#and I never had any delusions of marriage fixing my life or anything

[notetaeker]

November 2024

The year is coming to a close. I haven’t been on here in a while but I plan to be back! I’ve been busy! First year of marriage so far is all that it’s cracked out to be: which is a lot of work lmao. The grass is greener where you water it! I’m only 3 months in lol and I’ve already tried becoming at least 3 different versions of myself. Trying to figure out who I am within the context of someone else is indeed work lol. I thought I finally landed on who I was after all these years of wandering. Now it feels like I’m starting over again. A new life! It’s true in all senses of the word. Yes excitement and change and novelty but also change and losing the security and comfort of the known and familiar. May Allah make it easy for us!🙌🏽💖

[hoeforhao]

🏷 Kidult ▪︎ Choi Seungcheol Fic ▪︎ pt.2

↷ pairing: dad!seungcheol × fem!reader (feat!jeonghan)

↷ genre: heavy angst, fluff towards the end, mentions of childhood trauma, sort of arranged marriage? cheol and reader have a daughter together, lots of dad seungcheol content!!!

↷ summary: can trying to relive the childhood you never got to experience, through your daughter be the reason of your husband's irk?

↷ part: 2/4 pt.1, pt.3, pt.4

↷ w.c: 2.4k+

↷ author's note: part 2 is here at last!! this time I told myself that no matter what I'll keep my promise and post on cheol's birthday 💌 + also part 3 would be like a bonus with quite a lot of smut😏 and comfort at the end obviously duh!

If you want to be added to this fic's taglist, drop a comment under this post ; my ask box is open too♡

"You didn't have to go along with Hannie's proposal you know. He's just naturally manipulative" shifting on the satin sheets beneath that were definitely fine enough to soothe your tired body, but nothing your aching soul, you lightly chuckled in order to make it seem like you were completely fine with cheol's demeanor towards you today, or rather everyday!

"I agreed because I wanted to y/n,not because I was influenced into" seungcheol's firm hands hesitantly creep up along your waist, sending sudden jolts of warmth throughout.

Isn't this all you've ever wanted, to be wrapped up in his embrace, take in his vanilla scent, while he purred like a small child on your neck...but you knew better....you knew these were the delusions that would only peel your heart apart into flakes, everytime you hoped of them coming true.

"But you can feel uncomfortable staying with me in a resort alone, that too without Hana accompanying us"

"You're my wife y/n"

The man behind you spoke while keeping you in his embrace, hope still flaming in his orbs waiting for you to at least take his hand into yours...

But alas! He very well knew that the hurt he has caused you can even take up ages for him to fix.....well he wasn't in any sort of hurry, rather now completely ready to build an eternity with you, his beloved lady.

While cheol slipped into deep slumber, his arms still wrapped around you and his wet curls slightly brushing the skin of your back, that one line from him kept ringing in your head like a goddamn alarm clock.

"'You're my wife y/n' , did he just say that as a token or did he actually accept me as his wife, did he really melt, will i now finally get to live his love and be treated like how other men treat their lovely wives?"

Dang y/n stop expecting again you idiot. Do you wanna get yourself shattered into shards again!!!!

Amidst all these thoughts racing throughout your head, you didn't realize when you yourself welcomed sleep, wrapped up into cheol's nuzzle.

*********************************************

"Oh seungcheol i completely forgot to tell you two about this!" jeonghan's arms tug onto cheol's back, pulling the parade of you six to a halt, resulting into the older cocking up his head towards him.

"There's this staycation sort of my office is paying for only their best employees" han continues while flipping his long curly locks in the middle "at a resort call Diamond's Retreat where like couples with children can enjoy some leisure. They've a two day camp for the kids, while their parents treat themselves to some alone time with each other, away from the city and life's chaos, in each other's arms" him finishing the last part of the so called news with a teasing smirk on his face.

Seungcheol waited for Han to address as to what his office's trip had to do anything with him and his family.

"Since our other best employee Mingyu tskkk, is already out in Paris with his girlfriend, i was thinking if you three wanted to join us! The girls can have their fun while we enjoy our partners company" the petite looking man finally draws the concluding statement to his evil plan, hands tied tightly around his wife's waist.

"Seungcheol doesn't really do trips Han. We would rather like to pa-"

"Book us three in, we'll go" you were stopped in your tracks even before being able to keep your argument to the duo infront, as your husband made his decision while his arms snaked right around your torso, pulling your head slightly onto his form.

While you were shocked to see cheol showing you physical affection in public, the man beside you was rather concerned and hurt about his own wife not being comfortable in his embrace, trying to squirm her way out somehow.

**********************************************

The day of the trip was finally here and you were literally sweating through your white shirt at the thought of dropping off your daughter at the camp for TWO WHOLE DAYS! not that you were too sad about not having her running by your side all the time,but more cause you were strained about being left alone with her dad.

It has been over ages that you spend your time only with seungcheol by you side, you didn't know what to do, what to say...or more appropriately what to say that won't trigger his irk towards you. YOON JEONGHAN YOU DEVIL CHILD I'LL COME BACK AT YOU FOR THIS TRIP TO YOUR DAD'S ABODE.

"MOM!" a tweak from Hana's small fingers brings you back to this earthly void "I'm leaving with Byul now! Where's my goodbye kiss hmph!!! Daddy already gave me his" a pout paints hers plumply lips - no dna test would be needed to prove that she's the choi seungcheol's daughter....seeing how all her postures are literal copies of her dad, starting from those supple cherry lips to those glistening bambi eyes.

"Momma is so sorry bun,how about a bonus kiss as a punishment!" you peck your daughter's cheeks twice, slowly bringing her down from her father's arms, his hands brushing with your warm ones in the process.

Seeing Hana slowly melt with the horizon, hand in hand with her bestfriend Byul, while both of them excitedly made their way to the adventure camp, made you drop your heart into the pit of your stomach. Realization finally hits you - you're now completely alone with cheol!

"Get all nestled in quick, we've planned for a small sunset date by the rooftop deck. Be sure to be present by 5pm sharp, okay you Ms McTwisp" jeonghan places a playful slap along your back, earning an unnoticed glare from the other man.

Striding towards your room in as small steps as possible for a human to be taking, you unwillingly made your way to the room alloted for the two of you.

"What can be even worse than this already was right?" That was you before you pushed open the gloomy wooden doors to reveal a room decked up in white peonies and silk all around, making it look no less than the mating abode of two doves.

"I..I'll ask room service to clear all...all of this out" you tried to clear out the air before any offensive remark from him would ruin your flutter again, but...

To your surprise, seungcheol looked way to calm and maybe even a little happy at thr sight, the slight curl of his lips giving it out for him.

"It's okay y/n. It's just some decorations! Besides-" cheol takes a little halt, debating whether to say his thoughts out aloud or not.

"Besides they look really pretty, like you" the last two words were only for his ears to perceive, as you were already taken aback by his sudden gentle approach towards you.

After having a hard time trying to make it through the date with that annoying ass bestfriend of yours, for almost half an hour, it was finally time for dessert which in turn meant that he'll get to enjoy your company alone, away from any outside interference.

Although seungcheol would be lying if he said that the entirety of this thirty minutes meal was a torture for him - not when you were laced up in the prettiest sundress he has ever seen anyone flaunt ever. Was it that the dress was too finely woven? No! It was you, that soft smile of yours, those satin black locks half tied up into a white ribbon,that constantly kept distracting you from concentrating on your plate, those glittery siren eyes of yours is what made you look like a moon goddess in such a simple attire.

Oh how he wishes to be seated by your side, tucking away those stubborn strands behind your ears, with his own forefinger, to be feeding you that soufflé himself and to be gatekeeping those cheek pouches only for him to view.....he could never get enough of how godly yet cute you looked while devouring down each and every food bit on those porcelain plates.

"Thanks for the arrangement guys! Now if you would excuse use, I would like to take y/n on a walk by the beach" seungcheol pushes up from his chair, quite frustrated that the reason why he even agreed for this vacation, to spend time with his wife and try to make things right one page at a time, was not being attended to.

An approving nod and a victorious smile flashes onto jeonghan's face, knowing he has now been able to push forward the maneuver for what he actually tricked off poor Mingyu away to Paris, only so that he can somewhat try to mend his bestfriend's family.

"But we need to spen- " for the second time this week cheol banishes you from your right go finish your sentences, as he wraps your hands into his big ones, pulling you two into the beach encircling the property.

The warm sands beneath your feet, the sea breeze running through your hair while your dress flowed along the wind's patterns, made your heart swell up with utter joy. Even though the past few days have taken a big bite out of your heart, there's nothing that a walk along the beach at sunset can't fix right? That too if your husband is now following you like a puppy from behind, without your notice.

"Y/n?" a coo as gentle as a mourning dove graces you ears, while the cool waters traces finds their way onto your feet. You turn around to seungcheol now standing few inches away from you, his head drooped down like a flamingo, hands fidgeting with one another.

"Yes, Seungcheol?"

"Can you....can you call me cheol again pls? Like the old times?" your breath hitches at this sudden approach from him, unsure of what was about to come next.

"I know I messed up...no not even messed up i completely fucked up our relation...i treated you as nothing more than just my child's mother, but" you could now hear soft sobs coming from his direction, as seungcheol's voice starts to become unstable.

"That's not how i feel for you y/n. I don't know what took over me these two years...I won't try to justify myself by saying oh it was work stress or oh i was just not used to being a rookie father and all that....instead i really want to just mend our bond and be a happy pride. Pls?" Seungcheol's eyes finally travel up from the yellow ground beneath to the dark of your eyes, tear drops quite visible around their corners.

Oh how you just wanted to run into his arms, pull him into the warmest hug ever, pat his head and tell him that it's okay....everyone makes mistakes. What matters is them realizing it and trying to put things back into their place again. But your hope was played with way too many times to trust him this fast. What if he yanks you away, what if he gets disgusted by your touch, what if he's just saying all this for the sake of his daughter....

So, to protect yourself from further hurt, all you did was nod at him, flashing him a soft assuring smile, while walking away to sit on the moist sand beneath, ready to take in the grandeur of the sun pour its all into the sea.

Even tho all seungcheol wanted at that moment was to be wrapped into your bosom, he knew it would take a hefty amount of time for you to forgive all his conducts. A small sigh parted his lips as he waddled down the beach himself, leaving his pawprints as a proof of his new beginning, while sitting down by you to enjoy the sunset, hand in hand with his wife.

This newfound feeling of closeness with cheol was confusing yet fulfilling for your craving soul, cuz who could've imagined that you would be sitting on the beach by his side, fingers intertwined while the sun disappeared amongst the tangerine marshmallows before you.

"You know y/n, that day i didn't mean what i said. I love to see you play with Hana like a kid, reliving the childhood you never had, giggling and jumping like a little kiddo. My heart swells up with joy everytime, to see my wife and my daughter like that. To see my family all happy. I'm so sorry for being a jerk. I really don't know what gets into me sometimes, but all I know is I just want to build an eternity with you, have a small content family with my loved one" seungcheol literally blurts out everything in a breath. Did jeonghan possess him or what.

You didn't know whether it was doubt or hurt or the urge to not melt away so easily speaking, but instead of accepting his apology all you said was-

"We should get going now. It's getting dark." Dusting off the loose sand from the back of your white dress, you gently released yourself from seungcheol's grasp.

An immediate frown replaced his content face, from both the feeling of your warmth leaving his body as well as your indifference towards him. He rightfully deserves it tho. "Y-yeah let's go". Seungcheol and stuttering are two things you have never thought could go hand in hand. Like ever. At least not infront of you.

Overwhelmed with all these fresh senses, you quietly follow cheol on his stride towards your room ; the moonlight hitting on his orbs, radiating off a glint even diamonds can't be compared to, the moist breeze from the waters slightly wetting his locks making them stick to his glistening skin, those rosy plumps sticking out into a small pout....oh how dreamy can this man even look huh...even the moon god would be struck by how his light carves out the features of this fallen archangel.

"You know staring at anyone like that for this long, is considered rude" your trance his broken off by his deep voice, laid with a tint of allurement, as he twisted the knob of your room's door, "but you're my wife, I'm all yours to look at"

"I'm so so...sorry. I didn't mean to" you shy away from his glare, trying to quickly walk towards the couch, but seungcheol was way faster than you knew. Even before you could take a step towards your goal, cheol already has you trapped in his arms, your back hitting the cold surface of the door, while his knee rested between your legs.

"W-what are you doing, cheol" a warm wet pair of lips lands on yours as soon as the much longed for nickname makes its involuntary way out of your crevices.

[matrixwhore]

Two times in my life I'd tried to escape this life, only to be brought back with my wings broken.

i just read that this is a thing lestat says (in tvl?) and if you’ll excuse me i will be screaming for the next 20 minutes. bc wowowowoWOWOWOWOWOW. he staunchly refused to break the cycle. he chose instead to break claudia’s wings with the cycle. oh i hate the broken winged bird metaphor that left her room a mess. that she didn’t bother to clean. bc it wasn’t her mess. bc its louis’ mess. (“you wanted her you fix her”) bc louis didn’t bother to pay attention enough to know that’s not what she needed. and it doesn’t even matter bc he can never give her what she needs. and lestat can give her what she wants, but he can’t get past the fact that she shouldn’t be here to want anything in the first place. and would giving her another teenage companion be the solution?? who the fuck is to say. im betting no. im betting noooo!! she tries to leave twice!!! each time she’s brought back with her wings broken. WOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW somebody put me down

oh this is the beginning of the end of me being able to hold myself together bitch. also im gonna drop this off rights here bc points were made and points punched me right in the left titty.

yani is right she allowed herself to believe the delusions until she couldn’t but there really wasn’t any happy ending for claudia. not in life. not in an undead life and they won’t even let her rest in her death. when we were introduced to her she had accepted her death. she closed her eyes and waited for the flames to take her. but the eternal longing nature of vampirism played with her mind and her ability to really see what was there.

we’ll never know what would have been if she had never been a victim of the race riots bc she was so it doesn’t even matter to muse what could have been there bc it couldn’t have ever been. i do agree that it wouldn’t have been great tho. if she hadn’t of ended up with louis in this way she might of ended up with another pimp like louis, but again what she was was a victim of the race riots . she breathed in too much smoke to even make it on the other side of that. and if by some miracle she did she wouldn’t have lasted long. i agree she was destined to die and frozen eternally in that destiny only in a prolonged state. kept alive to hold together a marriage that was already dead, with a father who preferred her dead, and so louis could make right with decisions he made in a dead and gone past.

but she still had to sit up in that house and look at what loustat had. what they took for granted. what they refused to see. like every teenager who feels caged she pacified herself with delusions of what might have been or the unlikely possibly that she could make it far on her own if she could just get away from it. but she’ll never get to leave the house as an adult. if she leaves she’ll always be a child. and always a black one too. and always a girl too. there is no happy ending. there is no escape. there is only a long arduous journey to a tragic end she should of had already.

iwtv ep 5 rewatch thoughts

opening with the scene within which i have built a home and become a permanent resident. right here in the moment rashmand smiles stupidly and louis slonks (🤭) every last drop of his blood. how anyone thinks they’re boring idk idk idk

they are being clear here that this isn’t consumption for the sake of sustenance. this is bloodletting as sex play and as power play. Danny is not having dinner. so its clear that this isn’t feeding as a meal but it is feeding as sexual exhibition at its most delicious. Danny is reading about claudia’s violent acts via the written recording of her victim’s last words while loumand basically vampire fuck at the other end of the table. this is also setting up the sexual violence to come for claudia and also for louis.

i think it is intentional that louis is the one feeding from armand for several reasons. one being because of what lestat does to him, which we see later on. this is power play for louis in a setting where he has voluntarily and possibly in some aspects dubiously relinquished control over to his lover armand. also bc of the connection between daniel and armand. they are revealing rashid as armand slowly here and his and louis’ involvement with daniel in the past. Daniel isn’t dumb. they know he can figure out the inconsistencies of louis drinking from armand and louis drinking from damek. this leads to daniels curiosity about how armand tastes like and his weight and louis puts daniel’s hidden attraction out on display against his wishes to throw him off. and daniel orders rashid around to take back some power.

i also think it’s a call back to the power dynamic of their first meeting. louis has power over daniel, and it seems he’s the one in control of the entire situation but then he checks in with armand before moving forward. in this moment in the present dubai 2020 setting louis has power over daniel (regardless of him no longer being that naive young man) and he plays the role of the one with the power over rashid, but the power he is receiving is from armands 500+ year old blood that he is offering to louis as the character he is playing. lord take me.

i think it’s interesting that daniel is feasting on claudia’s private memories but objects to louis reading and exposing his personal thoughts. even tho louis has shown time and again that he does that and would do it again. choices/consent is the big issue in this episode.

Daniel: man with green vest: please no. man with fat fingers: please stop. window washer: i can’t die like this. woman with purple shoes: please. boy with inner tube and dog: let my dog live. please no. please stop. stop. oh here’s a good one—man in the last row of The Son of Sheik picture show: You said you had cigarettes.

this is the first recounts we hear him read from claudia’s journal—claudia, who did not get a say in whether her voice and story be used by louis, armand and daniel in this way. He reads this and it’s clear that he [daniel] hadn’t actually consented to being the voyeur of loumand’s sex play given his visible discomfort/agitation. He continues anyways, trying his best to focus on the task at hand and not his bisexual longing for the men at the other end of the table bc even with everything he is reading and witnessing he is still attracted to them in all their insanity and monstrosity.

im interested in the fact that he pointedly reads out (“here’s a good one”) the misleading nature of the last one. “You said you had cigarettes.” i think it speaks to the fact that daniel came here to dubai for a supposed second interview and is slowly but surely realizing he is getting something else entirely. he continues “School teacher, guard your heart. i’m trying to think of something more fucked up than this.” he could be just talking about what claudia has written, but i think it’s also the fact that this is the section of his reading that loumand have chosen to be overtly sexual in front of him for as he reads. all this and he doesn’t even know yet of rashid being armand and his role in claudia’s death, though i’m sure he’s having suspicions of everything by now. also that louis, with being faced with the piece of claudia he doesn’t like to acknowledge, the monstrosity of her vampire nature, focuses of drinking from armand the man who killed his beloved daughter (something he said about “i run to the bottle” etc. etc). it does in fact get more fucked up danny.

and when armand implies that daniel is no better by revealing the danger it poses on louis and exposing louis’ suicidality without his permission (“he lives to share these opinions even when they are not solicited”) and revealing he doesn’t even want this book to happen, louis fights back by leaning into his power over daniel and exposing his thoughts about armand, and continues to, even when danny makes it clear his thoughts were not being voluntarily shared—that he did not want louis in his mind at all. he even interrupts rashmand in the middle of telling daniel he wouldn’t let him near his neck to offer up more information abt rashid (much to armands annoyance) that clearly isn’t even true after reading daniel’s mind again when daniel just explicitly told him not to. and when louis does that daniel fights back by leaning into his perceived power over rashid—louis’ servant—by demanding more of something to drink without even looking at him. and at this armand picks up his lil ipad and leaves without even picking up daniel’s glass, being the one who is actually the most powerful in the room. this is crazy. this is actually insane.

all this and armand is the one who killed claudia!!!! the only one who doesn’t get to fight back against her agency being taken from her in this scene!!! i’m going to fucking throw up. who is bored with them!? they are literally putting on thee insane sexy bdsm emo freaks show like…

“ The Son of Sheik” also alludes to the upcoming sexual assault btw. It’s a sequel to “The Sheik” where the protagonist is the son of the sheik in the first film who falls in love with a traveling dancer Yasmine. He rapes her out of retaliation for having been kidnapped and later whipped, which he believes to be her fault bc she is falsely accused of it. like in this episode and like claudia, yasmine’s rape is strongly implied in the movie with the use of pointed language and a scene cut.

this scene closes out with daniel pointing out he can’t get to accurate statistics of claudia’s murders to corroborate her accounts whether he thinks its more or less than what she recounts im unsure. louis points out that he wouldn’t be able to get an accurate account anyways bc of their disposal practices and how cities tend to downplay the dangers within them. daniel wanting all the details and louis making it clear he will have to accept that he can’t always have all the details will be a point of contention later on as we know.

[tinyboxxtink]

"Black Magic" *Part 12*

Ayyyyy I fixed it!

For those who missed it, I wrote this chapter also on my phone because apparently I'm addicted to this story I can't focus on my real life even when I'm out.

Also sorry this is short but it was written in a Target parking lot on my phone. And also-- I just wanna put off "THE" part. 😂😬😘

Part 11

Part 13

Tag list

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@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

-----

Rafael shook his head, still reeling from your encounter. You had no idea what the hell you were talking about, he loved Olivia. He was sure of it. But the last thing you said nagged at him. Even if you had been some kind of crazy mind reading witch, that didn’t stop him from telling Liv about his father.

He had never told her, and if he was really honest with himself, he had no intention of telling her any time soon, maybe ever.

Why didn’t he want to tell her?

-----

Rafael decided to show you, he went straight to Liv's bridal room and knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

"Liv it's me."

"Rafa we can't see each other before the ceremony! It's bad luck!" She called through the door.

"Well it's more bad luck if we start this marriage with secrets." He replied.

Olivia's eyes widened: was he...was he going to tell her his middle name? All on his own? She KNEW you were full of shit

"O-okay just tell me through the door." Her eyes lit up with hope.

"No, I need to be looking at you or I might lose my nerve"

That was good enough for her! She swung the door open.

Rafael stared at her in awe, she had never looked so beautiful in all the years he knew her. He knew you were full of shit, he loved her completely.

"Liv I haven't been honest with you. My middle name isn't Antonio."

"It's not…?" Her eyes began to well up. It was happening. It was really happening.

"No, it's…." He paused and gazed at her. She was beautiful, she was perfect.... But there was no...safety.

"It's Ronaldo," he lied. "I just wanted you to have the right name on the marriage license"

"God damn it Rafael are you fucking kidding me? She yelled.

"What are you talking about?" Rafael was taken aback.

"Why can't you just tell me your real middle name? Why is that so hard for you?!" She yelled again..

"I'm sorry, you know that I'm lying? You know my real middle name?"

"What.. ? Yes...maybe, I don't know," she stammered.

"How do you know my middle name?" He asked.

" I, um...did...did you finish the flask I gave you?" She asked softly.

"....Excuse me?" Rafael asked suspiciously. He turned and walked back to his room. Olivia followed behind him quickly.

"You mean this flask that you supposedly gave me for our wedding day?" He asked, holding up a silver flask with his initials on it.

"You mean this nice loving gift, a token of your love on the most important day of our lives? You're asking me if I 'finished this'?"

"I.. well…" she stuttered.

"And what exactly is this Olivia?" He turned and headed to the bathroom of the groom suite.

"No Rafael, don't!!!" Olivia chase after him frantically.

Rafael opened the flask and poured its contests into the sink. To his horror and disbelief, a dark purple liquid poured out of it; as if it was purple and blue mixed together.

"Holy shit…" Rafael muttered.

"Oh my God!" he just stared in shock as the liquid dissipated down the drain. Olivia could only stand frozen in shock and couldn't speak.

"Oh my God, that girl was right wasn't she?" He stared at her.

"What girl? Was there a girl here?" Olivia quickly turned defensive. "Rafa you shouldn't listen to random ass people--"

"Oh no, fuck that Liv!" He screamed. Throwing the flask across the bathroom.

"What the hell was that?!" He gestured to the sink, now empty of the contents of the flask. "What the hell did you do to me?!

"Nothing!" She stuck to her denial. "It's just the color of the special liquor that I bought you. It's some kind of wine," She tried to think of a lie on the spot, but she wasn't great at it.

"Oh that is a load of shit!" Rafael scoffed while throwing up his hands. "I can't believe this...I can't believe some random ass girl knew more about me than you. She's right isn't she?"

"Rafa come on--" She started to speak, but Rafael wasn't hearing it.

"Oh no fuck that, fuck 'Rafa'. We're past Rafa, don't call me that!" Rafael screamed. "That girl was right, wasn't she? You made me forget her. I'm actually in love with her, aren't I?"

"No! You were never in love with her! That shit was fake. It was as fake as this!" She slapped her hand over her face after saying the last part inadvertently.

"Oh my God...This whole thing is fake. You manipulated my mind. You made me think that I was in love with you!" Rafael felt sick to his stomach.

"You are in love with me!" Olivia screamed. "You just needed to realize it," she added softly.

"And you wanted me to drink more so what? You could make me forget this ever happened so that I would marry you willingly? Like your little robot?" Rafael paced the room angrily.

"No I love you Rafael! That's why I did this! I did this for us!" She was crying now.

"That's BULLSHIT!" Rafael yelled.

"You didn't do this for me, you did this for you. You don't love me at all! If you really loved me, then you would want me to be happy no matter who that was with! I'm not your fucking Ken doll Liv! I'm not some guy you can just manipulate and tote around like some lap dog, doing whatever you say. That's not what love is!"

"Rafael come on, just look--- just, just drink this," she pulled out another vial from her bra. "Just drink it and you'll forget about this, and then we can be happy!"

"Are you not hearing me at all Olivia? Rafael asked her in actual disgust.

"You're still just trying to stick to your delusion? Don't come near me with that. In fact don't come near me at all. I can't. I can't even look at you right now," He started to storm out of the room but Olivia chased after him.

"Where are you going!?!"

"To get back what you stole from me!" Rafael yelled back, running out of the church.

----

You stood there in front of the penguins with Maria and Chloe just staring at them. It had gotten dark now. The tank was lit up, brightening the cave with its neon blue water. They looked so happy, just swimming and carefree, not a care in the world.

"Look at you guys," You sighed. "So happy, so innocent. You wouldn't lie to each other, you wouldn't manipulate each other, you just love each other unconditionally," You started to tear up.

"Oh honey…" Chloe came and put an arm around you.

"He's not coming, is he?" You looked at her with tears now dripping down your face.

She looked down at her watch; it had been about an hour since you had shown up there. That was about 20 minutes from the church. So it had been a while for Rafael to change his mind.

"I mean... I don't want to be Debbie Downer or anything but--" She have you a pity look.

"30 more minutes?" You pleaded with puppy dog eyes.

"Alright…." She looked at Maria who just shrugged sadly. Then she linked an arm in yours, laying her head on shoulder. "As long as you need."

------

Rafael was in an Uber, heading towards Central Park. He couldn't decide how he felt at the moment. He was enraged with Olivia for fucking with his emotions, his brain, his heart. How long has it gone on for?

Now that it had been a while since his last "dose", he was starting to realize he couldn't remember yesterday, or any of the past week, and it scared the shit out of him.

How could she do this? How could she just take memories from him like taking cookies out of a cookie jar? And with absolutely NO remorse? She was STILL trying to control him even when he was confronting her! Did she ever really love him? Were they ever really friends? It was like losing a lover and his best friend in one fell swoop.

And then there was you. Maybe you really had been Liv-- his lover and best friend. But she had taken that too, he had no memory of you whatsoever.

Even now he struggled to even remember your name. He was pretty sure you had said it in his dressing room, but all the shit he had in his system still left him all foggy. He did remember you knew his middle name, his Broadway dream.

You knew about Eduardo, how could he have told you about Eduardo? How important were you to him? How could he just forget that? He wanted that back, that safe feeling you were going on about. You were absolutely on the money about him never feeling safe once his Abuela had moved in with him and his mother. His mother's house never felt safe, even after Eduardo left.

His Mami was wonderful, but he never felt like he could ever fully be himself with her, because she wouldn't accept him. Which is why he never felt comfortable sharing himself completely, ever.

He wanted that safe feeling so badly….he wanted his feelings back so badly. Even if they were someone he supposedly didn't know.

