodo. Miss you. 

I’m going to stop emailing you and calling you. I should’ve respected the fact that you told me not to.

I’m so sorry.

J

The bell toll of a new email rings over the computer’s speakers on the desk you’re sitting at in the middle of the library. A few students around you snap their heads over their shoulders or around in their chairs to glare at you; huffing out a breath, you sink lower in your seat after turning the volume dial until it clicks off.

4:30PM. It’s the usual hour for his daily emails, something that has been stacking in your inbox for the last week. You should have expected it or could’ve if you had been paying any mind to the digital clock in the bottom corner of the screen. Instead, you’ve been staring at the blinking cursor, stuck in the middle of a sentence in one of your midterm essays.

Of course, it’s for Sociology of Deviance. Of course, he has to send you yet another reminder of him, of his regret — another apology — while you are forced to think about him anyway for this assignment.

The stunted sentence is the product of your mind trailing out, pulling you by a rope wrapped around your heart to that night again. It’s been two weeks, and you haven’t seen Javier at all, but you can’t shake the image of his face, twisted into an anger you had never seen from him but with a pain so deep in his eyes that you could fall into it and never know your way back up. And you can’t silence the echoes of his words to you, each repetition sounding even more cruel, even more virulent than the last.

“I’m a job to you, just work.”

“Don’t. Don’t pull that shit, you knew what you were doing.”

“You know, I thought when I was signing up, I would have someone just for me. Didn’t expect to get someone for everyone.”

“Was I really just some fucking job, a shift you scheduled every week?”

That night, standing in front of him at his car, you were so remorseful for what you had hidden from him, what you had lied about. Thinking it was all done for his sake to keep at a distance and not hurt him. It was done for your own protection. Not wanting to get hurt yourself. The amount of care that you hold for him — even still, as angry as it makes you — scares the shit out of you. It feels different from anything else, like your eyes have been opened fully, vision clear, and your heart is beating to a new rhythm.

Instead, now it thumps in slow, tired pulses. Aches in your chest at all hours of the day, every day. Even after trying your best, Javi had left a mark, a big one.

And the calls, the emails, they all kept pressing into that mark, thumbing that deep-tissue bruise to turn it to a muddy purple. You hate yourself for the amount of times that you have thought about forgetting what he said, calling him up, and saying you needed him. You knew it was pathetic. A bigger part of you hates yourself because you know it’s true. You need him. Not in the can’t-function-without-someone-to-be-dependent-on way but in the I-need-somewhere-to-put-all-this-love kind of way.

You love him. No point in denying it now. And your love is screaming at you every second of the day to pick up one of his phone calls, to interrupt him as he’s leaving yet another voicemail, to send a note in response to an email.

Those screams are still getting tamped down by your anger — that side of you that is still more powerful, tougher, and grittier than its opposite: the tender, pliant, delicate you.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you navigate out of the document and into your inbox. The subject is bolded along with his name, the mark of it being unread. Titled the same as the rest, you click it open expecting more of the same. And while it starts out in the usual manner — typed apologies and varied descriptions of how he feels about himself, what he said, how he hurt you.

But the second to last line makes your stomach flip, something out of the ordinary: 

I’m going to stop emailing you and calling you. I should’ve respected the fact that you told me not to.

Is he giving up?

Why the fuck is he giving up? Has he decided you’re really not worth the effort? He can’t be damned to actually see it through, to hold out hope that you would maybe respond?

Anger bubbles in your gut, sending the simmering heat across your body and kicking up your heart rate. Seriously, fuck that. You may have gotten annoyed with the constant contact, but at least he was trying. Clearly, he doesn’t care to try to apologize in person that much, or to hear any sign of life from you.

God, why does it have to hurt this much?

Redirecting your rage proves useful to start the essay again, words flowing from your fingertips and the clicks and clacks of the keyboard drowning out the voices in your head. By the end of the night, six hours later, you pull your hand away from the mouse; assignment proofread multiple times, a confidence in your capabilities blooming when you drag the cursor to press the ‘Print’ button.

When you gather your papers from the printer across the room, stapling them together ordered and aligned, the sinking feeling returns. After midterm break is over, you’ll have to go back to class. To see him twice a week, watch him lecture with his furrowed brow and a perpetual frown. To listen to his voice and wait to hear his usual affections that won’t come. To simply be around him and to try to not fall right back into his arms.

Muscle memory carries you from the library to the bus stop, getting on your usual route home with those thoughts continuing to consume your spare space in your mind. Simple reminders flash in your head between the thoughts, all conjured up in Javi’s gentle voice: Third floor up to your apartment, baby. Turn the key to the right to unlock. Remember to close the curtains, angel — locks in the minimal heat to make it last through the night and keeps you out of view from the street. Drop your backpack on the ground for tomorrow. Kick off your shoes, take off your coat, cariño. Brush your teeth and wash your face, you can shower in the morning. Change into your pajamas, and don’t forget to turn out the light next to your bed. Go to sleep, my good girl, get your rest. Goodnight, Bebita.

Clicking the end of a pen over and over, Javier watches the clock as the deadline for his grad-level midterm ticks closer. The curriculum notes sitting in front of him blur as his mind drifts from his work — back to you, of course.

He’s forgone his voicemails for the last two days, emails drafted and left there. If there was any chance for you to agree to meet him in person, he didn’t want his incessant, honestly a bit obsessive, contact to be resented. You asked him not to call, not to say anything. And he did the exact opposite of that, thinking it was right.

Without the outlet of speaking to you (even if you weren’t listening or reading), his thoughts have been able to spiral and morph, recognizing in himself exactly what he was afraid of at the moment he saw you with someone else.

It wasn’t about you, it never was about you. Those words he spoke were lashed out in anger, in fear for what was possibly waiting for him on the other side of this ‘arrangement’ with you. He was all in, he was in love and held out hope that you felt the same way. You care, that is obvious to him, but without openly communicating, he was left to pack away his feelings to keep the dynamic normal for you.

But when you were with someone else, laughing at whatever the hell he was saying, making you smile, touching his arm, he couldn’t tamp down the repeated thought — I want to be the only one for her.

And what did he expect? How could you want to be with someone like him anyway?

Damaged, jaded, flawed, worn-out, and starving for something he doesn’t deserve: happiness.

Did he do it all wrong? Come on too strong and you went somewhere else to find what you wanted, even if it was just a job? He didn’t even ask if you wanted a relationship. He was so head over heels that he fell into it, treating you as if you were his girlfriend without ever asking you.

Is that why you don’t feel the same? Because you can’t see anything but his past with him? Half of your relationship with him is born out of his professional failures — never being there when they caught Escobar, the Cali godfathers with a future that they might walk freely, resigning from the DEA.

Is he even capable of loving you the right way or being loved back? There has to be an answer, and he selfishly is aching to know. Did he give you enough love, or did he love you in the right way? The answer must be no, for you to keep up with other men, other clients.

The sound of quick-moving footsteps pulls him out of his derailing train of thought, the thumps of the feet on the carpeted hallway slowing right in front of his office. In the crack between the floor and the door, he sees the shadow of whoever is on the other side, and one quick look at the clock tells him it is a last-minute submission. The slip of paper against paper sounds, the stack dropping into his plastic mailbox that is next to the entrance to his office.

The shadows of the student linger, seconds clocking down until he goes to open the door and collect. Part of him wants to drag himself out of his seat and do it now, simply to see who this last submission was by in person, but he waits — at least that student got it in on time, they don’t deserve the professor intimidation.

Shifting around, the shadows of the shoes under the door fade as footsteps begin to slowly recede, giving him a cue to get up and collect the assignments. Opening the door, he sticks his head out and checks both directions down the hall, no sign of a student in sight. With a sigh, he turns to his mailbox, dreading reading some — actually most — of the essays in the group. Just because you get into grad school, doesn’t mean you need to be there. And he isn’t even that much of a stickler for grading, some people just…don’t have the academic talent for essay writing. And they shouldn’t be sharing their opinions.

With an eye roll to no one except himself, he takes the stack of papers and allows his eyes to fall on the first one to flick through. Reading the name on the top of the page, he freezes in place at the door to his office, straddling the line between the public space of the hallway and the privacy of his office.

Yours.

That means that it was you outside of his office only a few minutes ago; you lingered, and the pull of your force is nearly driving him to go in search of you in this building or across the whole campus if he could see a glimpse of you.

All he can picture is you standing at his office door, knowing he was probably on the other side. You stayed, even for a few seconds — were you debating on knocking? Were you thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you? Did he lose a chance to talk to you, to see you, because he sat around for a few seconds after you walked away?

Immediately, his eyes drift down to the material, starting to read and be brought into whatever thoughts you have had in the last two weeks. It may be only relevant to the subject of the course, but he could listen to you speak about anything for any amount of time, and reading your work is all the same. A slice of you, even if the focus is on something totally different from what he is desperate to know from you.

At that moment, the stack of assignments doesn’t seem as bleak, and he sets them all down on his desk, shrugging the suit jacket off his shoulders and discarding it across the sofa. Sitting down in his chair, he’s determined to get through the essays and submit the grades to the Dean, a plan formulating in his head about how to see you while he flips to the next page of your assignment.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins, making his limbs feel lighter and his steps echo heavier in his mind. In one hand, he holds the stapled packet curled in a C-shape, running the pad of his thumb across the edges. Perfectly timed, he approaches the entry to the building as a resident walks out, exchanging a nod in acknowledgment with the man as he slips inside. Craning his neck up, he looks at the staircases, relieved to hear silence. Climbing to the third floor, he halts at the last stair, taking in a deep inhale and letting it out slowly, his nerves prickling across his skin as he faces whatever is ahead of him.

Taking a handful of steps forward, he settles at the door that is his destination, holding his breath for a few seconds before reaching his hand up to knock on the door. It’s confident but not aggressive, and hopefully, intriguing enough for the knock to be answered.

With bated breath, he hears the faint sound of footsteps, the same familiar cadence as yesterday. The click of the deadbolt being undone and the scrape of the chain being released quickens his pulse, hands toying with the papers in his hands. With a breeze, the door swings open and his eyes immediately find your face.

The wind is knocked out of him, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. His vision tunnels, focus on dragging his gaze around to catch everything he’s missed. Supple lips still slicked with your glossy lip balm, soft skin of your cheeks that his fingers are itching to run across, the glittering of light in your eyes that sends a tingle down his spine. You’re clad in an oversized sweater and sweat-shorts, plush socks on your feet.

You look as beautiful as ever to him. But you look tired.

And he knows that it’s because of him.

“Hi, Bebita.” He barely manages a greeting before he hears your voice for the first time in two weeks.

“Jesus Christ, Javi,” you huff and shake your head, reaching up for the door and starting to close it. One quick step lodges his foot in the doorframe, catching it before it closes fully. One of his hands grabs the edge, an inch above yours.

“Javier, move your foot.”

“Wait, wait, hold on—”

“What do you want, Javier?”

“I came to return your midterm — I didn’t know if you would be in class, and you deserve to get your grade back when everyone else does. I guess this is technically before everyone else, but…I wanted to see you.” His big brown puppy dog eyes face you as you take him in, gripping the door harder. The buttery, relaxed leather jacket stretches across his shoulders, one of his usual button-downs on underneath. His legs taper in from his torso in his dark blue jeans, black boots pointed toward your door. You can see the desperation in his face, the anxiety present in his wide eyes, chin tilted down, and gaze looking at you through his long, dense lashes. His mouth hangs open slightly before he takes another breath and speaks, “Y’know, you really fucked the curve for the whole class by gettin’ a hundred percent, sabelotodo.”

Javier passes the paper to you, unfurling it and showing off the marks at the top of the page.

“Graded completely objectively. This was excellent work…” He stands in silence while you look at the red ink on the page, your stomach rolling with pride and sorrow. “I really think we need to talk, Bebita.”

“The nickname. Please, Javier,” your voice is thick when you look back up at him, tears threatening your waterline.

“M’sorry, sorry…do you—would you give me five minutes?” Swallowing hard, he wipes his free hands on his jeans, clamminess coating them from the nerves. You take a moment, weighing your options.

Getting to slam the door in his face would be satisfying. A dig back at him without having to say anything.

But the louder part of yourself is scolding that behavior, telling you to let him in to at least allow him to apologize. And that same part selfishly wants to know what he has to say and if it will relieve any of your thoughts and growing insecurities born out of this whole situation.

“Oh, fuck’s sake…” you mumble under your breath when you reach your decision, pulling the door back open with a sigh. Your eyes avoid Javier as you nod in the direction of your living area, “Come in…got five minutes.”

“S’all I need. Promise I will leave when you want me to.” He passes you, clasping his hands together as he gets a waft of your perfume and your shampoo melding together, squeezing with the urge to wrap you up in his arms and press his nose into the smell.

Pausing steps in through the doorway, he looks over at you and tilts his head down to his feet, glancing back up at you as he shyly remembers, “Shoes off, right?”

A flicker of something lighter crosses your eyes, a small nod in confirmation. Javier toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, clad in a pair of socks you pointed out in a store a few weeks ago and giggled about in the middle of the shop: light purple, patterned with black and white cows feeding on patches of grass.

Maybe he’s projecting, but he can feel his heartbeat skip as he watches the most minuscule lift at the corners of your mouth.

Glancing around the familiar space, he notices a few differences from how it’s normally kept. Blankets are strewn across the couch, clearly unraveled to free yourself to answer the door; dishes dot the surfaces around — mugs, bowls, plates, cutlery, wine glasses all dirtied and left there; your hobby crafts are abandoned on your small bistro dining table, all aside from a sketchbook that you quickly shuffle over to flip closed.

Disarray. At least, from what he’s been privy to. Never has he seen you in this state, either at his place when you made yourself at home or here at yours when he stayed over. You’re tidy, and you certainly were never bored with all that you did to occupy your time — it was either roping him into doing something, playing a game, posing for a doodle, or, well, other activities that he was definitely a willing participant in. But this — this wasn’t like you. You could be distracted, sure, but never to the point of a sedentary lifestyle.

He can feel his skin burning and chest cinching painfully as if almost completely caving in on himself. He’s itching to discard his jacket, to feel the cool air on his skin, but he doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable and, in reality, he doesn’t think that would help. Shame snakes into the spaces between his ribs, nestling deep within his chest cavity and coiling around his heart, the slow tightening squeeze of the pain he’s caused you trickling down his blood supply.

He didn’t know what to expect, but this was much more than he ever considered. Bile rises in his throat, simmering in his esophagus as a question replayed in his head — selfish and indulgent.

Did you feel that much for him to be this hurt?

“You can sit down on the couch if you want.” He can hear the trepidation in your voice, eggshells cracking under his feet as he treads lightly, both physically and with the words that he’s planned out to the syllable. As he was grading last night, he took breaks in between each assignment to work through what he wanted to say to you if given a chance. Almost to the point of writing it down, he packaged up his apologies to hand to you with a plea.

Carefully sitting down on the couch, his eyes track your movements as you stand, debating whether or not to take the seat opposite of him on the couch, or to take a seat at the dining table on the other side of the room, still close enough in your budget apartment to speak comfortably.

Javier can’t begin to describe the jolt of energy, soothed with cool relief when you choose to sit on the sofa. Curled up into the corner, pillow tucked into your lap to form a shield against the confrontation, but nevertheless, you’re the closest you’ve been to him in the last two weeks. The entire place smells of you and exudes your energy through the walls covered with your own art and other pieces that you’ve collected over the years, from thrift stores and flea markets or handed down from relatives. Soft furnishings in a gradient of colors melt him a few inches further into the cushions, a complete opposite to his place that is especially drab and boring without you there breathing the life into it — into him.

Toying with the tassels of the throw blanket laid underneath him and over the back, he clears his throat in the silence. He follows the flick of your gaze to the brass-framed clock hanging above your table, the click of the pencil-thin second's hand ticking loudly in the lack of conversation.

Five minutes. You said five minutes and here he is wasting time saying nothing.

The turn of his stomach revitalizes the anxiety thrumming in his veins, the pump of his pulse, and the rush of his blood in his ears sounding like the crashing of ocean waves despite being in the middle of a land-locked city. His fingers twitch with nerves, his whole body feeling as if it’s on high frequency, overwhelming energy shocking his limbs to stillness while his brain fights for dominance of his nerve endings.

He’s felt more confident in interrogations with deadly criminals or negotiating hostage situations.

Swallowing hard, he finally takes enough deep breaths to slow his heartbeat and gain control of his body, a long inhaling before he stutters out a pathetic beginning to his apologies, “Um. Fuck—sorry, I’m no good at this…”

The first words out of his mouth after two weeks of begging you to hear him out, and it’s ‘I’m no good at this.’ Are you wasting your time? Is this going to put you in a worse place?

All you want is for something to settle — the uncertainty of holding out on him or not knowing what he’s going to say to you exactly has eaten you alive after so many long days. Whatever the outcome is, you can deal with it, but this limbo — the purgatory before knowing if you have to survive your time in hell or can be brought into forgiveness, for him and for yourself — heightens your already present fears and festers your growing insecurities.

“I take it you’ve never had to apologize like this?” It comes out harsher than you meant it; some of it was meant to cut, but another part of you was genuinely curious. Has he never had a relationship like this? Has he never had to apologize to a woman he’s dating because he doesn’t date or because he leaves before an apology is necessary?

Are you about to be one of those women that he leaves before he apologizes?

“No — I mean, yes. Wait, no, fuck, I have had to apologize like this before. I mean, it’s me we’re talking about, I fuck up everything…” he chuckles at his own attempt at a joke to lighten the mood even a fraction, “I had this whole thing planned out from last night. Tried to rehearse it and everything, but seeing you, it’s completely wiped my mind. You don’t deserve some line-by-line bullshit apology.”

He shifts in his seat, inching closer and cheating his body to face you completely. One leg on the cushion, bent and hooked under the one that keeps him grounded. The change in his position makes you scoot, centimeters closer to the edge, plotting your escape to the bathroom or your bedroom when the inevitable tears start and when Javier walks away, possibly for good.

The tiniest voice in your head is yelling at you for feeling so sorry for yourself, for him probably coming over here to give you an apology and leave you behind because you’re used, you’re shameful. The voice is telling you that you should be angry with him, not crying over him any more than you already have the last fourteen days. When the sound of Javier’s timbre floats to your ears, that voice is silenced and the craving for him begins to unfurl itself from the tiny compartment you packed it away in.

“I am sorry, angel. So, so fucking sorry. What I said to you was completely out of hand and so disrespectful and absolutely not what I feel about our situation or about you. Not an excuse, just trying to explain to you what was going on in my head…I just — when I saw you with another guy, all I could think about was how I wanted to be the only one for you. It was naive of me to think that you wouldn’t have any other clients, I mean, I was the new addition and I thought I was the only one because you were the only one to me. And that is completely my choice, the whole damn reason I signed up for the service in the first place was to find someone that I could spend time with to avoid my loneliness, and well, it worked maybe too well for me. I was, and still am, completely enamored by you, cariño. The second I saw you, in that first class, I was done for. And then when it turned out to be you that I was talking to through our emails, it felt like it was a sign from the universe or God or fate, whatever you want to call it, but it was natural. I remember thinking to myself that night at the bar, ‘Of course, it was you’.”

“And all those feelings that I kept to myself, all the times when I wasn’t clear with what I thought we were, it all caught up to me that night at the event, and seeing you with another man, I was so afraid for what I was about to lose that I cut it off myself and lashed out at you. Anger is all I have known for so long, angel, and I never wanted you to be on the other end of that. I was nasty, and malicious, and I wanted to hurt you in that moment because I was hurt. That was completely unfair, unwarranted. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never explicitly lied to my face to say that I was the only one you were seeing…I know I fucked up. I regret everything I said to you that night, and I hate myself for hurting you. I know you probably don’t want to hear it but I need you to know how sorry I am. It was fucked up, what I said, and I understand if you still don’t want anything to do with me if you still want to end all of this. I wouldn’t blame you.”

It takes a few beats of silence after he’s given you everything to consider, the words taking their time to sink into your mind and truly register all that he is saying to you. It would be easy, comfortable, to completely brush everything away and accept his apology outright, but you know that if you want anything more out of this…relationship, then the two of you have to work on your communication, and you have to be honest.

Clearing your throat, you sit up from your sinking posture and raise a shaking hand to your face to skim over your skin, flicking away the hairs from your periphery. Tears sting in your eyes, a quiet sniffle filling the silence between the two of you. Thrumming with anxious energy, your body jitters and your voice wavers as you speak back to him, mustering the courage to sit in your discomfort of confrontation and say your piece.

“I told you that I thought you were different because you were different to me. I did have other clients when we were together in our own arrangement, but from the moment I met you in person as ‘Angel’, there was a shift. Something out of the ordinary from all the other times I’d met someone new…I cared, Javi. I still do. I care about you so fucking much, and that’s why it hurt so much that you said all that you said. If anyone else that I was ‘with’ told me that they thought all that about me, I would simply roll it off and terminate our arrangement and move on. But you — Javi, you are so much more than a job to me. You were never a job, even from that first night. I was always excited to see you, catching your eye in class and sneaking off into your office hours even just to steal a kiss. I forgot how we even met, technically.”

In the breath you take, Javier affirms what you said, “I forgot, too. I think I forgot what it all was the second I found out it was you that I was talking to. It didn’t matter how I got or kept your attention, just that you were giving me any.”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands fiddling with the pillow in your lap, lifting them from the plush square to rub your eyes, the tears you had been fighting slowly winning their battle.

“That was why it hurt so much, Javier. I couldn’t believe what you were saying because it was so unlike you, and to hear it from you, the person I care the most about, it was just…devastating. When there have been other people in my life that have found out what I do, and they’ve said the same type of things, it hurt, of course, it did, but you, Javi—” A choke of a sob interrupts you, tightness building in your chest as you swallow them down, you tears falling faster and emotion thickening your voice. “You made me feel so small. So insignificant, and—and dirty. I couldn’t live with myself thinking that you felt that way when you looked at me. That I was used, that I was merchandise bought and returned to many times and now I get to be tossed aside…I could compartmentalize when other people told me the same things because I justified it as my job. But you were never a job to me, so when you told me that you weren’t expecting ‘someone that was for everyone’, I just…I immediately felt like I was less because I wasn’t serving you how you assumed I would. That I wasn’t living up to your expectations…”

“I quit. I wasn’t in class this week ‘cause I’ve been having meetings with my academic counselor to figure out if I can manage classes with a different job…when I quit I told them to refund you everything that I could give back to them. What happened, completely changed it all for me and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go right back into it and act like it was normal when I felt so horrible about what I was doing because you don’t like it…”

“Cariño, no, no, no. I hate that you think all of this because I was being fucking stupid. And you absolutely did not need to quit, I would hate my fuckery to be the reason you have to add more stress to your life by balancing a different job and school. I mean, even searching for a job is a lot—”

You interrupt his rambling, wanting to soothe his spiraling anxieties about your well-being, and not wanting to seem like any more of a burden that he has to care for or take on. That your insecurity around being dependent on men like him, on him on his own, is still present despite your resignation. You want him to see you as strong, independent, formidable. Someone he doesn’t have to worry about.

“It’s alright, Javier. I have a new job already. Don’t have to worry about anything for me…” The lie is blatant to you, but hiding your face down toward your lap aids in disguising your tells, and it skates easily out of Javier’s radar. He doesn’t need another reason to think less of you.

“Angel, m’always gonna worry about you…”

Your bravery streak continues when you lift your head, facing him across from you head-on. The sight you’re met with takes you back, Javier bent over with his elbows to his knees, his hands covering his mouth and his eyes red and glistening with tears of his own. The shine of damp tracks on his cheeks is shown in the low lighting of your apartment when he turns his head toward you, the absolute disappointment, guilt, and pain oozing from his big, brown eyes.

Peeling his hands away, they twitch with the need to reach out for you before settling in his lap; Javier shakes his head as he takes in your own visual emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I am so, so incredibly sorry that I ever made you feel any less than you are…” His own words are coated in emotion, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. “I can’t apologize enough for hurting you, baby, and I will do anything I can to mend any of those wounds I created with my careless, angry, thoughtless words. There is nothing you have to live up to, angel. I miss you. So fucking much. And I’m the biggest fucking asshole on this planet to make you feel any less beautiful and incredible and caring and angelic and lovable than you are. You deserve so much better than what I gave to you, and I would give anything to try to make it up to you. Even if nothing more comes of it, I would love your permission to earn your forgiveness.”

Javier takes in an audible breath, a slow exhale as he moves closer to you, still enough distance in between that you can read that he doesn’t want to cross a line. Every part of him faces toward you, completely tunneled on you still folded into the corner.

“I’m all in for you, Bebita. I could give two shits about whatever arrangement you had, what you did in the past, nothing. All I want is you, all I need is you in my life and that is it. I will work every day to earn your forgiveness and earn back your trust. I want to show you how much I care about you, angel. I don’t want to go anywhere, just want to be wherever you are and do anything I can to take care of you and protect you and make sure you know how fucking special you are. You’re my one-of-a-kind girl, Bebita, there’s nobody else like you.”

His assurances, his pledges to spare you from any more hurt, from him or others, swell your heart. Drawn toward his again, it beats loudly in your ears, drowning out any doubt, and the deep, quick thumps flush out the confusion and the shame that was growing within your chest. Sincerity is evident in his words and in his tone; there isn’t room for anything but a genuine promise to make it up to you, to work to prove himself once again.

Forgiveness may be a long road, and a terrifying prospect to start out again, uncertainty of the future disguising any pain it might cause you. But the fear flashes in your mind as excitement for half a second, a shock to your system after the last couple of weeks. Looking at Javier at the end of that night two weeks ago is completely different to him now, vulnerability clear in his eyes and feelings voiced; the sight of him shaken up takes you back to that night, walking outside to find him leaning over the hood of his car, breathing erratic as he stood with his eyes closed, trying to calm down.

In that moment, all you wanted to do was curl up around him, and show him that you care despite his annoyance and anger with you when he went out to smoke on the patio. It’s the same now, your feelings, your love, desperately begging your body to move toward him, to break out of the locked box that you had attempted to keep it in since he broke your heart. You had told yourself to be strong, to fight what your heart was telling you, but it occurs to you that strength can be listening to what you want, what you need, not what you think you should be doing. Battling with your mind has exhausted you, and now you want to return to comfort — return home. To come back to him, even if it will take a long while to feel how it did before.

“Okay…” you start, voice softened and anxious energy channeled into your fingers fiddling with the trim of the throw pillow in your lap. “You have my permission to earn my forgiveness, Javier. But I can’t make any promises to you about when or what it’s all going to look like—”

“Bebita, as long as I have you in my life somehow, I don’t give a damn about anything else. I only want to be around you, for as much or as little as you want me.”

Another silence falls over the room, much more comfortable than the previous one. There’s a clearness, a breath to the air that was heavy and dense before; your shoulders feel looser, your heart the tiniest bit lighter. Blinking back the pooling tears at your waterline, a handful fell freely in the process, carving out the last of the streaky paths that littered your cheeks down to your chin. Javier’s hand taps the pads of his fingers against his dark blue denim, the same hand slowly reaching out for you, fully extending to rest on the pillow in your lap. His pinky stretches sideways next to your own hand, nudging your little finger before you hook them together without a word.

Sitting with a pinky promise made without a word, warmth passes between the two of you and you can feel his pulse through the minor contact; it slows the longer the two of you are still, breaths returning to normal, regulating the calmness you always felt around Javier in quiet moments like this.

The tiniest of voices breaks the silence streak, making the first sound at the next tick of the second hand from the clock on your wall; it’s Javier who speaks, gaze focused on you as he meekly, more tentative than you’ve ever heard him, “Can I hold you, Bebita?”

The name no longer feels like the burn of a branding, instead feels like sinking into your own bed after being away for days or weeks; plush, cozy, comforting. Just right. A small smile finds itself tugging at the corner of your mouth, nodding slowly with the tears dried on your face. Unraveling yourself from the curled-up position, you discard the pillow to the floor and crawl over to him, a short two feet. Before you make any movement to draw yourself any closer, Javier takes advantage of your willing proximity and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to settle in his lap. Strong, steady arms tighten around your frame and press you flush against him, his eyes combing over your face with devotion before he curls into you, face notching into the space between your neck and shoulder. The weight of his head drops onto you, drawing you to melt further into him.

Your own arms snake their way around his neck, wrapping him up in an easy hug.

“I don’t wanna leave you again…” he confesses in a whisper below your ear, rasp roughing up his words but raising goosebumps on your smooth skin.

His tension completely relaxes under your touch, heated breaths exhaling condensation against your skin before the molecules of his breath evaporate with your rising body heat. The scent of his hair flutters your eyes closed, the loss of your one sense heightening your ability to pick up the subtleties of his smokey whiskey, the spice of his burnt tobacco, the freshness of his vetiver and bergamot aftershave.

“You can stay if you want…haven’t really been able to sleep without you.” The admission pulls his face out of its spot, leaning back with the same tight hold around you keeping him close. Brown eyes search yours, softness and sadness rounding them as the slightest frown finds his lips.

“I’m sorry, Bebita. S’not gonna happen again, I won’t let it. M’gonna be here for you, always.” One of his arms loosens, pulled to the front of you, and reaches up to tuck your hair away from your face and delicately trail over your cheekbones, down your jaw to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. “Always, Bebita.”

In deliberate and careful movements, Javier leans in, testing if you’ll turn away. When the denial doesn’t come, he inches closer, nudging his nose against yours before catching your lips in a tender, fragile kiss. It’s sweet and conservative for Javier, the man who is normally confident in every one of his actions. Aiding in settling his nerves, you return the kiss with a hair more heaviness, deepening it to breathe him in and taste him on your lips. A craving satiated, fulfilled before anything moves further.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand holding your jaw and the other running his fingertips up your spine. His touch is expert at relaxing you, melding you two together again with his heat, pulling and shaping you to fit exactly where you belong — with him.

A whisper back to him, as meek as his initial request to draw you close, “You promise?”

“Lo prometo, Bebita. No quiero dejarte ir. (I promise, Bebita. I don’t want to let you go.) I mean always when I say always. Whatever you need from me, I’ll give to you, baby. Te adoro. (I adore you.)”

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my kofi

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 3 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 7266

chapter summary: dieter and natalie finally figure out why the hell they can’t seem to get along.

chapter warnings/tags: masturbation, discussions of addiction/rehab/drug use, angst, discussions of shitty parents, cursing, discussions of infidelity/cheating

a/n: i've finally put together a taglist request form if anyone wants notifications about this fic or any of my other series! This fic will update every Thursday now!

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Somewhere, out there, in some sliver of the universe, someone might possibly– curiously– be looking out for him. 

The five days, counting down to the possible end of his life, extended into a week. Then two. 

While most of the shooting had taken place at the soundstage in south LA, the new director – Scott Manley – had found a new location out in a real desert in New Mexico where some of the beginning scenes could be reshot without adding too much to the budget. Maybe he agreed too quickly to getting out of the city, but Dieter put up no argument against the reshoots. Two weeks to do his scenes again with Mark, play the guitar, maybe finally get that drink with Mark he’d been meaning to. He even paid for the AirBnB just outside of Albuquerque for himself. Hell, he rented a car without telling anyone. He got up there a day early to drive the 511 all by himself. 

Scott even seemed like a reasonable guy. Not possessing an ounce of Heidi’s creative talent, but all he had to do was stick to her notes and not fuck it up, and he seemed to be capable of that. 

For a few brief moments, it seemed like things were back on track.

And then the universe forcibly reminded him exactly what it thought of him.

“Close quarters character work?” Dieter parrots back to Scott, who nods seriously. “What the fuck – sorry – what is that?”  

Scott always wears a black ball cap and thick 70s glasses. He looks like he grew up on too much George Lucas and too little social interaction. He knows how to run a set, and aim a camera, but human emotion seems like a foreign concept to him. Dieter vaguely wonders if his good behavior got him here; if it was the old Dieter, then maybe they would have sent someone who could carry a conversation instead. 