"Uh….hey man are you ok? The Uber driver's question made him realize he was crying. The driver was awkwardly glancing back at him.

"Ahem...yeah no I'm fine. Can we uh...can we go any faster?"

"Hey man I can't control New York traffic," he gestured towards the stand still grid of cars.

He was still 5 blocks away. He wasn't entirely sure just how in love with him you were, though you were pretty damn hysterical at the church.

Would you wait all night? Have you already left?

"You know what, I think I can walk faster than this," Rafael told the driver as he got out on the curb and began running towards the park.

"....Don't forget to rate me five stars!!!" The driver called after him.

----

You glanced down at your phone, it had been 45 minutes since you had asked Chloe for 30. Maria was asleep on a bench, Chloe was falling asleep on your shoulder.

He wasn't coming. Olivia had won. You had to accept it.

You put your phone down and walked up to the glass of the penguin tank. They were all sleeping, except for one. They all were wearing these adorable harnesses that had their name on them, hers read "Penny".

Penny was sitting on a rock above the water, just staring at the "shore" of their enclosure.

You wondered if there was any explanation for that-- you googled "PENNY PENGUIN CENTRAL PARK ZOO". An article immediately came up. You scanned it, reading a particular sentence.

"....Penny's mate was killed in an accident at the zoo six months ago. Penguins are notoriously monogamous, so it's likely she won't ever take another mate. She just spends her night and days looking towards the place the Zookeeper's took Leonard from the enclosure."

Your heart broke, tears came to your eyes for the millionth time that day as you pressed a hand to the glass.

"I'm right there with you Penny, I know how you feel babe…" You sniffled as if the penguin could understand you. But she still continued to stare, waiting for her love to come back.

You wiped tears away and walked away from the tank over to Chloe and Maria, shaking her awake.

"Let's go," you sniffled.

"You sure honey?" She asked you as Maria stirred awake.

"Yeah…. it's over," you sniffled again, all out of water in your body.

She let you lean on her as you walked back up the stairs to the park.

You were so downtrodden, you didn't notice you had left your phone sitting in the enclosure.

[facepalming-since-chernobyl]

One could make the argument for Smallville that Clark and Lex with their entwined destines are set up to be the main ship of the entire series. When Clark’s pod landed in Smallville Lex also lost his hair. That event would forge the paths they both ended up going down as young men. Their motivations are also heavily influenced by their fathers and the differences in how they were raised. They parallel each other, with the perfect balance of light and dark. Their relationship is the core dynamic that drives the series. Most of the time, even outside their respective romances. But it’s still never meant to be seen as anything more than a doomed friendship. A broken brotherhood. Nothing sexual about it. Even the Clex shippers in the fandom understood that back in the day.

Now I’m not saying this is the same thing for toxicorp. No. When it comes to Supergirl, since the first episode it’s been established that the Danvers sisters have always been the most important relationship of the series. They are both responsible for the paths they ended up taking in life. I mean, Kara exposed herself to the world to save Alex’s life. And Alex became an agent with the DEO because of Kara. Season 1 was about them learning to work together as a team. Season 2 they both got to experience their own relationships with someone they loved. Season 3 they both had to deal with the loss of those loves and if they could move forward. Season 4 they were tested when Kara had to leave the DEO and then to protect her secret Alex had to forget she was Supergirl. The less said about S5 the better. Honestly, if it were up to me, in that last fight in the finale it would be Kara and Alex standing at the front, together side by side. But the writers obviously decided to show everyone partnered up with their own love interests. Bonus Karamel for us. So I’m not complaining.

What I will unfortunately say about toxicorp however. As much as I hate to admit it, Kara and whatshername do share some similarities. They were both adopted. They have siblings with similar names. They both didn’t want to be defined by their more famous male family members. I think the writers were trying to set up this dynamic early in season 2, similar to Clark and Lex.

But in my honest opinion: Sister Luthor’s constant misguided use of science, with the result of always making things worse, and Kara having to clean up her mess, just got so repetitive, that I just saw their association as a hindrance to Kara. And her being so blind by what she wanted to see, so she never called whatsherface out on it. And S5, well that just sealed the deal for me. How she reacted to Kara’s secret and made it all about her and how she chose to focus on getting back at Kara and everyone else, instead of trying to understand and respect Kara’s agency. No. Just no. A true friend would never do that. Kara deserves better than someone who would treat her the way Lobotomizer did. As Mon-El said in the 100th, she deserves the same compassion she shows others. That’s just my two cents.

Fandumb delusions are another matter entirely. I try my best to pay little attention to them. Because very much like ToxicQueen shippers in the once upon a time fandom and any other non canon slash shippers, they really have nothing to do with the actual show, or how the writers choose to tell the story. They can be as vocal as they want online, but they really don’t have any influence how the story is told. A lot of people just see what they want to see with toxicorp. Some unfortunately have this unhealthy fixation with the actress from Merlin, that I think is their main motivation for shipping her with women. And of course, Kara’s feelings and her choices don’t matter to them at all. Not unless it serves their forced narrative. She’s just a prize for their fave to win. Well, as a Kara fan, I’m only interested in what she wants her happy ending to be. She needs to put herself first. If they don’t like how things end up for the show or her, well they can just suck it. No one’s going to care. In the end we’ll be the fandom who always respected the lead actress, supported her marriage. Held out hope and got our ship reunited (in some capacity) in the finale. And they’ll be just a sad memory, that was ignored and forgotten.

Well, friend, I could have not said it better.

I will just add that Lobotomizer was contracted only for 3 eps but the producers decided to let her stay, unfortunatelly, because it is quite obvious they didn't ans still don't know what to do with her and her storyline.

Her story is repetitive every season, she still hasn't learnt a shit,all she represents is a white privilege in the worst form and it's laughable they try ans fail to make her some strong femonistic icon. Like, there is absolutely no one normal who can identify with her. Ok, I guess sociopaths can. Or rich girls with mommy, daddy and big bro issues 🙄

My point is, Lobotomizer is the cancer of the show that sucks screen time and focus from other characters. Her character was ans will be, it's quite obvious on this point, absolutely wasted. They could have made her interesting at least and her storyline appealing and made her a real villain of the story,who could have admitted in the end she was the villain and really fixing it or making her embracing her morally gray personality,but instead we got a lukewarm butthurt 5 year old,who is excused because Kara didn't tell her a secret 🙄🙄🙄

She is the most ridiculous and pointless character ever.

[oddlyhale]

IronQrow Villains AU

Ironwood and Qrow as villains in the RWBY show AU.

Ironwood is based off of the Three Snake Leaves fairytale, a story about a man who revived his dead wife with Three Snake Leaves. However, reviving her only brought him betrayal, as she lost love for him and tried to kill him with her lover. Able to survive, the man went to the King and told everything the Princess had done. She was then punished with her lover to be drown in sea on a sinking ship.

Qrow is now based on The Juniper Tree fairytale, a story about a young boy who was killed by his greedy step-mother that wanted the inheritance he would get from his father. She killed him, cut him up and served him as dinner to his unknowingly father, and forced her daughter to bury his bones under a juniper tree next to his real mother. The boy became a bird, singing about his story and received three gifts from strangers that listened. He gave the gifts to his family: his father got a gold necklace. His sister got lovely red shoes. And his evil step-mother got crushed under a millstone.

In this AU, for Ironwood:

He fakes being a good headmaster, only to reveal his true identity once the fall begins.

He is a man masked under oxygen, for his first death caused him breathing problems.

His semblance is to revive the dead, however he tries not to use it often, as it causes him immense pain and can run his aura dry.

HIs goal is to find his wretched ex-wife and murder her for what she did to him (she’s not dead in this one.)

In this AU, for Qrow:

Qrow is a bit psychotic. Not theatrically insane, like Tyrian, but he’s on a level of kalopsia (delusions of seeing things more beautiful than what they are.) He is quietly energized by mayhem and distress.

His semblance is shapeshifter, accommodating by being handsy with building his own crazy weapons. HIs favourite weapon is a giant hammer made of millstone.

He plays the ‘nice uncle, playful drunk’ for a while, under the Fall hits. Turns out his ‘drunkard antics’ were just him covering up his manic laughters and bursts of rage.

He doesn’t try to kill Ruby or her friends, but he warns her to not come for him, or he will kill them without hesitation.

His goal is to live ‘beautifully’ and die in the deepest pit of bliss. By that, he wants to live to cause harm and art, and die a masterpiece himself.

About the relationship:

Ironwood and Qrow are married (James proposed.)

Qrow is utterly in love with Ironwood, as is James for Qrow.

James finds Qrow to be the most endearing psycho he’s ever met, figuring out how Qrow has a hidden humanity about himself, as he cares deeply for music and art.

Qrow was smitten the first time he met James, immediately wanting to be his.

The two men met each other years ago, back when James was to be happily wed to his queen. He was thrown off the ship by the crazy woman and her secret lover, nearly drowning, had it not been for the single loyal servant that saved him. James’ semblance unlocked that day out of panic, thoughts of dying only fueling his semblance to be released. His body revived itself, waking James on the raft that the servant was on, but the act left James badly injured.

The servant was weeping, both in joy to see their master was alive, but in horror as to what had happened to James’ body. His right arm, his right leg, gnawed off by the active sea beasts in the water. His hip was chewed at, nearly severing him in two. Despite being alive, the only thing his semblance couldn’t do was regenerate some new body parts. And yet James was conscious, despite the bleeding and pain. Alive and pissed.

His lungs were filled with water, only a dead person could carry so much. Once they arrived at shore, finding no persons in sight to help, the servant ran out to the land to see if there was any civilization nearby. James laid in the raft in pain, waiting for the servant to return.

Somebody finally came, but it was not the servant. It was a lithe and tall man with dark hair and pale skin, eyes bright red like rubies. He stumbled onto the beach after seeing the frantic servant run into the village nearby, curiously wanting to see what the fuss was about.

“My,” Qrow smirked down at James. “You look like you need a hand.”

James stared blankly at the man, as if he were incredibly unamused. Until he replied, “are you pulling my leg?”

Qrow couldn’t help but burst into a short fit of laughter. James did too, but not for long as he was cut short. His back was killing him.

“I can get you a new body. And some.” Qrow assured. “Come with me. I know somebody.”

“At this point? Fine.” James huffed. After being betrayed by his queen and almost eaten alive by sea beasts, he could hardly imagine this stranger could make anything worse.

Qrow took James to the Whale, to Salem. After some convincing, Salem allowed Qrow to let James stay, so long as he was the one watching their new guest. Qrow agreed happily.

Qrow’s story was only filled with pain. He learnt from a young age that he was never loved by his step-mother, and being left behind by his sister. His step-mother murdered him in his sleep, cutting him up and serving his flesh like he was grade-A beef. His soul took the form of a crow, fueled by the rage he had for his step-mother. He wanted her dead, and by luck, he met Salem. She granted him the wish to have his vengeance, helping him turn back into a human. He was only a little boy still when he met Salem, growing up to look to her as his new mother.

After killing his step-mother, Salem took him in and had been at her side since.

James was soon recovering, but his rage was building deep within. All he could think of was his wretched wife, who was almost successful in killing him. She knew he couldn’t swim. How the sharp teeth of the massive sea monsters would eat at his body. He was ready to kill her, avenge himself.

James’ internal injuries couldn’t be fixed. He had to constantly wear a breathing-mask to help inhale more oxygen that his fragile lungs couldn’t take in normally. It was pain, feeling like he aged 50 years, even though he was only 20 at the time. From what he learned, Qrow was also the same age, at least feeling comfort in knowing somebody his age was around.

During James’ recovery - while Salem was mildly interested in this loner - it was Qrow who was the most intrigued. He loved coming to see James, see his progress so far. A new robotic arm, a new robotic leg, and some new parts had to be added in. Unfortunately, it meant much of James’ lower-half had to be remade, Half of his waist was not salvageable, meaning he’d have to lose a hip and his genital area. James didn’t care, wanting to be fixed already, and out of the stupid medical bed. Wanting to be strong again.

Though, he made a joke about giving him a massive metal cock, barking out laughter when he saw Qrow’s reaction of giggling like an embarrassed old woman. But, his wish was curiously granted.

As James was back up on his feet and trying to adjust to this new body, it was still Qrow who helped him. To the others that were residents of the Whale, they were surprised at how much time Qrow spent with James. Knowing the guy, Qrow could hardly process empathy. He would laugh at burning houses full of orphans, and dance on a dying man while he’s down.

But now, he was the most gentle, tender and kind to this perfect stranger.

Would you believe it when this story ends with the two marrying? After knowing each other for 5 years? Well, that’s how the story went. The two men fell in love, not caring for how crazy their lives would become. James loved this psychopath. And Qrow loved this vengeful man.

James was quick to become compliant in Salem’s plans, to start a new world and have their wishes granted. What he wanted was that bitch of a wife dead, and anybody else that associated with her existence. He didn’t care anymore if they were innocents, they had to be taken out. Feeling the same pain he felt.

Qrow had no goals, other than to live and serve Salem. To be the perfect little dog and grant her every wish. But now, his devotion turned to James. He loved him to bits, and would kill anybody for him. Already, James had killed quite a few people for Qrow, and that was probably one of the most romantic things he’s ever received. The only painful thing he could think is to live a life without James. Even his devotion for Salem couldn’t keep him alive.

Despite their chaotic life, the two surprisingly had a well-adjusted marriage and relationship. It was contentment, understanding and fun. They adored each other the same way they first met, and it seems that their honeymoon phase never ended, after 15 years together. They’d have a wedding dance next to a pile of dead bodies if they could, and they’d still be completely enamored by one another.

During the years together, the two had begun building their false identities among the people. Qrow had contact with his family, still there as Ruby and Yang were young and had grown to attend Beacon Academy. Ironwood had stolen the identity of a previous soldier of Atlas, taking their place and soon becoming the headmaster and general of Atlas. Their appearance was nothing to be judged, coming off as noble and normal.

When the time came for Beacon’s Fall, Qrow was the first to act. After the death of Penny 1.0, he had gone to murder the others in the Beacon Vault. He was successful in killing Glynda, Ozpin and the Maiden (transferring her powers to Cinder who is still in the gang), but he pretends to have no success in killing Ironwood, giving false hope to the heroes that at least one of their own is OK.

After that, he went out to go kill some more civilians of the Academy. Ruby and Yang realized their uncle was part of the evil team, and are broken by the betrayal. Qrow was quick to dismiss them as his family, skipping off merrily back to Salem.

When time passed and it was time to arrive at Atlas, it would be Ironwood’s turn to betray the teams. While cooperative and kind, Ironwood legitimately had no remorse for any of the kids. Quite frankly he wanted them dead, as well as the Ace Ops.

[wolvesandfoxes25]

What we want

Chapter 17!

Sakura just stared at Naruto for what felt like forever, biting her lip and wringing her hands.

“Naruto.” She finally got out, trying to hold back a sigh.

His blue eyes narrowed.

Sakura closed her eyes and gathered her courage.

“I don’t think now is the time for marriage.”

Silence.

Unbearable silence.

Naruto scoffed and moved away from her, feeling his guts twist at her expression.

Silence.

Sighing, he took a seat at the table again, numbly looking down at the papers that weren’t completed, and likely never would be.

Not tonight anyway.

“When is the right time for us, Sakura?” He mumbled, leaning back to watch her face him again.

Blanching, she shuffled her feet, breaking his gaze.

“For twenty years, I’ve loved you. For most of that time, I watched you love another man, marry him, and have his child.”

Sakura sucked in breath, feeling her heartbeat rabbit against her breastbone.

“So, tell me Sakura Uchicha. Haruno. Whoever you think you might be at this moment, when is the right time for us?”

The words smashed against her like wind in a storm.

He sounded so agitated, so…unlike himself.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, the words sticking in her throat like glue to paper.

Naruto just continued to stare at her. Waiting for…something.

Finally, she drew in a deep breath and stood up straight, squaring her shoulders.

“At this moment, Naruto, you are facing adversity outside the village with people we know nothing about. Your kids don’t know anything about us together, and the village would be outraged with scandal if they caught wind of an engagement.”

The blonde just lifted his shoulders.

“I told my son that I would never put my job before my family ever again. It’s caused rifts with my children, and it caused them with my friendships too. I told him that, and now I’m telling you. I will never put my seat of power before you. Ever.”

Sakura nodded, feeling her stomach clench.

“But, I don’t think that your answer has anything to do with the village.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Silence.

He smirked, standing up, shoving his chair back with his foot.

“Is it because I’m not Sasuke? Is it because you don’t feel you have to save me, or try to patch together my wounded soul?”

Sakura’s head shot up and she glared at him.

“You sound like a jerk now Naruto. It has nothing to do with Sa-.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” He yelled.

Sqkura snapped her mouth shut, watching as he ran his hand through his blonde tresses.

“It’s always going to be him, isn’t it? And what’s even more ridiculous is that you dont’ even realize you’re doing it!” He snapped again, thudding his fist against the counter.

“Stop yelling at me.” Sakura snapped right back at him, feeling her nostrils flare.

He turned his furious look in her direction, feeling his muscles tense.

Silence.

“I’m thinking about our families, our children, and your job. Also mine because this wouldn’t exactly make my life any easier, especially with the council being what it is.”

Naruto just shook his head.

“I told you once before Sakura, I hate when people lie to themselves.”

Sakura felt her control snap at his heartless comment and she grabbed a cup that was beside her and threw it near him, making him spin around again to face her.

“Don’t you dare throw that in my face! I-I told you what that was, I told you why I said that to you. To save you!”

Naruto growled, “To save Sasuke! Don’t pretend it had anything to do with me!”

Sakura just shook her head.

“Are we really back to this moment? What happened twenty years ago?” She asked him incredulously.

Naruto just looked at her.

“Yeah, maybe we are. Maybe we need to understand each other’s decisions regarding stupid choices we’ve made in the past.”

She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a slight, but she took it as one.

“Poor choices, huh? How about that time you married Hinata under a guise of a genjutsu?!”

The words hit him like a physical blow.

Gritting his teeth, he crossed the kitchen to stand in front of the pink haired kunoichi.

“And you and Sasuke were a great love story? Is that the delusion you feed yourself?” He snarled down at her, watching as her green eyes widened.

Licking her lips, she moved further into his space.

“Atleast I found some semblance of happiness and didn’t soak in my misery all the time.”

Naruto pursed his lips and in a mocking gesture nodded at her.

“All the three times Sasuke was actually here? Didn’t know the times on your back could be classified as the happiest.”

Slap.

His head whipped to the side as she slapped him across the jaw, and she shoved against him to gain space to leave.

He didn’t let her, he grabbed her upper arm and shoved her against his front, his cheek burning.

“If you think I'm letting you go this time, after 20 years of watching you love the idiot that never understood you, or craved you the way that I did, the way I fucking do. All the time. Every single fucking day. Then you really don’t know me at all, Sakura.”

HIs grip wasn’t tight, but his eyes were heated as they stared down at her.

“And I won’t apologize for it, damn you. For any of it. I won’t apologize for loving you even when I shouldn’t have. Or wanting to touch you even when I couldn’t have.”

Sakura trembled as his hot, heavy hand ran down her shirt, stopping at the skin that was bared to the world. His fingers caressed her belly, extending out to lay his whole hand on where their child was growing.

“Cause I’ve always been yours, Sakura.” He whispered down to her, his hand scooting lower to touch the inseam of her pants.

Oh Kami.

Sakura had heard enough, reaching up, grabbing his shirt and moving him backwards until he slammed against the adjacent counter, smashing her lips against his.

Naruto got with the program quickly, slapping her hands lightly away from his garb and reaching low, hitching her thighs up to have her legs wind around his waist.

He moved her against the wall, steering her to where they were absorbed by shadow.

Moving back from her mouth for a second, he whispered something, feeling the silence descend over them.

Sakura nodded, moved her hips in circles, rubbing her womanhood against his hardening length.

Naruto let her legs down for an instant, ripping her button open and shoving her pants and underwear down her legs. Sakura wasted no time herself and wrenched his down as well.

They collided together again, Naruto hoisting her up, balancing her with one hand to align her with his weeping manhood.

Sakura wriggled her hips, feeling the tip of him breach her. Leaning up, she gripped his shoulders and shoved her hips down, impaling herself the rest of the way.

“Oh fuck.” Naruto gritted out, watching as Sakura fucked herself upon him.

He watched as she threw her head back, softly mewling, her breasts heaving beneath her shirt. Gritting his teeth he gripped her attire and shoved it up to hug her shoulders.

“Forget something today?” He asked her, moving low to suck and bite at her left nipple.

Sakura moaned louder this time, thrusting her breast further into his mouth.

His hand gripped her hips, fingers digging into her voluptuous ass. Hoisting her up one more time, he placed her closer into the wall, dragging his hips out of her to force them back in harder.

“Yes.” She hissed between clenched teeth.

He wound his hips in circle, hitting ever sensitive spot inside her until she was near shouting.

“Naruto. Naruto. Oh Kami, I’m close. So close. Please.”

He reached his hand down, dipping between her thighs to fiddle with her clit, pinching it lightly.

Sakura sobbed, her legs trembling as she came around him, her walls squeezing his cock like a vice.

“Fuck!” Naruto shouted as well, his hand leaving her mound to clutch at her belly.

The both of them were breathing heavily, trying to catch their breaths once more.

Sakura moved her hand down to cover his over her stomach, and their lips found each others once more.

It was a sweet, understanding kiss which made Sakura’s insides flutter.

They had fixed their clothing, both of them sitting at the table now.

“I’m sorry for what I said, I was way out of line.” He muttered to her, reaching across the way, taking her hand.

Sakura shook her head, laying her hand over his.

“You really weren’t. You were right. I…he’s no longer a priority of mine, and honestly, he never should have been. But, I’ll never regret my life with him. He gave me Sarada.”

Naruto nodded.

“I just can’t seem to shake the jealousy regarding him, I-shit I’ve tried Sakura, and I know it’s just me and my self esteem issues. It’s honestly got nothing to do with you. I won’t bring it up again.”

Sakura just stared at him as he look shamefully at the table.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You always are. Stop treating me as if I can’t handle a little bit of your anger. I give it just as good as I receive it. We’re partners, Naruto. It’s not just you protecting me, it’s me protecting you. Us protecting each other. It always has been.”

Naruto just smiled.

“And…as my future husband it’s fair you know what I can and cannot take. As if you needed reminding.”

His head shot up, eyes tracing hers for humor.

“Really?” He whispered, feeling the tears start to well up.

Sakura was already there, nodding quickly, the tears running.

He grabbed her up and hugged her tightly.

“I’m so sorry for what I said before.” Sakura whispered into his ear, sobs choking out her words.

“It’s okay. It’s alright.” He soothed her, rubbing her back and shoving his nose into her pink locks.

Laying in the guest room that night, Naruto made love to her slowly, taking her apart over and over until she had to beg him to stop.

He didn’t, he couldn’t. There was nothing better than watching the woman he had loved for most of his life fall to pieces time and time again beneath him.

When he came for the last time, it was with her on all fours, his hand shoved into her lower belly, her clenching as she came he could feel in her lower pelvis. It took that for him to shoot inside her, his scalding seed rushing into her womb.

It was nothing he had ever felt before. Nothing compared to being inside her body. Nothing. Not learning Rasengan. Or the advanced version of it. Not even making Hokage. The belonged to each other. In every way. He had known that forever.

She just needed to realize it.

And she had.

Thank Kami.

“I need to leave before Himawari wakes up tomorrow. What time does she usually wake up?” Sakura asked him quietly, running her hands over his hard stomach.

“Pretty early. Around seven.”

Sakura nodded.

“I need to be at the hospital by seven o’clock anyway. I need to check on some charting issues.”

Naruto just smiled lightly.

“If we’re gonna get married, I need to tell Himawari and Boruto sooner rather than later.”

Sakura smiled, her heart thudding.

“I’m excited for that.” She told him, touching his cheek lightly.

He leaned in and kissed her palm, taking her fingers in his.

“Me too.”

[modernidolater]

TW: Violence, dark humor, all that jazz. Go no further, angry shit, yadda.

So, yanno...i'm just gonna yell into the void about something.

When i was very young, I read a lot of encyclopedias. Most of my knowledge of the world was attributable to the Encyclopedia Britannica, which my mother kept because well, a home should have a nice, impressive looking set of books. Along with a bunch of other old books that just...really weren't the best choice for a regressive anti-technology apocalyptic fundamentalist cult, but then, as we used to joke, my mother doesn't have to make sense, she just has to make decisions.

So, I eventually started plumbing the depths to try and figure out "what the hell is wrong with my family."

While i didn't get an answer about my family in general, I did note that i seemed to be oddly suited to the definition of "psychopath," minus the whole "being a problem for society at large" thing. Asocial, low empathy, lack of guilt, inability to plan cohesively, difficulty conceptualizing consequences, near total lack of emotions except curiosity and rage, both of which are carefully stifled, aggressive tendencies...frankly, I look at my younger siblings and i can definitely assure anyone that asks that had I not been raised quite far away from society, or if I'd stayed in the cult, I would most definitely have been a problem for society.

But psychopaths are *monsters,* you see. They're so, so bad, you see. Everyone assured me, at great length, that I couldn't be that, no, no sirree. I was too nice. Too kind. I didn't punch people nearly often enough (largely because I don't like being punched outside of sex, and I like to be in charge of where I'm being punched, and even that mostly cause I'm kinda badly out together physically, but that's aside the point.)

I wasn't *hate-able.* My empathy was too high.

On that last note, I have spoken elsewhere and i believe here regarding my empathy. My empathy is specifically a learned skill picked up by reading Edgar Allen Poe's Auguste Dupin stories. Dupin explains his near preternatural ability to get inside people's heads by his learned skill of micro-mimicking body and facial language and then analyzing what he feels when he copies someone else. Works absolute wonders, particularly as up to that point (i was 8-9), I was using the classical technique of provoking and hurting people around me to experimentally figure out how other people worked. Admittedly, it's somewhat like recording a speech and listening to it at the lwvel of a whisper in a crowded room, but then mimicry is far less likely to get you punched, and see previous for my feelings on getting punched.

But now i had, for all intent, a system to demonstrate empathy. Thanks to my mother's abuse, I had a complete paranoid delusion aping guilt. I could check plans past others, and once I got my hands on Google at 14, I had the capacity to directly look up what the general, societal consequences of most actions were and model behaviors that achieved my ends. I further had 18 years of direct training in mind control and manipulation, thanks to my cult.

You may notice that what you just read sounds like the origin story of a serial killer. Ape people around them to avoid detection, paranoia making them scrupulous enough to not get caught, and careful study of laws to find the lines, plus a hyper manipulative persona.

Roll with me here. This continues forward.

So, i'm out and about, 2, 5, 6 years free of my cult. I have married a self avowed psychopath who actually HAS been diagnosed with antisocial disorder thanks to a teenage habit of theft and punching people. He is fairly sure I am not one, since I perform guilt and empathy fantastically, by rote at this point. I literally have days that my face hurts from faking emotions for too long, i am slowly developing agoraphobia because there are far too many people to mimic in a retail job, and my guilt subroutine is just a voice chanting in my head, "they're coming to get you, don't fuck up" 24/7 to the point that i am developing hallucinations, but yeah. It's definitely not psychopathy. At this point, that's just ASPD, and i'm just too darn social. Never that. I'm no monster, you see. I'm "nice."

About this point, I have learned to use mind control techniques to help people, carefully applying them with direct permission to help people open up and discuss problems. My near preternatural ability to get into people's heads, my ability to find information, and my absolute lack of fucks about morals (thus making me wildly nonjudgemental), makes me the go-to confidant for many of my friends. This neatly surrounds me with people that can smooth my life out, but you can't tell people you're friends with them cause the world is made of grey paste and you're deathly bored 24/7 and being allowed to pick through people's minds and help them optimize is the closest you get to not wanting to shoot yourself or others. Or that you carefully maintain contact with people so you can check and make sure you're not doing anything jail worthy. Or that a large group to mimic lets you blend in easier, and finding one that also is transgressive, but socially permissable (thanks, kink) blows off some steam.