“Close quarters character work is designed to enhance chemistry and create a sense of comradery between otherwise antagonistic talent,” Scott says with all the inflection of wet cardboard. 

Dieter sputters. “‘Otherwise antagonistic talent’? What are you talking about?” 

“You two fight a lot. I need that fixed.” Scott’s expression does not change. 

Fuck, maybe they did send the right guy for the job. 

Dieter swallows. 

He couldn’t exactly disagree with the man. Since Heidi left, the barrier between whatever was going on between you and Dieter had completely disintegrated. 

But better way to phrase it might be: it burned up in a colossal fire of rage, yelling, and walk offs. What had been subtle and hidden arguments behind stages had ignited into almost knock-down, drag-out fights. 

Everything you did irritated the shit out of him. The way you walked. Your voice. Even the way you breathed. Every single goddamn thing you did was wrong and he was going to let you know it. 

You still showed up casually high to most scenes, and because he was such a fucking upstanding guy, he never brought it up in public once. 

You fought and you yelled and you screamed at each other. Which worked for a while because that’s what the characters were going through. But then the arguments continued past when Scott called cut. They continued over the crafts table, at lunch, into the makeup rooms. You’d stand in the parking lot until midnight to finish an argument that started at three that afternoon. You made him want to claw his own eyes out. 

“We’re getting complaints, Dieter.” Scott continues, just as deadpanned as ever. 

He cringes. “From the crew?”

“From the janitorial staff.” 

“Got it.” He fiddles with his ring. Not the gold one. Another black one. “Okay, what does this close quarters character work look like?”

“Two hour sessions every day until we get things running back up here. Shouldn’t be more than a week or two.” 

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth, trying to ignore the high-pitched screaming in his ears. 

“Okay. Where?”

“Anywhere you want. Just have to clock in and out with one of the PA’s here.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“Does she know about this?”

“She does.”

“How did she take it?” 

“About as well as you are.” 

Fuck, he wants to be more obviously casual.

Dieter twists his jaw and scratches the back of his neck. “And if it doesn’t work out. If we keep fighting?” 

For a man with little social skills, the look on his face clearly reads, you know exactly what will happen. 

“Okay, then, when do we start?”

The air is warm and he tastes the desert sand in his mouth. He’s got the top down of the blue coup he rented and his hair is longer than it has been in years. Sweat sparks along the back of his neck, but the sensation isn’t unpleasant. There’s something about the sun, the sand that makes him feel alive, that whatever out there is also in him and it’s more ageless than the world itself. He wants to rub himself in sunlight like a cat. 

If he imagines with his whole heart, he can picture himself alone in the car. 

But he’s not. His rings on his fingers knock against the hard black steering wheel. 

Neither one of you has so much as looked at the other since leaving the parking lot.

He thought you’d scoff when he drove up to the temporary studio the project was using in New Mexico with the top down – my haaair, he imagined you screeching – but you just threw your purse over the lip of the car door and dropped down onto the waiting leather seat. 

At least, this time, you had the decency to wear pants. Jean leggings so tight he was sure he could see your thong, but whatever. He floored it so hard, the tires squealed, smoke fluttering into the face of the bewildered PA left behind.

He drives north, towards the mesas and the open plains. The road curves up, and around, and around, and around, Albuquerque a small bundle of toy buildings over the edge of the cliff. It’s about two in the afternoon and he’s pretty sure this is already the longest day of his life. He fears he might stall out the clutch at the speed he’s going but he’d sooner drive you both off this cliff than slow down. As if that would somehow shorten the time he’d have to spend near you.

The car swerves into the white stone driveway of his AirBnb and he cuts the engine. He probably should have spent the drive thinking of ways to somehow talk to you like a normal person, but his brain was just a static hum. Not quite rage but the two seconds before it where everything goes white and blank and you exist only in a void. 

Calling Chloe wouldn’t help with this one. In fact, he scowled at the mere idea you’d ever hear her beautiful voice. He’d smash his phone before he let that happen. 

Dieter slams the car door shut as he shoves the keys into his pocket. He taps the code in the keypad and strides in, not looking back and not holding the door for you. If you fell off the top of the mesa, that was hardly his problem. 

This is the part where he’d pop open a stopper of outrageously expensive whiskey and drink until his body released the tension, until the white noise in his head quieted. But he’s not that Dieter, so he goes right for the fridge. He snatches out the carafe of orange juice, pulpy as it was legally allowed to be, and takes three gulps. Sometimes, ice water didn’t burn enough. He needed something acidic. 

He breathes. The knot in his chest eases. 

Fuck, if you had fallen off the edge, they would assume he pushed you. 

He calls out for you, licking the last bit of orange juice off his mustache. He calls again, when you waltz in. 

You’re no longer scowling, which is an improvement from when he picked you up, but you look about as comfortable as a tomcat that’s been out on the streets suddenly forced to live indoors. You seem eager not to touch anything, your eyes roaming every square inch of the room.

“You want anything?” He asks gruffly. “Soda? Water? Sparkling water?”

“I’d kill for a shot of vodka and a lime.” 

He glares at you. “Fresh out.” 

You nod, as if this confirmed something for you. You wander to the edge of the long white marble countertop, eying a brass bar cart with every single bottle empty. You stand up right and look at him.

“I Googled you, you know.” 

“Congratulations on being able to work technology a five year old can do in their sleep.” 

“I know you went to rehab after you got arrested for possession of illicit substances, in amounts that would make Escobar blush,” you continue as though he hadn’t spoken. You slid into one of the black and gold bar chairs at the island countertop, your hands folding over one another as you lean forward into your shoulders. “I know you’ve been doing movies and television every year since you were twenty-five, whether or not you were as high as a kite. I know Heidi thinks very highly of you, even if she won’t give me a real reason. He’s talented, she says, but I don’t believe her.”

He lowers the carafe. “You don’t think I’m talented?”

“I think you owe your life to Heidi Morgan,” you snap, but then recoil your fangs. “But you’ve been through hell to get your life back. 

“And . . .” you add begrudgingly, “I think you’re an insanely talented actor. Sometimes I’m actually intimidated by you.” 

He swallows. “Thanks. Uh, you too. You’re good – great – I mean. You’re a natural.”

You smile smugly because you cannot take a compliment. “I know.” 

He rolls his eyes.

A moment passes and he knows Heidi would want him to figure this out. 

“Look, you saw the arrest photo, right?” He works his jaw and you nod. “So, no, I don’t drink. There’s not a drop of alcohol anywhere in this house. No uppers, no downers, either. Nothing.” 

You nod again, glancing up to the top shelves of the cabinets as if there might be something stashed up there. 

“And I know how quickly things can get out of hand,” he says slowly. You tense, perched on the chair, your gaze still up turned. The golden desert light from the window behind him makes your throat glow. “I know some good centers nearby. They can get you help. They’ll be discrete–,”

“And I know I don’t have a problem,” you say, your voice raising. “I don’t need your help or anyone else’s for that matter.”

Maybe this can’t be solved. Maybe this would end in a murder-suicide. He does think about the inside of your skull, sometimes, before he drifts off to sleep. 

They were having problems with scenes of vulnerability. The rage, the hatred – that all came naturally. But when he exposed himself to her, or she let the truth filter in, everything came off stilted and wrong. 

And maybe all that came down to the fact they’d never once had a normal conversation. They weren’t coworkers, or friends. They weren’t even castmates. They were something else. 

“Is that why it started?” He asks, gently because he knows you’re not afraid to pull his hair if he pisses you off enough. He runs his thumb against the cold bottom of the carafe, not looking quite at you. “Because you want to do everything on your own and the drugs keep you awake. Keep you going. Keep you from thinking.”

Your eyes narrow at him, black holes inside your skull. He definitely found a nerve. “Oh, fuck off, Dieter.” 

You stand up and push away from the counter, stalking off to some other corner of the house. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

“It doesn’t have to be, but you’ve gotta give me something.”

He follows you to the living room. You’re standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the canyon below, your arms bunched up around yourself. He can’t see your face, but he knows your mouth is contorted, knotted. You want to crawl into yourself, he knows it. 

“Either we figure out how to work together, or we’re both out of a fucking job. More than that, my career is over and so is yours, even before it really began. We don’t even have to like each other, but we do have to work together.”

Your fingers wrapped around your bicep clench. “Jesus Christ– and I have to do this sober?” 

Dieter snorts, unable to help himself. “We both know you aren’t sober right now so let’s not start with that.” 

You whirl around, fists clenched tightly. “I don’t even need the drugs, you know? I can quit whenever I want.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it. Take whatever you’ve got in your purse and flush it down the toilet right now.” 

There’s a flicker of hesitation across your face before your scowl tightens. “Fine.” 

He watches you stride back to the kitchen, low-heeled black boots clicking on the tile. Glaring at him, you snatch up your purse and he waves down the hall.

“Go on. Bathroom’s right down there.” 

He leans against the doorframe as you kick the toilet seat – bamboo lid – up with the toe of your boot. Your hand dives into your purse and pulls out two orange prescription pill bottles. You rattle them once for good measure, smile deranged, and then with a flick of your thumbs, you pop the caps off and pour the contents down the porcelain bowl. 

He does not break eye contact with you as the blue and red pills swirl down and away in a rush of water. 

“Satisfied?” You bark. You almost bare your teeth at him.

He is waiting for you to drop to your knees and stick your hand down the hole to grasp at the pills before they’re all gone. 

“No,” Dieter snaps, crowding you against the sink. “Empty your pockets.”

“Do it for me,” you reply, your smile so flat and broad you look a little bit unhinged. 

“Fine.” Without further prompting, he shoves his fingers into your front pockets. The lip of your pants sway and rub against your skin as he digs in. That delirious smile still plastered on your face is going to haunt his dreams. He thinks he feels the line of your panties. 

Finding nothing, he then cups the meat of your ass, his fingers diving into the back pockets of your jeans. He takes his time molding and squeezing your ass, the real search of his conquest only vaguely in the back of his mind. 

Pills. Find pills. 

He pulls his hands off you, your gazes connected as if tied by string. 

It could be sunburn, but he swears your cheeks are pink. 

“Want to check my bra next? Since you’ve already copped a feel and a half.” 

“Give me your purse.” You shove it into his chest, but do not step away. You’re both pressed up inside the small bathroom and he doesn’t even think about breathing in deeply.

He digs around for a bit, before rattling it. There’s a clear metallic clacking – his chest sparks at the way you go slightly pale – and he pokes around until he finds the hidden pocket. Triumphant, he plucks the silver compact out your purse and drops the rest onto the ground. He opens the compact over the toilet, and a dozen pills tumble out into the stagnant water. 

You watch the pills break down and disappear as the water rushes down the hole. There is concern, uneasiness, in the rims of your eyes. Your mouth is soft, parted. All at once, he feels sort of guilty – but it had to be done. 

“Now will you get off my dick?” You glare at him, the softness gone and that distinct displeasure at his mere existence burning in your eyes. “Now that you’ve gotten rid of any chance that this will be tolerable?” 

For the first time around you, he smiles. “Buck up, buttercup. How about I make you dinner, so you stop trying to think of ways to kill me in my sleep.” 

He leaves the bathroom, the air less stifling. He hears you snort behind him.

“That wouldn’t happen even with a birthday cake shoved up my ass.” 

*~*~*

It’s not dinner under the stars, with fresh pasta and mozzarella and basil, with a smooth glass of red wine to top it off. 

It’s not that. But it is something. 

Turns out when you’re not at each other’s throats, you’ve got a lot in common.

“No fucking way, I love Coney Island too.”

You smile and lean back in your seat, the heels of your bare feet balancing on the edge of the white patio chair. You both are sitting outside on the second floor patio, the great black maw of the canyon in the distance below. The sun is fading fast and the air is growing colder by the minute. But he doesn’t mind and, it seems, neither do you.

The ivy around the back patio pergola shudders in the faint breeze. Water from the pool below laps at the edges of the white concrete, the sound soothing like a rhyme. The plates of arroz con pollo are empty. He was quite sure if you were alone, you would have licked the plate clean. 

You prefer sparkling water while his is still and ice cold, but that’s at least something else in common. 

“Yes, Coney Island is the best! We went there one summer as a kid and I’ve dreamed about it every day since.” 

He smiles and drinks from his glass, legs spread wide as he rests comfortably in his chair. “So did you see the rest of New York when you were there?”

“God, I love New York,” you groan, grinning widely. “I’d live there if I could, but everything filmed is out in LA. Would love to do theater again, someday.”

“Fuck, I know what you mean. Six months of production, live shows, all of it in one place.” Dieter shakes his head. “I used to do a bunch of off-Broadway stuff up there. I really miss it sometimes.”

You jerk an eyebrow at him, that grin turning warm. “Yeah, I know. I told you I Googled you.” 

He twists his mouth, fighting between a smile and a scowl. “I Googled you too.” It feels like a confession when he doesn’t want it to be.

“Oh my God, really?” You clutch the glass to your chest, toes flexing on the edge of the seat. “What does it say? I am wildly curious.”

“What do you mean? You’ve never Googled yourself?”

You shake your head as you take a sip. “Nope. I lived it. And the internet always takes things and twists them. Make the good things bad and the bad things worse. Plus, I don’t need to know how many photos of my ass there are online.”

“If you wore pants, that might not happen as much.”

“Ha, ha, Bravo. Don’t slut-shame me when I’m this close to having a good time.” 

Something passes between your gazes and it makes his heart flutter. He drops the connection like it burned him.

“But seriously, what did you find out about me?” 

He shrugs and leans forward onto his elbows on his knees. “If it helps, I only looked at Wikipedia.”

“Yeah, and? C’mon, man, I’m in suspense here.” 

“You worked in smaller parts in the early 2000s. Mostly movies where they needed a cute kid to save or have a line about the big scary monster. Then, when you were in your early teen years you got that part on Red Money with Sean Connery, as his daughter. That was big. Lots of articles about that. You got a few, higher profile roles – Helen Miriam’s niece, Gerard Butler’s step-daughter – you’d hit the big leagues. There were talks of you getting an Oscar but then . . . it all just stopped. The entry ends with, ‘she lives in California today’.”

He stops, waiting to see if you’ll yell at him or throw your glass of water in his face. Instead, you nod and drink slowly. 

“Does it say my father is Henry Milklen?”

His eyes go wide. “No. No, it doesn’t. Your father is the Henry Milklen, the CEO of MaxWide Entertainment?”

“Biologically, yes,” you say, a bit prickly, “but I haven’t seen him in-person since I was eight. Mom kinda went off the rails when I said I wanted to do acting, but unfortunately for her, I was really fucking good. I think she thought I wanted to do it to be close to him.”

“Did you? Did you want to get close to him?”

You shake your head. 

“Nah. If anything, I did it in spite of him. I wanted to know if I could do this without his help.” You hold up your glass like an award. “‘You didn’t give me shit growing up and you didn’t give me my first Oscar,’ – because I plan on owning several – ‘so, eat shit, old man.’”

He grins in spite of himself. “Winning an Oscar is definitely one way to tell your old man to fuck off. There might be other, easier ways to do that, though.”

“C’mon, don’t act like you don’t do it all for that moment. That moment of standing on stage, in front of all your peers – in front of everyone who told you you couldn’t do it – and be recognized as someone of value, of real talent.”

You’re close to touching something very close to his heart. He drinks from his ice cold water. “Nah, it’s always been about the money for me.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles. 

“Sure, I do it for that,” he says softly, thumb nail scraping against the glass. “The art, that’s what really matters, but having other people see value in your art . . . it’s a good feeling.”

“Cheers to a night on stage.” You raise your glass to him. Something was fundamentally different about the way you looked at him. “Hope we see each other there.”

He accepts your toast with his own, his heart beating mildly faster, as he thinks of a way to steer this conversation back into something he’s capable of handling.

“So your mom had some issues with you acting –  how’d you end up back in LA then?” 

You smile wryly, your defenses going back up so quickly, he was surprised he didn’t hear a clicking sound.

“She got over it pretty fast when she realized she never had to work again, once things started going well. I think she liked being a sugar mama to men half her age. Men that never hesitated to hit on me while she was out of the room, even when I was fourteen. The money was coming in, but not as fast as she was spending it. I wanted a way to hide in my own room so I didn’t have to hear her literally fuck my money away . . . So, drugs. Got caught twice drunk driving but Dad managed to get all blown away — without ever actually having to see me. There were no real consequences in my life so it felt like I didn’t have one. The day I turned eighteen, I left and never went back. Pulled together the scraps she left me, got a place on my own, and now I’m trying show biz again.” You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “But I don’t really blame her, or my dad, you know. They were forced to be parents when neither of them have a nurturing bone in their bodies. Anyways . . . does my drug use have to be their fault? Can’t I just be fucked up on my own?”

Dieter snorts softly. He taps your glass with the rim of his. “Cheers to being fucked up on our own.” 

You both drink, letting the ding of the glasses ring out into the night air. His bare feet are starting to get cold but he doesn’t really want to go back inside. Not yet.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” You ask and drop your arms over your knees, glass dangling from your fingertips. 

“I think that’s the whole point of this, so sure. Fire away.” 

“What’s with you and drugs, man? You gotta know everyone’s on something in this town.” You say, without a hint of malice. “And more specifically, why are you always on my ass? Roxie and that gang do shrooms in the back lots all the time but you never go after them about it. Why me?”

He chews on his lip and sits back in his seat.  

“Because I’ve been where you are,” he says to you under his eyelashes. “You’re too fucking talented to throw your career in the garbage because you’re too high to show up to casting on time. I know you think you have it under control, that you can stop when you want, and maybe you do. But there’s too much at risk to go fucking around with shit like that.” He drops his elbows onto his knees. “And to be entirely honest, because I don’t trust you when the parking brakes are off.” 

It’s a bigger admission than he means it to be, but it’s there and he can’t take it back. He looks up at your face from his bent-over position. 

Your eyebrow twitches as if you want to frown from confusion, but are actively fighting it. You want to ask just what the fuck he means by that – he can tell – but for once in your life, you keep your mouth shut. Instead you throw back the rest of your water and stand up.

His mouth is inches from the seam of your pants.

“Wanna watch a movie?” 

“Okay, his stuff is good but it’s not the pinnacle of acting, alright?”

“I never said it was but it’s raw and real and every single performance he gives everything,” he says adamantly as you step over his legs stretched out on the table in front of him with a bowl of popcorn on your hip. You had insisted on the popcorn, even though you both just ate. What the fuck is the film experience without buttery popcorn? You asked him indignantly and he found he couldn’t argue with you. 

You huff as you settle in next to him on the black leather couch in the living room. The lights are off and the TV screen glows in the dark. 

“And, you know, art is subjective. Who's to say what the ‘pinnacle of acting’ is anyway?” He snatches up a handful of popcorn as you narrow your eyes scornfully at him.

“That is such a cop out. You’re just saying that so I don’t have an argument against watching Vampire’s Kiss.” You say as though the name of the movie burned the inside of your mouth. “It’s a thought terminating cliché, most common in cults.” 

“I’d gladly join the cult of Nicolas Cage,” Dieter admits, his mouth half full of popcorn, as he clicks the remote to play the movie. 

“Okay, but this is your one freebie.” You say as you dig into the bowl yourself. “Next time I’m gonna make you watch Amélie or some shit.”

“I happen to love Amélie,” he says, eyes still on the screen. 

You’ve gone quiet, which is never a good thing, so he glances over at you. 

There’s something soft about your face. Your mouth hovers open, lips parted and warm. This is the look you should have been giving him at the table read.

When you begged him to never, ever leave you. 

His blush is so hot and fast, it shoots down from his ears into his cheeks before he can stop it.

“What?”

Slowly, you blink. 

“Sorry . . . it’s just . . . I really love Amélie and I couldn’t imagine you’ve ever seen it. It just . . . surprised me, I guess.”

“What can I say, princess?” He folds his arms over himself to ensure not a single patch of skin touches yours. “I’m surprising.” 

He can hear you swallow as you turn back to the movie. 

It's the 80s and it’s trash and Dieter can’t remember the last time he had this much fun. Chloe was never a big fan of movies, didn’t like to sit still that long, and all of his other friends hadn’t been around since the arrest. 

He can’t remember the last time he was this relaxed. 

So relaxed, in fact, he falls asleep before the third act, his head dropping to the back of the couch.

He’s crawling out the depths of a warm, plush sleep when he hears it. 

At first, he’s not quite sure what exactly he’s hearing. It’s familiar, he knows he’s heard it before, but it’s at the same time foreign, too. Like he’s never heard this exactly before.

His eyes flicker open. The room is pleasantly warm and his back doesn’t ache as bad as it usually does when he falls asleep on the couch. 

His gaze focusing, he realizes something’s different about the TV. The movie is no longer playing – rather Vampire’s Kiss is no longer playing and instead, it’s one of his old movies. Back when he didn’t need to exercise to have v-lines in his hips and his skin was naturally sun-kissed. It’s the high fantasy one where he kissed so many men and women during shooting, he found out he definitely wasn’t straight by the end of it – and –

You’re moaning. 

That’s what that noise is. Moans. Stifled, but high-pitched, breathless, tense moans. 

He knows exactly what that sound is, but he had never, ever heard it come from you before. It’s not him, it’s not the movie, so it has to be – 

You are arched against the back of the couch, chest rising and falling, with your hand down your pants. The buttons are undone and the zipper is halfway down and the fabric bunches and twists against your knuckles.

You’ve got your lip between your teeth, cheeks flushed, air rushing out of your nose, and your eyes are glued, attached, bound to the screen.

To him. 

You lick your lips as his character takes off his cloak, revealing a broad, sculpted back and you whine, almost panicked. Your mouth falls open, eyes falling shut as you work your hand faster in your pants. There’s sweat on your forehead.

You’re masturbating, right here on his couch.

You’re masturbating to him. 

He’s on top of you before he knows what he’s doing. 

His fingers dig around your wrists, pinning them above your head, your tits inches from his chest. You look up at him in bewilderment and beside his head, your fingers glisten in the light from the screen. 

You were using three of them, judging by the shine. 

He drops his head, fighting the body-wracking groan that’s pulsating in his throat. 

God, he can fucking smell it, you, from here. If your fingers are anything to go by, your panties must be drenched. 

He’s shaking– actually shaking – from restraint. 

He cannot look at your face, cannot see what’s in your eyes. 

The word ballistic is knocking around in his brain. 

I’m gonna go ballistic. You’re making me go ballistic. This is the night I go ballistic. 

He might actually drool. 

You breathe in and he squeezes your wrists harshly. No, no talking from you. But of course, you don’t listen. When in the history of the fucking world did you ever listen to him?

“In my defense,” you begin slowly and he can picture the shameless coy smirk on your face, “I thought you were asleep. I checked. Twice.”

He doesn’t know whether he’s going to kiss you and fuck you, or split you apart with his bare hands.

“FUUUCK!” Dieter roars and physically shoves you deeper into the couch. 

He bounds up, and snatches your purse off the floor. He’s rifling through it as he slams open the sliding door to the pool so hard the glass shakes. He finds what he’s looking for and chucks your purse behind him. 

His hands are still trembling as he lights the cigarette in his mouth.

He inhales so deeply, he can’t breathe right. 

It doesn’t slow the hurricane in his mind, but it does ease the knife wound between his ribs.

His feet are cold against the concrete by the pool.

Water laps behind him and the stars above are indifferent to one man’s plunge into insanity.

“What’s got you so wound up?” You come out from the open door, with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It might be cold, if his skin wasn’t burning from the inside out. You’re scowling as this is somehow his fault. 

“No. Fuck off. Go back inside. I’m not talking to you.” 

“What’s your actual fucking problem, dude?”

His eyes grow wide and he plucks the cigarette out from between his teeth. “Are you fucking serious? Is that a real question?”

“Look, I figured out why we can’t have a scene together that even fringes on vulnerability.”

He huffs darkly. “Since you’re not going to leave me alone, feel free to fucking enlighten me.”

“You see this project as the be-all-end-all to your career, right? And you’re afraid you’ll screw things up with your wife permanently if you have one more fuck up. That’s why you can’t be vulnerable with me, because you’re scared someone will see the truth in it. Well, baby, the truth is a matter of perspective.” 

He balks. He can feel the heat of the cigarette burn his skin but he doesn’t care.

“‘Truth is a matter of perspective’? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you hear what comes out of your mouth sometimes? Nobody talks like that! That is not how normal people talk!” 

“If it’s not that, then what? Tell me, Dieter! What are you so fucking mad about?” 

“You were masturbating– to me! That’s like some kind of violation, right? I should call the fucking police on you.” 

“Why does it bother you so much? You’re an actor, you've gotta know people do sick shit online all the time!” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know them. I don’t. . .” He swallows. “I don’t know– it doesn’t bother me so much thinking about the nebulous them.” 

“Then what the fuck is up your ass about . . .” You trail off. His heart by his ears, he turns to you. You’re watching him, your eyes the size of silver dollars, your earrings glistening like diamonds in your ears. “Oh my god . . .”  

He doesn’t like that tone of voice at all, doesn’t like the look in your eyes. You step closer and he steps back. You take another step and he almost falls backwards into the pool fully clothed.

“Oh my god, Dieter . . .”

“What?”

A smile breaks out across your face. Relief. Hope. Shock. Delight. A joy that verges on cruel. 

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” 

He turns his shoulder away from you, trying to wiggle out from under the pin of your eyes.

“The fuck are you talking about? What’s it?” 

You stepside him and he catches your wicked smile again. Your eyes are glittering. Victory.

“You’ve masturbated thinking about me, haven’t you?” 

“. . . no. What?” He turns away towards the house, but you block him. He could pick you up and just move you, but he doesn’t. “Get out of my face.” 

Triumphant, you snatch the last bit of cigarette out of his fingers and inhale. Your hip cocked, maroon shirt trembling in the night air, you look like you own the mesa and all the stars in the sky. You lick your bottom lip, transcendence shining in your eyes.

“You’ve totally jerked yourself off thinking about what it would be like to fuck me,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. “Was it big? Was it messy? Did it go everywhere?” 

Dieter nearly snarls again and claps his hands over your shoulders. He wants to shake some sense into you or pull you closer. 

Despite everything, having his hands on you is a balm. It quiets some part of him. 

“For the love of God, stop fucking talking. I am literally begging you to. stop. talking.” 

You don’t say anything, but that boastful grin is still on your face. He doesn’t drop his hands and you don’t step back. You are farther apart than in the bathroom, and somehow, out in the open air, it feels even tighter, enclosed. He can see the individual lashes around your eyes, the barely-there wrinkles forming at the corners. You’ve got freckles in places that he’d very much like to taste. 

God, how you love a challenge. You bring the cigarette to your mouth. You inhale, then slowly dip your head forward to his mouth. You don’t go any further, but then you exhale, smoke escaping past your lips and dousing him. His eyes flutter shut from the heat, the warmth, the burn of the smoke. He thinks he can smell bubble-gum. The smoke kisses him on the lips, gentle, inviting. A promise of many, many possible futures. 

The smoke passes, flits away on the desert wind. And there’s your face, emerging from behind obscurity. The smirk is gone. Instead, you’ve gone soft, wanting, full of desire. Your eyelids are halfway closed against the smoke and the flood of need scorching you from head to toe. He thinks you and hurricanes share the same sort of powerful, thunderous beauty. 

It would be easy.

It would be so easy. No one else had to know. 

But he would know. He wasn’t quite there. 

Not yet. 

He takes the cigarette back from between your fingers, careful not to touch you. 

“That one’s mine,” he murmurs, hoping his words land where he wants to put his mouth. “Almost gone anyway.” 

He flicks the butt across the white concrete as he goes back to your purse. He gets two this time, the lighter in his back pocket, and he sits at the edge of the pool. He rolls his jeans up to his knees before easing his legs into the cool water. The pool light below him throws constellations of blue-silver onto his calves. 

You sit next to him, after a moment, the blanket still around your shoulders. You roll up your jeans just like he did and find a matching position next to him. He offers you the other cigarette wordlessly and you take it and light it. Faint smoke trails waft up into the night sky from between your fingers and his, inches from each other. 

“If it isn’t entirely obvious, I wanna fuck you too,” you confess to your thighs, voice small and edged. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I was that you didn’t take me up on my offer at the hotel.” 

His eyebrows slowly rise. “You remember that?” 

You nod. “I was ready to kick out those other two assholes if you had said yes. I wanted you all to myself.”

It was out there. You knew his secret and he knew yours. A monumental weight had been shifted and Dieter no longer feels like there is a burning knot of metal wool in his chest.

The paper crinkled as it burned. 

Still, something lingered.

“What do you want to do about it?” You swing your ankles through the water. It catches the light and your skin glows.

“About what?”

“About this. About us.”

“Nothing,” he says. The hand at his lips trembles. “Nothing can happen and it never will.” 

“Because you love your wife so much.” You make it sound genuine. But there’s enough bitterness inside of him to know it’s not.

“Because I can’t do that to her. Not again. She’s a better person than I am. A better person than I will ever be. I don’t know why she loves me but I don’t deserve her and I’m not putting her through that again.” 

You sit quiet for a moment, your mouth puckered and cocked to the side. He thinks– just for a moment, for a minute, as you stare out into the night-blue abyss– he thinks your eyes are wet. 

His heart, his whole chest, aches deeply. Just for a moment.

“Seems kinda fucked up to stay with someone out of guilt,” you say finally. Your voice is clear and maybe he was just imagining things. He swallows and smokes some more, hoping the burn in his mouth will somehow give him the right words to say. His fingers drum on his knee. 

“You only get two of those a day. From now on. Only two.” 

“Two what?” 

He grins because he really does like spending time with you. 

“Comments that make me feel like an asshole. You get two a day. That was one.” 

You scoff, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Four. I want four.” 

“You get two.” 

“Three.” 

“God, you are bossy. Three and that’s it. You go over and I’m throwing you off this mesa.”

You smirk, and he lets you have this victory. You need it, he knows. 

You wade your feet some more, ankles spinning out in slow, small circles. He watches your thigh muscles move. How soft the backs of your knees are, he can only imagine.

“So, was this all worth it?” He waves his hand around, smoke trailing from between his middle and index finger. “Close quarters character work or whatever. Are we friends?”

His smile is teasing, but it falls off slowly when you don’t smile back. Your face is blank, but your eyes are dark as they stare, heated, at the water, a storm brewing in your thoughts. You pick at your nails, resting on your knee, the cigarette weakly chuffing silver smoke.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you murmur softly.

“Natalie, I —” 

“I don’t want to be friends.” You say louder, forcefully. You turn your gaze to him and he sees that girl on set that’s always a word away from pushing him over the limit, towards the edge of his sanity. “And I know you don’t want that either.” 

He works his jaw, buckling under the weight of your desire. He looks away. Your ankles are sparkling. 

“That’s all I can offer. I’m sorry.” 

“An apology. Wow.” You scoff scornfully. “You know, Dieter, I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Your voice is strained, grated, unpolished. Your face is tragically beautiful, even when it’s holding back tears. 

“This is the way it has to be. Do you want me in your life or not? Can we be friends?” 

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you say no. He hadn’t really considered a life without you in it, in some shape or form. But the dread he felt when he made it an option, it was overwhelming.

He can’t swallow air right. He rubs his chest, suddenly light-headed from the smoke. He wants to lie down somewhere warm. 

Slowly, thankfully, with a grace he didn’t think you possessed, you nod. You switch the cigarette to the other hand and lift your palm. A greeting. The waving of a white flag. A rain-soaked battlefield full of ghosts and dreams. 

He takes your hand and shakes it once.

“Friends it is.”

[lovetaroandtaemin]

All I Wanted

Chapter 5: It Gets Worse

Osaki Shotaro x Reader

Word Count: 872

Previous 4 chapters can be found in the "All I Wanted" masterlist, which is linked here.