Of course, people that don't know me find me deeply off-putting, as I am at this point rapidly learning to turn off the mimicry when not immediately interacting with people. This results in me appearing utterly emotionless, but as soon as people talk to me, bing, back on. I had also joined the kink subculture, giving my hedonistic and transgressive sides an outlet.

I'd also gone to the trouble of getting a multifaceted degree. Ostensibly, my degree is "multimedia journalism." If you aren't aware, this means I have a degree in research, interpersonal communication, public speaking, written communication, mass communication, some psychology, critical thinking, media creation and analysis. In short, I have the literal perfect degree for figuring out, communicating with, and functionally understanding people, as well as a vastly enhanced ability to locate obscure information.

Fast forward again. Three mental breakdowns, four years of therapy, poking at my gender, figuring out a lot of mental health problems, and a rotating series of diagnoses, life is...slowly improving. I've left a toxic marriage (toxic on both sides), moved to a completely new place, started over. I have sort of resigned myself to focusing on my (admittedly annoyingly complex and wide ranging) physical disabilities.

And it comes up, in talking to my partner, that his adoptive mother displayed (she's dead) quite a few signs of ASPD. And he asks curiously if there's any connection between ADHD, autism, and ASPD, mainly cause the "personality disorder" part. PD's can, with long or early exposure, sometimes be passed on, you see.

Guess what's being studied, right now? Not a connection between ASPD and ADHD. A connection between psychopathy and ADHD. Wait, but I thought psychopathy wasn't a thing, says I? I thought there was only ASPD, now?

Ah, but for you see, the DSM is a load of horseshit. And i have heard that from multiple communities with different relations to it, and from multiple therapists, psychiatrists, professors...as a general rule, when the people who use it, the people it's used on, and the people who teach it all agree that a document is manure, I get a touch distrustful. I get more so when current studies use umbrella terms disavowed by a document known for being reductivist and that has been noted as having a great number of entries that were manipulated deliberately to make them as narrow and unusable as possible.

So anyway.

Turns out that while no, ADHD and Autism don't make you a psychopath, there's a distinct overlap. Empathy issues are a possiblity in all three, though both ADHD and autism can create *hyper*empathy. Inability to navigate social constructs is another point of overlap.

But really, it's the serotonin deficiency that hurls it across the line for me. And the genetic factors. Can psychopathy result from environment? Yeah, seems so. But there does seem to be a genetic and neurochemical component. Which is...curious for a disorder presented as purely a traumatic abreaction that creates dangerous amorals.

I then looked it up. And wouldn't you know, psychopathy is only pathologized as ASPD/APD, and DPD? The former is the sort of psychopathy that is characterized by violent amd criminal antisocial behavior, and the other an inability to understand and perform social mores at all. But this is the DSM, so these are of course diagnosed by problems caused for others as a first line.

Violation of societal norms, lack of emotions other than rage, aggression...it's almost like the same people that named a serotonin and function deficiency Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder to enshrine the disorder only by those aspects that make neurotypical people uncomfortable rather than seeking to help the neurodivergent person, the same people that invented torturous behavioral correction therapies to "fix" the neurodivergent person? Those strike me as people that might possibly have looked a serotonin deficiency that causes rage, limited emotions, impulsivity, difficulty conceptualizing consequence, and potentially a hell of a lot of other fun side shit and decided to call that "Doesn't get along with others well" disorder.

What really kicks it in the teeth for me, however, is that psychopathy used to mean more than "a social pariah." You see, Theodore Millon, the guy that wrote the book on personality disorders, noted between 5 and 10 subtypes. Do you know what they are?

Nomadic

(including schizoid and avoidant features)

Drifters; roamers, vagrants; adventurer, itinerant vagabonds, tramps, wanderers; they typically adapt easily in difficult situations, shrewd and impulsive. Mood centers in doom and invincibility

Malevolent

(including sadistic and paranoid features)

Belligerent, mordant, rancorous, vicious, sadistic, malignant, brutal, resentful; anticipates betrayal and punishment; desires revenge; truculent, callous, fearless; guiltless; many dangerous criminals, including serial killers.

Covetous

(including negativistic features) Rapacious, begrudging, discontentedly yearning; hostile and domineering; envious, avaricious; pleasures more in taking than in having.

Risk-taking

(including histrionic features) Dauntless, venturesome, intrepid, bold, audacious, daring; reckless, foolhardy, heedless; unfazed by hazard; pursues perilous ventures.

Reputation-defending 

(including narcissistic features) Needs to be thought of as infallible, unbreakable, indomitable, formidable, inviolable; intransigent when status is questioned; overreactive to slights.

(It should be noted: the features listed above are simply what each presentation is most likely to display if disordered. A reputation-defender may not display narcissm, a risk taker may not be histrionic. A malevolent [what a terribly judgy name...] could be negativistic, or avoidant, or histrionic. And so on.)

Now, ya may be going, "wait, hold up, narcissism is on there! We still have that! Schizoid is on there, we have that! Sadism, paranoia, we got all those things!"

Flash quiz: do you know what a personality disorder is? It's a series of learned behaviors that require moderation and unlearning.

Why yes, they did spin multiple neurotypes off into diagnoses that require behavioral therapy to "fix." Why on earth would you think they wouldn't? They're still trying to use reparative therapy on auties. Hell, near as I can figure, histrionic got spun into Borderline Personality disorder. You know what the therapy for that is? DBT, aka, "it IS your fault and you SHOULD feel bad."

Beyond knowing there used to be different flavors, did you know that there is about a millionty scare articles about how psychopaths are everywhere? Guess why.

What do you get when someone has an absolute need to see what's on the other side of the hill and no real fucks to give about how you get there? You get scientists, explorers, people utterly driven to find out. Think about how many of our science and exploration heros are noted as deeply weird and off-kilter. We have whole stereotypes about this. There are books and articles devoted to the transgressive personas and behaviors of famous scientists and explorers.

What do you get when someone is belligerent, paranoid, truculent, violent, fearless? Snipers. Literally. The army has openly stated they like psychopaths quite a lot. Someone that can look at a map of human lives and commit calculus with the phrase "acceptable losses" makes a damn fine general, wouldn't you say? Hunters, too. Make a good king? Or bounty hunter. Or, if we're going to be honest, a martial artist. Hell, think of all the ways our society accepts violence in real terms and symbolically. Management. Video gamer. Espionage. Actuary. Pest control. There are THOUSANDS of of societal uses for people like this.

Covetous? Well, banks are openly quite loving towards psychopaths. CEOs are indicated here. Businessmen. Fandoms with collection as a function have any number of anecdotes of individuals who have an intense drive to get more. "Focused on the chase, rather than the victory, to the exclusion of all else" is considered a positive, laudable personality trait. To put it in other terms, "can't stop, won't stop, never done." Sports players, yes? Football, rugby, hockey...

Risk takers are the real standouts, in terms of societal love. Doctors. Firemen. EMT's. Skydivers. Extreme sports players. Equipment testers. The list goes on. Society loves risk taking psychopaths. Hell, look at the diagnostic criterion up there: it's mostly traits with high positive connotations.

Reputation defending? Politics. Law. Advertising. Acting. Writing. Religion. Leadership of any kind.

I'm not talking out my ass here. All those fields have been noted as friendly towards, attractive to, and having a high representation of people who fit the behavioral model of psychopath.

But only if they're useful. Like literally every other non-normative neurotype.

Society loves ADHD and autistic people when they're displaying savant abilities or when they can mask well enough to use their sensory and cognitive differences to societal ends.

And if they're a problem for people around them, that's treated. The underlying difficulties? The societal structures that punish and harm them? The pain of adapting their entire neurobiome to do all the work of interfacing with different neurotypes while being driven to harness anything useful and discard the rest of their brain? No, we don't treat that. That's just the price of doing business. "Pull yourself up and don't be a problem."

And here's the problem, in plain terms: psychopaths who learn to cope, to mask, to adapt like I did are never diagnosed. I have spent most of my life fairly concerned about the fact that I seem not to have emotions or compunction, that i am always consciously working to figure out and connect to people around me on the most basic level, that I am constantly working to keep an active model of social norms going at all times. And I don't mean "shake hands, eye contact." I mean I have the same mental conversation regarding "don't shoot that person" and "use a turn signal." All prosocial behaviors, all social behaviors period, are a struggle to understand.

The funny thing is, it also makes antisocial behaviors difficult. Shooting someone seems remarkably inconvenient in many cases. Regardless of whether I care about getting caught or not, shooting somone will interrupt my day.

Not shooting them also seems remarkably inconvenient in many cases. Yes, it'd be a pain in the ass to shoot them, but then again, if I do it correctly, I only have to do it once.

But again, "correctly" is a wildly unfixed variable, and the whole question won't come up if I always ensure I fail the "do i currently have a firearm" step. And I don't. Ever.

That's how my brain works. Y'all go on about moral and ethical and legal reasons. That's an exhausting conscious mental conversation to have every other day, so my shortcut is:

"Should I shoot them? Oh, right, I don't have a gun. Guess not. Should I get one? No, cause I might shoot someone, and that'd be a pain in the ass. Welp, no shooting people."

And so it goes. I don't understand any social norms. Good or bad. I have all the problematic issues still, mind you. Environmental factors. I mimic and I was raised in an apocalypse cult in Oklahoma. I spend a lot of brain space sorting between prosocial behaviors and the violent antisocial behaviors I was taught were prosocial.

Because, you see, I can't really understand the prosocial behaviors, but I can see they work. And antisocial behaviors don't, really. Have i impulsively pocketed something? Couple times. Even got away with. Can't steal a house, though. And theft gets boring, for me.

Ok, except piracy. I may quite enjoy piracy.

Cooperation with a larger whole can and does yield benefits. Forcing myself to sit through mind numbing gratification delays does seem to yield results that are beneficial, though I really try to keep that one to a minimum. I refuse to be bored if I can help it. Making nice talky sounds gets me shit faster than making angry talky sounds.

Possibly this is a result if being raised manipulative. No idea. Kinda don't care.

Point is, I'm one of the psychopaths that, while not immediately useful, is also not actively a problem. So no-one will listen when i talk about everything being gray and cold and exhaustingly complicated because people make no sense and almost all my emotions are dialed so far down it's a joke i lack the ability to laugh about.

No one has believed me that the one emotion I have in spades is rage and that i have to literally consciously work out from first principles why violence is a bad option as my sole method of controlling that, my ONLY EMOTION OF ANY STRENGTH, which I cannot allow myself to feel for any length of time because I start losing sight of that consequence model and I worry i'll make a mistake I can't unmake. Or that it took me two decades to learn not to smash things I need when someone looks at me funny. Or just smash them.

Or that i have to keep my hands in my pockets and chant "don't steal" in my head some days. That I wear tight clothing with shallow pockets to make stealing harder so that, like guns, I simply can't do it easily and therefore short circuit my behaviors.

People are more than happy to hurl me at any problem that requires a lack of emotion, but if I dare to be less than appropriately emotional on a date? At a wedding? Funeral? If I make an error and don't diagnose it myself and perform contrition appropriately, regardless of if I knew there was a social or personal rule there? Well, I'm fired/broken up with/punished/evicted.

But I am not actively a problem for society. So none of those things are worth diagnosing. Or helping in any way.

And those that are useful? Are often fed utter horseshit and encouraged to break society. Bankers creating recessions. Generals commanding useless wars. Cops. Doctors that uphold a broken system. Politicians that pursue a broken society.

I know, I can see, that ASPD people catch a shit ton of shit cause they get blamed for "useful" psychopaths mistakes, and none of the benefits when said same psychopaths are lionized. Looking back at what it was, and what it is now, pathologically speaking, it makes perfect fucking sense for the asshats that designed a diagnosis to only include the people they don't like as the "sick" ones, and label the "good" ones as "heroes." Makes a nice distinction there between people we want to demonize and people we want to lionize for having the exact same chemical imbalance, and neatly creates a fall group when any of the "heroes" trip up. Silence those who can't cope, elevate those that can, treat neither effectively, and if an elevated one stops coping, we can just "realize" they were "sick" all along, and oh, yeah, those sick people are so bad, you guys, nothing like those heroes at allllllll.

I am...so tired of this society bullshit.

So anyway, I'm a psychopath. Paranoid, some schizoid. So whatever grains of salt you feel like taking, grab 'em, I guess. I'd mostly like for people like me to stop being weaponized, lionized, or punished for having a different neurotype. I'd like to be able to talk to a doctor about that and for there to be some options beyond "stop that," "get locked up," "have you considered the army" (yes, a doctor actually asked me that as a teenager) or "you seem fine, tho."

And if you resonate with this, well...I'm 32, never been arrested, mostly managed to avoid terrible shit, and I've got a life, couple partners, and I'm surviving, so like. You can do this. Lotta people wanna tell you you can't have this or that cause "you're not bad, tho." They're stupid. Y'ain't evil, just different. Don't let them get to you.

And (this is a joke) if you decide to shoot someone, do it once, correctly. Saves time.

[saveyourblood]

Stolen Dance | Ch. 5

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

(x)

Notes: Ya bitch is at it again. 

Word Count: 4.3k 

Song: Deep End - Birdy (slowed)

Warnings: graphic depiction of administering CPR, mentions of suffocation, flashbacks, symptoms of PTSD, implied torture, angst... regular CM warnings. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

_____________________

“I’m gonna ask you to close your eyes for a minute, all right?” 

The four of you stood in the arcade, Jeremy in front of his favorite machine. It was the one he was playing before Katie disappeared. 

Jeremy looked over to you. You smiled and nodded slightly. 

Jeremy closed his eyes and faced the game. 

“I want you to go back to when you first walked into the arcade earlier,” Derek asked. “In your mind, I want you to try to picture what it sounded like in here. Picture what it smelled like. Was it crowded?”

“It was loud,” Jeremy said. 

“Were the people loud, or were the sound effects loud?” Spencer asked.

“Both,” he replied. “Some kid was yelling at his game. When I started playing, Katie started crying, said she wanted to go find her mom.”

“Do you remember what she was crying about?” Spencer said.

Jeremy, eyes still closed, shook his head. “It was too loud.”

“Okay, Jeremy, go back to your game,” Derek instructed. 

A small smile appeared on the boy’s face. “I was winning.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Awesome. Proud of myself. Kind of embarrassed,” Jeremy said. He began to bite at his cheek. 

“Why were you self-conscious? Who was watching you?” 

“I could smell her shampoo.”

The three of you shared a look. 

“Katie’s?” you asked softly.

He shook his head again. “I talked to her for one second… and then Katie was gone.”

“Did she say anything before she disappeared?” You asked. 

“She said she wanted ice cream.”

Jeremy bit the inside of his cheek again. You looked to Spencer.

“Anything else?” Spencer asked gently. 

“No,” Jeremy replied. 

“What do you think he’s not telling us?” You asked, taking a sip of coffee from your disposable cup. You stole some from the security office for you and Spencer.

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “I think he’s protecting someone.”

The two of you sat at a small table in the mall’s breakroom. You returned Jeremy to his parents, and Derek was called away by Hotch. You weren’t supposed to leave the mall until Katie was found, being a paramedic and all. Spencer hadn’t been assigned anything else, so you and him spent your time occupying each other. 

“Probably,” you agreed, “but who?” 

Spencer shrugged.

Derek approached the two of you. 

“They found Katie’s necklace in a trash can,” Derek said as he entered the room.

You sat up; you didn’t realize your feet were in Spencer’s lap until that second. 

“Why throw away a girl’s necklace?” You asked.

“It wasn’t just thrown away — it was ripped off of her,” Derek replied. “Not to mention that it’s made of real gold.”

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Who gave it to her?” Spencer asked.

“Parents say she found it on a playground.”

“No way,” you shook your head. “Someone would know if they lost a necklace like that.” 

“Katie’s parents gave us permission to search the house,” Derek said, looking at Spencer.

Spencer turned to you.

You smiled encouragingly. “You should go, make sure Morgan doesn’t miss anything.” 

“Oh, new girl’s got sass,” Derek teased. “I’ll get you back for that one, Y/L/N.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said sweetly, raising your glass in his direction. 

The boys left, leaving you alone. You used the chair Spencer sat in as a footrest, leaning back. You hoped to clear your mind, but no matter what, your thoughts seemed to race. 

Why would the UnSub rip the necklace off of Katie? It’s an irrelevant detail to a stranger. Ripping off the necklace was personal. If it was personal, Katie knew the UnSub, but she either trusted them or was too afraid to say anything. 

You stood up, walking out of the breakroom. You found your way back to the security office. 

“Hey, Garcia?” you asked, sitting on the table beside her. 

“Yes, my love?” She asked, busy typing away on the computer. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“What’s going on?” Jeremy asked. “Why are we here?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

Derek had called you a few minutes ago, telling you to swing by the food court and find a place for you and Jeremy to be alone. You had yet to figure out why.

You looked up to see Spencer standing outside of the room. 

“I’ll be right back, okay Jeremy?” you said, standing up. You patted his shoulder on your way out. 

“Derek thinks Katie is being molested,” Spencer said the moment you closed the door behind you. “She’s been wetting the bed, and her Barbie looks… disturbing.”

“In that case, the necklace makes sense,” you said. “It’s not uncommon for abusers to buy their victims gifts.”

“...Jeremy stole a pair of earrings 6 months ago.”

You frowned, then immediately shook your head. “It’s not him.”

“You don’t know that, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly.

“I do,” you insisted. “How can a 13-year-old boy know where to hide her? This mall is massive, but most of it has been searched. We would have found Katie by now if Jeremy was the one hiding her.” 

“We’re interviewing the father now,” Spencer continued, as if he heard nothing of what you just said. “Hotch asked me to speak with Jeremy.”

“Okay,” you said, laughing softly. “You can go in, Spencer. Go do your job.” 

He nodded, then stepped into the room. 

You could faintly hear what the two of them were talking about, but for the most part, you were swimming in your own thoughts. You bit at your nails occasionally, hoping and praying that Garcia would get back to you soon. You had a gut feeling, and your gut has never been wrong before. You refused to believe today was the exception.

Your phone rang. You picked it up before the first ring finished playing out. 

“You hit it right on the head, my dear — Susan Jacobs quit her job at the Potomac Mills Mall a little over two years ago. She worked at a local clothing boutique, then in a furniture store, then a jewelry shop before ultimately quitting.” 

“And all of those jobs were within the mall?” you asked. 

“Indeed it was,” Garcia confirmed. 

“That woman must know this place like the back of her hand,” you muttered. “Garcia, thank you,” you said, then hung up. You immediately called Emily.

“You need to talk to the aunt,” you said, neglecting to even greet her. “She worked three different jobs in this mall less than 3 years ago.” 

The line was silent for a second as she processed. “She’d have the layout of the building memorized at that point,” Emily said.

“Not to mention any reservations that have been done,” you agreed.

“Meet me in the food court,” she said before hanging up. 

“You and Richard have been separated for months,” Emily stated. “Why else didn’t you realize he hasn’t smoked in over a month? He has no use for a new lighter.” 

“We’ve been trying to work things out,” Susan said calmly, but already, her composure was breaking. 

“Did you really believe that getting rid of that little girl would take away his sickness?” Emily asked.

“You’re not making a bit of sense.”

“Did it occur to you last week after you heard a little girl was snatched from the local mall, and she was found dead three days later?”

Susan didn’t respond.

“Do you know what having an asthma attack feels like, Susan?” you asked.

She shook her head slowly. 

“It’s like…” you approached her, leaning forward, effectively invading her personal space. “It’s like someone has their hands around your throat,” you said, reaching your hands up. You obviously weren’t allowed to touch her, but you put your hands in a position that could effectively strangle someone. “It’s like someone is pushing on your throat,” you moved your hands closer, “harder, and harder, and harder. Your lungs feel like they’re on fire. Your throat burns with each breath. But no matter what, you can’t seem to get enough air in, and that’s when you breathe out of your mouth. Do you know what happens when you can’t, because it’s covered with duct tape? You can die.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen to my family,” she whispered. 

“What wasn’t?!” you shouted, standing up quickly. “You weren’t supposed to abduct your niece? Of course you weren’t! But that’s not it, is it? No, you weren’t supposed to marry a perv.”

“Stop,” Susan said, a few tears streaming down her face.

“Your husband isn’t supposed to prey on children that are vulnerable, scared, alone, confused. Your husband isn’t supposed to be an animal. But you know what, Susan? He is. And you’re protecting him. You’re protecting an animal rather than your own fucking family.”

“Please, don’t,” she begged.

“You seriously thought getting rid of Katie would fix him?” you pressed. “You thought killing an innocent girl would fix your broken marriage? Your husband is sick; Richard is a monster. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.” 

“No, no, no,” Susan muttered.

“You robbed Katie from her childhood!” you screamed. “Are you gonna steal the rest of her life too?!”

“Enough!” Susan sobbed.

You leaned in close, making it so she had no choice but to look at you. “Where. Is. She,” you said in a low, demanding tone.

Susan wiped a few tears away. She cleared her throat. She looked down.

“They renovated the basement before I left,” She said, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear. “She’s in a cupboard in the seasonal storage closet.”  

You bolted out of the room, grabbing your medi bag as you went. 

“Derek!? Hotch!?” you shouted as you ran down the steps. 

“In here!” Derek shouted. 

You followed the sound of his voice and ended up where Susan told you Katie was.

“She’s in one of these cupboards!” you called, rushing to the first cupboard you saw. You began slamming every door open.

In the very last one laid a little girl in pigtails, bound and gagged with duct tape over her mouth. 

“I got her! I found her!” you shouted as loudly as you could. 

You put one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. You laid her flat on the floor and removed the tape from her mouth. You dropped your medi bag to your side, unzipping the corner pocket and pulling out an exacto knife. You cut through the ropes around her hands and ankles. 

You put your first two fingers over her carotid. Nothing. You put the stethoscope around you neck in your ears and pressed the bell to her chest. You watched and listened for movement. Also nothing. 

You maneuvered yourself to be directly over Katie and began compressions. Countless officers were swarmed around you, and it took you a moment to realize Derek and Hotch were crouched beside you.

“Get out the AED — it’s in the big pocket,” you instructed, mentally counting compressions. “There’s a pediatric CPR mask and a pair of scissors in the front pocket.” 

Derek scrambled to get the supplies, setting up the defibrillator to the best of his knowledge. 

“I need the scissors,” you instructed reaching a hand out. 

Once they were handed to you, you quickly cut through Katie’s shirt to expose her chest. You grabbed the defib pads, sticking one underneath her right collarbone and the other at the bottom of her left rib cage. You pressed a few buttons on the AED, then raised your hands in the air.

“Clear!” you shouted, though you doubted anyone else was touching her. The AED administered a shock, but she was still flatlining. 

You began manual compressions again, stopping after 15 to administer two rescue breaths. The automatic voice on the AED warned everyone to clear, beeped a few times, then shocked Katie again. Still, nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you mumbled, once again beginning compressions. “Come back.” 

By then, Katie’s parents were in the room, and her mother was wailing and begging. You could hardly hear her. You were running off of adrenaline and instinct only; the rest of the world didn’t matter. All that mattered was saving her. 

You administered a breath, then another. The AED warned for another shock. It shocked her.

The heart monitor began beeping. 

Katie took a deep breath and began coughing.

The whole room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You took the mask off her face, rolling her to her side and rubbing her back. “Welcome back, honey,” you cooed, a smile on your face. 

You reached into your medi bag, pulling out the small tank of oxygen. You rummaged around in the front pocket, coming up with a pediatric oxygen mask. You unwrapped it, straightened the tube, and connected the mask to the tank. Derek helped lift her head so you could slip it on. 

Katie was still coughing, but after a few fits, she began sucking in the air. You moved to the side, taking off your jacket and laying it over her to give her back some privacy.

Her parents rushed over, sobbing with relief. You stood up and stepped to the side so they could have a moment. 

You wiped some sweat off your forehead, taking a deep breath. You looked up to see Spencer standing in the doorway. He smiled.

You smiled back. 

“Thank you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, but smiled. “For what?”

“For letting me,” Spencer said.

You untucked a corner of your bed, throwing back the sheets. You then turned around and began digging through your wardrobe.

“Letting you do what?”

Spencer took a seat on the other side of the bed. “For letting me talk to Jeremy. You trust your instincts more than anything, but today, you trusted me too. Thank you.” 

“Of course I trust you,” you said, almost shrugging it off. You laughed to yourself. “Spencer, I love you, but sometimes, you have no choice but to do the job. I get that. Believe me, I get that.” 

You quickly changed into your version of pajamas (which was a plain t-shirt and a pair of boyshorts) before crawling under the covers and joining Spencer. You turned off the light on your nightstand before curling up against him, your face tucked into his neck.

“Hey, Y/N?” Spencer asked, voice soft. You felt the words rumble through his chest, vibrate against your face. It made you smile.

“Yeah, Spence?” 

“I love you too.”

You froze for a moment, wondering why he said ‘too’ rather than a simple ‘I love you’. It took you a second to realize you had, in fact, said you loved him. You relaxed, though, when you realized it didn’t feel wrong.

In fact, in felt pretty damn right.

Dorado Falls. 

You never thought two words that were so irrelevant to you could affect you so greatly.

It was an interesting case — a former Navy SEAL was experiencing a psychotic break due to both his PTSD and a car crash he was in. The break caused something called Capgras Syndrome, or a mental disorder that makes someone think people in their lives were replaced by imposters. According to Spencer, Capgras Syndrome rarely made people homicidal; it was simply Luke Dolan’s past that made him able to kill without a second thought. In fact, he killed both his former team leader and parents because of the tricks his mind was playing on him. Had the BAU not intervened, he would have killed both his wife and daughter.

Of course, the BAU did intervene. Unfortunately, this lead Dolan to believe they had been kidnapped, so he ended up taking a hostage of his own in an attempt to exchange with the Bureau. Rossi talked to him over the phone, and Garcia managed to triangulate his call. The warehouse the call came from had the man he captured, but there was no sign of Dolan.

That is, until he pressed the barrel of his sub-machine gun to the back of your head. 

“I want my wife and my daughter,” he said calmly. “If I don’t see them in three minutes, the girl dies.” 

You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes. 

“No one is seeking revenge here,” Rossi said calmly. “You’ve created this conspiracy in your own mind.”

“You took my family,” Dolan argued. He pressed the barrel harder against your head.

“We took them to protect them from you,” Spencer said, swallowing nervously. “Let her go, and we can talk about it.”

Dolan didn’t budge.

“You want to know what’s going on?” Spencer asked, stepping forward. “You were in a car accident three nights ago, and you suffered a head trauma.”

“If I don’t see Jenna and Ally right now…” Dolan said, “...she dies.” 

Your mind shut down after that. You thought you heard someone over the intercom, but the only real thing you could hear was ringing. Loud, high-pitched ringing, like a bomb had gone off right next to your head. 

“You have one minute,” Dolan said, once again pressing the barrel to your head. 

It felt like it took hours for Dolan to finally set the gun down. Derek swooped into handcuff Dolan, gently nudging you forward. 

You couldn’t move.

You saw Spencer approach you, looking into your eyes and setting his hands on your arms. You could see his lips moving; he was asking you something, probably if you were okay. You couldn’t formulate a response. You felt a tear slip down your face, but it wasn’t the dam breaking. In fact, it was only the start of the storm. 