Content Warnings: Parental angst, Shotaro doesn't handle his emotions well, some suggestive dialogue (MINORS DNI!)

Author's Note: We're not gonna talk about the fact that it's been 2 months since I updated this fic. I'm so excited to be back to writing this one, though. Having the idea for this fic is actually what made me decide to start this blog! I hope you all enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. Feedback is always appreciated!

Fic is under the cut.

The next day in class, Shotaro refused to talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary. You had tried to ask him what was wrong, but he refused to tell you, only saying that everything was fine. It made you wonder if you had done something wrong.

You were at a loss for what to do, so when you saw Karina again you told her what happened. She offered to ask Wonbin to check in on Shotaro for you, just to reassure you that he was ok. You thanked your best friend profusely and asked her how her relationship with Wonbin was going.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a relationship. We just fuck sometimes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but have you ever wanted it to be more than that?”

“Honestly, no. I think that our arrangement is great the way it is.”

“Alright, just please be safe.”

“I will, (Y/N).”

The two of you continued to chat until she had to leave. You hugged her and thanked her again for offering to talk to Wonbin. She promised to update you as soon as she could. Then she went on her way, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It was obvious to anyone that saw him that Shotaro wasn’t ok. He had barely slept the night before, and he snapped at anyone that talked to him. He only regretted that when it was you. It wasn’t your fault that he was upset, and he knew that. He had never been good at coping with his emotions in a healthy manner, though.

That’s why when Wonbin asked Shotaro what was going on after classes were done for the day, he didn’t even tell his best friend the truth. It hurt to admit that he was feeling inadequate, especially because of one measly grade, so all he said was that he had gotten into an argument with his dad. It happened all the time, so at first Wonbin had no reason to suspect that something else was going on.

The two friends spent the evening playing video games and talking about whatever came to mind. They discussed their classes, their family lives, and eventually their relationships. The conversation started to turn sour when Shotaro asked Wonbin what was happening between him and Karina.

“What do you mean? We’re just hooking up, there isn’t really anything happening.”

“I think fucking counts as ‘something happening,’ ‘Bin.”

“Ok sure, I guess, but nothing serious is happening.”

“Do you want something serious to happen?”

“I mean not really. She’s awesome, but I’m just not into her like that.” There was a pause before he added, “How are things going with (Y/N)?”

“They’re fine, I guess.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

“’Taro, you only say ‘fine’ when you’re not ok. What happened?”

“Nothing happened, oh my god.”

“Alright. If you don’t wanna talk about it I won’t make you.”

“Thank you.”

The night continued with an air of awkwardness until Wonbin went home. After that, Shotaro finally let himself cry for the first time since the call with his dad. He cried over the fact that his dad didn’t seem to care about him unless he was doing well in school. He cried over the fact that he felt like he was too stupid for you to love. He cried over the fact that he was on a path that he didn’t want, all because of his need to impress his dad. He cried until he was too tired to cry anymore. Once the tears dried, he tried to sleep and hoped that everything would eventually be ok.

The next morning, Karina texted you. She informed you that Wonbin said that Shotaro was safe, just stressed about some personal stuff. She didn’t tell you what Wonbin said about Shotaro getting more upset when you were mentioned.

When you saw Shotaro in class, you said, “Good morning” and asked how his day was going. He got angry and told you that everything was fine, and that he was sick of everyone asking if he was ok. In response, you just apologized and asked if he wanted to hang out after class. That just made him angrier, though you didn’t understand why. He told you to just leave him alone and that he was fine.

The two of you didn’t talk at all for several days after that. Class was awkward, but you did your best to just get through it. It hurt to not talk to your friend, but you figured that some space was what Shotaro needed.

Some space was not what Shotaro needed. He regretted talking to you the way he did as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew that he needed to apologize to you, but he panicked when he saw the look on your face after he told you to leave him alone. In his mind, it was obvious that you wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. So instead of texting you to apologize, he made plans to focus on his studies to distract himself. It didn’t work, however, because he didn’t want to think about his studies. All he wanted was you.

Thank you for reading! What did you think? If you enjoyed the fic, please like and reblog! As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you would like to be added to my taglist you can comment, send an ask, or dm me with the username that you would like tagged! IF you would like to request a fic, you can either send me an ask or a dm! Once again, thank you all for reading!

[ell-vellan]

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Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

Now, finally, they stood in front of a large circular pool of still water beneath a huge mirror of equally rippling reflections that somehow gave Bull the most massive case of the creeps, guarded by an eerie elf who was like no elf he'd met before.  This was what Corypheus wanted so badly. This was what they’d come all this way to steal out from under him. And seeing the Well of Sorrows now – just a low pool of water at their feet – Bull believed it earned its name, somehow. Bull had stayed out of it, the whole thing. Their whole discussion about the Well with its creepy pale guardian elf, the arguments between him and Morrigan and Solas. This was El’s domain, her people’s culture, and he could tell just from the glances he’d gotten of her face that she was overwhelmed. Reverent, curious, amped up, but entirely focused. She didn’t need his input here, and it’s not like he had anything useful to say. So he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he observed. He saw the way El received the revelations from Abelas; saw the way she flinched when Abelas called the Dalish “shadows wearing vallaslin.” Saw the way she rallied, arguing that they had respected the sacred grounds and done his rituals, that Corypheus was here to steal whatever the Well offered, and that she had come to stop him. “I believe you,” Abelas said, without emotion. Like it didn’t truly matter why she came, or how Abelas felt about it.  Iron Bull stared at the Inquisitor’s back. Her armor gleamed eerily in the flickering light of the temple’s torches and shifting sunlight through the canopy of broken roofs. Solas stood beside her, tension in every muscle of his body. They’d been two of a kind here, buddy-buddy the whole trek through the jungle and the temple, talking in hushed whispers like they were afraid the temple’s sentinels could hear. El hadn't glanced Bull's way, too focused on taking in every single detail of Mythal's temple. Bull watched it all go down with the curious detachment of a guy with no real skin in the game. But El did, and she was the one he was concerned about.  The scantily-clad witch glared at them. She was the odd one out, the one who’d told them about this place, but not enough, definitely not all that she knew. Bull didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, and he was pretty sure he could throw her a long way. Whatever she had come for, it wasn’t proving as easy as she’d thought it would be, that much was for sure. She was the human arguing with the elves, in the middle of the elfiest place Bull had ever set foot. And that was saying something. The oddest one of all, that long-limbed, pale elf in golden armor who wore vallaslin and yet was nothing like any elf Bull had ever met. Unlike any other elf alive. He was taller, for one. And he had this air about him that made the back of Bull’s neck prickle. There was a power to him that was ancient; all Bull's instincts clamored that this guy felt like no foe he’d ever faced, that appearances were dangerously deceiving. Abelas carried himself with quiet arrogance that he’d only seen in a very few. Bull’d learned through experience that people with this kind of confidence, this lack of fear, meant they either didn’t give a fuck whether they lived or died, or knew you were nothing, and both options were bad news. The put him on alert, a deep instinctual fear that he’d met a rare foe who might actually be better than him. Bull very much did not want to fight Abelas. Not even four-on-one, with three experienced mages and a spirit-boy who could disappear and reappear and was really, really good with knives.

Share a favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

“It's not like I haven't seen the guy naked before.”

El startled. “You told me you met them when they saved your life.”

“I did. I had stepped on the toes of somebody important in Antiva, I guess – maybe I killed his friend or banged his sister, I never did learn which – and the Crows had a contract out on me. And look, I'm good, but the Crows don't fucking stop, and even I have to sleep sometimes. Anyway I was on my way outta town, not that it matters much, the Crows are everywhere, but I figured maybe they'd calm down. Nope. Anyway, just so happens around that time Zevran was working through the Crows on his own, knocking ‘em out one by one, and our goals aligned in a pretty lucky way for me. Long story short, they saved my life, I thanked them, we got to talking and…”

Bull was waiting deliberately, gauging her reaction, but she was calmer than he’d expected. Aghast, maybe, but not exactly surprised, and not really jealous, either.

“And you thanked him further by… sleeping with him. Because of of course you did.”

“Both of them, actually.” Bull smiled crookedly and took her hand when her eyes went wide, squeezing in reassurance. Or maybe to keep her from running like the skittish thing she was. 

“You slept with both of them at the same time?”

“Aw, kadan,” He grinned at her with affection. “Didn't know I could still shock you with stuff like that.”

[justafoxhound]

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer in this game. Thanks!

Lines from your fic...

Line that makes you laugh

Well, there was no harm in taking a walk, she thought. At least not when the alternative involved taking a leap in several different directions at once. “You make a convincing argument, Mr. Jericho. This way.”

-From Atomic Smitten, when Talia is being threatened by a desperate man brandishing a grenade

Line that makes you sad

She saw, for the first time in a long time, the glistening of real emotion in his eyes. He was serious, honest. Or at least more honest than she’d ever known him. She began to cry. Not because it moved her. But because he really believed it. He really believed what he’d told her, told himself, over and over again. That the Vault was the best place for her. That he was keeping her safe. That she was his number one priority. Because it was the antithesis to the story she’d lived. She’d lived a life second to his memories. Second to his dreams, to his hopes of getting it all back. Of making a dead woman happy. And he didn’t even realise.

-Talia and James in Atomic Smitten. LW and James are tragic and not in a noble way!

Line you are proud of

Gustavo watched Burke go as he smoked the rest of his cigarette. “Hey, Burke,” he called after a few seconds, jogging closer so they could keep their voices down. “What, uh… what was it exactly that ailed Tenpenny? Just out of curiosity?” Burke looked him dead in the eyes, a fire burning behind them like he’d never seen. “He wanted Talia dead, Gustavo. He took steps to make it happen. He tripped.”

-From Atomic Smitten. I am so satisfied when writing clever evil Mr Burke hehee.

Line that could have been better

It took him a few seconds to get the joke, and a few more til he was completely washed out by the wave of affection that swelled through his body.

-Burke in Atomic Smitten. I still can't figure out how to make this less literal. You know that feeling when someone does something so 'classic them', and you feel a wave of affection lol.

Line that makes you want to punch a character

“I’m not trying to justify it. Jesus fuck, what is wrong with you?” Hot tears blurred her vision. Why did he never get mad? Never. Never did he raise his voice, speak in anger, just flip out. What would it take? “You don’t fucking care, just admit it, why are you still bothering with this… act?”

He looked wounded, like he did on the way to the monument from the city. “I care Talia. It’s just that right now-”

-From Atomic Smitten. JAMES MY MAN... 'Let's put a pin in this, but know that i am dIsAppOiNtEd in you' is not appropriate reaction to the Megaton incident... Think about ya gurl for more than a second PLEASE

Line that makes you go 'awww'

“Well… whatever. Man, I hope the cafeteria has gecko steak. I don’t know if they serve that for breakfast. And mutfruit juice. Surely they get juice here-” “Talia.” “Huh?” “Are you with me on this? I’m not going on a ‘whatever’.” Talia smirked at Burke’s lazy impression of her. “Well you came up with it right? So yeah, I’m with you.” “Sure?” “Always.”

-From Atomic Smitten, Burke and Talia discussing a plan of his.

Line full of symbolism

The glowing sign bathed her in soft blue light, giving this section of the strip a calmer feel to match the soothing ebb and flow of the nearby ocean. Quietly receding from the sandy Miami shores without fanfare, only to endlessly announce its return with the crash of waves breaking across rocks. The complete opposite of how it went whenever she did this dance.

-From A Seashell Necklace, a short from Tali/Burke future.

Contains easter egg

Gustavo stroked his chin as his men bickered over another hand of poker. He seemed to be breaking up more of their stupid fights since Talia disappeared. Interesting. Even men of war seemed to need the presence of women to temper their default mood of being ready to go. And for more than a few hours a month.

“Grayson, sorry but he’s right. A straight is a hand, and it beats what you got."

-From Atomic Smitten. Not sure if this is an egg but I was playing poker with my bf and he didn't believe a straight was a hand so I immortalised the moment with Tenpenny tower security haha

Line that is shocking

Autumn frowned deeply. “You lie!” He turned away in disgust, then turned back and drew his pistol.

Well, this is it. To Talia’s surprise, her life didn’t flash before her eyes. She didn’t run or fight or even think of anything witty to say just to go out in style. Her legs actually went weak and she staggered back against the wall, slowly sinking to the ground.

This part felt shocking while writing. For all the perilous skirmishes in a Fallout 3 adventure, I got in the headspace of a prisoner, helpless, facing execution, expecting it at any time thereafter. It was a lot heavier. 😨

Line you want to talk about more

Surprisingly, Talia was speechless. She just looked around the room and began to nod. She beckoned her dog. Amata walked away and busied herself at the other end of the clinic, turning only to see the pair disappear into the corridor. 

I’ll miss you.

-From Atomic Smitten. She doesn't get much page time but I really got into Amata’s Head to write her POV. I think she really considered Talia a friend, but ultimately Tali figured Amata was hangin for the street cred, to counter being the daughter of the overseer and the flak it brought, and using her like everyone else (from her perspective). But despite what Talia did, Amata attempts to see it from the perspective they were both lied to and mistreated. She makes some very tough, thankless decisions in order for the vault to survive, and sacrifices her friendship for it. She's a real leader and maybe Talia will never understand :'(

Tagging if you want @tallmatcha @chennnington @lucien-lachance @jentucker anyone with fics who see this!

[chasing-obsession]

Arknights Lore Shit - Amiya Module Part 1

Amiya’s module dropped on CN and holy shit is it a big one with SO MANY FUCKING IMPLICATIONS. Beware for absolutely MASSIVE spoilers.

As always, everything I say is just my own personal interpretation of the text. Original source of the module can be found here: https://aceship.github.io/AN-EN-Tags/akhrchars.html?opname=Amiya

EDIT: Corrected a thing because I forgot that Terra had 2 moons.

The basic summary of the module is that a certain individual is reviewing memories. Probably watching space ships launch up into space. Then the memories come into focus, a giant metal sphere floating in space, waiting for it’s father. The viewer feels tears forming and the memories change to the birth of a child, the viewer’s child and all the feelings and emotions that come with witnesses said birth. Then the memories end and there’s a bunch of people yelling, asking the viewer what they saw. Did it work?

"Check his brain, I told you we shouldn't be in such a hurry, we've only just established a protocol channel for communication with the database! This has only just completed the first successful delivery!"

It turns out the viewer was actually witnessing someone ELSE’S memory. The memory of a planetary engineer.

"I said ...... I never actually used to like you planetary engineers very much, I thought you were doing flashy things ...... But I saw it. I saw your past, I shared your past, I felt your emotions, and it was ...... unparalleled."

The project, code named DWDB-221E, appears to be a repository of human history up to a certain point but relying on memory instead of texts and videos. I’m not sure why memory except somehow...

"We've learned enough, except that in the future, they'll never find an excuse to tinker with history."

The same group of scientists then debate on what to name it. They don’t want to keep calling it DWDB-221E, it sounds too cold. The scientist arguing for the name refers to the AMa project. There’s an argument over what to name it and one of the proposed names is “Black Crown” but ultimately, the lead suggests calling it “The Survival of Civilization."

That’s the summary.

Here’s the my theorizing:

First, we now know that whomever created Kal’tsit is also the same group of scientists who created the Black Crown. We know this because Alty calls Kal’tsit AMa-10 in HoSF OF-EX6:

Alty: AMa-10 Dr. Kal'tsit, please tell me... How were those special Ægirians born?

We also know this because of this line from Amiya’s module:

“I know there's a prescribed format for project numbers, just like AMa“

Second: So we have confirmation that one of the two moons hanging over Terra is fake. The question is why. What is it for? Is THAT what’s storing all the data and where Originium comes from? What’s with the fake sky then? Was Terra a terraformed system adapted to be more hospitable to human life and both the fake sky and the second moon were created to maintain the balance? Or something else? To hide it from whatever unknown entity lies Beyond? Are the humans fleeing from something or did they just really fuck up Earth? Is Enfield actually a prequel?

Third. I’m going to put money down that the Doctor and Priestess are both part of the original ‘humans’ that created the Black Crown and Kal’tsit. Most likely they are their descendants and the Doctor is the last survivor, having been kept in a pod and left buried after disaster struck, probably with or near the Rhodes Island Landship and then excavated at some point, where they basically they lived their life as a professor and researcher of Originium before Theresa dragged them into her war. 

Fourth. This is the big one. The Black Crown and how it relates to the Sarkaz. When discussing what the Confessarii’s arts were all about, I had once theorized that the Sarkaz Collective Memory was less some nebulous collective unconscious and more like a singular mass cloud storage where all the memories were just uploaded with maybe a random file name and no organization.

The fact that my analogy is... most likely not an analogy and ACTUALLY WHAT IS GOING ON amuses the fuck out of me. Anyway. If all this memory is uploaded, it needs to be stored and that’s a MASSIVE amount of data that needs to be stored and there’s no way Terrans wouldn’t have found artifacts unless... said data is actually stored in Originium. It’s a semi-organic material that’s capable of self-replicating and we know from Ptilopsis’s module and her first Op Rec, that it’s actually capable of storing massive amounts of data. But not only that, but the Originium as a memory storage device is linked to ancient Sarkaz legend.

From the Module:

If Originium really has the ability to store information, and we are able to decode and translate it, then Columbia's science and technology will surge forward by leaps and bounds!

I've encountered a bottleneck. Current electronic computational devices are not able to handle the enormous amount of information contained within Originium. I need a more suitable computational carrier...

From the Op Rec:

???: All of this information is consistent with our hypothesis.

???: With these data on hand, Rhine Lab's newest results now directly correlate with the ancient Sarkaz legend. I don't think this is an accident.

???: And if our hypothesis is verified, it will revolutionize everything we know about Originium.

???: People think that Originium is a source of energy, a calamity; They think it can be used as a weapon, with only narrow applications outside of that. But the truth may be something far greater.

???: If Originium really 'stores information,' just think about what that implies. From Originium, we will be able to read the story of this world, spanning hundreds or thousands of years, maybe even more...

This brings us back to the Sarkaz and the Black Crown. The Black Crown is clearly device created to interface with all this data and the Sarkaz are clearly somehow genetically “in tune” with interfacing with the Black Crown and these stored memories on a level that other races in Terra can’t. I suspect this is also what makes them more susceptible to oripathy than other races. So if the Sarkaz basically connected 24/7 to the data bank and have one-way write access and the Black Crown is the only way to easily interface with the data bank, then it’s understandable why the Lord of Fiends aka King of the Sarkaz is a title that can be passed on to pretty much anyone, because it goes with the Black Crown.

Amiya is the current wearer of the Black Crown, having inherited it from Theresa but with a caveat. Because Amiya is not Sarkaz, she appears to issues interfacing with the crown properly, thus the suppression rings created by Theresa and Kal’tsit. (You could also argue that the Crown is also Amiya’s arts unit and because of it’s unique properties to not just read but also ‘access’ memories, she’s able to use it to do things like copy Ch’en’s swordsmanship.)

Which brings us to the Confessarii and what all of this means for THEM. I once theorized that the Confessarii’s arts work by being able to access the Sarkaz Collective Memories and based on what Salus said in Chapter 11, it sounds like the Confessarii arts can bypass the Black Crown entirely and tap directly into the data bank. The issue is that it’s basically like a script kiddie who hacked into a heavily encrypted database and thus can only read fragments of the data stored. Shining and her brother’s arts are a little more advanced. From my readings, it sounds like they have more than just read access. They can download a whole snapshot. But just a snapshot, a moment in time, not the whole memory.

Only the King of Sarkaz can do that via the Black Crown. Even more interesting is that the King of Sarkaz can basically utilize their connection to the database to manipulate the memories and feelings of all the other Sarkaz. Basically it sounds they have root access and can either edit or upload specific memories to illicit specific emotional responses.

There’s a TON of implications for this. Shit like ‘what’s Nightingale’s whole deal then’? And ‘what does this mean for Kirsten’s dreams of breaking out into space?’ But also ‘WHY THE FUCK DO THE SEABORNE REMEMBER THE NIGHT SKY?!’

I’ll continue my musings in part 2.

[summerwritesfics]

🏢I Wanna, I Wanna Stay ‘Til The End, Chapter 2 - However Long You Stay Is All That I Am

Pairing: Rain/Kuai Liang Length: 6361 Words Rating: Explicit 🔞 Warnings: Neighbours AU, Modern AU, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Medical Procedures, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Past Cheating, Cockblocking (especially relevant in this chapter LMFAO), Anxiety, Eventual Smut, Is it slowburn if the sex is fast but the emotions are slow, Minor Tanleena, 70% of this fic is me cockblocking Rain

I Wanna, I Wanna Stay ‘Til The End Masterlist

Notes: Hurray! Another chapter of another fic I havn’t updated in a while 😭 I’m doing it guys. Heads up, this chapter does have some discussion of past domestic abuse and past infidelity, but it’s kind of still tame atm. As a note before anyone leaves me a comment about it, I am aware that as of MK1 Rain has been given an actual name. I will however, still be referring to him as Ranjit for this story. I already started with that name and I don’t want to change it now. Chapter Title is from “All The Same” by Sick Puppies.

“Rule one of the getting laid guidebook, don't try to fuck someone who has something in the oven.” Mileena sat back in her chair, putting her feet up on the desk. “Rule two, don't have your phone with you, and if you do, don't answer it.”

Rain glared at her, head on the desk. The report had taken him far longer than he'd liked. He hoped to get it done quickly and then return to Kuai's apartment again. He was so close, Kuai was even fighting whatever anxieties he had and flirting back. But by the time he finished the report it was 3am, and somehow he doubted a booty call at that time would go down well, no matter how into it Kuai was.

“Hey, look at the bright side,” Tanya started and Rain aimed his scowl at her now, because what bright side? “You know he's gay, single and, for reasons I can't fathom, down to fuck you.”

Rain stuck his tongue out at her. She had a point though. Kuai was flustered by Rain coming on so strong, but seemed open to it. He flirted back. He looked genuinely disappointed when Rain had to leave. God fucking dammit a hot guy was going to fuck him and then the universe decided to cockblock him. That seemed fucking typical.

“Are you three actually working or are you just having a circle jerk?”

Rain sat up. His glare now on Reiko, standing in the doorway and looking at the three of them with disgust. Why the hell Shao Kahn continued to hire him, Rain had no idea, especially given what he did to Mileena while they were dating.

“Don't you have to be a douchebag somewhere else?” Tanya hissed, and it was obvious she was trying to resist the urge to walk over there and punch him. Rain wouldn't hold her back if she did.

“Don't you have work to be doing?” Reiko sneered back. Rain clenched his jaw as Reiko's gaze landed on him. “Sorry to hear your plans didn't go ahead last night.” Rain snorted, how long had Reiko been listening in to know the details? “Guy must be pretty desperate though if he considered fucking you.”

It was one thing for Tanya to tease him about something like that, but Reiko's tone made it clear this wasn't just friendly ribbing. This was malicious. It was quite frankly gross, how Reiko tried to tear him down for daring to side with Mileena after the breakup. Like Reiko wasn’t the cause of it in the first place.

“Sounds like you're jealous no one wants to touch you,” Tanya snapped back. He wanted to tell her that stooping to Reiko's level wasn't exactly the best idea.

“That's not what your girlfriend thought.” And that was why engaging seemed like a bad move. Mileena was shrinking into her seat, looking like she did not want to be here. Tanya looked like she was about to rip Reiko's head off.

“You know what, my personal life is none of your business,” Rain interrupted, hoping to god he could put an end to the argument before it really got ugly. The last thing they needed was being reprimanded for getting into a physical brawl in the office.

“Maybe you shouldn't talk about it so loudly then.” Okay being the bigger person really isn’t working. Of course it wouldn’t when the person you’re trying to put yourself above was such a condescending asshole. “I really don't want to know the details of some old guy you're going to swindle into having sex with you.”

“Then put your hands over your ears and walk away, no one's forcing you to listen.” Rain tried to ignore the weird twist of doubt now in his head. Swindle into having sex... Was he swindling Kuai into having sex with him? What did that even mean in this context?

“Whatever, I hope the guy figures you out before he gets himself hurt.”

Rain didn't get a chance to retort before Reiko disappeared, turning his back on them and leaving the room. He gave an annoyed sigh, shaking his head as he turned back to look at his friends. Tanya still looked ready to gut someone, while Mileena was staring down at her hands.

“You okay, Milly?” He asked, and Tanya's anger finally faded as she turned to her girlfriend.

Mileena looked up at them and gave a forced smile, “yeah. Let's just pretend that didn't happen.”

Rain wanted to agree except that nagging doubt was back. Mileena and Tanya were his best friends, but didn't coddle him. If he asked if they thought he was in some way tricking Kuai Liang, they would tell him their truthful opinion.

“Do... Do you guys think I'm 'swindling' Kuai to sleep with me?” He asked. He didn't particularly like the look the pair shared.

“I mean, you do seem a little preoccupied with sleeping with him, rather than getting to know him,” Mileena said, rubbing the back of her head.

“I can be interested in sleeping with him and getting to know him,” he argued. “Those two things aren't mutually exclusive.”

“I just think you need to talk to him first, see what he wants from this,” Tanya advised. “I mean he's what? A single 40 year old man? He's probably more interested in someone he can settle down with, rather than rampant sex.”

Rain hadn't really considered that. He'd been so distracted by the fact Kuai was hot and gay he hadn't really thought about what the other man could potentially be looking for in a relationship. Maybe he just wanted someone to fool around with too. But maybe it was like Tanya said and he'd want something serious. Rain wanted something casual, but that didn't mean everyone else did.

“Just be careful,” Mileena said, “he seemed really anxious, and if you aren't on the same page about this, it could really hurt him.”

Rain was a bit of a fuckboy, he openly admitted that, but he never really intended to hurt anyone. Maybe I need to slow it down a bit. 

“Alright, I'll see if I can talk to him.” He wasn't sure if he should do it before or after he had sex with him. He'd just see how things went the next time he saw him, he guessed.

“Good, until then though, we should probably get to work before someone who isn't dickface comes and yells at us,” Tanya said, picking up a pile of paper on her desk. “Did you want to go over the newest marketing pitch again before I send it off?”

“Yeah we should do that,” he agreed, although he knew that part of him would be thinking about the man living opposite to him, and how to figure out what he wants from a relationship.

Kuai hummed to himself walking down the street. It had been a good day. He'd managed to get a good chunk of the first draft done, spoken to Johnny about the scripting of the next book-turned-movie, and managed to get his bubble tea order in one take without stumbling over his words. It seemed a little silly to call that last one a win, but when you were used to always saying the wrong things, getting things right seemed like an accomplishment.

He had mostly been able to put the night before to the back of his mind too. He had thought about it though, while he sat in the park and drank his bubble tea. He really needed to figure out what Rain wanted.

Well, other than sex because that much was completely obvious.

It seemed like Rain wasn't looking for serious commitment. Just because that was how it appeared didn't mean that was what was really going on.

He'd been committed for 15 years, rushed into marriage at 20 and never really knew what it was like to not be in a long term relationship. And look what that had given him? Nothing but pain, emotional and physical. He was still healing from what had happened to him. He wouldn't rush into another serious relationship, he wouldn't let himself be hurt like that again.

He didn't think that Rain would do terrible things to him, but then he hadn't believed his husband would either. The possibility was terrifying to him.

If they could keep things casual in some way, he would appreciate it.

As he approached the apartment, he noticed the very man he needed to talk to was at the door. He looked like he was trying to figure out the trick with the door. The door clicked open and he gave a loud cheer as he did.

“I'm the best around! Nothings ever gonna keep me down!” He sang triumphantly, pumping his fist as he did. It was very endearing.

Kuai bit his knuckle to try and stop himself from laughing. Unfortunately, he snorted very loudly as a result, and Rain's head snapped around. He looked extremely embarrassed that Kuai had just seen that.

“Oh uh. You saw that, huh?” Rain sucked in a breath as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Don't worry, the secret of your dorky side is safe with me,” Kuai teased, trying not to grin. Rain gave a sheepish smile before holding the door open for him. Kuai thanked him as he slipped inside.

“So, I was actually hoping I'd catch you,” Rain finally said, following Kuai over to the elevator. “Given that I still owe you for the cakes, and I was thinking about ordering takeout tonight, I was wondering if you cared to join me?”

Huh. I wasn't expecting that. Maybe he had been wrong about Rain just wanting something casual. Or... was just having a meal together still considered casual? Kuai really didn't have enough experience with dating to be able to say.

Still, I can't really go wrong with free food, can I? 

“That does sound good,” Kuai answered with a smile, just as the elevator doors opened. “What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe a Chinese or pizza, whichever you prefer.” Rain lent against the wall of the elevator and the smile he wore made him look so handsome Kuai had to physically restrain himself from swooning.

“I could definitely go for a pizza right now,” Kuai replied, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He bit his lip. “I was hoping to talk to you, actually.”

“Huh, no kidding?” Rain hummed, pursing his lips. “There was something I was hoping to talk to you about too.” He grimaced slightly, “although it's a little personal, and we should probably wait until we're in my apartment.”

Strange. But Kuai smiled still and answered “ah, what I wanted to talk about may be better for a private place too then.”

Rain looked like he wanted to ask, but then the doors opened, and the subject was dropped and they exited as Rain asked “so, how was work today?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Kuai replied, “I made good progress on a couple of my current projects.”

Rain pursed his lips, “I don't think I've actually asked what you do for your job?”

He was right, now that Kuai thought about it. Between the questions they had asked each other and the growing sexual tension between them, the nature of their work life hadn't really come up.

“I'm a writer,” he explained, trying to figure out how in depth he wanted to go. He was well known, although not to the level of being stopped in the street like Johnny was. But at the same time, a few of his books had been made into blockbuster movies. “Currently working on a first draft of my next novel, as well as helping a friend with scripting a movie based on one of my others.”

He maybe shouldn't have mentioned the last bit when he noticed how wide Rain's eyes had gone.

“Wait, one of your books is being turned into a movie?” Rain sounded completely astonished. Even as he got his key out and tried to put it in his lock he was still looking at Kuai.

“Technically it's the third to be adapted,” Kuai admitted sheepishly. He didn't usually talk much about the movies. Not because they were bad or for lack of involvement, they were actually fairly faithful and he was involved every step of the journey.

No, it was more because after learning just who was involved, people suddenly were a lot less interested in Kuai Liang and far more interested in using him to meet world famous actor Johnny Cage.

Johnny was understanding. The last thing he wanted was Kuai being hurt because someone had carelessly used him as a gateway into fame.

“Wow, holy shit, that's amazing,” Rain stated, finally looking away long enough to actually get his key in the lock. “My brother is an actor.” Kuai felt a little apprehensive. He'd heard “my family members an actor, can you get them a part” before. Kuai still followed Rain into his apartment regardless. “Well... He's been in movies... as an extra.” Rain sighed as he shut the door behind Kuai and threw his keys onto a little table beside the door. “Although the way my family talks about him, you'd think he was Johnny fucking Cage.”

Kuai laughed nervously, partially at the mention of his dear friend, and partially because Rain's tone sounded extremely bitter. I get the feeling things aren't good with his family relationships. Still at least Rain wasn't pushing to know more about the films, or if Kuai could get his brother a better role in future ones.

“So, you never told me what you do?” Kuai tried to divert the conversation as he looked around the room. Observing at Rain's furniture, he suddenly understood the comment about Kuai's matching. There was such a mismatch of different styles and patterns.

If he was completely honest it was all extremely hideous but he knew that was just his personal opinion and definitely not a welcome one.

“Oh. Uh, nothing as exciting as you, by the sounds of it,” Rain replied, walking over to a drawer in his living room, and rooting through it. “I'm a Sales and Marketing executive.” He pulled out a pizza takeaway menu. “I'm basically behind a bunch of adverts and selling our products to clients, y'know basically making sure people actually want to buy our stuff.”