You crouched to the floor silently, clasping your hands over your ears as you brought your knees to your chest. You curled yourself into a tight ball, pulling at the hair above your ears.

“Please, let me help him,” you whispered, tears rolling down your face. “Just let me help him…”

“Let me help him!” you shouted, fighting the chains that bound your hands above your head. “Please, let me help him!” 

It was dark, and dirty, and it smelled like piss and shit. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were never supposed to end up here. Neither was he.

“Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!” you begged, thrashing. “Let me down so I can help him! Please!” 

“Please!” you shouted, clothes drenched in sweat as you thrashed around. “Please, let me down! Let me help!”

“Y/N!” Spencer called for you, brushing back some of your hair.

You sat straight up, panting heavily. Your heart was racing, and your mind was foggy. It felt like you had just ran a marathon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer promised, setting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re safe. I promise.” 

You got out of bed, walking through your apartment until you reached the living room. You slid open the glass door and stepped onto the porch.

It had been getting colder for awhile now; most of the trees were bare, and by 10PM, it was getting close to freezing. You guessed it was somewhere around three in the morning when you went outside. You didn’t go back in until the Sun began to show.

The more nightmares you had, the less time you spent with Spencer.

It was a gradual practice; you stopped going over to his apartment unannounced. You stopped inviting him over after a case. You stopped making plans with him on your off-days. You spent more time working and studying then you did with him. It was concerningly easy to distract yourself, at least from Spencer Reid. 

You eventually stopped attending classes altogether. You lied to your professors, saying the BAU needed you more than you realized. They of course understood and accepted the news without further questioning. You used the newfound freetime to work as an on-call paramedic for local EMS. Between being on-call, schoolwork, and the BAU, you had no time for yourself, let alone someone else. 

That was exactly how you wanted it. 

A case popped up in Florida. It seemed pretty run-of-the-mill in terms of victimology: young, beautiful women. The only strange thing was the UnSub didn’t seem to have a racial preference.

The team put out a profile relatively quickly. They determined the UnSub would be middle-aged, successful, a family man and most likely known by the community. He was the kind of person you’d least expect. Of course, there was more than a handful of successful family men in Atlanta, but eventually, the team and local law enforcement were able to narrow it down. 

The lead detective on the case got restless and arrested a suspect prematurely. William Harris was in the eyes of the BAU, but no one made a move because there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him yet. Now, with Harris in custody and less than 12 hours until he walks free, the team was working to find the evidence needed to keep him in custody.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, drawing you out of your daydream and back into reality. “You’re pursuing a minor in English, correct?”

You nodded. 

“Garcia found something on Harris’s computer,” Hotch said. “Go find Reid, see if you can help him.”

You nodded again, this time, more stiffly. “Yes sir,” you said, before dismissing yourself.

You wondered if Spencer had anything to do with that. 

You eventually found Spencer working in a corner of the police station. He already had 3 different boards behind him, two of which were whiteboards, one of them a corkboard. His back was turned to you as he pinned pieces of paper to the corkboard.  

A part of you wanted to say that it would be much easier if he just got over his aversion to technology already. 

“Hotch told me to find you,” you said instead.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. It seemed like he wanted to say something else.

“Do you need some help?” You asked, approaching the board.

“Uh, Garcia found an untraceable blog on Harris’s computer,” he explained. “I’m going over the entries.”

You looked over the papers he already had pinned. Frowning, you began to notice a few inconsistencies. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t authors generally stick to using either dashes or ellipses?” you asked. 

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “Why?” 

You picked up a marker and began to highlight a few things. “There’s an equal number of both,” you said, mostly to yourself. “And here — the guy who uses dashes? He calls soda ‘pop’, but the other one calls it ‘soda’.”

“Dashes versus ellipses is almost entirely a style choice, but pop versus soda is regional,” Spencer agreed.

“‘Pop’ is a midwestern thing,” you said. “Isn’t Harris from Ohio?”

Spencer nodded in confirmation. “So the real question is… who’s the other writer?” 

You and Spencer worked on the blog posts, pointing out the inconsistencies and the different voices each author used. Of course, Spencer was a lot faster than you were — you suspected he slowed down, at least physically,  so you didn’t feel left behind. You appreciated the thought.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a while.

You felt your body stiffen. You cleared your throat in an attempt to recover. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been acting weird the last few weeks. Is something going on?” 

You shook your head but refused to look at him. “Nothing’s going on.” 

“Okay,” he said. “It’s just weird for you to miss date night. I thought I’d ask.”

You set down your marker and grabbed Spencer’s arm. You pulled him across the bullpen, down a hallway, and into an empty room. 

“Don’t,” you said right after closing the door. “Don’t do this. Not here.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” he persisted. “After what happened with Dolan…”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated. “Please, don’t mix… us with work.” 

“I’m not!” Spencer argued. “I’m checking in on a friend. I love you, Y/N, and it hurts me to know that you’re hurting.” 

“No you don’t,” you muttered.

“...What?”

“No you don’t,” you said louder, but your voice was fragile. “You don’t love me.” 

“What do you mean?” He said, taking a step forward. “Of course I do.”

“Spencer, you don’t know me,” you said, tears forming in your eyes. “We laugh, and we have fun, and we have a good time. But you don’t know anything about me, and honestly, I don’t know anything about you. All I am is a girl you met in Colorado and couldn’t seem to shake.” 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. The tone of his voice was enough to make a few tears fall onto your cheeks.

“Doing what?” you whispered.

“Invalidating everything we’ve been through,” Spencer said. “Invalidating me… invalidating us, Y/N? I don’t understand.”

“We spent a week in Vegas and we tricked ourselves into thinking we’re soulmates,” you said, smiling sadly. “That’s on me. And I’m sorry. But we’re not in love.”

He stepped closer to you. “That week is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

It killed you, but you took a step back. “We’re strangers,” you whispered. “We don’t know each other's favorite color, what elementary schools we went to, why we felt a calling to our jobs… We don’t know anything, Spencer. At least, I don’t.”

“Whatever happened, we can figure it out,” Spencer said. “I can help you, Y/N! You just have to let me in.”

“No one can help me,” you said, sucking in a breath to avoid a sob. You closed your eyes and wiped your cheeks feverishly. “I’ll give you back your things when we’re back in Virginia.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said. “I just… can’t.” 

You walked out without taking a look back. 

[whoslaurapalmer]

for the directors cut thingy what are you doing the rest of your life? this is one of if not my most favorite warm fuzzy lemonberryice fic so any part of it you want to talk about, but especially the bit starting with “‘I wouldn’t run,’ I said. ‘And I will thank you not to point out my previous track record of doing just that’”

thank you!!!!!!! also, true to form, this is, so long, cause i just did the whole thing. what else would i do. the tl;dr of it all is that when i write fic, i am always thinking about writing structure and individual characterization and what the point of any given story is above all else, and that consumes a lot of brain power. and that you could give me any line in a fic and i will have an incredibly specific anecdote for it. 

the first lemonberry ice i wrote!! what a time. i specifically tagged it as ‘very little angst and no one dies!!!’ because i’d just posted beatrice like. three months before??? and i said to myself ‘hmm. i don’t want people to think all i can write is angst......’ so i wanted the fic to be like, look! nothing bad happens here this time!! it’s all good!!!!!!!!! and i had wanted to write something happy!! i like fluff a lot!! 

like bertrand, i was also searching for the right sinatra song for this fic. if it isn’t obvious, by now, three years later, i love sinatra a lot. on my previous laptop, the file for this fic was still titled after the first song the fic was supposed to be about, but when i backed up everything in googledrive i titled it properly, so the file name is the proper one now, but i’m, 99% sure the original song was i get a kick out of you (specifically this super jazzy one, not the one with the opener, it’s slower and doesn’t sound the same). but LIKE WITH EVERY CHOICE I MAKE IN A FIC i wasn’t sure it really captured what the fic was about. especially the “you obviously don’t adore me” line, because the fic was certainly more upbeat than that. so i dug around on youtube for one i thought fit better and found what are you doing the rest of your life. for three people, living such turbulent and unpredictable lives, to hear this song about always wanting to be there, for everything, no matter what it is, and for the rest of their lives, to admit that’s possible............ i couldn’t find a recording of young!sinatra singing it, though, which bummed me out a little. nothing wrong with old!sinatra, but you can start to hear more of the.....age his voice, you know? 

since this was 2017, only the first netflix season was out, and we all still had such high hopes for it, and i sure did, and tito puente was mentioned in miserable mill and because s1 was so good i didn’t mind making a couple references to it because EVERYTHING WAS BEAUTIFUL, and i just wound up sticking him in beatrice and what are you doing the rest of your life because his music was great and it was a fun callback! simpler times indeed........

my main goal with the fic was, i think, to try and figure out how i thought the three of them worked in a relationship, since it was my first time writing them. which is why there’s really specific lines like, “A year had gone by and I still wasn’t used to how free Bertrand was with his affection.” and “I grinned, because after all this time I knew when she was kidding. Beatrice’s razor-sharp wit, and the touches of playfulness behind it, was one of my favorite things about her.” they’re lines that i still think are absolutely in character for lemony, and i probably wouldn’t change them if i wrote it now, but i do feel they’re a little too, on point. or not on point, just.....obvious. like, not only did the lines have to make sense in the style, but they had to make sense, for me, as i was writing, as i was trying to figure out their characters and what would show lemony’s nerves alongside bea and bertrand’s habits and their relationship as a whole, and that’s a lot to try and do

“‘Sonnets,’ I said. ‘Beatrice will write sonnets.’” truly. i am truly haunted by this line now. it will keep me up at night. 

oh boy, that section is. a lot. i gotta go through the whole thing. i do. 

“I wouldn’t run,” I said. “And I will thank you not to point out my previous track record of doing just that, because they were all for relatively legitimate reasons.” I liked to think that I wouldn’t do it again, if the sort of situation arose where it was something I had to consider. (i think every writer in this fandom will admit that one of the hardest things to do, when writing a happy fic, is trying to find the line between, ‘i cannot avoid the legit canon events that have happened to these characters and turned them into the people they are, and i need to address that, no matter what i’m doing’ and ‘i want them to be happy and they deserve it’ and i think that’s a lot of what this section is. referencing how in canon lemony runs to not necessarily avoid his problems, but also, mainly, i think, because he believes 1) that’s the only way to protect the people he cares about and 2) that they’re better off without him, and how there’s definitely a gap between him leaving stain’d-by-the-sea and returning to the city, where anything happened, that counts as ‘leaving,’ and it was also supposed to reference one of the giant fics i was working on at the time, where the climax was, of course, and like any good slow burn fic, a misunderstanding that involved lemony leaving before reconciling with bea and bertrand. this fic would’ve taken place after it.) I liked to think that marriage wasn’t one of those things, because it was something I genuinely wanted. (2017!me had no idea what 2019!me would do......) But the uncertainties of the world sometimes made even that lovely thing seem so far out of my grasp that, if I was honest with myself, I had considered slipping away into the night so that I wouldn’t ruin anything else. It was an upsetting thing to think, but I had thought of it as much as I had thought about those musical numbers. (i still think about that, sometimes. lemony and bertrand, proposing like true theater nerds.) 

Bertrand looked out over the water. “Do you think I’m not scared too, Lemony? About the things we do, the positions we put ourselves in, whether this assignment or the next one will be the one that takes one of you away from us?” (my mental checklist of things i write include ‘lulu, is there a moment in the fic where like, The Point Of The Fic Is Made,’ like the moment where it all comes together and, this is what the fic was For an What It’s Supposed To Say, and that’s what this scene was for, and it’s definitely in what bertrand’s saying here.) (but because it’s 2017, like some of the earlier lines, i feel as if The Point is Too On Point. but it’s something i still struggle with, even now.) (it’s still important for bertrand to say it, though.....) 

“No,” I said. “I’m not that much of a fool to think that my fears aren’t universal.”

“Sometimes you act like you do,” Bertrand said quietly. “And I am under no delusion that our feelings for each other will fix any or all of our problems. But they can be a little easier to deal with that way, when you know you aren’t alone. You know that, don’t you?” (i had a lot of characterization notes around this fic (and the giant fic i was writing) since i was, again, just writing them and trying to figure out how they all worked, so i had a little list of like, what each of them do for the other, and parts of it were “bertrand prevents beatrice and lemony from being too dramatic, bertrand prevents lemony from being too self-deprecating, lemony allows bertrand to feel less self-conscious (and probably less worried because bertrand knows someone else shares his terrible anxieties)” and there are things i write differently now, because i’ve been at it for a while, but it was important for me to figure out how they connected with each other and....not what they offered each other, and certainly not how they fixed each other, but how each of them lessened certain canon elements that would make their relationship go differently. because again all my lemonberry ice fics (with the exception of the letter) are written from a standpoint where they would rewrite canon, especially this one. anyway, that’s.....that’s what that dialogue was supposed to do. when all three of them are together, they’re capable of being that support for each other and evening each other out.) 

I wanted very much to believe that, but every time Beatrice or Bertrand said it, it never seemed to sink in the way it should. It is one thing to love someone, or multiple someones, to love them so much you often can’t think of anything else, but another thing to trust them and the things they say and yourself, especially when you live the kind of lives that we lived. (i hate to keep bringing up years i know it’s like. weird but it’s how i sort where my brain was, and 2017 was a great year for analysis in this fandom and i don’t remember who exactly had brought up, that lemony sees a difference between love and trust, especially after ellington (he loved her but he didn’t trust her), and that’s something that’s so true that i’ve never forgotten and that gets brought up in other fics too (bea in the letter loving lemony but not trusting him.....). there are certain headcanons, of my own and of others, that i tend to just get, attached to, so they just. keep. happening.) Perhaps I did forget about it sometimes, the terrible recklessness with which Beatrice occasionally acted, how Bertrand tended to be much too quiet at times, the things all of us did when we forgot we weren’t alone. (yet another ‘line that has to work in the narrative and Say The Point’ because that really is a big thing in how i structure stories. i feel like it’s so necessary for there to BE a point to each thing i write, ESPECIALLY in shorter pieces, otherwise, why???????? and you know what, i need to be less strict about that, really.) The three of us were not perfect people, not by any means, but three imperfect people doing what they can for each other in a turbulent world is sometimes better than three perfect people going through life without a care about anything else. (i rewrote this line a few times, but it’s one of my favorites. this fic really has aged well, especially with lemony’s narration, this line in particular.) 

I squeezed Bertrand’s hand and didn’t say anything more.

speaking of lemony’s whole love vs. trust thing and my rewriting, i tend to keep most of what i cut out of a fic, especially while i’m trying to figure out a certain line (although sometimes i’ll just rewrite over it and then it’s lost to time), and the file has my original attempts for this scene, which still had some good lines -- 

I think it is a universally accepted truth that if you love someone, you trust them, in one way or another, but I have never felt that way. there have been quite a few people whom I loved a great deal but didn’t trust them, or people that I knew I could trust to act a certain way but certainly didn’t love at all. I believe it comes with the sort of upbringing that involves a great deal of suspicion for even the people around you.

the circumstances around you meeting them. but sometimes also because of the things they do. or you can not love someone at all and trust them, because you know them to be a horrible person and trust that they will continue to act in horrible ways, and that at the bottom of every root beer float you drink in their presence there will be a small collection of thumbtacks.

bertrand looked out over the water. “we love you very much, lemony,” he said, “and I don’t expect that to fix any or all of our problems. but do you trust that we feel that way?”

I did. or I wanted to. the thing about trust is that it is a very difficult thing, and as much as I wanted to spend the rest of my life between the two of them, the amount of uncertainty I felt about myself and our lives and even about that uncertainty was a heavy thing.

“what if it’s not enough?”

“maybe it’s not,” bertrand admitted. “but it’s good enough.”

“‘Hey, hey!’ Beatrice said, snatching the plate from him. ‘Don’t be like that with the good plates.’” still one of my favorite actions. still makes me laugh, even though now i think bea would be the one to be reckless with dishware. 

and beatrice talking about their apartment being too small for children is a top favorite fic ending. i love her. so much. 

[paramsiddharth]

#7: In Search of Acceptance

Diversity is an inseparable part of our existence. It is beautiful. However, it is perhaps not just as amazing in the lack of acceptance.

Being confined to a single room for 2 months in a row — Would you call that imprisonment? A happy, loving, and stable family… Is that too much to ask for?

I have lived in the world long enough to know how it works. People love to get entertained by movies that portray painful reality. Little do survive when it comes to facing it.

What is acceptance? How to feel accepted? Does it come from within? Most of it does, but as far as you go being dependent on anybody other than yourself, self-acceptance alone won't do.

My parents are suffering. I know they are. They are in huge financial pain. Not just that, they have spent the past 20 years of marriage being bullied and demeaned for being the great humans they tried to be. They have been thrashed by everyone they once loved, from siblings and parents to colleagues and neighbours. It seems they have lost the ability to show affection itself.

A few days ago, they fought again. Considering how we have to listen to every selfish demand of my mom (for her OCD of cleanliness), many of which require financial sacrifices, my dad is in a pathetic condition. We are so desperate to have a home of our own that we have forgotten that we ever had a life or that we will ever have a happy one.

My mom is totally not in her own control when angry. She chooses to abandon everyone and run from her responsibilities. She can commit something serious if not controlled, and my dad has grown stone to such circumstances. That is when I end up being the one desperately holding her back from committing any wrongdoing whilst helping my dad with emotional stability. This, too, has become so frequent now, that I have grown weak.

It has been 6 days since I last touched programming. It has been hard for me to do anything in a life like this. Being confined to a single room, a single bed, with my brother, mom, and dad, each occupying some part of it, has led to reluctance in doing anything that gives me joy. That alone, however, isn't the stopping force. It has been my parents too.

Under their own frustration, my parents have been atrocious on me. 3 continuous days of being bullied by them has taught me heavy lessons. Every night, something as tiny as me stepping with one slipper of mine on the other one would drive them mad and they would throw at me the harshest words. Whether I cry, shout, weep, or even ask for help or beg for love, nothing works. They don't stop.

They themselves have nothing to be happy about. Perhaps that is the reason they have been talking rough of me, scolding me, and stopping me from using electronic devices. They have forbidden me to talk to my friends on phonecalls, something that was therapeutic to my worries and made me stronger in holding up against the problems in life. They have forbidden me from doing anything I love, either listening to music, watching videos, programming, learning, or studying.

Their idea of masculinity is disgusting. My paternal middle uncle's family is the biggest cause of the troubles my family has faced. One thing that I notice in his family is that he does many of the house chores that are traditionally designated to the female members in the Indian society. I despise my uncle and his family for all they wronged us, but the fact that he helps his wife out with house chores is something I appreciate.

My mom has been constantly bullied recently over how she doesn't keep herself beautified and wear jewelleries and makeup as a woman "should". In a very humiliating way, a far aunt of mine refused to take tea from my mom's hands just because she wasn't wearing bangles. I was shocked, and I hated everyone for their misogyny towards my mom.

However, much as it hurts to admit it, my parents are not too different. Not even my mom. They have inherited lots of the same misogyny. An example of that came out to me a few days ago when my parents started calling me names over the fact that I decided to have long hair and questioned my masculinity, comparing me with my paternal middle uncle.

My parents continued with the accusations of how I didn't listen to them and get a haircut. It felt as if my long hair were making them suffocate. They emotionally forced me to give in to their wish to not let me have long hair when they said that I will probably get them cut once they died. I said to my mom that I'll get a haircut whenever she will say. Not that it ended their questioning of my masculinity. I won't lie, it doesn't hurt when anybody in the whole bloody world makes fun of me over anything. But it hurts bad when my parents make fun of me for who I am.

I forgot to mention that I got a new laptop. It happened before the last post, and the reason I was holding back the post before that one was because I wanted it be a part of the new laptop's inauguration. Upsetting as their recent attitude towards me has been, I know my parents love me. Why else would they buy me everything and take care of me? I just wish they continued to give me the love I have craved for the past 1½ years.

In a world that has discarded me forever, it doesn't take more than my parents discarding me too to completely wreck me. I don't know how it feels like to be that beautiful girl whom nobody likes and the very few who attempt friendliness are due to sexual attraction, but I do know how it feels like to be the intelligent guy that everyone hates but makes good use of when help is needed, thanks to his giving and forgiving nature, affectionate behaviour, and weak heart.

Everybody has hated me since forever. The only people who have given me strength are my parents… My family. They have always been there for me ever since the beginning of my life. If they stopped supporting me for who I am just because I am not what I was expected to be, I would break. I haven't grown self-dependent yet. I need them. And honestly, I'll need them forever. Their love has driven me for years of my adolescence. I wish it stayed with me now, at the tip of adulthood.

It is easy to escape the reality when you have a choice. In the current scenario, I don't seem to have any. It hasn't been tough for me to write this entry, but I just did. I let go of my urge to hold back all negativity just because I was constantly waiting for something good to happen. I finally let go. I am suffering, with no choice but to continue to suffer for even longer. I have faith in the soul of goodness, and if the natural unfolding of space and time serves me right, everything will get better. I have no choice, but to be patient.

At this point, all superficial relations seem to show colours. With all delusions aside, I am now able to see things I have never been able to. I realize that half of the closest friends I have been forcing myself to be proud of are fake too. Some of the ones I have loved very much with all my heart have constantly used me, and right now, I can't depend enough on them to even have a listening ear for my woes, because they still manage to convince me that it is more important for me to fix their problems.

If things get better, I will consider myself blest more than anything else. Those blissful moments would be fuel to my path further down this road to discovering life. I want to use this opportunity to change myself more and walk in the right direction towards growing my worth in this cruel world. I want to be able to grow stronger and prove to the core of existence that I also deserve happiness… That I have done nothing wrong.

Love, Param.

[eldritchsurveys]

641.

Would you convert to a different religion if your fiancé/fiancée was of a different faith? >> Fortunately, this was never an issue. Even if she did have a religion, there’s no obligation for me to share it. I tend to be the one interested in religions (although the jury’s still out on whether I’d ever actually feel comfortable adopting one).

The world is ending, and you can save one group of five people: who would be the five people that you save? >> First of all, if the “world is ending”, then I do not want to be stuck as one of the six humans left to deal with the aftermath and trying to survive in an inhospitable landscape. Also, this is just way too implausible a situation for me to take seriously.

Is happiness a delusion? Is happiness only real when shared? Why or why not? >>The idealisation of happiness is a bit delusional, I guess, but it’s a shared, social delusion -- just look at all the “wellness” “self-help” “self-care [the “buy this thing” kind, not the real, practical kind]” nonsense being peddled to us on a daily basis. Any feeling that is not happy-cheery forced positivity is aberrant and pathological and has to be “fixed”. That’s not a healthy way to think, and I hate that we’re all made to feel that way about perfectly normal ass emotions. I don’t know if happiness is only real when shared. I’ve always had someone(s) Inworld to share my happinesses (and everything else) with, so I can’t speak as to what it’d be like if I didn’t.

What would the cover of your biography (presumably written by somebody else who never knew you, postmortem) look like? >> I... really have no idea.

Write about a really good or creative Tumblr URL that you see frequently on your dashboard. >> inflagrante-delicatessen is a funny one.

If swear words were not things like “shit” and “fuck” what would they be otherwise? >> That’s, like, impossible for me to predict.

Write a very vivid description of what is/would have been your most perfect way to lose your virginity. What is your exact definition of ‘losing your virginity’? Also: will you/would you have liked to save your virginity for marriage? Why or why not? >> I don’t really care about this, you know? It’s not like if my first experience was earth-shattering, it would have somehow made up for all the horrible experiences I had later. I don’t have a definition for “losing one’s virginity” because that’s not a phrase I like to use. I don’t like making a point of dividing people’s experiences into “before sex” and “after sex” to begin with, but also, just focusing on a certain kind of sexual act as a “goal” to reach or whatever is... kind of weird to me. The whole shit is just weird the more I think about it.

Write a six-word fortune cookie. >> I’d rather not.

Why do you think eyebrows exist? >> I don’t have a hypothesis about this, but I’m sure there’s some educated theories out there if I was ever curious (right now, I am not).

If you could only have one contact on your phone, who would it be? >> Sparrow is the only person whose phone number I actually use on a regular basis, so, her.

Your bucket list is limited to three items. >> I don’t have a bucket list, period.

Do you wake up first or do you open your eyes first? >> I assume that I wake up first, and then open my eyes? But maybe it’s the other way around, what do I know.

Write a love/thank you/appreciation letter to someone you take for granted. >> No.

What makes you feel infinitely sexy? >> Can Calah makes me feel sexy. King Crimson makes me feel sexy. Sexiness isn’t something I feel outworld.

Make a video and talk about something for two minutes. Anything. And don’t edit out any parts of it. >> Uh, no.

Write a poem you’d stick on a refrigerator. >> Also no.

Are you afraid of aging? Why? >> I’m not afraid of ageing. I actually look forward to seeing what the rest of my life will bring, especially internally. What I am afraid of is infirmity, degenerative illness, that sort of thing. I’m afraid of losing my personal quality of life. (I know there’s a lot to unpack in regarding one’s quality of life as diminished if one develops a physical disability or something, because people live full lives with those things all the time. But I cannot predict how a change of that magnitude would affect me, personally, and I worry that I will not be able to adapt.)

Describe one time you basically thought you were the shit, when your self-confidence was soaring through the roof. This is meant to be a positive thing. >> Hm. I can’t remember a time like that right now.

If there was one person you could get drunk with and kiss and then later blame it on alcohol, who would it be? >> I would not do that.

Does perfection exist? If the word perfection did not exist, what word would be in its place? What would perfection mean instead? >> I guess the concept exists, at least. I don’t know if it’s something I can measure and perceive.

The next book you see that has over 300 pages, open up to page 136. Find a sentence you like, copy it down, and then write about it. >> I don’t feel like getting up to grab a book.

Who makes you laugh the most? >> ---

What is one thing that you are proud of, that you think lacks praise/lacks appreciation from the people around you? It could be a simple thing; it could be a secret thing. >> I don’t really seek appreciation from the people around me, so I don’t know.

If you could accuse somebody of being fake/a bitch and not suffer any repercussions, who would you accuse, and how would you do it? >> I’d really rather not. What even would be the point?

What is the funniest one-liner Tumblr text post you’ve ever read? >> Dude, there are so many funny ass posts on this website. I collect them at @officialaynrand.

Rewrite a verse of lyrics from your favorite song. They have to sound good when you sing it out loud along to tune of the song. >> Nope. But I will say that my brain insists on hearing the “heavy metal broke my [heart]” line in Fall Out Boy’s Centuries as “heavy metal Pokémon” and even though I know the lyrics I still sing it like that because it just kills me every time.

If the SATs/grades did not exist, in what way should colleges/teachers evaluate applicants? >> I have no suggestions.

Do you feel at home in your home? Is home a place for you? A book? A thing? A person? What would you want your home to be? >> I feel at home in Xibalba. I feel at home in my room here in the apartment, too. But I guess I’d feel equally at home in any place as long as I have a room of my own, a controlled environment that belongs solely to me.

Write your own eulogy. >> “Mordred Shadow Lastname wishes to inform us, the gathered, that it is just as surprised by this turn of events as we are. Except it actually isn’t surprised, or anything else, because It’s too busy being dead. Surprisingly. The unbelievably-deceased would like to request that if someone asks how it died, it will haunt whoever dares to say something stupid like ‘natural causes’. Make up a good story or pass the mic to someone who will.” Dunno what else I’d put in a eulogy about myself. That’s not really for me to write, anyway. Funerals are for the living, they can write the damn thing.

What is something you felt like you deserved or should have belonged to you, but you never got? >> There is nothing I feel that way about.

Do you feel ‘connected to nature’? Do you frequent outside? Do you believe that a connection with the earth we live on is necessary in the first place? >> I mean... I love to be outdoors, but I also love to be in a server room. I feel the same sense of awe and connection in both settings. For me, there is no real difference between the organic states and the transmuted states of matter. It’s all matter, innit? I don’t believe that feeling connected to Earth is necessary. I believe it’s healthy, sure, and common, but I don’t believe it’s unhealthy to not have that connection, or to feel connected to something else instead. It’s possible that some future generation of Homo sapiens will be born on another planet. What happens to that supposedly-innate “connection to the Earth” then? (Will they feel connected to their home planet instead? Or, something else? Or, nothing?)

Your opinion on oral sex? >> I don’t have an opinion on it, exactly. Just a preference: I prefer not to give or receive it. That’s all.

If one TV show could be real, which one would you want it to be? Which one would screw our world over? >> That is a complex question with a lot of variables and I don’t think I feel like devoting mental energy on it right now.

How many kinds of love are there? >> I… don’t know? As many kinds as people can conceive, I imagine. Or maybe it’s all just one kind, with different expressions. *shrug*???

Which word needs to exist (or be used again)? >> I mean, if I thought a word should be used again, I’d just use it. That’s literally how it works. If it’s been phased out completely enough that no one remembers it and it’s not recorded anywhere, then I can’t want it back, because I’d have to know a thing used to exist in the first place in order to want it to exist again.

What is the absolute hardest thing about staying alive? >> This pesky nag called “death” that keeps asking, “are we there yet?!” from the backseat.

What is a book that has been recognized as ‘great literature’ that you dislike? Why? >> Oh, I don’t know. The only time I ever read “Literature(tm)” was in high school, so I don’t know how I’d feel about any of it now. I'm just not really interested in it.

What is one change that you would make/have made to your life that will make/has made it better? >> *shrug*

Is everything you do for yourself? Can you truly be selfless? >> No, not everything I do is solely for myself. I do things for others as well. But I don’t like doing things for others if doing so threatens my quality of life, survival, or mental health. I don’t think it’s possible for a human being to act without a single note of self-interest. I mean... isn’t the survival instinct an instinct of self-interest?

Are you the same person you were two and a half years ago? >> I’m not the same person I was a second ago. (I also am not the same person I was about... 5 or so years ago, but that’s a... different thing.)

Can you possibly conquer the labyrinth? >> What labyrinth? Jareth the Goblin King’s? I’d try my best to conquer it if only to get to dance in the ballroom scene with him.

As a hyper intelligent pan-dimensional being, what is the answer to the ultimate question, the life, the universe and everything? What is the ultimate question? >> The ultimate question is obviously “how the fuck does CatDog poop?”

[silkkpopbonnet]

Dilemma

Back in her room, Yeon told Marcella what her friend already knew to be true. Marcella shook her head and listened. Marcella’s hanbok had been delivered while Yeon was gone, and she held the dress in her lap running her fingers over the fabric.

“What if he’s not so bad?” It was just like Marcella to look on the bright side of things. She ran her hand over her box braids, fingering the bands on some of them.

“Please, don’t find a bright side in this. My dad is trying to arrange me into a marriage.” Yeon put her head down on her vanity, wondering where her life was going. She couldn’t be a complacent, quiet wife, by her husband's side, doing his bidding.

Holding up a hand Marcella stopped her from saying more. “He never said that, a possible marriage. Look at it this way. Dating was never really great for you in Atlanta.”

Yeon opened her mouth to say more, but Marcella stopped her. “It was not, so don’t try to make something up, I’m your best friend. You never dated long, you didn’t like the guys. Maybe, just maybe this isn’t so bad. What if you meet him, he’s attractive, he’s a pretty nice guy. You fall in love.”

Yeon had to admit what if Marcella was right. Her normal upbeat attitude about things did keep her sane. Yeon sighed, propping her head on her hand. “Why, do you have to be so positive and helpful? This isn’t a fairy tale, either. It could go exactly as I predict, and he could be a self-righteous asshole.”

“He could be, but we don’t know yet, so we have to see.” Marcella stood up, placing her dress on the bed. “If it doesn’t work out, your dad has to back off, right? there’s no way he’s going to let his daughter date multiple dudes in his company. Looks bad.” Marcella stood in front of Yeon, poking her cheek. “Smile.”

Several pokes later, Yeon slapped her friend's hand away. “Whatever, we will see if you’re right.”

Later that night, Yeon sat at the table her hands in her lap, her hanbok freshly pressed and she waited for her father to bring in this Jun Seo. Marcella was all smiles sitting on the opposite side of the table.

“Yeon, stop scowling.” Her mother said, fixing a napkin in front of her.

Yeon sighed. ‘Ma, please.”

“Stop scowling, smile, and be polite. Look at Marcella, she’s ready for action.” Leaning her head towards, Marcella.

“I really don’t want to get in the middle of this, I’m just supporting Yeon.” Marcella put her hands up in defense.

Just as Yeon was about to say something, her father entered the room again. The man that followed him was taller than her father. He had to be at least 6′0″, his face was chiseled, a strong jaw, hair cut short, he wore a light gray suit, with a red shirt matching her hanbok. As Marcella and her mother stood, Yeon almost forgot too, and she scrambled up, bowing saying hello.

“I suppose, that means you find him attractive?” Her mother whispered.

Yeon ignored her mother, as her father made introductions, saving Yeon for last. “This is my daughter, I’ve told you about. Hyo Park Yeon.”

He bowed towards Yeon before taking her hand, kissing it lightly. “It’s a pleasure actually meeting you, I’ve only seen your pictures in your father’s office. Call me Jun Seo.”

She bowed back, her face heating up as he kissed her hand. Marcella gave her the ‘yes, girl take him’ face, as she smiled at Jun Seo. “Yeon is what everyone usually calls me.”

Her father instructed Jun Seo to sit next to her, and they began dinner. Of course, her father would make Jun Seo talk about his accomplishments while boasting of the things that Yeon did in college. He talked about her stellar GPA, volunteering at animal shelters, her proficiency in English, Korean and French. During the course of dinner, Jun Seo gradually scooted himself closer to her, until his thigh was touching her own under the table.

“You look beautiful, I must admit, much better than in your pictures.” Jun Seo whispered as he leaned over into her space, his breath touched her neck.

Silently, she damned Marcella as she shivered at the contact. He was handsome, funny, witty, accomplished, and he seemed to like her, but did they have anything in common? So far, besides speaking English and Korean, nothing. She nodded at what he said, determined to play hard to get. As dinner ended, and dessert began, her parents excused themselves to the kitchen to check on ‘the preparations’ they said, as Marcella excused herself to the bathroom. Yeon tried to give Marcella a face to stay, but her friend smiled leaving her in the room with Jun Seo.

“So, you’re 20, you were living in Atlanta, you’re still in college majoring in business economics and a minor in math. That’s boring stuff, I want to know you.” His voice was deep, the bass of it seemed to drum in her ears, and make her all the more aware of how long it had been since she was this close to a man.

“Like what? Be specific.” She turned towards him, willing herself not to smile.

He flashed his pearly whites at her, taking her fingers in his too warm hand. “Your hand is cold, are you nervous?”

She tried to remove her hand, but he held on tight. “No. It’s cold in here.”

Jun Seo moved her hand towards his mouth, blowing warm air on her fingers. “It’s warm to me.”

“You’re quite hands-on, aren’t you?” She asked him raising an eyebrow.

Immediately he let her hand go. “I’m sorry, does that bother you? I assumed since you are not Korean, it wouldn’t bother you to physically show affection.”

Ok, what? Yeon scrunched her nose up, sliding back from him. “I am Korean.” She felt irritation creep into her chest. “I am also black, I can be both. I don’t have to choose.”

Jun Seo smiled at her. “I simply meant, you are not full Korean. You don’t have the stigmas of a woman who grew up here. America is…more open to that sort of thing.”

“I am not full Korean. I’m a black woman. So, you would assume, I was ok with you touching me? You would think I was sexually open?” She put her balled fist under her chin, watching him search for what to say.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” He put his hands up in defense. “I think what I said was wrong. We grew up in different households, perhaps what I know is not what you know. You spent a lot of time in America, and correct me if I am wrong, but if a man likes a woman there, it is acceptable for him to show physical affection. I simply thought you would be alright with this.”

She watched his face, he was trying to placate her. She decided to let it go, for now, turning away from him, taking a drink from her glass, saying nothing.

“Am I wrong?” His fingers gently brushed the curls on the back of her neck.

She shivered, mentally hating herself for not being immune to his charms. “When I don’t like it, I’ll be more than happy to let you know.”

He laughed, letting his hand fall down her back. “Your father said you had a tongue with fire on it.” Leaning in close to her, she could smell his cologne, he let his mouth graze near her ear, his arm settling in front of her, his hand covering her own. “I don’t think I mind getting burned.”

Yeon felt her heart damn near fall into her stomach, it had been so long since she even let a man touch her sexually. ‘You will not sleep with him, you will not kiss him.’  She chanted in her mind. Just as she was about to answer however, her parents came back into the room, her mother carrying dessert.

“I hope we weren’t gone too long.” She felt the absence of his heat near her, his thigh wasn’t even touching hers anymore, and she almost missed it.

Marcella came back into the room, not meeting her eyes, as she sat down. After dinner, Mr. Hyo and Jun Seo went to his office to talk, while the ladies went into the parlor.

“He’s very nice, isn’t he? And handsome too, your father wouldn’t disappoint you.” She stood next to the door of the parlor, holding onto Marcella’s arm. “We will leave you in here now, I think your father will bring Jun Seo in awhile.”

“Wait, what?” Before she could protest, both women left her in the parlor, standing in the middle of the room, looking like an idiot.

It wasn’t long before Jun Seo came in, closing the door behind him, he brought a glass of wine with him. “I bring a gift.” He settled himself on the couch, waiting for her.

“Look, Jun Seo.” He cut her off, putting the glass into her hand as she sat down.

“Drink, take the edge off your nerves.” He took a sip of his own, staring at her.

“No, I’m going to talk thank you. Don’t get any delusions of grandeur in your head. I’m 20, I’m not looking for marriage.” She took a sip of her wine, staring him down, accessing him.

��I realize. We can date a few years.” He smiled at her and continued to speak before she could protest. “You don’t know me well, I understand. We just met, but from what I can see, and what I know. I like you. Give me a chance. It wouldn’t kill you right?”

She sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his attempt to look cute. “I can do that.”

“Good, I’d like to take you on a lunch date, tomorrow. I can bring a friend, for your friend. He likes brown women.” There goes that again, she thought, and she jumped to Marcella’s defense.

“He better not have a fetish. I don’t play that. She’s my best friend.” He shook his head at her.

“Not like that, I mean he prefers browner women, I don’t think it’s a bad thing or a good one. That’s just his preference.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll keep an eye on him, however, yes, you can take me out.”

“Good, now something else I’ve been waiting to do all night.” Jun Seo quickly took her glass from her, setting it on a low table in front of them. He moved his hand to the back of Yeon’s neck bringing her lips to his, kissing her.

She felt her lips soften as soon as he touched hers. The hand on the back of her neck, slowly left, trailing down her back, pushing her body into his. She moaned softly into the kiss, her lips opening, he didn’t take the opportunity instead he licked his tongue out trailing along her lower lip. She felt her resolve weaken, and just as she felt the need to attack him, he let her go, pulling her to a stand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.” Bowing at her, he opened the doors wide to the parlor, and walked out, leaving her in the room, dazed and wondering if that really just happened.

The whole night Marcella quizzed her on what happened. Asking the same questions in different ways, seeing if there was more to be picked at with this guy. She told her about the kiss, and Marcella nearly squealed, asking for an exact play by play of the story. When the girls parted for the night, Yeon laid in bed, thinking about his lips on hers. So maybe, he wasn’t so bad. She could definitely give him a try.

The next day, she prepared for her double date. Choosing a simple outfit of jeans, a V-neck shirt, keds, and a kimono wrap. She still had her American style. She drove one of her father cars, to the venue and met with Jun Seo and his friend. They had lunch of the veranda, and she learned more about him. She saw how open he was, outside of her fathers home. He greeted her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, chaste.

She did still have a love of K-pop but she loved conscious hip-hop like Kendrick Lemar and Talib Kweli. He was a fan of Drake. She enjoyed science fiction movies, and he confessed there was no movie better than Predator. They both loved Star Trek, and Jun Seo admitted in his free time he played Call of Duty or League of Legends. She was more of a Metal Gear Solid or Final Fantasy kind of girl. The date ended, but he didn’t kiss her again, he hugged her whispering into her ear, that he couldn’t sate her appetite just yet for him. She rolled her eyes, departing with Marcella back towards home.

“So, are Y'all gonna date?” Yeon thought long and hard about her next words.

“Yes and no.” She looked down at her phone at a red light changing the song to one by SHINee.

“Ok, so what does that mean? You can’t do both.” Marcella sat back in her seat waiting to hear this gem of an explanation.

“We can date and he can take me out, but I’m not committing to anything just yet. I just got here, I still want to concentrate on school and have fun. My dad wants me to see if he’s ok and date. Fine, I’ll do that, but nothing serious.” She was confident in her answer.

“So, you're gonna hoe.” Marcella laughed as Yeon reached over, trying to hit her.

“Not gonna be fucking. I mean, I’d like to, but Korea is different than America in that aspect.” She smiled, giving Marcella, a side eye. “Maybe, he can taste the cookie, but that’s it for a sampler.”

Marcella bust out laughing. “Dirty bih!!”

The girls clubbed that night, sleeping in the next day, The following week was Marcella’s last week, and they shopped, saw movies that came out earlier in Asia, on that last Friday they decided to go to a new club in Seoul. Yeon let her hair go in a wash and go, she did up her makeup, applying a burgundy lipstick. She wore a short-sleeved, form-fitting club dress, that came mid-thigh, but had a low collared neck, a long gold necklace completed the accessories. Her gold calf high sandals adorned her newly pedicured feet, with her French tipped toes.

Marcella wore a long-sleeved, deep V-neck white dress. It was mid-thigh and she choose to accessorize in red, with red heels. Her thin chained silver necklace lay between her breasts, as both girls looked at themselves in the mirror.

“Walking sexbots.” Marcella purred, slapping Yeon’s ass playfully.

Yeon rubbed her ass. “I could go home with someone tonight.”

Marcella raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And have your parents pissed at me for not stopping you?”

“We can always say check into a hotel, say we were too drunk to come home.” Yeon grabbed a black clutch, opening her door.

“We’ll see.” Marcella walked past her, and down the stairs.

The girls drank, dancing the night away to a mix of American pop, rap, K-pop and K-rap. They danced with each other, and some group of guys, who had been following them half the night. Marcella was still on the floor grinding with some tall guy who thought, leopard print was the hottest thing; when Yeon went to sit down in their both, sobering up with water.

Jay didn’t really feel like going to the club tonight, but Gray was all about it. This new place had only been opened since last week, and people were already raving about it. Some Korean rappers, already said it could be their favorite spot, so they had to check it out.

“Come on, Jay, you’ve been in that studio for like two weeks. Besides, there could be some cuties out here, maybe take one or two home.” Simon-D smiled, at him as they got past the velvet ropes.

“You know that’s not my style.” Jay kept his shades, on following the waitress who was a little too happy to walk in front of them, letting her too tiny dress hike up on her thighs.

She wasn’t his type though, too eager. She leads them to a booth in the back, leaning back on the table to show them her enhanced goods. Jay looked around, putting his shades on top of his head. The spot was live, that much was true, and just as he was about to sit down, the lights flashed on a woman’s face, drinking a water bottle alone. He watched her lips around the bottle, his eyes moving to her face. She was beautiful. Gray, pulled him into the booth, and he didn’t hear what they said to him as he craned his neck around to see the woman. She had disappeared into the crowd. Jay stood up and looked for her again. There was another booth closer to her, he ran his hand through his hair, moving it away from his eyes.

“Let’s move to that booth. It’s still VIP, but I can see the club better.”

Gray and Simon-D groaned, protesting from moving from their spots, but when Jay had already started walking, they got up following him.

“What’s the rush? The waitress, was cute.” Gray called to him.

“Yea, if you like fake breasts,” Simon-D mumbled, earning an arm punch from his punch.

The two continued to talk, as Jay slid into the new booth, with a good vantage point on the woman he wanted to look at. She was mixed that much was obvious, she had thick curly hair, that framed her face, her eyes gave away her Korean heritage. She stood up waving to another woman, and he nearly choked on his tongue looking at her body, she was shapely, he wasn’t a breast man in the first place, but those hips. That ass. He was in love on looks alone.

“I see what he sees,” Gray said, pointing her out to Simon.

Simon gave him a nudge. “She’s cute, go say hi Jay, why you still sitting here?”

They both knew why. Jay loved giving his fans a show, he danced and played around, his videos were steamy, and yea he could make sex sound like an art form but in reality, he was private. He was shy and quiet. Only those close to him saw how he truly was. What fans saw, what they heard and who Jay Park really was, didn’t always correlate. He wasn’t really listening to them, all he knew was that the lyrics to his song solo were in his head now. ‘Please be single, be single, be single.’

“Naw, she probably got a man, woman like that.” He leaned back, watching as her friend, headed back to the dance floor. He ordered a drink, looking away from her, thinking if he should just nurse it for the night.

Yeon swiveled her neck around, now that the room wasn’t spinning anymore. She sighed, feeling the heat of eyes on her face. It was always a peculiar thing, thing, when in a room with hundreds of other people you could feel, one pair of eyes on you. It was like a creeping feeling, somewhere in your soul, that nagged at you. She looked around carefully, before settling on a face, that watched her. His eyes darted away from her face, and she watched his friends start to laugh at him, pushing him playfully. She grinned, so it was him. He was cute, his hair was longer on top, and kept falling into his face, making him push it away.

Were those tattoos? His whole left arm was covered in them it seemed, down to his hands. She looked away, finishing her water, but peeking out the side of her eye. He looked back at her, god licking his perfect lips, she seized the opportunity and snapped her face back towards him smiling, He nearly died, turning his whole body away, from her. Was he really about to sit here and play like she didn’t just catch him? Yeon rolled her eyes standing up, she fixed her dress, walking around the back of the booth, while he was looking away.

Jay felt his heart race, she caught him again. He should really just say something to her. Gray echoed his thoughts. He looked back towards her table, she was gone. Shit, had she left? Where did she go? Just as he wiped his jeans off, about to get up, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“So, you were gonna play cat and mouse with me all night and not say hi?” Even her voice was sexy, he turned on his best smile turning around to look at her.

“Naw, I was sending you mind waves, for you to come to me.” He stood up, holding his hand out to her. “I’m Jae-Beom Park.”

“First name, last name, you must be American, that and no accent.” She took his hand, shaking it. “Are you going to invite me to sit?”

Jay looked flustered. “I’m sorry, yea go ahead.” He let her slide into the booth, trying to not let her catch him, staring at her ass, as she did so.

“I”m Park Yeon Hyo, by the way, just call me Yeon.” She turned towards his friends in the booth. “You guys are?”

Gray and Simon-D introduced themselves quickly before excusing themselves.

“Your friends don’t wanna throw salt in your G-A-M-E huh?” She laughed lightly.

“If I have any,” Jay said, trying to look humble.

“Uh huh.” She smiled at him, and he licked his lips, looking away. “Why do you keep looking away?” She pushed at his arm lightly.

“I don’t know. Nervous. You’re beautiful, you’ve probably heard it all, I’m wondering what I could say that’s different, and would pique your interest.” He was honest, in that statement, he looked full on at her, and Yeon watched his mouth move as he talked.

He was way too good looking, to be some regular everyday guy. “For starters, that. I don’t think I’ve heard it all, but you’re welcome to try.”

“You got jokes,” Jay stated, laughing at what she said.

They traded banter back and forth, he didn’t feel like he was even talking to her long, before his friend found her, and came up to her. “I’m ready to go are you?”

She nodded her head at Marcella, before turning to Jay to apologize. “I’m sorry, we’ve been here awhile, and I’m ready to sleep as well.” She stood up, offering her hand to Jay, frowning on the inside that he hadn’t asked for her number.

As she turned to walk away, she felt his hand on her shoulder stopping her, he looked bashful, pulling out his phone. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna hate myself tomorrow, if I don’t get your number.”

Marcella let out an ‘ohhhh’ in the background as Yeon rolled her eyes at her friend.

“I can’t let you do that now can I?” She took his phone, putting her number in and calling it, once it rang she hung up and handed it back to him. “Guess, I’ll hear from you whenever, Jae-Beom.”

She turned quickly, holding onto her friend's arm walking out of the club. Jay stared down at his phone, looking at her number before adding her name. He wondered how soon, was too soon to text someone.

Chapter Three

[hoe-imaginess]

Hello, it me again ;) here to try one more time for the Tobirama arranged marriage scenario! They didn't consummate the marriage and start to develop feelings for one another!

Okay so this is longer than I expected. I tried to give it enough plot. I think about this all the time so I had so many ideas. And we discussed it being a female s/o so I used she/her. HOPE IT’S OKAY FAM. This is probably my longest scenario to date

Tobirama Senju

The ceremony was basic, and private. Only family and a select few notable members from their respective clans attended, and it lasted half the time a thorough ceremony should have.

Hashirama’s vision of a charming wedding for his brother quickly lost life. Tobirama refused the mere thought of an arranged marriage at its first mention; he would not be married to some stranger from a clan which had opposed the Senju for decades. He let Hashirama have his union with the Uchiha, but he would bow to his elder brother’s delusions no more than that, and for something as frivolous as marriage, no less.

Yet Tobirama found himself regrettably swayed, in the end. It took weeks of pleading on Hashirama’s part. Depicting the prospect of the marriage as something logical and beneficial would be the only power that Tobirama acquiesced to. If acquiring resources and specialized workers for Konoha’s growth meant an alliance, was it not worth it?—so Hashirama presented it in such fashion. Tobirama was inclined to agree, though less inclined to concede that it would be his marriage on the table.

Had the clan been any less profitable, Tobirama would have refused and never spoken of the issue again. But the fact remained that there was little to lose and a monument to gain from the alliance. That would be the sole saving grace. It was the only fleeting comfort that quelled his mind during the tedious ceremony, though it quickly failed to do its job as the minutes dragged on and introduced a sinking feeling of doubt into his conscience.

Tobirama could see the discomfort in his bride’s eyes during the ceremony, the way they flickered ever so slightly to her father in the crowd, as if aspiring for his sudden change of heart that would rescue her from her dismal fate.

At one point, Tobirama thought she looked on the verge of tears. Sullen tears or angry tears, he didn’t know. The latter didn’t sound unlikely; he had heard that her compliance was no easier wrought than his.

Their shared disdain for the union should have eased some of his concerns. He wouldn’t have to worry about offending her should he not provide intimately like a husband should. If they could come to a civil understanding, then it would pave an at least refined path for the rest of the marriage. The eternal, unescapable marriage.

But civility would not be an effortless task. On the wedding night, she made that transparent.

“I won’t do this,” she told him mere seconds after walking into their bedroom, her expression hard, voice overcompensating for the pressure with confidence. “I don’t want to be touched. I’ll spend the night outside if I have to, but I can’t do this.”

He had only spoken but sentences to her before their wedding day; it was hardly enough time to gauge her personality. Such impertinence was the last thing he expected. He should have been offended, but he wasn’t. Not really. He could sympathize with how she felt. Nevertheless, he was annoyed that she had such a… brutish image of him.

“Do I look as if I’m peeling off my clothes and getting under the sheets?” he asked.

She examined him, distrust rising in her eyes. Then, as if realizing how misplaced her paranoia was, she looked away.

“I can’t do this,” she murmured again, voice sounding involuntarily fragile.

“You don’t have to.”

She crossed her arms protectively, as if guarding herself from some unseen offense he had yet to commit. But her voice no longer sounded as cold as it had, at the least.

“It’s our wedding night. If we don’t—”

“You said you don’t want to be touched. Then fine. You won’t be.”

Consummating the marriage was not something he had intended to do regardless, though he knew she was right. It was a necessary finalization to their alliance. Ridiculous, in his opinion—and rather demeaning for the both of them—but necessary in tradition’s eye, nonetheless.

She looked at him, trying to judge him, he suspected. Trying to judge whether or not his words could be trusted, or if they were a means to take advantage of her vulnerability.

“There’s an extra room,” he offered. “You can sleep there.”

“No.”

Then she was back to avoiding his gaze, staggered by the pride that dwindled within her.

“If we don’t have to do…” She couldn’t even fathom the words. Doing so would bring her shame; if what was expected of them remained unspoken, it seemed less real, and thus less imperative.

“If we don’t have to do anything,“ she carried on, more confident, “I can sleep here.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminded her.

“It’s fine.”

But was it? Tobirama didn’t so easily consent to the change in her attitude. He empathized with her frustration, with her confusion. He had been thrown into the situation as blindly and hastily as she. But he wouldn’t settle for taking the brunt of her scattered emotions, not when his own begged priority. And then for her to be so compliant now, behind closed doors? As if she hadn’t been glaring daggers at him the entire ceremony?

He didn’t know what the marriage had in store for him, not when it had in so little time succeeded to unnerve, irritate, and confuse him all at once.

There was no more to discuss. He expressed no objection to her decision, despite his quarreling instincts. Stiffly and wordlessly, they climbed into bed, keeping as far away from each other as space allowed.

“Goodnight,” she whispered to him out of the blue, just when he felt the beginnings of sleep creeping over him.

His eyes opened, but he didn’t respond, not at first. He considered not responding at all, in fact. But if he was going to hope for civility, it wasn’t a bad place to start.

“Goodnight.”

⤰

“So, how are you?” Hashirama asked him the next day.

Tobirama’s eyes stayed fixed on the map in his hands, but they narrowed imperceptibly.

“How do you think?”

Hashirama shrugged, but his tone was cautious. “I think you look more relaxed than I anticipated…” He eyed his younger brother with reluctant curiosity. “Did everything go smoothly last night—”

“Don’t,” Tobirama told him, looking at him in earnest now. “Don’t ask.”

Hashirama frowned. “I’m only wondering, Tobirama. I hope you behaved like a gentleman—”

“Don’t.”

The frown persisted, but Hashirama said no more.

⤰

Tobirama made certain that every morning he was the first one awake and the first to leave. Waking with her and going about nuptial early morning routines alongside each other sounded less than appealing. He preferred they stay away from each other as often as possible. It saved him from pretending like they were a comfortable, happy couple.

For a time, he considered sleeping in a different room. They’d had some sort of offhand, spiteful discussion about it once. He couldn’t even remember why it started. He couldn’t remember why most of their debates started, really.

Their brief, bitter disagreements came in passing, and much too often. And when they weren’t arguing, they tried to ignore the unfamiliarity between them by simply ignoring each other. Not that Tobirama hadn’t anticipated this problem, but it still annoyed him to feel so alienated. He found himself dreading the idea of coming home to a house that no longer belonged only to him, and going to bed with the wife that felt more like a stranger.

His eyes followed her closely when she was near, always curious. He didn’t completely trust her, and doubted he ever would. If all he could do to alleviate the discomfort of his situation was remain constantly vigilant—regardless of how foolish it seemed to be wary of the woman he was expected to spend the rest of his life with—he would do it.

Strangely enough, he even found himself watching her as they slept.

He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was some feeble, self-indulgent attempt to read her. He could always read people, and with little effort. He prided himself on that. Yet his spouse was a mystery to him. Apart from the occasional attitude and uncertain, guarded looks he received when she walked into their home, he had little of her figured out.

It became an odd, detrimental game of his—watching her when he couldn’t find sleep at night, when he woke up before her, when a sound stirred him from his dreams and the prospect of inspecting her seemed more appealing than returning to his slumber. He didn’t know what he hoped to gain by doing it, but soon enough, it became habit.