“I don't know, I think that sounds extremely interesting,” Kuai said, accepting the menu when it was offered to him. He already knew what he wanted, but it didn't hurt to pretend to look. “The closest to a normal job I've ever had was when I was 16 and doing weekends at the gas station.”

“Huh, you must have lived the starving artist life for a while then?” Rain questioned, flopping down on the couch and patting the seat next to him.

“Ah, not really. I married my ex-husband at 20 and he was ridiculously rich.” Kuai absentmindedly sat down, eyes still on the menu, trying to make sure the pizza he wanted was still available. “I technically didn't have to work, but I got bored quickly, and began writing to keep myself entertained. Sent my first draft to a couple of publishers one day on a whim, lo and behold one of them loved it and the rest is history.”

“I- Oh. Your ex-husband?”

Kuai paused.

He hadn't even realised he'd mentioned his ex. Shit. It had been a slip up, not a major one mind, but enough to make him feel apprehensive. Because usually when he mentioned him, people immediately felt entitled to know why they split up. Kuai didn't enjoy talking about that with his therapist, let alone to people he barely knew.

“Yes I was married for 15 years,” he explained, “we divorced 5 years ago.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Rain said sympathetically. “Why did you split?”

“We-“ Kuai stopped himself.

He was going to say they drifted apart but that just felt wrong to say. They didn't drift apart, Kuai just finally grew tired of the cycle. His husband berating and hurting him and then showering him with adoration and gifts. The promise that it would never happen again, only for a few days to go by and it to all start over. He would never forget the night he finally attempted to leave. He'd never forget hands on his chest, pushing at him and the sensation of falling down the stairs. He'd never forget waking up in the hospital to his husband swearing up and down Kuai had slipped and fell. He'd never forget the desperation he felt when he finally managed to slip the nurse a note that just read “he's lying, please help me”.

He took a deep breath, now was really not the time he wanted to talk about this.

“He just wasn't the man I thought I'd married,” he settled on.

Thankfully, Rain didn't seem to push for more info than that. Maybe it was clear the subject was too painful for small talk.

“Anyway,” he said with a cough, seemingly wanting to move on. “Did you decide what you want?”

“Vegi-surprise, please.” He passed the menu over to Rain, trying to smile and put the memories to the back of his mind.

“Vegetarian?” Rain questioned as he took the menu and got his phone out and started putting the number in.

“Ah, no, I just prefer vegetables on my pizza,” he explained, just before Rain put the phone to his ear.

He kept quiet as the order was made, wondering what the rest of the evening would bring.

“I can't believe you are partially behind that jingle,” Kuai exclaimed after swallowing a mouthful of pizza. Rain had been telling him about some of his previous advertising campaigns, and a very well known and annoying jingle for Outworld Superstores he'd had a part in creating. “It was stuck in my head for months!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Rain said with a grin. He wasn't the person who performed or wrote the jingle, but he was the one who had suggested it and given it the green light. He had been repeatedly told it had ruined people's lives with its earworm nature.

It was weird. Rain didn't consider his job exciting at all. Not that he regretted it, just normally when he talked about the ins and outs beyond specific adverts, people tended to zone out. Kuai on the other hand seemed fascinated. And here was Rain thinking he'd be the one asking all the questions about Kuai's job.

Actually, Kuai had barely talked about his work, it was a little strange. He was accomplished enough to have movies made from his books. Surely that was something to brag about? Kuai was probably just more humble than Rain could ever be. Years of his accomplishments being completely ignored in favour of his brothers meant he felt the need to be bold and push them to the front.

Now that I put it like that, maybe that is more a me issue. 

He was sure Kuai would open up more as time went on. Both on his work and the mysterious ex-husband he mentioned. Rain wasn't an idiot, he could tell whatever caused them to split up was painful. He hadn't pushed, it wasn't his place. The only thing about it that bothered Rain was Tanya and Mileena's earlier warnings that Kuai might be looking for something more serious.

And 15 years sounded pretty fucking serious to Rain.

He turned to Kuai with the intention of finally bringing the subject up, only to stop when he saw the other man. He had a small amount of dip on the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, you uh- you've got a spot on you,” Rain informed him, tapping the corner of his mouth, as an opportunity came to his mind.

Kuai reached his hand and wiped his mouth, "is that better?"

Rain scooted forward, reaching a hand to Kuai's chin. "Here, let me~" he purred, before leaning in to kiss the other man.

So much for talking about things first. Kuai made a surprised huff, but it didn't take long for him to lean into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Rain's shoulders. Kuai opened his mouth and Rain took the chance to slip his tongue in. He was delighted to feel Kuai's tongue mingle with his own.

He began to shift, gently pushing Kuai back down against the couch. Rain's hands fumbled with Kuai's shirt, trying to undo the buttons. He released Kuai's lips, trailing kisses along his neck instead. Kuai moaned as Rain managed to brush aside Kuai's shirt. He pulled back slightly, just enough to observe the other man below him. Kuai was surprisingly fit, not too muscular, not too lean. His chest was covered in scars, some looked like they had potentially been from surgery, while the others he had no idea what could have caused them. Now was not the time to ask. He'd been so distracted by the scars, he'd barely registered that the other man's nipples were pierced.

Holy shit, how the hell does this man seem to fit every niche I’m into? 

“God, you're so fucking hot,” he muttered, before leaning down pressing his lips between the other mans pecs.

“R-Rain,” Kuai whimpered as Rain continued to kiss down Kuai's torso. He mostly followed one of the scars that seemed to go mostly down the middle. Kuai continued to make sweet little noises, even arching his back as if to push himself closer. He continued down, meeting Kuai's navel and slipping his tongue out and swirling it around the man's belly button.

Rain searched for the buttons on Kuai's jeans, undoing them before hooking his fingers in. He lightly tugged on the item of clothing and-

He jumped a mile when his door buzzer went off.

He sat up and stared at the intercom, before looking down to Kuai Liang. His face was bright red as he looked across at the thing that had interrupted them.

“S-should you get that?” Kuai asked, looking up at him while biting his lip.

“They can wait,” Rain decided, turning to settle back between Kuai's legs. He trailed his hands down Kuai's sides, leaning down about to kiss him. He stopped when the buzzer went off again. He grit his teeth, wanting to ignore it, until the buzzer started to rapidly go off, like someone was repeatedly pushing the button in quick succession. He gave an annoyed sigh as he pushed himself up. “Sorry, I'll just deal with this.”

God he was so fucking annoyed. As he got up and walked over to the intercom, he couldn't help but mentally berate whoever was on the other end.

He clicked the button and sharply answered with “Yes? What do you want?”

“Nice to talk to you too, Ranjit,” the familiar voice spoke back. Rain mentally groaned.

“What are you doing here Taven?” He reached a hand up to rub his temples. The last thing he needed was his brother coming over to pass judgement on how this place really wasn't up to scratch.

“I mean, I am your brother,” Taven replied. “But mostly I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Can't it wait? I'm kind of in the middle of something here.” He glanced over his shoulder. Kuai was sitting up on the couch, fiddling to redo his fly up. Shit shit shit. He wasn't going to let Taven ruin this for him. Not again. He thought he was done having family members walking in on him “accidentally”.

“No not really,” Taven said, sounding annoyed. Not as annoyed as I am. “The sooner you let me up there to talk, the sooner I'll be out of your hair.”

Rain made a frustrated hand movement, before dragging it down his face and finally biting out “fine, but you'd better be quick.” He hit the button that would let the door open, waiting to give Taven enough time to get through.

He turned back to find Kuai had already done up his shirt, although he was still sitting on the couch. He looked extremely embarrassed and Rain couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

“Should I leave?” Kuai asked quietly.

“No, no, it's okay. Hopefully this'll be a few minutes tops.” Rain held his hands up, hoping it might help calm Kuai down. There was a knock on his door, and he went to open it. He was rather thankful that it was just Taven on the other side.

“So, uh, this place is where you're hiding huh?” Taven said in greeting, looking around the place like he was expecting someone to jump out at him. Rain wanted to roll his eyes so badly. “Am I allowed in?”

Rain didn't want to let him in, but he supposed it would be rude not to. He reluctantly moved aside. Taven stepped in, looking around like he was trying to scope the place out. He did a bit of a double take when he spotted Kuai.

“Oh, uh, hello?” Taven sounded confused, and Kuai looked completely out of his depth.

“Hi?” Kuai squeaked out, looking desperately towards Rain for help.

“That's my neighbour, Kuai Liang, and this is my brother, Taven,” he introduced, gesturing to each of them as he spoke.

“Oh, you didn't say you had company,” Taven said, biting his lip.

“I did say I was in the middle of something,” Rain pointed out to him, trying to not just scream in frustration.

“Uh, would- would it be better if I left?” Kuai asked again, clearly getting nervous.

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Taven said before Rain could open his mouth to reassure Kuai it was fine.

He watched as Kuai nodded in defeat, before pushing himself up and grabbing his bag. As he made his way towards the exit, he paused briefly to give Rain a small smile.

“I'll see you later,” he whispered, before turning and leaving, closing the door behind him.

Rain just glared at Taven as he growled, “well now you've cockblocked me, you might as well tell me what the fuck you want?”

Taven shook his head in shock as he muttered “coc- huh?” He blinked a few times, “oh, my god, Ranjit, you weren't actually going to have intercourse with your neighbour were you?”

“Why do you have to refer to it like that?” Rain groaned. Why can't he just call it fucking like everyone else? “Yes, I was going to fuck him, but seeing as you've kind of ruined that plan could you please tell me why you're here?”

Taven looked like he wanted to say more on the subject of Kuai Liang, but eventually settled against it when he said “Mom's birthday party is next Friday.”

“And?” Rain rolled his hand to try and get Taven to get to the fucking point already.

“Well, I've been texting you asking if you're coming, and you've just left me on read.” Much to Rain's annoyance, Taven walked over to his kitchen, and settled down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“I don't know if you know this, Tav, but I've been rather busy lately,” he snarled, while flailing his arms to the apartment around him.

“So too busy to send me a one word text, but not to try and seduce your new neighbour,” Taven replied, crossing his arms. “Seriously, you've been here two days. You don't even know the guy.”

“I know he's hot and I want to fuck his brains out, the rest is none of your fucking business,” Rain argued, storming over to the kitchen counter. “As for the party, I don't know yet.”

“She's your Mom-“

“No. She's your Mom! I'm nothing to her! The only reason I'm around her is because Dad couldn't keep his cock in his pants!”

The outburst lingered in the air, thick and heavy. It was a button Rain hated being pressed, Taven knew it was and yet he still insisted on bringing it up. In Delia's defence, on some level she had tried to be a supportive step-mother to Rain. It was clear, however, that her priority lay with her biological children. He knew that on some level she resented him, the constant reminder of her husband's betrayal.

He supposed she had at least tried, unlike his father.

He closed his eyes in defeat as he mumbled out, “when is it?”

“Next Friday at 6.” Taven was still looking at his hands. “If it helps, you can bring a plus one.”

“Fine, I'll be there,” he whispered, still not closing his eyes. He had a feeling Mileena and Tanya were busy next Friday, he might have to hunt for another plus one. “And I'll be with someone.”

“Thank you.” Rain opened his eyes, and hated how genuinely grateful Taven looked. “I know she'll be happy to see you there.”

I doubt that. 

“Was there anything else?” Rain asked, rubbing his face with his hand.

“No, I guess I'll leave you be,” Taven jumped off the seat and began to walk towards the door. “But, promise me that you'll be careful with the neighbour thing?” Rain just furrowed his brow at him. “We've been here before Ranjit. You rush into things, it's great for a while and in the end everyone just gets burned because they want commitment you can't offer them.” Taven reached to place a hand on Rain's shoulder. “I know it doesn't feel like it sometimes, but I do care about you and I don't like seeing you get hurt.”

There were so many things Rain wanted to say about that, but just couldn't. He resigned himself and just said “I'll be careful.”

Taven just nodded, wishing him a final farewell and then he was thankfully gone. As he closed the door, Rain rested his forehead against the door, resisting the urge to slam his head against it repeatedly.

Kuai sat on his couch, staring silently at his TV, despite it being turned off. He was more watching himself in the reflection. He was rubbing his fingers across his lips repeatedly, trying to soothe his nerves.

Rain had seemed very upset to see his brother. He wasn't sure if he should have stayed as a mediator, or if he'd made the right call by leaving them to it. Either way, it seemed his talk with Rain was going to have to wait. Well, not that it seemed talking was where things had been going.

It had been 5 years since Kuai last had sex. He’d thought about it a few times, but never worked up the courage. The way Rain kissed him, touched his body. He couldn’t believe how good he felt. It wasn’t until he was in that moment that he realised how much he missed that kind of intimacy. Even when he was married, that softness was limited to his ex’s good days, that man was a very selfish lover.

He didn’t want to think about that, he wanted to think about how wonderful it had felt for Rain to touch him.

So much for talking about things though. He sighed, and rubbed at his face. All it took was a kiss and I was spreading my legs for the guy. It did rather indicate that Rain was more interested in something casual, or at least, more interested in the sex aspect. If that was indeed the case, Kuai could handle that.

He jumped a mile when he heard a knock on his door. He scrambled to get up and rushed over to it. As he expected, once he opened it, there was Rain, looking extremely apologetic.

“I am so sorry,” Rain immediately told him before Kuai could even begin to utter a word. Kuai simply smiled and stepped aside to let him in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kuai tried to assure him, shutting the door as Rain entered the apartment. He felt a flutter in his chest, realising it was probably going to be now or never in regard to that talk. “Um… So, I think now would probably be a good time to have that conversation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.” Shang Tsung reached up to rub his face with his hand. “Um. Shall I go first?” Kuai nodded in confirmation. Honestly even bringing it up first was a big step for him, he didn’t think he could handle going first as well. “What exactly do you want from… whatever this is?” Rain gestured towards the both of them as he spoke.

So, we wanted to talk about the same thing. Funny. 

“That is what I wanted to discuss with you too, actually.” Kuai began to rub at his wrist, swallowing as he tried to think of how to explain. “I’ll be honest, I was hoping for something… casual.”

“Casual?” Rain asked, tilting his head. He didn’t look put off though, more hopeful if Kuai was reading him right.

“I don’t think I’m really ready for anything extremely committed.” Kuai bit his lip, trying to ignore how hard his heart was beating. Even though Rain showed no sign of being upset by this, the little voice in Kuai’s head wouldn’t stop telling him the other man was going to leave and never talk to him again over this. “I’d like a companion but not a partner… I don’t know if that makes sense?”

“No, no, that makes perfect sense.” Rain stepped forward, taking Kuai’s hand in his. “That’s what I’m wanting too. Just someone to have fun with.”

“Oh.” Kuai chuckled awkwardly. “Well now I feel stupid for being worried.”

“Pth, don’t. My friends kinda got in my head about how you’d probably want something more serious.” Rain rubbed the back on his neck and gave a handsome smile. “So, uh, something like friends with benefits good for you?”

Kuai laughed. Aren’t I a little old to be having friends with benefits? Still, it did sound nice. He didn’t really get to have the awkward early adult phase, it’d be nice to experience a little of what that would have been like. Even if he was about 20 years too late.

“Friends with benefits sounds perfect to me.”

He was surprised when Rain suddenly took hold of his hips and pulled them close. Kuai giggled as their lips almost touched.

“Well then, with that out of the way, where were we?”

Kuai felt a little bold, confidence brought on by the previous conversation, bringing his arms up and around Rain’s neck. He felt Rain pushing him backwards until his back hit the wall. How he resisted the urge to grind against him he had no idea. Rain’s lips were on his, and he opened them hoping for their tongues to meet again. He quite enjoyed that the first time.

It really should not have surprised Kuai when a ringtone started to sound from Rain’s pocket.

Rain pulled away, and grimaced. “I cannot believe this.”

“I’d have thought after yesterday, you’d have learnt to leave your phone behind,” Kuai teased a little, snorting when Rain pouted at him.

“You would have thought I'd have learnt my lesson, wouldn’t you?” He sighed and reached into his pocket, frowning at his phone. “I have to take this.”