Weeks went by. He found that he had memorized every facet of her features, down to every curve of her lips, the shape of her brows, the length of her lashes—everything.

And he didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

⤰

Tobirama came home late one day, exhausted and starving. Normally, if he skipped his lunch and dinner on account of a busy schedule, he could stave off the hunger pains just long enough to sleep, finding that scavenging for a decent meal in the house wasted his time. But he could only endure so much.

Which was why when he walked into the house that night and the warm scent of food invaded his noise, his stomach twisted with hunger. The ache intensified at the thought of eating a proper meal, but he knew the smell only lingered from whatever his spouse had decided to cook for herself. He often came home hours past dinnertime, the loitering aroma of food in the air, plates drying near the sink.

A twinge of irritation slowly grew at the sight, but he knew they were in no position to sit down and eat dinner together like a nice, doting couple. They may have lived in the same house, and slept in the same bed, but ultimately, they still lived separate lives.

She was always asleep when he came home; only silence ever received him. He expected no less when he walked into the kitchen. But there she was, setting a fresh plate of fish and greens on the table. She froze when she saw him, and stared wordlessly.

He found the silence off-putting. It felt less and less befitting as the days went by.

“You’re up late,” he said, for lack of better repartee. “And eating late.”

“I’m not,” she replied, regaining composure.

Finally, she tore her eyes away from him, situated utensils next to the full plate, then backed away and waited.

His brow raised curiously when the pause persisted. He looked at her for clarification. He couldn’t tell if she was impatient or nervous. Or both.

“I notice you don’t eat when you come home,” she said finally, slightly exasperated that the spectacle necessitated explanation. “Even when you come home early, in the middle of the day. You don’t eat at all.” Her gaze remained astray, as if looking him in the eye was a task. “I figured you were just starving yourself. So…” She gestured to the plate of food.

Tobirama had difficulty finding anything meaningful to say once he realized what she meant by the whole display. And by the time he did, she had already waited excruciating moments in unrequited silence. But it couldn’t be helped.

Courtesy had never come easy to him. Certainly, he would have never thought to do for her what she’d just done for him. He found no reason to spare time for something so trivial and out of his way.

When she finally looked him in the eyes, he decided on her demeanor: she was nervous. He supposed it was warranted, given his silence. But he still couldn’t find the right words.

“Did you already eat?” was what he managed. It offered a mild gratitude and consideration, in some way. He figured—more like hoped—that would be sufficient.

“Yes.”

He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved that he had so little to say.

He nodded, and noticed for the first time how his own gaze begged to stray from hers. How insufferably meek of him.

“I need to change, first,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, or so much as a nod, he moved to their bedroom.

After his dinner, they lay in bed quietly, confined to silence by a routine and heavy shroud of tension.

Tobirama kept expecting her to say something, to say anything. But she didn’t. He didn’t suspect that she was asleep, either. He had come to recognize the soft pattern of her breathing when she slept, and the way she shifted to find a comfortable position. That he knew her so well—or rather, watched her so closely—was a confusing and distressing realization.

His tolerance for the silence wavered, eventually. It normally didn’t bother him; he could handle the weight of their silences, as they weren’t his to mend. It was especially preferred if it meant avoiding small talk that would either leave the awkwardness worse off, or result in a coarse argument. Silence simply suited them. Or rather, it had. But now it crawled over him like an irritating chill, begging to be relieved.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He didn’t know if she was awake to hear it, or if she simply decided to ignore him, but he refused to give her lack of response more thought than necessary, lest he risk his ire any more.

It was when he decided to close his eyes and seek sleep that he heard her voice, soft and hesitant.

“You’re welcome.”

⤰

Missions were becoming much riskier, Tobirama begrudgingly accepted one day. He returned from a routine scouting operation with a sizeable gash down his side. Had he adorned his armor, the injury could have feasibly been avoided. Regrettably, he had donned only his training gear. In his defense, he hadn’t expected to run into less-than amicable shinobi along the way.

The scar would heal, the medics promised him. But his torn shirt seemed beyond repair. Unfortunate, since the kimono shirt was a gift from one of the elder Senju seamstresses. She had made one for him and Hashirama when they came of age. It was a shame to see the thing ruined, and he decided he would stop by her home to have it repaired when he found the opportunity.

In the present, the mishap would serve as an inconvenience. He was meant to meet Hashirama and facilitate a meeting between the Akimichi and Sarutobi clan heads. Hashirama would likely be late, as usual, which meant Tobirama needed to arrive in a timely fashion, lest they wished to insult both clan heads.

He imagined it would be no hassle to fish out a spare shirt somewhere in his room, had his wife not decided to organize it to her liking. Accommodating her wardrobe was another grievance on his endless list, but it seemed inconsequential the previous times he had thought about it. Now, he cursed under his breath with every drawer that he opened which rewarded none of his own wardrobe, only her neatly folded clothes and belongings.

The closet, the clothespress, the drawers—he found nothing. His wife had done laundry recently, he recalled. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she inadvertently took his clothes with hers.

Time running thin, he made haste to search the house for the stock of clothes, frustrated when he found nothing. Where did the damn woman put things? Though he had never been particularly meticulous about organizing, he could at least find what he was looking for in his own house before she moved in.

He swiftly slid open the door to the washroom, and froze when he saw her—stark nude, water dripping from her skin, one arm barely through the sleeve of a robe. Had he barged in a second later, perhaps she would have been dressed, he thought fleetingly. Yet his eyes were fixed, his thought process paused.

“Tobirama—”

She stared, eyes wide. Apparently grasping sense faster than he could, she hastily wrapped herself in the robe. At the same time, he shut the door and tried to stutter out an apology, but loyal to his fluster, he only managed an upbraiding.

“Why didn’t you lock the door?” he shouted.

“The door was closed for a reason!” she snapped, voice thin but staggered, as if she were still reeling from the intrusion.

He closed his eyes, trying to fight away the shame, but it rose back into his cheeks as a blush when he realized that shutting his eyes only embedded the image of her naked body into his mind.

“I was looking for my clothes,” he responded, with just as much hostility. “Why are you even here? You told me you would be with your clan. Didn’t you hear me in the house—”

“Didn’t you hear me? I came home early. And why would your clothes be in here, Tobirama?”

Well, he didn’t really know. Why would they be? Why didn’t he hear her? Why did he not notice her shoes at the front door? Why did he not sense her chakra? He could blame it all on a mind clouded by haste, but it wasn’t an argument they need to have in that moment. It would last for hours.

“I’m in a hurry. Where are my clothes?”

“They needed to be washed, so I washed them—”

“Where?”

“Drying on the porch.”

Tobirama would have happily admonished her for being so bitter. It was just the right outlet he needed for his frustration. But he knew better. He had to remind himself that she was his wife, no matter how the fact exasperated him.

He found his shirts drying on the clotheslines, and tugged down the driest one he could find—which wasn’t dry at all; didn’t the woman know to put clothes out to dry only when there was a sun to dry them?—and tossed his torn shirt onto the living room floor. She could pick it up later.

He didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate the antagonism that now stained their marriage… or how much longer he could put the picture of her nude, wet body out of his mind.

⤰

Weeks like this, when she was rarely at the house and spending most of her days in her clan’s neighborhood, gave him a much needed reprieve. It made the journey back home brisk, the notion of stepping into his house one to look forward to rather than dread.

His shoulders relaxed; his mind cleared. He expected to revel in his freedom that afternoon, at least until she came home for the night. Until then, he could perhaps perfect a jutsu he had been developing, read over reports, catch up on a novel he had been needing to read.

Illusions of these endeavors vanished when he stepped onto his porch and sensed her. He hadn’t purposefully infused his chakra for sensory purposes—he realized that it may have become second nature now, to confirm her whereabouts—but fortunate that he did. He didn’t like being caught off guard. Now, at least he could put all thoughts of a peaceful day to rest, and prepare for the tense, evasive game they played so well.

He never made a habit of announcing his arrival. It wasn’t a courtesy he thought to offer her. He must have been superbly quiet as he entered his home; she didn’t even seem to notice him when he slipped into their room.

At first he thought she was ignoring him. Which was fine. It was better that way, and he was used to it. But as he studied her demeanor, he could tell she simply was unaware of his presence.

Her back faced him. She sat at the edge of the bed, occupied with what he thought was sewing. Odd. He never painted her the sewing type.

Curious, he approached, still light of foot. If he could satisfy the curiosity without attracting an attention to himself that would invite idle conversation—or less preferably, but more likely, an argument—it would be optimal.

Only when he came closer did he see it was his kimono shirt that she mended. He stopped, perplexed.

When she sensed him and whirled around, her face colored with embarrassment. She practically threw the shirt aside, hiding it, as if it would save her pride to pretend like it didn’t exist.

“I was going to throw it away,” she insisted. “But—I thought I could fix it. Maybe.”

He stared, speechless. At that point, her random and eccentric instances of kindness shouldn’t have surprised him.

Sometimes he came home to find his work space cleaned and organized. He scolded her for it the first time, contending that she had disarranged his paperwork and ruined his ‘system’, which was a lie. He’d simply needed a reason to contest her gesture because frankly, he didn’t know how to accept it. She also persisted to cook him dinners, though she made sure to be in bed by the time he came home to the meals. It seemed that she timed it all perfectly, just so she wouldn’t be forced to chance upon him and face her graciousness, but cutting her time thin enough so the food was still decently fresh. A courtesy on top of a courtesy.

Why did she do it? He wished he knew.

⤰

One day he came home and he heard it: soft, broken sounds, like hiccups. But they sounded sullen, the closer to the din he ventured. He knew it well enough. Crying.

Skeptical at first, not believing that it could be his new wife resounding such melancholy tunes, he hesitated. Since their wedding night, she had shown no vulnerability. But he pushed past the hesitance in favor of an odd, unyielding urge. He couldn’t imagine simply leaving her to wallow without knowing what it was she wallowed about. He decided it was just a case of curiosity, despite how eagerly he wanted to know the source of her supposed sadness.

He slowly pushed open the door to their bedroom. There she was on the bed, her back to him, head in her hands.

He said her name quietly, but before the sound could completely leave his mouth she was standing, and still facing away from him, hastily wiped away the tears on her face.

“What?” she attempted forcibly through her choked voice. It wasn’t stern at all. It was almost pitiful.

He watched her in silence, his brain racing for a way to remedy the situation. He didn’t often come across such a sight. He was only accustomed to soothing his brother when he was in his depressed moods. But Hashirama never cried like she did now, and never so… earnestly.

“Are you alright?” he managed. A foolish question. Of course she wasn’t.

Nevertheless, she nodded, back still to him.

“I’m fine.”

Composure had found her voice again, but the words still came across broken, impaired by whatever despaired her. Tobirama was painfully curious, for whatever reason.

“What’s wrong—”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

She practically shoved him out the way as she left the bedroom. He almost stopped her. Almost.

Only later when the insistent urge crept over him could he no longer ignore it. He had tried to disregard her evident struggle for the rest of the day, tried to tell himself that her concerns were not his, that they especially didn’t warrant his attention if she would be stubborn and refuse to talk. He shouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care.

Yet, there he was, standing over her as she sat in their living room trying and failing to put her attention into sorting laundry.

He knew she sensed him already, but she remained silent. Taking it as neither an encouragement nor aversion to him going first, he did.

“______,” he said her name.

“What?”

The answer was sharp but quiet, bordering impatience.

Sitting and watching his better half give her best attempt at temperance wasn’t pleasant. He had better things to do than entertain her stubbornness. Yet his persistence was fueled by a need. A need he couldn’t name, and one he didn’t know how to welcome.

“Are you…”

He stopped short of saying the rest, reminding himself that baseless questions never went over well.

“Am I what?”

He took a deep breath to crush the instinctive urge to snap at her.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Obviously, there is.”

She shook her head and stared down at the shirt in her hands, as if it had the answer.

“One of my friends died today.”

Her voice was frail, almost distant, void of the anger he had anticipated.

“We grew up together,“ she added softly.

Tobirama watched her closely, tried to decide whether or not to of warranted his sympathy.

Death was no longer a sad thing to him. It hadn’t been for a long time. He had lost comrades. Friends. Brothers. It was all the same. In the world they lived in, death shouldn’t have necessitated anything more than acknowledgement, and a promise to work harder to prevent more of it in the future. But looking at her now, curled into her sadness, he saw no room for his grim pragmatics.

“I’m… sorry.”

It was a weak attempt, he knew that was evident in his voice.

She shook her head, tired eyes closing, tired hands giving up their task.

“She was ill for a long time,” she explained. “A sickness that never went away. It wasn’t getting any better.”

He did sympathize now, truly. But the empathy needed to comfort her was lost to him, no matter badly he suddenly wanted her spirits to lift. He might not have enjoyed her company a majority of the time, but he was finding that he liked it much better when she was happy. Or at least, at ease. Even a heated argument between them was better than watching her like this. It was painful.

“I can…” But what? What could he do to alleviate her turmoil? What could he possibly do that his pride would allow?

Nothing.

“No,” she murmured, annoyed, defeated, but most of all fatigued. “It’s fine. I told you. It’s fine… I just want to be alone.”

His heart stung for some reason. Was it rejection? Shame? Irritation? He didn’t know.

He went to sleep that night with a weight in his chest, knowing she lay restless beside him, that she couldn’t sleep. Knowing she was hurting.

All night, he fought the urge to turn over and talk to her, maybe even to touch her. Anything that could possibly soothe her. Yet he still didn’t know where these sentiments came from, and therefore, he couldn’t trust them.

⤰

There had been a man looking at her during their wedding, Tobirama remembered.

It seemed inconsequential at the time. At most, Tobirama deduced that enmity still ran deep in her clan. Marrying one of their own to a former enemy would not sit well with her clansmen that hoped to preserve pride. Tobirama acknowledged that from the beginning, and admittedly empathized. There would be opposition and spite from those who still abhorred the Senju and despised the mere idea of a union between their clans.

Beyond that, Tobirama assumed the man could have been some sort of admirer, disconcerted by the betrothal, venting his frustration through glowers and futile ill will. Still, Tobirama had been far too absorbed in his own turmoil to consider a third party equally begrudged his marriage. It remained a minor and fleeting inconvenience at most. At least, until now.

Tobirama shouldn’t have eavesdropped in the first place, but his frustrating curiosity couldn’t be subdued. The moment he spotted his wife walking the village streets, he had an impulse to turn the other way. Their grounds had been confusing, as of late. No more spiteful disagreements. No more harsh looks. They didn’t even ignore each other on purpose anymore; it was simply second nature.

Why the idea of encountering her outside the premise of their house was unsettling, he didn’t know. Facing her made his chest tighten and his normally swift thoughts come to a tumbling halt. The only thing that impeded his split-second decision to avoid her was the familiar man that suddenly appeared at her side and gently tugged on her sleeve.

If not for that single, intimate gesture, Tobirama might have ignored the occurrence all together and continued in the other direction. But the way the man moved in close to her, the way he practically whispered into her ear—it begged Tobirama’s attention.

He considered it obligation. Solicited curiosity from a husband, and nothing else, even despite the way he tensed upon seeing the man beckon her into the nearest empty alley.

Tobirama followed and waited around the corner, peering over to watch the man speak to his wife with muted eagerness.

His chest swelled with something unwelcoming, something he couldn’t place and didn’t like. He remembered now. The man—boy, truthfully, now that Tobirama got a better look at him—was present often, and didn’t once tear his gaze from her anytime he was in the vicinity.

Once, Hashirama had hosted some impulsive, hospitable congregation for the clans in the village and their respective elites. Tobirama wasn’t happy to hear about it, and even less happy to hear he and his wife needed to attend. It was there Tobirama noticed the boy’s close regard for his wife.

He hadn’t looked away from her the entire evening, and hovered near until he could hastily fill the space at her side that Tobirama left empty when he departed, which happened often; they could only linger near each other for so long under the pretense of happiness until one of them gave in, and wandered off for short reprieve. This had apparently given the boy all the opportunities he needed.

He was some sort of bookkeeper to her clan, Tobirama thought. Or maybe a treasurer. Maybe some simple errand-runner. Clearly, he wasn’t noteworthy enough to remember. Regardless, Tobirama didn’t think the boy’s position constituted his frequent ogling. It was clear what the boy sought—or rather, what he desired.

Tobirama could have ignored it. It didn’t need his attention, nor his concern. Yet there he stood, watching the boy take his wife’s hands in his and speak to her in such a hushed, personal whisper. It was too far from Tobirama’s ears to decipher, but unmistakably intimate all the same.

The winding irritation in his chest flourished until he was near ready to push from the wall and confront them, not knowing what he wanted to do, what he wanted to say, only that he wanted it to stop.

But then she pulled away from the boy on her own accord, let her hands slip from his and shook her head slowly, the look on her face solemn but firm.

The boy, as far as Tobirama could tell, looked devastated. His posture weakened and the brightness of his features failed as melancholy took root. Apparently accepting his defeat, he nodded slowly and backed away from her. Another word or two was spoken, and then he left her.

Tobirama watched her, watched the way she looked after the boy with such contrition. But why? Why did she look so grave? What he had witnessed was a fruitless confession, no doubt. That should have solved Tobirama’s concern, but the sour taste in his mouth remained. Had she refused him because of unrequited sentiment, or because the bonds of marriage demanded her to? Given the choice, under different circumstances, would she have denied the boy all the same?

More important, why did it matter to him? Why did he care?

After a moment’s hesitation she turned, coming down the path where he watched in secret. He considered retreating, but the teetering irritation within him willed him to stay. She didn’t see him, not until he chose to step out in front of her.

She came to a nervous halt, almost as if caught committing a crime, he noticed. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, mouth falling open in a lost utterance, then she quickly reclaimed her composure.

“Tobirama.”

He noted her impulse to turn around and see if the boy was out of sight. But she refused to satisfy it, looking only at him. It was a commendable discipline, but it made him all the more suspicious.

“My brother said he would like us to join him for dinner tonight,” he said, feigning his cluelessness to the entire spectacle.

She looked rattled by his calm demeanor, ignorant to the fact that his chest still tightened with a foreign feeling he couldn’t name.

“Yes,“ she replied tepidly. “Mito told me.”

Clearly, they wouldn’t be discussing the incident any time soon, if at all. They would both be the better for it; he couldn’t even imagine how to approach the subject. He couldn’t simply demand that she explain the exchange he had just witnessed, could he? She was his wife. Reasonably, he should have been obligated to know about the men that made intimate attempts on her. Yet it appeared that even those sensible expectations would remain unfulfilled.

“We should arrive together,” she said finally, pushing tumultuous thoughts out of his mind.

He nodded, studying her with a curious expression that she didn’t like. For the rest of the night, his mind raced with thoughts of her that he didn’t understand.

⤰

One night she woke to the warmth of his body flush against her back, an arm resting around her waist, and his soft breaths caressing her ear.

Her eyes snapped open. As much as she wanted to move away, her body refused, paralyzed. Her thoughts went awry.

Was he aware? she wondered.

No, she thought, not likely. He was completely dormant, his deep, long breaths confirming sleep.

Should she push him away? Wake him up? She couldn’t decide, and as that indecision webbed through her with panicked, anxious speed, he shifted closer to her with a deep grunt, the grip around her waist tightening.

A particularly heavy, relaxed breath against her ear made her shiver. Her heart thudded so loud in the still room that she was sure it would be what woke him.

Restless as she was, she dared not move. With her body trapped against his in such an intimate manner, the shock was partially due to curiosity, and not entirely discomfort. It was as though she were suspended—not wholly adverse to being nestled against him, while at the same time fighting her instinct to kick up the covers and distance herself.

Then his leg shifted beneath the sheets, a knee inadvertently nudging its way between her thighs. The shock wore off then.

She didn’t know what woke him: her little gasp, or the reactionary jerk of her legs as they struggled away from his invading limb. He inhaled a sharp breath as he gained consciousness, then went silent after a moment, as if he were no longer breathing at all.

The arm around her tensed as the grogginess was snatched away from him and the realization came crashing in. She said nothing, feigning sleep, and only waited. Then he quickly moved away.

Minutes later, when she finally braved glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he had shifted impossibly far to his end of the bed, as far away from her as possible.

Relieved, but also fearful that he would glance over in tandem, she turned away cautiously and rested back into her pillow, eyes unable to close and body unable to relax.

An embarrassing fluster washed over her. The separation should have calmed her, and should have allowed sleep to return to her. But admittedly, she missed the warmth.

⤰

She journeyed to find him with his students one day near the river. She didn’t approach, not at first, though she was certain he must have been aware of her eavesdropping, especially when he dismissed his students not long after her arrival. She doubted it was coincidence.  

It was when the trio of young shinobi sprinted back to the village that she emerged from the woods. He stood knee deep in the shallow water, simulating ignorance to her approach. She thought he looked rather silly there, wading around as if hoping to not be noticed.

“Is the water nice?” she asked, coming to stand at the bank of the river.

He blinked, as if confused by the mundane question.

He hadn’t been able to relax around her lately. Welcoming anything besides caution or mistrust did not settle well with his instincts, but their recent interactions had almost seemed normal—or rather, normal in comparison—which implored him to be more accepting of her presence. But the mere thought of lowering his guard around his new wife confused him, and frankly irritated him.

His expression and tone remained unreadable as he answered, “It’s decent.”

She glanced over her shoulder, as if worried a village spectator would witness the abnormally casual display between husband and wife. But they were far from the village. They were alone. It was peaceful, in a way—escaping the pressures of image and expectation. Maybe their relationship had been so strenuous because of that; out there in the wilderness, on their own accord, it was almost as if they were liberated. They could simply be two villagers. Two people. Not the victims of an unlikely marriage.

She raised her dress a little too high when she stepped into the clear water. Tobirama averted his eyes.

She watched him, noting the rigidity in his stance, and could have laughed if she weren’t so unsure of their situation.

He always had reclusive tendencies, but the incident in the middle of the night many days before had apparently incentivized his prude behavior. Ever since that night, he acted as though being near her was physical torture; he avoided her gaze and slept so far from her in bed that she sometimes wondered if he would fall off. Not that she blamed him for his antics. Likely, he knew she was aware of what had happened.

But she had no plans to mention it to him. She would offer him a courtesy and spare him the embarrassment.

For now, they could relax in the sounds of nature, fighting the confusion that crept into them with each passing moment that their conversations became more and more organic.

⤰

In short order, Mito had become more than just her sister-in-law, and something of a confidant. Her company was comforting and appreciated, so much so that the urge to claim emotional sanctuary won out over the woman’s pride, and she finally vented marital concerns to the Uzumaki.

It was all so much easier when they chose to ignore and avoid each other, the woman explained. But something had changed. She was no longer satisfied with the estrangement, and couldn’t act as though it was acceptable or satisfactory. Their discomfort and occasional hostility had come to a startling halt as of late, and the mood between her and her new husband felt strained and uncertain. She didn’t like it.

In response to these concerns, Mito confessed to her that she was half-convinced Tobirama simply didn’t connect easily with women. Or people, for that matter. Even with her he was cordial, Mito said, but never completely personal. The Uzumaki wasn’t even surprised to hear that they hadn’t consummated their marriage.

“Perhaps Tobirama simply isn’t… interested,” she said. “It’s not in any way your fault.”

The woman thought about the suggestion carefully. This supposed aversion of Tobirama’s had saved her on their wedding night. But after so long, it felt improper. Bizarre, even. How long had they been married? Half a year? Even longer? She tried not to think about it.

Still, it was long enough. Long enough that marital duties weighed heavily on her mind day after day. Would they remain impersonal for the rest of their lives? Detachment couldn’t possibly fuel them forever.

He had shifted close to her twice so far in the night and without fail moved away when he awoke. Certainly the fact he did it at all must have meant Tobirama Senju had some semblance of intimacy, she decided, even if he was unconscious.

She wondered often about the dilemma, until one night he did it again, but this time, it was shockingly different.

It was when she fidgeted backwards that she felt his body, slightly annoyed with how little room he gave her. She suspected he would wake soon, revolted, and shift away from her, just as he always did.

She thought of elbowing him in hopes that it would nudge him the other way, not caring if it woke or angered him. One of their disagreements earlier in the evening had left her with unsated frustration, and any little way to vent that frustration was a victory. But when she shifted back against him, ready to push him away, she felt it.

She froze. She knew what it was. It was impossible to misplace what pressed against her lower back, stiff and eager.

It was the last thing she ever expected, especially from someone like Tobirama. Even the most stoic of men were victim to the nature of their body, to their masculine urges—but Tobirama had, in her entirety of knowing him, seemed nearly resistant to such things.

Forcing her body to shed its tension, she relaxed and attempted to gently shift away from him, disgusted with herself at the fleeting, mischievous urge to press back against the hardness and test his reaction. But his fingers tightened into the fabric of her shirt the instant she moved, forcing her still.

She knew, despite his persistence, that his gestures were inadvertent; his breaths still came quiet and complacent close to her ear, almost imperceptible. He was still asleep.

No one could be so oblivious, she mused, even deep in their slumber. It was ironic to know she saw him at his most vulnerable as he was now: completely unaware, completely subject to the demands of his dormant needs.

In an attempt to shake him off, she pushed back every so lightly, and instantly regretted it when he grunted deep in his chest and shifted against her.

She imagined that she should have laughed at the whole situation; it was a seldom chance that a man like Tobirama Senju would debase himself like this. Regrettably, it was nowhere near as triumphant for her as it could have been. The discomfort of not knowing whether to move or to persevere denied her indulgence.

Sleep was not easy to salvage, but she forced herself to ignore the pressing matter at her back and endure until she dozed off.

⤰

The next morning, he left much earlier than usual. He even returned home at an untimely hour of the night. This continued for a week, then another.

The unusual pattern wasn’t entirely rare; when his schedule complicated his day, he often worked long hours. But it had never persisted for so long, and with such evident purpose.

One night she stayed awake waiting for him. Her eyes were succumbing to a persuasive plead for sleep when she heard him finally slip into the house.

He entered their bedroom quietly, and with practiced caution so routine that the last thing he expected was to see her dim-lit figure in their bed, sitting up, waiting for him.

“You’re late,” she said, voice calm and indifferent, betraying nothing. “You woke up early, too. You’ve been doing that a lot, recently.”

If he was startled by the intervention, he quickly did away with the evidence, his tone bland.

“I’ve been working with my brother,“ he said. “Diplomatic issues. Boundary lines and budgets—among other things.”

Her eyes narrowed, though he didn’t see in the dark. He went to the washroom with barely concealed haste—a shelter from her scrutiny.

It had always been a task to read him, but she knew he was lying. He never detailed his work, never told her more than he needed to about his political dealings. Equivocating as he usually did would have been more convincing than his alibis. She could see right through him.

She didn’t know whether to bask in the triumph of her discovery, or lament its meaning.

⤰

He came home one day aching and sore. A failed mission had given him a fresh cut on his arm, one which he had aimlessly dressed himself in hopes of evading the tedious care of medics and rushing to more pressing paperwork that awaited him at home.

Flesh wound it might have been, however, it breathed pain into his body every time he moved, an annoyance to his daily routines.

His wife had noticed his discomfort the moment he returned, but opted to stay silent. She anticipated his sour mood, and had no plans to tolerate it that day. Unfortunately her curiosity took its root, and after numerous glances stolen at the visible, poorly wrapped wound, she saw the faintest traces of red seeping out through the fabric. He was bleeding through the dressing.

Hesitantly she inquired, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

A gruff reply, as usual. Apparently too distracted by the urgent task of completing mission reports, he offered her nothing more. He couldn’t be bothered to find the underlying concern in her tone. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have been less inclined to evade what he knew would come next: persistence.

She quarreled with her thoughts. Let him be stubborn. Let the wound fester. That would show him, surely. She was still irritated—offended, even—that he had been blatantly avoiding her. The realization settled in her chest with shame and anger. She thought they were doing well up until that point. So distraught with his behavior was she that the thought of returning to their prior life of constantly ignoring each other didn’t seem so unappealing anymore.

Then again, she liked to see him silently agonizing through pain even less than she liked him being simply silent. She would have preferred his rancor if he were unscathed, and whole. The sight of his wound left her own arm throbbing in a desperate cry for relief.

She was already kneeling beside him before he could question her approach.

“You’re hurt,” she said, responding to his narrow-eyed look with a subtle frown. “You can’t keep a wound like this untreated.”

“I told you I’m fine.” He shifted away. “I’ll dress it again soon.”

She put a hand on his shoulder; a gentle touch, the movement slow and cautious.

“My medical jutsu isn’t any good, but I can wrap it—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Just let me help you, Tobirama.”

He huffed, and made a quiet noise that sounded like frustrated defeat. He avoided her eyes, jaw tensing.

“Fine.”

Strangely, her heart fluttered at the compromise. She had expected more of a fight. Nevertheless, she followed through with the offer, and went in search of supplies they had littered around the house.

He tensed the moment she put her hands on him, but the pressure slowly drained from his body as she unraveled the bandages and cleaned his wound. Although he couldn’t readily relax, he wouldn’t deny the soothing touch of her fingers. It was odd, but palpable.

Her heart raced as she finished redressing the cut, as if exhilarated by her accomplishment. It was a simple pleasure to be of some help, she decided, even if it had been less than welcomed.

He practically nudged her off when he saw that her work was done, unable to muster gratitude, though he knew he should. He had tried to compromise with himself recently, wondering what should or could be done to make their lives easier.

He decided on a simple beginning: attempt congeniality if he could, and accept it when she offered, which seemed to be happening more often.

“Thank you,” he said finally.

Her terse silence did more than just annoy him; it upset him. Had he sounded insincere? He hoped not. He certainly hadn’t meant to. Maybe he would have to work on that, too.

“You’re welcome.”

And as she said it, a heat blossomed in her chest that forced her body into action.

Before she could consider the consequences, and encouraged by a tumbling plethora of emotion, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

His face burned, inflamed with uncertainty from the confusing stimulus. He flinched away, pinning her with a startled glare.

He said nothing. Neither did she. The embarrassment that seeped into her face was distinct, but not what he found first noticeable. It was her wide eyes that claimed his gaze. They shone with anticipation, with courage and hope, animated in such a way that he couldn’t help but stare.

It wasn’t the first time he had caught himself looking at her so closely. Is that what drew him in? What had always drawn him in? Those gleaming, soft eyes? He didn’t know. All he did know was that his mind no longer supervised his body’s desires.

He leaned closer. She did the same.

In the instant their lips met, he thought she sighed quietly, but he couldn’t be sure, not with the way his heart pounded so anxiously that he could hear it in his ears. His eyes closed almost at the same time hers did. Her lips were soft and warm, and exceedingly gentle.

A pause as broke away from each other; they breathed, waiting.

Then their lips met again, experimentally, telling of mutual inexperience. The raging discomfort in his chest ebbed away, replaced with uncertainty and curiosity, and something warm… ease, maybe. Its sudden onset floored him.

But it didn’t last.

It was when that ease finally settled in his gut that the alarm bells resumed their fretful noise. Confusion supplanted whatever comfort was there, the softness of her lips no longer a bliss he could allow himself.

He pulled away from her.

The stunned expression on her face made her look like an innocent, lost child. He couldn’t stand to see it, and tore his eyes away.

“Tobirama—”

“I need to make a report,” he interrupted hurriedly, voice lacking its usual poise. He demanded his heart to slow its erratic beating to no avail. “I need to concentrate.”

Her defeated stupor molded into a disappointed frown.

It was an excuse—a plea for her to leave. The reaction conveyed what it needed to, but her stomach twisted with emotional defiance. She would have basked in the startling reality of what had happened if the anger didn’t so quickly set in.

How long would he continue the ruse? How long would he deny what he felt, and condemn her for it? Had he not felt the warmth she had? Had he not… enjoyed it?

“Are you disgusted by me?” she asked.

He paused, but still refused to look at her. His voice was calm when he spoke, distress exposed only by the sharp edge in his tone.

“No.”

“Then what?”

His shoulders squared with tension, titillated by the promise of an argument. “I have work—”

“Stop.”

The desperate strength in her voice silenced any vain excuse he was prepared to give. When he said nothing, her patience withered, and anger washed over again in a crushing wave.

“What did I do?” she pleaded with him, sounding faintly frantic. She detested the weakness within her, but it couldn’t be helped.

He shook his head, grasping for an answer that would quell her and save them both from unnecessary contrite. He found none.

“No good will come from forcing this,” he said.

“Forcing it?” she asked incredulously. He still didn’t look at her.

Her thoughts crumbled into a heap. All the months of subdued civility were for naught. She should have known that it wasn’t going to work. With a man like him, how could it?

“Is that how it is then? You’re so sickened by me you have to force it—”

“No,” he said curtly, as if exasperated, as if confused. “That’s not it, I told you. It’s just not…”

“Not what?”

“It’s not right.”

She watched him for a long time, trying to figure him out, trying to see the future with him she was once able to so positively envision. It seemed a faraway delusion now.

“Why did you even agree to marry me?” She asked it with such defeat that it hardly seemed like a question.

“I’m to blame now?” he returned angrily, finally looking at her. “You agreed to it just as I did.”

“No. Of course I didn’t. Your answer was an answer on my behalf. You think I had a choice? If you had just refused—”

“And what? Insult your clan?”

Not that he necessarily had a problem with that. Refusing had been his immediate stance on the matter, regardless. Clan relations be damned. They had more than enough clans in the village now, clans that didn’t require marriage as a condition of unity. What did he lose by insulting one clan? Why had he agreed? Where had his logic resided? How had he gotten himself into this mess?

“Don’t pretend like that had anything to do with it,” she said.

She knew him well enough by that point. If he really cared about honor and dignity, about maintaining peace to appease both their clans, he wouldn’t have treated their marriage—or her, for that matter—with such neglect.

“Don’t pretend like it’s anything but you and your arrogance,“ she insisted.

“You’re blaming me when you’re just as guilty as I am?” His voice sounded colder than before, abandoning whatever patience he had attempted. “Don’t pretend as if you’ve been agreeable or anything close to it.”

“How could I be with a sorry excuse for a husband like you?”

There was a short silence then. She would have been intimidated by the hard look on his face, but her own anger overwhelmed all other thought. He didn’t appear to be offended by the comment. If anything, it was her brazen alone that bewildered him. He studied her, as if deciding how to respond.

She was surprised when she didn’t receive any backlash. But she would have preferred that or something even worse to what she did receive: quiet scorn.

He glanced away, focus going back to the paperwork in front of him, as if finally and utterly giving up on their strife.

“You should leave. I’m working.” He tried to ignore her, tried to pretend she wasn’t there, but her glare felt searing.

“Is that all you have to say?” Her hands shook with frustration. She hated the hot feeling of anger in her chest—didn’t he feel it too? Didn’t he want resolve? How could he surrender so easily?

“Yes,” he answered without a second’s pause.

Her face burned. Her heart pounded. The desperation pained her, so badly she could have screamed, but she knew arguing would be fruitless. He would rather ignore their problems than face them. Naively, she had hoped for better.

She left him then, the threat of angry tears stinging her eyes.

⤰

They avoided each other completely. Tobirama did all that he could to keep away: accepting more missions, assisting his brother, working his students to the bone. On the rare occasion that they were in the house at the same time, they didn’t speak. They didn’t even look at each other. Often, to Tobirama, it felt as though he were living alone.

In an earlier time, at the beginning of the marriage, that might have been a pleasant arrangement for the both of them. Now, knowing it was a dispute fueled by acrimony and not by apathy made for a desolate reality.

But one day, she snapped.

“If it would be easier for me to just move out of the house then you should tell me now, unless you wish to continue this ruse for the rest of our lives.”

He was sitting in the living room reading through a scroll when she spat it out, so abruptly, so cold and unhinged.

He turned to look at her. She stood with her arms crossed, frowning down at him. He scowled in response.

“I’m not the one prolonging the issue,” he said.

“You aren’t? Then what? It’s just a coincidence that you send an envoy to speak with my clan now instead of talking to me? Your wife? You’re avoiding this, Tobirama.”

“We both are,” he pointed out.

It was true what he said, but what choice did she have except to stay idle? She had to, for her own sanity. If she welcomed the feelings of frustration and misery that followed every time she thought about their situation, what good would it do? If she searched for a passive alternative, one that might save them from an atrocious future together, she would be left with nothing.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said. “What good is this marriage if we can’t stand each other? How will that reflect on our alliance?”

“You act as though you expected more out of this.”

She paused. The statement bewildered her. Until then, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind: she had been entirely alone in her wishful thinking, from the very first.

Where she had hoped for something more in their future—something sentimental, even—he had simply wanted a decency between them. Even if they couldn’t love each other, she wished for a harmonious life with him. But maybe not even that was possible.

That thought suddenly had her angry. She should have known. She should have known it was nothing but fantasy.

“Then why do this, Tobirama? Why put me—why put yourself through this? If you never had any intention of trying, then why? If you hadn’t agreed to an alliance—”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

Whatever else she had to say was lost in the face of the harsh declaration.

Why did his words afflict her? Why did she care? Especially now when any semblance of hope within her had dwindled down to nothing?

“I would go back on it if I could,” he continued, even though he didn’t have to; her silence affirmed that she still distressed over the previous confession. He was no longer angry. His voice was calm, but the words still cut like a knife. He had no delusions of amending what could no longer be salvaged. She needed to come to terms with the reality of their situation. “Marrying you was a mistake. I know that. And so do you.”

A tightness in her chest made it difficult to breath, as if accepting the air would coax out the frustrated tears that threatened her. She felt so weak, and so stupid.

“Leave if that’s what you want,” he said, unforgiving.

A part of him hated his own merciless, unsolicited apathy; the other favored the thought of ending their conflict, and denying any detrimental fantasies that promised happiness in their future. He knew that could never happen. Not now, after everything.

“It will be better for the both of us.”

She waited for more. She waited for an apology. But she knew she wouldn’t receive it. At least an acknowledgement could have sufficed, an acknowledgment that no matter his truths, he had been especially cruel to her, and that her fragility wasn’t the sole perpetrator. She begged for any semblance of resolution.

But no. There was nothing that came to fill the hollow defeat within her.

For what she prayed would be the last time, she left him, on the verge of tears.

⤰

A month passed. He heard that she was living with one of her relatives on the other side of the village, but didn’t think to pursue it as fact or hearsay. As far as he was concerned, he had no right to her whereabouts. What she did or didn’t do had no bearing on him anymore, did it?

Tobirama tried to force himself to enjoy the reprieve. It seemed logical, a triumph he had long sought; there was no troubling presence in his life anymore, no one to contest him. He no longer walked through his door preparing for a night of tension. He no longer climbed into bed next to a body that both unconsciously lured him and emotionally rebuffed him. He was free of the confusion, free of the turmoil.

All of this should have been in his sanity’s favor, but there was an unshakable emptiness. He felt it in his home. In his gut. In his mind. He couldn’t understand why it weighed him down so heavily, but it did. And he despised it.

⤰

The next time Tobirama visited the Hokage office, she was there.

Upon walking in unannounced to see her at his brother’s side, Tobirama staggered and waited for an alleviating answer to the anxious surge within him.

She stared, silent but similarly displeased by the encounter, looking as though she would have given anything to be anywhere but there.

His mind reached for something meaningful to say, something that would constitute a reasonable reaction and convey anything besides the chaotic mess inside his head. But his quick wits had apparently abandoned him at the sight of her.

Swiftness betraying her fluster, she returned to her conversation with Hashirama, who stared between husband and wife uneasily as if expecting marital quarrel to ensue at any second.

“I’ll speak to my father, Hashirama,” she said to him, concluding an unheard conversation Tobirama would have normally and pointedly pressed his brother to disclose after the fact. But Tobirama had no will in him to do so.

The Hokage attempted a smile, but it was marred by the tension of the room. A tension he would have normally fought to ignore, but it was nearly unbearable now.

Hashirama knew little of what transpired between the couple behind closed doors, courtesy of his younger brother’s taciturn lifestyle. In public they appeared to get along well enough, a fact which had immensely pleased Hashirama. But now, he saw that to have been but a wishful illusion.

She bowed, and then, without looking at her husband, made her way to the door.

Tobirama’s expression was undecipherable, cold and steely, as if her disregard meant nothing to him. But his heart played a different tune.

The door closed behind her as she left. Tobirama fought the urge to follow her. He almost followed through with the impulse; a slight twitch in his hand as he thought of reaching for the doorknob.

But he couldn’t do it.

She stood right outside the door, waiting for him to come after her, hoping that he would.

When he didn’t, she left, morbidly defeated.

⤰

Tobirama realized his entire world had changed the day his squad was ambushed.

Luckily, no lives were lost. They escaped with only wounds, some more severe than others. He had the misfortune of receiving the worst.

It was his own fault, really. He should have detected the unit of enemy shinobi flanking them before they attacked. Whatever clouded his sensory abilities, he couldn’t say.

He commanded his squad to flee ahead as he fended off the enemy. One had an exceptionally proficient lightning style that struck him while he parried two other shinobi. It pierced him in the chest. Fleetingly, he thought he could feel the harsh current stab into his heart, but the jolt sent his mind reeling into a place of disorientation, denying him rational, stable thought.

It was in that fraction of a second when the searing pain rushed through his veins and paralyzed him that Tobirama realized two things.

The first being that his battle skills had waned; Hashirama had joked about it recently, something about neglecting his training in favor of diplomacy, but Tobirama had foolishly ignored the comment. If he lived, Tobirama decided, he would remedy that.

The second, that he’d underestimated how greatly his wife had impacted his life.

His wife. His wife who probably hated him. The wife he would leave behind if he perished there, in the thick of the woods alone and surrounded by enemies. Despite having long ago accepted the inevitability of his demise on the battlefield, the thought of his death upset him, slowly because it was accompanied by the thought of her, and never seeing her again.

Then he understood.

He’d become attached to her, and in a way he never would have imagined; thinking of her sent his mind into a baffling frenzy of frustration and yearning. Thinking of how they argued reignited the flames of anger in his chest; thinking of her brazen and her snide remarks; thinking of all the things that had so immensely irritated him before but now seemed infinitesimal in comparison.

Those arguments would have been a blessing to endure now, as he collapsed onto the ground and his body convulsed with pain, as the enemy raised his sword and drove the weapon down for the finishing blow.

Her face was the last thing that crossed his mind before his vision failed him.

⤰

He woke in the Konoha hospital, feeling an urge to regurgitate whatever food—though he couldn’t remember when he last ate, or what his meal had been—lurched around in his stomach. Trying to decide how long he had been there was useless; his memory failed him no matter how hard he thought. Accordingly, estimating how he escaped the battle with his life was even less agreeable with his spinning head.

He briefly remembered coming to his senses and evading the enemy’s sword, only to stumble through a sloppy counter and narrowly escape with his team. From that time to his present state, he couldn’t recall the steps he’d taken. The only reason he could recount dashing through the forest in hurried escape was because of the pain that had accompanied his journey—an ache in his body like it had been set aflame. It was a wonder he had made it out at all. Yet there he was, alive but immobile—rightfully so; moving even a joint reminded his body of its dormant ache, and he settled for remaining still.

His vision recovered soon after. He blinked the heavy fog of sleep from his eyes and looked around. That was when he noticed his wife.

She sat in a chair next to his bed, head resting at the space near his arm. Although hers had been the only image his mind conjured before his attempted demise, it was also the last he would have ever expected to see waiting at his side, at least volitionally, which he assumed to be the case. There was no other reason for her to have been there, idling in what he imagined was anxious wait for him to awaken. Perhaps because his brain was still warm with disorientation, he could have forgotten all the misfortune that plagued them before, especially now that she was there, at his side, so close to him.

What compelled him to do it he didn’t know, but the moment the blood returned to his limbs and granted him movement, he reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder.

Immediately she stirred awake, and sat upright to look at him, disheveled and baffled.

His voice sounded coarse when he spoke, “How long?”

She rubbed her tired eyes. “You were brought in yesterday morning. They said you collapsed a mile outside the village.”

Strange, he thought. It felt more like he had been asleep for a week. His muscles refused to adhere to his command; he couldn’t even move his legs, almost as if they had forgotten their function from neglect.

He didn’t realize she had moved her hand to rest over his. The warmth of her palm revitalized him in an unusual way, but he was too nauseous to question the sentiment.

“The rest of my team?”

She nodded. “They’re fine.”

He closed his tired eyes and rested his head back to fight his swimming vision. He would have been relived to hear that there’d been no casualties, but there still remained a heavy pain in his chest, and not a physical one.

She reached out to him, noticing the pinch in his brows.

“Do you need something? Water?”

He shook his head as he tried desperately to gather his thoughts. It was so different from their recent encounters. He remembered nothing but brutal words and vicious tones and heated glares. Then he remembered their kiss.

If his pride had been a priority, he would have masked the softness between them then, and returned to that dismal state of acerbity he knew so well. It seemed the natural thing to do when in her presence. He was so used to it, depressing as it was to acknowledge.

But in that moment, it felt different. He couldn’t be mad at her. Wearing his bitterness like a second skin was exhausting—he resented it. There was no reason to continue the needless strife. It may still have been his befuddled mind leading his instincts astray—but he didn’t care. Not anymore.

She offered him a glass of water. “You need to eat and hydrate, Tobirama—”

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment she said nothing, and merely watched him in silence. He sounded strangely sincere. She had never heard such a soft cadence in his voice.

“For what?”

He peeked one eye open to glance at her, drained and cynical. It was obvious. She must have known. Did she need him to say it out loud? For her own acquittal?

His harsh words still echoed in her head. They always would, she imagined. A painful reminder. She knew what he hoped to remedy with the apology, though forgiveness wouldn’t be easily wrought.

Despite that, she sighed, not a drop of resentment existing in her face or her tired voice.

“I understand why you said it.”

“No. You don’t.”

She waited for clarification. He was hesitant to continue; he had never been good at these sort of things.

“I opposed the marriage because I thought you would be a nuisance,” he murmured, eyes closed once again, brows knit ever so slightly in pain. The ache in his head returned in full force, perhaps because his mind worked diligently for the right words. “I thought you would want from me what I couldn’t give you.”

“Which is what?”

He thought carefully. “For me to genuinely care. About the marriage. About you.”

As he said it, his hand slipped from hers. She cleared her throat, looking down into the water glass. Sadness rooted inside of her like an old friend. Comfort had glimmered momentarily, but with his words, it crumbled again.

“I never expected that, Tobirama,“ she said. "Not from an arranged marriage. Maybe I was just being too idealistic.” The defeated look on her face worsened as she finally came to terms with it. “We don’t owe each other anything. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you—”

“No.” He worked his jaw, unable to speak the words that needed to be said. “You don’t need to worry about that. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. He planned to work around an explanation, give her some sort of clarity without entirely debasing himself, but the pain in his body overwhelmed him in full. He grimaced through the discomfort.

She forgot the question that made her heart pound in favor of soothing him. Her hand caressed his arm in spite of her hesitance.

“You should be resting.”

“I need to get up.”

He tried, but sunk back into the sheets when his muscles failed him. He breathed through his teeth, frustrated.

“I don’t want to stay here.”

“No, Tobirama.” She gently pressed him back down when he tried again. “Your wounds—”

“I’ll be fine—”

“Please just rest.” It was a sincere and convincing plea, apparently convincing enough that he didn’t attempt to move again.

“I’ll stay with you,” she insisted. “You can’t leave until you’re better.”

Again the words resonated with him. He reluctantly relaxed back in the bed, watching her closely, eyes ever cynical.

The new calm pleased her. It was refreshing to have him listen for once, and not debate or make snide remarks. She dampened a towel in cold water and pressed it against his forehead.

“Besides,” she added, “you should wait for Hashirama. We were here all day and all night yesterday. He stayed by your side. He was so worried about you. He had to leave this morning, but said he would be back.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even give her any reason to believe he was even listening. She didn’t mind, thinking the pain occupied his ability to concentrate, and was about to go seek out one of the nurses when his surprisingly quiet voice stopped her.

“And why did you stay?”

At first, she didn’t understand what he was asking, and waited for him to continue. His eyes were soft, but stared at her with knowing, narrowed expectation.

“The same reason as my brother?” he surmised.

And then she understood. But she had no answer. There was more to be said, they both could feel it. The question touched the long-suppressed tension that neither wished to confront. But the sentiment was too much; their uncertainty too fresh.

She stood from her seat, unable to look at him. “I’m going to find a nurse. You need something for the pain.”

She left before he could respond. He watched her, wishing that he could make some sense of it all; he had never been so equally confused and certain about something in his entire life. But such was marriage, he assumed. Or at least, their marriage.

It would take getting used to.

⤰

“Tobirama, you should lie down and rest—”

“I’ve rested enough.”

They came through the front door of their home, her following at his side like a worried mother. As she reached to rest a precautionary hand on his shoulder, he nudged her away for what seemed like the hundredth time since they’d made the long walk home from the hospital.

An hour long argument with the medical staff served as the ticket to his discharge. He still had a solid two days before he reached minimal recovery, the staff had said. Even Hashirama had preemptively beseeched the medics to ensure his brother was healed before departure. But Tobirama, in true obstinate fashion, would not let that stop him. He had things to do, mission reports to write up, incomplete work to resume. Another day spent in the hospital was another day delaying duties, and he was tired of being nurtured like a child. Especially by his wife. The doting might have been appreciated under different circumstances. But it felt different now. Not annoying. Not upsetting. Simply different.

“You wanted to come home, here we are. If not at the hospital, then at least rest here,” she pleaded, bordering exasperation. She couldn’t watch him be so negligent to his body, as if he hadn’t been bed-ridden a day before. “And you realize when your brother finds out you left, he’ll come here and make you go back.”

“He can try. I’m fine.” But even as he said it, pain shot up his side. She saw his nearly imperceptible wince in response. He put a hand up before she could protest. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You won’t recover if you keep running around like this.” She followed him on the way to his home office, knowing that if he succeeded in shutting himself in, he would drown himself in work. “You can’t exhaust yourself like this, Tobirama.”

A firm hand on his chest finally stopped him in his tracks. It appeared to startle him—how easily she touched him now. Regardless, he paused to hear her out, a ghost of a scowl on his face.

“You need to relax,“ she insisted. "Don’t be so stubborn.”

His features hardened again, but it didn’t discourage her.

“At least let me make you some tea. And something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“Please.”

He said nothing in return, but he looked to be debating whether to argue or concede. In the end, he conceded.

“Fine.”

She seemed to be winning these arguments more often, he noted.

“Thank you.”

She managed to coerce him into one of the kitchen seats to drink his tea, but he didn’t touch the cup. He seemed in a trance, staring down at the steaming liquid like he had something to say to it. It bothered her.

“What is it?”

But she received no easy answer. Not that she expected it to be any other way with Tobirama. He merely shook his head, occupied with his thoughts.  

She took the seat next to him, her own cup of hot tea warming her palm. Still, he remained in deep thought, either unable to formulate a response or unwilling to speak at all. She guessed the latter. Their short time together since his return to the village had been coated with unshakable pressure, not completely unlike the kind they had experienced before under their burgeoning marital issues, but something more placid. Something begging to be resolved. They could both feel it. It only stood to see who would answer the resolve first.

Finally, he looked at her.

“You look tired,” he said.

The comment surprised her. She didn’t take offense to it, but it was an odd, mundane thing for him to say, regardless.

“I haven’t had much sleep in the last few days,” she explained.

“Because of me.”

It was less of an inquiry and more of a statement. And a true one. She nodded.

“I couldn’t just leave you alone. I had to stay.”

She said it as if in defeat, as if she were yielding to the emotion behind her words. She didn’t see any use in hiding it.

“You shouldn’t have.”

The serious tone would usually precede an argument. She knew it well enough. But she wouldn’t let that happen. It wasn’t the time, nor the place.

“Well I did.”

It seemed the appropriate response in her mind, perhaps a sliver too antagonistic. But he didn’t respond. His features tightened into something like displeasure, but still, he remained silent.

She thought it would be a conclusive and agreeable alternative to the beginning of an argument, but no. It still felt like incomplete comfort, merely a temporary pause to a friction that would never leave them unless thoroughly exposed, and thoroughly flushed out.

“It’s the least I could do,” she added.

He watched her with curious regard. “And by that, you mean what?”

She shook her head, unable to return his gaze now that she knew he was looking. It wasn’t that the words were lost to her—more like she needed to sort them in a way that made her feel less vulnerable to their sentiment.

“It’s like I said. I made this out to be something it wasn’t. I complicated everything. I didn’t mean to.”

“Is that another apology?”

Judging by his expression, he wasn’t entirely joking, but she saw he wasn’t scorning her, either.

It unsettled her in a way. He had always been the serious one, never one to let softness slip through the gaps. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said in the hospital, how he’d never intended to care about the marriage, about her. Perhaps she had thought the same, in the beginning. Only later had her wishful thoughts of a peaceful future cushioned her from reality. She should have had clarity now. She should have been able to accept what they were, and equally, what they never could be.

Nonetheless, she still didn’t know if the apathy suited her, or their situation. It didn’t seem right to cast their marriage aside so easily. It didn’t seem fair. And if it was that fair, or that easy, her heart wouldn’t have been in such pain as it were right then.

“I know I haven’t been a good wife,“ she murmured before she could stop herself.

Her face burned with embarrassment. She had never felt so fragile. His silence didn’t help, but then he sighed.

“No more than I’ve been a good husband.”

She looked at him, unfamiliar with the soft edges of his face. His handsome face. She was so rarely able to admire it; he frowned most of the time. She thought she should count herself lucky for witnessing such a rarity.

Neither spoke for quite some time. Not because nothing more needed to be said—they both knew the gravity of the conversation that they’d heavily avoided—but they had yet to fully test the waters of their cease-fire. It felt comforting, and refreshing, but uncertain still, nonetheless.

“I’ll make us some dinner,” she offered.

She rose from her seat, tea untouched. Tobirama watched her from the corner of his eye, unable to shake the heavy feeling that disheartened him.

⤰

They finished their meals mostly in silence. The conversations that did come were short and insignificant.

Even when they got into bed, the reach for normality was far from them. They tried to talk. It somehow felt easier with the lights off where they couldn’t see each other, both staring up at the ceiling, sheltered by darkness.

The last of their ability to force a conversation died into silence. She wondered if all future attempts would suffer the same fate, if they would forever be chained to ambiguity that prevented progress if nothing was done about it. It sounded unfathomable, and no way to live out the rest of their lives.

She turned on her side to look at him. In the dark, she could only see the glint of his eyes, tired, but unwilling to close, still fixed on the ceiling.

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired softly.

He was hesitant to reply. Who knew what it would entail?

“What?”

She was riddled with doubt, wondering exactly how to word her question. She had indulged herself in the past weeks wondering what she might say to him if given the chance—all of these scenarios ending less than congenially given the way they’d left things off. But it wasn’t vindication that fueled her now; she wanted peace.

“Are you willing to try?”

He turned his head to glance at her, brows knit with curiosity. He waited for her to explain.

“To try to make this work,” she clarified.

He breathed out slowly, a breath of solemn understanding, as if it sounded too difficult a task for him to even ponder. He’d known this moment would come. He too had mustered visions in his head of a reconciliation, but now, living the invention, he had no idea how to form his thoughts.