Kuai nodded as Rain stepped back and answered the phone. He just stood and watched as the other man got more and more exacerbated. There was a part of Kuai that felt sorry for him, being interrupted yet again, but the other part of him that felt a little bitter that he hadn’t done the obvious of leaving the stupid device behind this time.

By the time Rain was done with the conversation, it was clear he was more than a little annoyed by it.

“Work?” Kuai gently asked, and Rain gave him an apologetic look.

“Unfortunately.” He grimaced and shook his head. “The universe really does not want me to fuck you.”

Kuai laughed despite the situation. It really seemed that tonight was not going to be the night again. But there would always be more opportunities.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Kuai pushed himself away from the wall, stepping forward and giving Rain a quick kiss on the cheek. “I promise I will still be here tomorrow.”

Rain nodded, not hiding the somewhat goofy smile on his face from Kuai’s display of affection.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Rain assured him, patting his arm slightly. All Kuai could do was sigh as Rain made his way back to the door.

As soon as it shut behind him, Kuai flopped backwards against the wall, letting himself slide down it and staring at the ceiling. Honestly, if he were a little more superstitious, he’d genuinely think the constant interruptions were the doing of Bi-Han’s ghost. Big brother always was very protective, and a little too distrustful of just about anyone who found Kuai attractive.

It was a shame he wasn’t there to stop Kuai from getting married. He was certain if Bi-Han were still alive, none of the terrible things that happened would have. He’d have beat the shit out of his ex the second he suspected so much as a finger had been laid on Kuai’s body.

But Bi-Han hadn’t been there, and he wasn’t here now. Kuai just had to believe that all of this wasn’t some kind of bad omen. Like the universe was trying to stop it from happening to protect him.

Not like the universe protected me before. 

He was due to see Johnny again tomorrow, and work together on the next script. He was generally pretty decent at relationship advice. Maybe I should ask him tomorrow? At least get some idea on what to expect and how to maintain the boundaries to keep them both safe.

Until then, well, the whole experience was starting to give him creative inspiration. He finally stood up, and rushed over to where his laptop was, determined to write some notes before he forgot everything he’d just experienced and felt.

⋞ Previous Chapter ≛❀≛ Next Chapter ⋟

[torchickentacos]

I never do this, but reblogs were off and I want to shout this at everyone. stealing this post.

more thoughts under read more. I know it's a popular saying and I never look down on people who say things like this before knowing the impact they have (or even after to an extent, I have too much benefit of the doubt to go around), as we all have things we say and do that have negative impacts, and sometimes you never know to change that until someone points it out. So this is NOT a call out post or whatever, this is my rambling emotional thoughts on a topic.

I think first and foremost, I'm bothered by the ableism of course. But secondary to that is my annoyance at seeing people act high and mighty about fandom discourse. Like, if you want to talk to adults with jobs, go to linkedin or something, not tumblr, where we do care about things, and where we do discuss things.

And I GET thinking some discourse is stupid. I DO! because guess what. some discourse is stupid skjfhsdjkjfhsdjfhkdjs. I've joked about the poke/amour stuff before. I'll clown on some things, and maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but I feel like a step is taken when you take it from 'making fun of the discourse', something we all do to an extent (which dare I say is a form of participating in it) to 'making fun of the people who engage in such discourse'. We are FREE to talk about how silly the voltron stuff was. We are FREE to be snarky about things because human nature is to be a bit of a hater sometimes. but do it in a way that jabs at the topic and not the people.

But I think a lot of it also hinges on how we see human value on a larger scale. People make fun of people who work retail, people who don't have jobs, people whose jobs are considered extra or undesirable like sex workers, et cetera, despite these jobs being IMPORTANT. It's disheartening to me to see people lean on these types of jabs, and I think it tends to paint human value as something purely based on what you can give out to the world. It leans on this sort of input-output based system of determining how valuable or worthy someone is. And if they don't meet that standard value of 'adult with job', then their opinions are moot as jobless losers in their mom's basements or whatever the fuck. I think the whole thing leans into the conservative 'special snowflake' attitude, which isn't something I think we should be leaning on in arguments or discussion.

And I think that the intent is usually not to be ableist. Most people don't start their day wondering how they can insult disabled people, I'd hope. But intent and impact are often detached, and good intent (avoiding discourse) can have a bad impact (making fun of people in the name of pointing out issues with disocurse). I also think race could be a component, given how racial discrimination in hiring is still a very real thing and is a real factor preventing people from getting 'GoOd ReAl JoBs', but I'll leave that side of the discussion to someone who is more qualified to talk on it than I am. Feel free to chime in with any insight on that side of the coin if you want!!! I imagine the same also goes for visibly queer people but I'm not going to get into the straight/cis passing stuff right now.

And maybe I'm looking too far into it. Maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, maybe it's just a funny little saying that TOTALLY doesn't affect actual people in any way. After all, I'm just some jobless disabled loser in my parent's house talking about discourse on tumblr, aren't I?

[asirensrage]

Find the Words Tag Game

tagged by @residentdormouse! Thanks for that! Let's see if I have something for all of them.

My words: clear, calm, cautious, caring, and cave

tagging: @reyofluke-ocs @damn-daemon @residentdormouse @chickensarentcheap @bobfloydsbabe and anyone else who wants to join!

Your words: never, tag, loyal, team and burning

Clear

“Oyakata-sama requests your presence.”  Kit is lying in the dirt. It’s clear that the weeks she has spent healing the broken arm and cut have taken a toll on her body. She’s lost more than a bit of her strength.  Aoi moves forward, helping her stand. It takes her a second to catch her balance, the world swaying with vertigo. She’s overdone it. The younger girl holds on to her, keeping her steady.  “Thank you.” Aoi nods but doesn’t let go until Kit has her feet firmly on the ground and no longer feels like falling.  “Cora-san has been requested to join you.”

Calm

Something snaps to his left and he whirls on it, aiming the flashlight in the dark. “Come on out, dipshit!” he calls, sounding way more confident than he feels. He should have stayed in Cali, gone into acting or some shit. He’s good at faking confidence. He’s good at faking a lot of things.  Nothing responds.  “Fuck this,” he mutters. He grabs his pack of cigarettes and pulls one out. Something to calm his fucking nerves since he’s wandering the woods in the middle of the night. He tucks the pack back in his jacket pocket before grabbing his Zippo and lighting it.

Cautious

He works to engage her in conversation. It’s not hard. She’s not the most talkative, eyeing him cautiously, but she responds. He lets her give non-answers to his questions and she doesn’t question when he avoids a topic. At least until she tells him that he intrigues her.  She sees him. She sees beyond the persona he’s been given, knows the anger that sits under his skin. She knows there’s more to him than what he knows and he realizes that in the time he’s taken trying to figure her out, she’s been reading him. She doesn’t find him lacking but when she gives him that sad smile, tells him that “like recognizes like”, and whatever’s been done to her is in the past, he wants to tear her demons apart.

Caring

“I don’t have anything to say,” I admitted. “I mean, maybe he’s just not used to actually having someone who’s not related by blood, or Bobby, caring about him.”  “That’s no excuse,” she said but it didn’t sound like her heart was in it. “He should already know how much I fucking love him.” “And you know he loves you too, but Dean and emotions...they’re not friends, remember? Just...talk to him. Once the whole Sam thing is settled, he’ll probably be able to think straight again and then realize how much he screwed up.”

Cave

“Eric,” the man behind the desk calls out. His tone is dark, suggesting the argument not continue. He looks at the man next to me. “Take the girl to get changed and put her in detainment. We’ll discuss this after.” I try not to make a face. At least it wasn’t instant death. Still, detainment sounded like jail. I was getting imprisoned for being unlucky. Least they were going to give me something to wear. I had a feeling that being in jail in a cave was going to be cold.  “Come on,” the man next to me says before ushering me back outside. I don’t get a chance to argue that I should stay if they’re talking about me.

[tellywoodtrash]

Hi TT, hope you are well. I want to share something personal and ask you for your thoughts about it. I grew up in a lower middle class family where money was always short and our family life revolted around it. Now, I cannot bring myself to have kids and subject them to the same kind of life that I had. Although I am employed, but I am certain that I will not be able to bring up a child, forcing myself or my child to compromise on everything due to money. My parents do not understand my views

(Continued): They feel children should learn to adjust from their childhood to grow up to become model adults. I regard their thoughts with respect, but times have changed. So has inflation, society, peer pressure and find it very unfair to children who have no control over who they are born to. In a country like India, where children still live with parents( at least in the small town that I hail from), I cannot imagine slogging away my life for kids. This may make me sound self centered (Continued 2): but I value my current life, which is free from child related drama. I have a million other problems to handle day in and day out. Bring emotionally pressurised everyday is doing more harm than good. How do you suggest I navigate through this situation as talking out openly has been a gateway to tears and arguments. Not solutions. Would love to know your thoughts. TIA.

Dearest anon,

First of all, biggggggg hugs. I completely understand and empathize with you. Although my own parents have always been accepting of my decision to be childfree, the societal pressure to procreate is so fucking insane, especially in our desi circles. Like, I just went to do my dad's shraadh a few days ago, and the priest spent a good 5 min talking about how you NEED TO and absolutely MUST be blessed with kids to do this ceremony for you once you pass, and I was just like......... "Welppppp guess imma be haunting bitches up in here forever then........" 🥴🥴🥴

No but jokes aside, good on you for reflecting on your past, being aware of what you want in the future, and coming to this decision. First of all, even if you did make the decision in a "selfish" manner, I don't think there's a single thing wrong with it. You have the right to build an adult life as you see best for yourself. If you don't see children contributing any value to your life, then you shouldn't have them. It's absolutely ridiculous how we have to live until 18 as our parents say (down to being pushed into fields of study and careers that we don't want), and then spend even more of our adult lives catering to the arbitrary whims of these elders as well. At what point in this never-ending cycle do we get to live the life WE want for ourselves? So yeah, go ahead and BE CONFIDENT IN YOUR SELFISHNESS. You made it this far in life based on your self preservation instincts, and you'll be fine in the future as well. If protecting your boundaries is called being "selfish", then so be it. In the immortal words of Bhai....

Secondly, it's not self centered AT ALL - you sound very conscious of the meaning of a quality life, and what it means in the current global circumstances; you are not willing to risk dooming a potential life to an uncertain future, and that in itself is very considerate. So is the fact that you're not just having kids as an "insurance policy" for being taken care of in your later years.

The analogy I always use to make reasonable people who are willing to have a good faith discussion is that it's very much like insisting someone adopt an unwieldy pet like... A HORSE, or a fucking LEOPARD, or something. Like sure, there are people who do it, and they're happy to be living that life, good for them. But can you blame someone for not wanting something that is such a huge emotional and financial and time investment in the middle of their daily lives while just trying to survive in whatever clusterfuck existence??? You need a lot of special skills and commitment to ensure they live their best lives (and isn't that the reason to do this in the first place? To give it a good life?) and not everyone wants to do it. And that's a perfectly reasonable opinion to have. One could argue that such neglect would hurt human children much more than they would animals, and isn't that all the more reason to ensure that you don't birth them until you are 100% you are willing to put in the work?

But I suspect your parents aren't really willing to listen to your logic, and are reacting from an extremely emotional place instead. There's no real point talking to someone who isn't receptive to what you're saying. It's like pouring water onto a glass that's turned bottom up; all your time and effort is just for naught. My best advice to you would be to just stay absolutely steadfast on your decision. If they insist on discussing this, tell them this is between you and your future life partner to decide. Just say that and shut down the conversation and refuse to entertain it any further. And make sure if/when you do decide to make a long-term commitment to a partner, that they are on the exact same page about this matter. Tell them this is one of your non-negotiables, and that you'll commit to the relationship only if this is agreed upon. Once you and your partner have joined forces, there's nothing anyone else can really do about it. Eventually, they'll just have to make their peace with it and move on.

I know this current period of strife is stressful to you, but hang in there, love. It will eventually get better. I'm sending you lots and lots of love and support, and am always here to cheer you on. 🤗🤗🤗

[cruelestpoetryever]

“well i don’t agree i said anything wrong”

“Because I don’t agree that I was rude”

honey, YOU SEEM TO THINK THAT ALL THE TIME

i’ve gone thru quite a bit of ur blog and while u have a strong opinion about some things (which is v valid, i have strong opinions about certain things too and so does literally everyone else), you can’t seem to acknowledge or even respect anyone who seems to bring their views to ur blog (some i get like the transphobia, but a lot of anons seem genuinely nice and just want to have a discussion)

ur automatic response when u don’t have any others is “fuck you” (seriously how much do u like that word?) or calling things “stupid”. if the debate have reached an end with no clear resolution, just agree to disagree AND MOVE ON

u need to be able to see things from other people’s pov, and acknowledge that ur intentions can be very different from how people interpret the things ur saying or doing. it may be pretty normal for u to say stuff like “fucking tell me” and have short responses, but maybe say that bc otherwise it seems pretty disrespectful to a lot of people.

“i don’t see myself as difficult” - but clearly other people do?? they wouldn’t just be saying that for no reason. if people think i’m being difficult or rude there’s a v good chance that i have said or done something to make them think that. what u say, especially online, can be interpreted in many different ways. pls recognise that and make the aim of whatever ur saying clear rather than immediately getting defensive when someone points it out

genuine piece of advice: take a break. whether that be u completely deactivate ur account or just stop posting or responding to asks, just leave Tumblr for a bit. i cannot understand how it is fun for u to respond to these asks and to actively seek arguments under other posts. it might be a good idea for u to do some self-reflection and assess ur priorities, and the best way to do that is away from social media.

imma sign myself off with an emoji bc i come here often and i may leave another comment 🍯 (lol get it)

So I shouldn't use social media even if it's the only way to honestly express my interests and emotions? Wow what a great plan.

[wateractually]

me telling you outside of a disagreement that i hate arguing (because I'm bad at emotional regulation + resolution) and am NEVER trying to initiate an argument/debate and your response being "well, you do tend to start shit" like literally no i just told you I'm Actively Trying Not To. like?

like literally dont fucking start arguing with me (especially about smth i know a lot about and you evidently dont) to the point that im yelling bc youve made incorrect assumptions abt my experience w the topic. and when i try to end it dont fucking continue it bc ive already told you previously i HATE arguing

theyve tried more than once to pull a "well you try to shut it down while getting the last word in" like?? sorry im more able to recognize that im in too deep/ uncomfortable when IM talking and end it while im still talking instead of? what? cutting you off while youre talking instead??? like thats not reasonable and would 100% piss ppl off

im bad at ending arguments once theyve become arguments bc i am trying to avoid being dismissive of you And i am emotionally invested in things i know well

PLUS i LITERALLY had a moment where you had just finished saying smth and physically stopped myself from arguing AND YOU MADE A BIG DEAL OUT OF ME STOPPING MYSELF FROM ARGUING??? LIKE THATS THE ACTUAL PROBLEM!! THATS THE KIND OF SHIT THAT MAKES IT SO HARD TO DISENGAGE!!!

we were talking abot a prev argument and she was clarifying her Actual Side bc we were both not being clear during it and i could feel myself falling into potentially starting to argue again and i like stopped and was like "disengage" TO MYSELF and she was like "??? I thought we were just having a calm productive discussion???"

DO NOT FUCKING DO THAT WHILE IM LITERALLY DOING SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE TO STOP MYSELF WHICH YOU HAD J U S T TOLD ME I NEED TO WORK ON istg

hdjsjanedija frustration

protip: if someone tells you they hate arguing just dont do it! if i say smth that sounds like im trying to start smth just call me out instead of arguing!!! thats why ive told you repeatedly that i hate arguing is because my calm statements of disagreement are NEVER trying to start an argument im LITERALLY JUST DISAGREEING WITH WHATEVER U JUST SAID IM NOT TRYING TO GET INTO WHY OR HOW OR WHATEVER I DONT WANT TO DEBATE ABOUT IT DONT FUCKING START IT

YOU are the only one ive been in contention with lately even with medically induced irritability so evidently its not me