“I know you said you couldn’t care about the marriage,” she continued. “Not completely. But to keep up appearances, we should—”

“I told you not to worry about that.”

She shut her mouth. It was clear that he meant it to be the end of the discussion. But she wouldn’t let it end there. She would no longer settle with equivocation.

“What did you mean by that?”

He shut his eyes, as if it would shelter him from her inquisitive, almost pleading gaze.

“I told you. Don’t worry.”

“How can I not?”

“______.”

It was the first time she had heard her name come from him so softly, almost tenderly.

She looked at him for a long time in the darkness, seeing no changes in his features that would have offered an answer.

“I just need reassurance, Tobirama. Is that a yes, or a no?”

Another long silence. She didn’t realize how eagerly her heart raced until she felt a flare of pain in her chest.

“Yes.”

The tangible relaxation coursed through her. A weight had been lifted.

Yes. He would do it. He would try.

She wondered why such a heartfelt understanding had never occurred before, in the beginning, before everything spiraled into tension and chaos. It filled her with a sense of lofty anticipation.

The prospect of actually making it work, of actually living their life agreeably, excited her. If they could really be a couple—not a perfect couple, by any means—able to live and function with each other, the future she had once envisioned for them which had been so drearily crushed before now looked rather promising.

She rested a gentle hand on his chest. “Thank you.”

His heart was steady under her palm, subdued and rhythmic. He must not have been bothered by the contact, she thought, which both surprised and pleased her. She smiled softly, in spite of herself. A comforting, warm feeling of momentary ease replaced her sublime illusions.

It was a risky impulse, maybe the riskiest thing she’d ever done, but she reached over and gently took his hand.

She saw his eyes peel open slowly, still looking at the ceiling, and not at her. If he was offended by the contact, he made no move to stop her.

Then he squeezed her hand. It filled her with warmth. An embarrassing, overpowering warmth. His thumb brushed her skin. He didn’t seem anymore sure about it than she was. Nevertheless, he didn’t move away. He didn’t want to.

She was the first to lean closer. He didn’t follow suit, not immediately. He simply regarded her as she entered his space, watching the soft determination in her features. The relief was infectious; he too relaxed at the contact, his face aloof but welcoming, as if to tell her he wouldn’t deny her, but he didn’t completely know how to cope with his desires. And that was alright; she didn’t know either.

One of her soft hands found his cheek. She was relieved when he didn’t draw away from the contact. Even when she leaned in to fill the space between them, there was no opposition.

Their lips met. The inexperience from their first kiss lingered, but there was a soft confidence to it now. An intention, and an enthusiasm; neither had any intention to renounce the affection.

It was a short kiss. They pulled away, but the tingling excitement in her body remained. The warmth painting his cheeks was almost overwhelming. They both had yet to master the art of deferring their pride, but they found themselves for the first time consumed by touch. So consumed that neither could think of anything else but to come closer for another kiss, and then another, until the rhythm wasn’t so difficult to follow.

⤰

In the middle of the night when he awoke, he found his arms around her. He didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t be doing that anymore, he knew. He instead pulled her closer.

It was as though for the first time he was really feeling her: tracing the curves of her body, running over the goosebumps on her bare skin. This was his wife. Now and always.

Content, he closed his eyes and drifted off soon after, into a sleep that had never felt so complete, or so perfect.

[baneismydragon]

The not so secret diary of Gabriel Agreste

Because I needed some crack in my life. This is a gift for @geek-fashionista who requested my joke idea become a fic. 

And because writing ridiculous Gabe content cheers me up and I needed a good pick me up. (Hopefully this will get me back in the mood to finish the next chapter of Cut from the Same cloth. If nothing else it felt good to really sit down and write again.) 

Anyways- enjoy. 

The not so secret diary of Gabriel Agreste

(Edited and catalogued by Nathalie Sancoeur)

March 18th

So apparently driving 4 employees to a nervous breakdown in the span of 2 weeks is a problem to my board of directors. They claim it’s ‘not good for the company’. Also, apparently, backhanding one of them during the meeting for suggesting I ‘take a leave of absence to deal with the loss of your wife’ counts as assault.

To avoid charges, and more importantly a forced sabbatical, I have agreed to see a therapist. Hence this ridiculous writing exercise.  Oh well. At least it is only one wasted hour a week as opposed to several months of sitting in my house, watching them drive my company into the ground with their ineptitude.

March 25th-

My therapist says that I have a problem.

Of course I have a problem! My wife is missing. Honestly, I have to pay this man?

He says that I need to be ‘focused on healing and rebuilding a new sense of normalcy instead of lashing out at the people around me.’

Well perhaps if the people around me weren’t so incompetent I wouldn’t need to lash out so much.

Nathalie- does it count as attending my therapy sessions if I send a proxy in my place? Please investigate.

March 30th-

My therapist has informed me that I am developing an obsession, and that he is concerned that the loss of my wife and my need to get her back is driving me to an unhealthy dissociative state.

Well maybe that’s why it is so important that I get her back. Did you ever think of that? Then I won’t need to waste my time adjusting to my new circumstances, because everything can just go back to the way it was. It’s really not that complicated. For someone whose job it is to ‘help me cope with my grief’ he is quite the pessimist. He keeps insisting we discuss the possibility of if she never comes back. Thank God these sessions are only an hour long, I don’t need to get charged with assault again.

April 1st-

I told my therapist that his advice was working and that I have completely seen the error of my ways.

And Nathalie says I have a terrible sense of humor.

The crushed look on his face when I pointed out the date was priceless.

Nathalie- make sure we are having fish for dinner, Adrien will appreciate the humor even if you don’t.

April 9th-

I had the portrait artist come in today so that we could replace the family portrait at the top of the staircase. I pre-selected our mourning ensembles and Adrien was miserable the whole time. The artist asked me if he should take some artistic licence with our expressions. I asked him if he valued his commission. The finished work was a perfect testament to the state of misery in this house. Hopefully this will serve as an adequate reminder to anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to attempt to inform me that ‘things are never as bad as they seem.’

My therapist says this is yet another sign of my increased megalomania. I think that it isn’t my fault that more people don’t have the resources to afford appropriate decor for their homes based on the emotional environment. Given what I am having to pay out for these worthless sessions I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a half dozen portraits of his own scattered around some poorly decorated eyesore he calls a home.

Nathalie- please arrange for some new backlighting for the updated portrait. Either some cool blue tones or perhaps some purple.

April 14th-

Today my therapy session consisted of discussing my childhood. On the bright side I sketched out two new designs while I tuned out his prattle.

Nathalie- you owe me 20 Euro. I told you it would take less than a month for him to try the Freudian approach.

April 21st-

Yesterday was the runway launch of the new Spring line. Not some of my best work to be honest but still a far sight better than anything else released this season. Maybe the Italians will give me some competition this year at least.

One of the reporters asked if the line was being dedicated to my ‘late wife’. I ask him if he was going to dedicate this interview to his soon to be late career?

Of course Adrien heard the whole thing and has been in a mood ever since, although he didn’t let it affect his performance. Even as a child, he is more professional than a fair percentage of my staff. I am prodigiously proud of him. Now if only he would stop being so emotional. It isn’t good for him. He spent the entire morning and afternoon holed up in his room listening to angst ridden J-pop and ordering mint fudge ice cream from the kitchen staff.

My therapist says that I need to be making an effort to empathize with his grief instead of fixating on my own, and compensate more in my new role as a single parent.

Clearly the stress of this show has addled my brain because I stupidly attempted to follow his advice.

After a pre-scheduled family dinner I patted Adrien on the shoulder and told him that I promises that things will get better.

He stared at me for a few seconds like I had grown a second head, before hugging onto me like a barnacle and bursting into tears.

Wonderful.

I managed to send my own child into hysterics.

This is the sort of disaster that comes from listening to the advice of idiots.

April 22nd-

Adrien seems to have recovered from last night’s meltdown rather admirably. Thank God children bounce back from these sorts of setbacks. I am glad to see that my poor judgement in following my therapist's advice doesn’t seem to have caused any permanent damage. Now I can go back to the important business of figuring out how to bring his mother back instead of wasting everyone’s time with pointless platitudes. Really that is the much smarter approach.

It’s like I tell my employees- if you just fix the mistake you won’t have to spend your energy explaining why it was there in the first place. No one will care how many failures you went through to get there- all that matters is the end result.

Speaking of failures, what was I thinking when I chose the dining room furniture? It’s hideous.

Nathalie- remind me to set aside time to purchase a new dining set.

April 30th-

She has been gone for exactly 100 days.

May 9th-

Today is my 20th Wedding anniversary.

It was storming today. My therapist asked me how that made me feel.

I told him- wet.

I don’t think he appreciated my answer.

May 12th-

I have fired my therapist.

No the answer to my problems is not to ‘move on and accept my loss and just be grateful for each new day.’ What sort of idiotic attitude is that? If I approached my life according to the advice of this degenerate I would be designing pink sequins party dresses for some mass produced tween fashion label. Even worse, the toad-faced troll had the audacity to suggest that I should consider arranging for Adrien to have his own therapy sessions. As if my child needs any sort of support from a second rate psychoanalyst with delusions of grandeur.

Good riddance. Besides, 2 months of this charade should be more than enough to satisfy the board.

Nathalie- make arrangement for a private investigator to look into his business. Perhaps we can do the world a favor and get his licence revoked.

May 14th-

I have decided to keep this diary. I find writing about the stupidity of others quite therapeutic.

Nathalie please find a more appropriately color coordinated journal in which to properly transcribe my entries.   

May 17th-

I have hired a bodyguard for Adrien. He keeps trying to sneak out, and I can’t keep losing Nathalie for hours at a time while she chases him down. I don’t understand why he is so desperate to go out and meet other people. Hasn’t he figured out by now that very few people are actually worth meeting? Clearly the stress of losing his mother is clouding his judgement. I’ll arrange for Nathalie to get a few more of those arcade machines he enjoys so much to be shipped in. Hopefully that will help keep him distracted.

Meanwhile, perhaps I should up his modeling engagements. After all, throwing oneself into one's work does provide some temporary solace. It’s certainly the best plan I have come up with so far.

May 22nd-

Adrien’s new Bodyguard has caught him attempting to sneak out twice. Both times he sent me a text informing me that the incident had been taken care of and requesting an appropriate stipend for the installation of new security cameras.

This is clearly the best hiring decision I have made in years.

Adrien may be the closest thing to perfection in this world but alas, children will be children, so I am glad I have some competent staff to manage him until he grows out of it. I believe this teenaged need to rebel in light of our recent family tragedy is what the media refers to as ‘Emo’. I will make some calls to the main office to have more of our black pieces added to his wardrobe. And my ex therapist said I ‘wasn’t paying attention to my sons needs.’ Ha.

June 3rd-

Still no progress in my plan. This morning I woke up from a dream and I couldn’t remember if that is what my wifes laugh actually sounded like.

I can’t live like this. I won’t live like this.

June 5th-

Nathalie I will take dinner in my office. Also I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the weekend.

June 10th-

Feeling infinitely better today.

It has been uncovered that my recently disgraced ex-therapist was having an affair, and with a former patient no less! Clearly he was taking out his own frustrations with his own failed marriage out on me.

Unlike that hypocritical cow, I will preserve my family no matter what impediments I may face. I knew I was right all along. Still, it’s nice to have outside validation.

Nathalie- be sure to send a sizable bonus to the private investigator, as well as a nice fruit basket.

June 17th-

Adrien had a piano recital today. It was exceptional of course. I do wish he had chosen something other than Chopin. Really, is this emo phase going to carry over into everything he does?

I will have to send a message to his bodyguard to start monitoring his packages for hair dye.

Apparently he didn’t approve of me leaving as soon as his piece was over. I don’t see why. It’s not like I have any interest in the other performers and I already paid my admission so it’s no loss to the institution. Children can be so demanding.

Nathalie- make a note, the next time I am required to attend one of these functions make sure I have a tablet with me.

June 23rd-

Why have I still not replaced that dining room table?

July 2nd-

On the plane to London because apparently the instructions “just recreate the exact same show we did a month ago” are too complicated for my employees.

I am doubly glad that I hired a bodyguard for Adrien since he is ill and will not be joining us on this trip.

Hopefully I shouldn’t be gone more than a day or so.

July 6th-

Still in London. Apparently I underestimated just how moronic people can be. I miss my wife. She always knew how to get people to do what I needed them to do with causing them to burst into tears.

She also would have appreciated my puns.

Once I get her home I swear I am going to reward myself with an entire month of not having to speak to anyone whose surname isn’t Agreste.

Except for Nathalie, of course.

July 10th-

Finally home. Adrien has made a full recovery.

He spent all of dinner expounding on the merits of something called ‘MOBA’s. I’ve found it best to just nod and pretend like I understand what he is talking about when he goes on these tangents.

Nathalie- please get me the definition for the term Noob.

July 15th-

I am truly at my wits end. Between my lack of progress on my search for my wife and my constant set backs at the company I am for all intents and purposes trying to go up a creek without a paddle.

Nathalie is less than thrilled with me at the moment as I have taken to locking myself in the office with my cellphone and computer turned off. She doesn’t seem to appreciate having to slide notes under the door.

July 22nd-

Nathalie Sancoeur is the only person to whom I am not related by blood or marriage whom I would make an effort to save during a zombie apocalypse. (Adrien’s current favorite pastime is discussing how he would react to various ridiculous survival scenarios with his bodyguard, or more accurately at his bodyguard.)

She suggested that given my frustrations with some of my staff perhaps some personnel changes were in order.

There is nothing quite so satisfying as telling  a worthless employee that they should pack up their desk and go.

I am quite confident that none of the individuals fired today would survive a zombie apocalypse.

Nathalie- please give yourself a 2% raise. It might come in handy for purchasing supplies when we are under siege by an army of the undead.

July 28th-

Adrien had his friend Mllm Bourgeois over again today. He has asked if he can be allowed to attend public school with her this term.

I told him that if Miss Bourgeois is an example of the merits of a public school education I would sooner be tarred and feathered than let him within 50 feet of said institution.  

He seems to believe that going to school would allow him the opportunity to make new friends- so I suppose I can at least see the appeal. Though, after observing his interactions today I am amazed he doesn’t simply swear off friendship altogether.

Nathalie- look into putting together some sort of dossier of suitable young people with whom Adrien could potentially associate. Perhaps we can arrange to have some on call for social engagements in the future.

July 29th-

Adrien is not speaking to me today. He has locked himself in his room. Why is everyone in this family so sensitive?

Apparently ‘you can’t just buy friends.’

Clearly he has never been involved in politics.

August 2nd-

Adrien is still angry at me. Fine, if he wants to get into a petty game of who can ignore the other longer I will play his game. He’ll learn that no one beats me when it comes to the silent treatment, just like his mother did. The most she ever made it was 3 days. We will see if Adrien fairs any better.

August 3rd-

Upon further reflection, at the end of those three days I ended up with a broken nose when my wife punched me in the face. Perhaps I should rethink my strategy.

Nathalie- schedule a family meeting to discuss Adrien’s grievances. Tell him it will save time if he prepares a list of his complaints and proposed solutions for me to consult before the start of the negotiations.

August 6th-

Adrien is visiting with his friend Mllm Bourgeois so I am taking the opportunity to go through and organize my wife’s belongings. (The staff has been forbidden from disturbing anything but it is starting to get a bit dusty.) It is best to do this while Adrien is gone as I don’t know if I can tolerate another weekend of melancholy foreign ballads blasting from his room. Or worse that new Jagged Stone album I was foolish enough to order for him as a reward for winning his last fencing competition. I swear that man sounds like a beached whale screaming its way through a slow and agonizing death. I don’t know what Adrien sees to admire in it.

At least his attempted breakouts seem to have come to a temporary halt. Either the efforts of his bodyguard have finally tempered his resolve or he is secretly plotting some sort of elaborate scheme and is trying to lure us into a false sense of security.

I guess we will see how much he takes after me.

Nathalie- make sure all of Adrien’s electronic devices are equipped with GPS tracking.

August 8th-

Still slowly working my way through the cleaning process. The latest edition of some video fighting game arrived for Adrien so he has been conveniently occupied by that. It’s getting harder to face him knowing that I am still no closer to having an answer as to how to get his mother back, not that he asks. He has always been far too kind for his own good.  

Still, it is a parent’s job to do what is ultimately best for their children and for the first time in my life I find myself spectacularly failing.

No matter how many hours I spend locked in my office I am still no closer to a concrete plan.

At least Adrien has stopped trying to accompany when I am in there. It’s too hard enough coping with my own failure without my son having to bare witness.

I will figure out a way. I did not get where I am today without being willing to fight for what I want. And once I am successful all of this will just seem like a bad dream. Both for me and for my son.

August 9th-

I never realized just how much of a hoarder my wife was until I took on this project. How many souvenirs does one woman need?

There is an entire suitcase from our last trip to Tibet that she didn’t even bother to unpack.

I’ll take care of it tomorrow.

Nathalie- reschedule my lunch with the mayor. Until after the election if at all possible. 4 months isn’t an unreasonable delay for a man with my obligations.

August 10th-

It seems that there is some truth to the concept that one should actually OPEN the boxes one acquires. I now have in my possession a strange magical creature named Nooroo who seems optimistic in his belief that he can help me in my quest to restore my family. It seems I will have the chance to turn into some sort of super powered empath with the ability to grant powers to others to help combat the forces of evil in this world. Seems like a rather dubious power. Most people are insufferably dim and couldn’t be trusted with a butter knife much less magical enhancements. Still, it is the first positive news in months. I tried opening the other box with the peacock pin but after 10 seconds of the creature crying upon being awakened I have decided to simply return it to dormant and lock it in the safe. Perhaps it will be useful later but for now one miraculous should be more than sufficient.  

Nathalie- In light of my new associate we will need a few changes to the house. Additional security, new curtains,  as well as some additions to the kitchen inventory. I will upload a list to your PDA.

August 12th-

And Everyone told me I would never have a use for a secret lair. Well I showed them. I have asked Nathalie to arrange for a large shipment of butterflies to be installed for ambiance. I have also brought in a private contractor to hide the control panel. The last thing I want in for Adrien to stumble upon any of this and get the idea to become some sort of hero vigilante. Honestly I don’t know where that boy gets his ridiculous flair for the dramatic. It must be from his mother. Meanwhile I have decided to keep Nooroo dormant for a little while. He keeps wanting me to talk to him about my feelings. If I wanted to do that I wouldn’t have fired my therapist.

August 20th-

Lair is finally ready to go. I realize though that perhaps I should read the instruction manual that came with the miraculous before I attempt to utilize unpredictable magical powers.

Nathalie- please arrange for a large pot of coffee and my favorite armchair to be placed in the lair this afternoon.  

August 30th-

Apparently translating ancient codes with no resources or starting point whatsoever is, in fact rather difficult. I supposed I should ask Nooroo for assistance.

[lubdubsworld]

Tumblr Prompt ( Min yoongi * OC)

arranged marriage angst. okay, so Yoongi comes back by popular demand. let’s watch him struggle to win her back. okay... lights camera, action.

....Read the rest of the stuff here : 

Part 1         Part 2         Part 3       part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 5/6

“This is one of the first pieces i designed. it’s called ,  Aeturnum. which is the Latin word for eternal. The necklace is made of sterling silver, something that has long been associated with magic . The stone used here is a ‘ Cat’s eye foiled cabochon. It looks like its holds the galaxies in it, doesn’t it? And it also looks so warm and full of love? and i thought, if anything is eternal, it’s the universe we live in. And the love that we fill it with...” 

I finished nervously , nodding at the applause. So far the room, filled with about 50 to 60 of the leading antique jewelry collectors in the country had been silent. they had reacted positively to most of the pieces. And I knew that this last one would be the most important. 

it would also be the most difficult . 

i took a deep breath. 

“People talk about recovery often. there are so many books describing how you can build yourself up. But no one talks about the fall. Because no one wants to relive it. “

I swallowed, taking a small sip of the water on the table. 

“A year ago, I thought i  lost something very.. valuable to me. i spent weeks trying to get it back. i wanted to go back in time and redo everything till i had that... thing again.  But funnily, what i never realized was that it had never been mine to lose.” 

I carefully shifted around, pulling the lever that would make the lots fall in place, revealing the extravagant necklace in lapis blue. The colors flashed bright in the dim lighting and i felt my heart lurch, as i remembered the tears i’d spilled, the broken syllables of his name just stuttering out without my permission as I slaved over that perfect cut. 

“this one is called fulgur which is latin for lightning. it describes the moment you lay your eyes on that special someone. it’s like you’ve been hit by a flash of lightning, something that has changed you forever. No matter how things work out, you’re no longer the person you were before you saw him/her. you’re changed , forever. it’s aquamarine, lapis lazuli and sapphire. ” 

I hesitated before grabbing the second lever. 

“This one is called  mirage. Which we all know is nothing but an illusion. it’s when you see things that don’t exist. You see meaning in meaningless touches and you convince yourself that what you’re seeing and feeling is real. when in fact it isn’t. when in fact, you aren’t really as important as you think you are. this stone is called the margarita stone. There’s a rhinestone pin set in the center with rose cut diamonds all around.  “ 

I took another look around the room before composing myself. why was this so damn difficult. 

“the third one is called error, which is latin for delusion. it’s when you feed your illusion, so much so that it starts becoming a delusion. you start giving parts of yourself to this person, convincing yourself that he loves you , just the way you love him and so you start losing parts of your soul, not knowing that when he leaves he’s going to take those parts of you with him and you’re just.. never going to be complete again. “ 

 just get this over with.

“ And finally... This is called Supernova. This is when all you mistakes come together and explode, destroying all your delusions and leaving behind a black hole of emptiness. You’ve lost everything that mattered to you, because the only thing that ever mattered was him , and now that he’s gone you can’t function. This is just Obsidian Stones. pure black and nothing else. “ 

I caught sight of movement out of the corner of my eye and went completely still when i saw the figure at the side entrance, leaning against the ornate door. 

And there he was, looking so good that my breath hitched and my jaw went slack. i stared at him, the lean frame, the broad shoulders. The perfectly styled ash blonde hair and the iridescent complexion. He was staring right at me. Dark eyes heavy as he watched me. 

 i saw the way some of the women turned around to get a second look. a better look. Because Min Yoongi was the sort of person, who made you look twice. 

With Yoongi , once would never be enough. 

you couldn’t just look once and ignore someone like that. You had to go back and reassure yourself that yes, he’s real. it’s not a dream after all. He’s real and he;s perfect and he’s there....  . 

My Lightning. My illusion. My delusion. My mirage .

Of course he’d be back. the moment i’d heard from a friend that Min yoongi was back in Seoul, i’d known that he would be back. 

with Yoongi once would never be enough. 

Not even when it came to breaking my heart. 

“The entire collection speaks of the crash. Because while healing is beautiful, heartbreak can be too. the crash and burn of emotions that go uncontrolled. Wild fire that burns down whole forests. And something beautiful , can come out of something tragic. Like these pieces. i hope you will recognize it for the sentimental value it carries and cherish it accordingly. “ 

As the exhibit ended and everyone began mingling freely, i slowly started putting the pieces in place. I knew he was making his way towards me and i was proud of myself for not turning tail and running. 

“Y/n.” He said softly and my name... on his tongue was just as sweet as it had always been. i smiled as i turned to look at him. His cologne still hit me like a truck and the sight of him, so close and so... reachable. touchable. it did things to me. i wanted to touch. To reach out, unbutton this shirt and press my palm to his chest, feel the warmth of his skin , the vibrato of his heartbeat and the heat of his muscles, firm beneath my fingers. 

it was like being hit by lightning , all over again. 

But i wasn’t an idiot.

“Did you enjoy the show, Doctor?” i said softly. He hesitated. 

“Y/n....”

“It was inspired by you after all. “ i said , still smiling and he flinched. 

“I should go.” He said stiltedly. 

i nodded. 

“You really should.” i said coolly, before turning back around to fix the jewelry. 

When I turned again, he was gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From : unknown.  10:43 PM

 Did you really have to do that, baby?  A bullet would have been kinder, if you were trying to kill me.

To : Unknown  10:45 PM

 yoongi?

From : unknown. 10:50 PM

Yeah.. it’s me... I... Hi. 

 I stared at the words , feeling helplessly lost and miserable. 

He did not have the right to do this to me. He really didn’t. But then... this was Yoongi. And without thinking too much i typed out the first thought that came into my head. 

To : Yoongi  10:55 PM[ unsent]

Why did you leave ?? [draft]

 i didn’t send it of course. A few minutes later my phone pinged again. 

From : Yoongi. 11.00 PM

i know i don’t have the right to say this... but... I’m sorry. i know the words don’t mean anything. i know you hate me and i won’t ask you to forgive me. i don’t deserve your forgiveness but.... I’m just... i’m happy. that you seem happy now. You’re successful and I know that you’re dating Seokjin. I’m happy for you. i really am. 

 I gripped the edge of my pillow biting my lips hard in annoyance. 

To : Yoongi 10:55 PM [ unsent]

Why did you come back?? [draft]

From : Yoongi. 12.50 AM

Good night, sweetheart. 

~~~~~~~~

“After spending an year in one of the prestigious universities in the World, Dr. Min Yoongi returned to Korea, last  week, only to have a mammoth fall out with his parents , who hold major shares in the Min Super Specialty Hospital in Seoul. The cause of the disagreement hasn’t been made public but close associates speculate that this has something to do with Dr. Yoongi’s very public divorce earlier this year.

The elder Min made it very clear that he did not approve of the divorce. But their personal feud spilled into their commercial life when Mr. Min announced that he would be withdrawing his support to the Hospital, from March.

As of today, Dr. Yoongi officially has announced that he intends to buy out his parents from the board of Directors to take full ownership of the hospital.

this is both extremely reckless and unwise, because the Mins have a net worth of 200 Billion Won ( approx 20 million USD ) in terms of shares and there is no doubt that this move will pauper Dr. Min Yoongi , especially because his hospital specializes in offering free and top quality healthcare to children...”

“ Y/N!! What are you watching?”

I moved to turn the TV off but it was too late. My sister stepped into the room, caught a glimpse of Yoongi’s face on the screen and her nostrils flared.

i jumped when my sister pulled the plug out of the outlet, causing the TV to fizzle out. She turned around to glare at me, eyes flashing with so much anger and annoyance that i recoiled.

“unnie... i was just...”

“what did i tell you about this?”

I sighed.

“He’s in trouble... i can’t just...”

“Can’t what? Can’t throw him away? Well, here’s news for you. He did the throwing! He threw you out like last night’s dinner and walked out of your life. So, it’s time you stopped watching and thinking and fucking caring about him...”

“I.. i don’t care about him..” I lied softly and she scoffed.

“No. Hell no.You do not have any excuse to watch this crap.  i will not sit here and watch you fall into that fucking rabbit hole again Y/N... he divorced you. He left you without so much as an explanation... he does not deserve that look you have on your face right now, alright. He does not... . it’s over. you do not have anything to do with him anymore. “

it’s not that easy. it’s not easy because this isn’t him. this is something bigger and stronger and more important than any heartbreak i may have experienced.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, I just... he can’t possibly scrap up 20 million USD.” i said impatiently. “ it’s not for him.. it’s the hospital. You know how important that hospital is unnie.. So many kids and families depend on it and I just... i don’t want Yoongi to lose the Hospital...”  

And I don’t want Yoongi to lose his dreams.... i don’t want hurting. Did both of us have to be unhappy? I was suffering as it was so did he have to suffer too? It didn’t seem fair somehow....

“Are you serious? You want to help him now... after everything he did to you...”

“i want to help the hospital. There’s a difference. A huge difference. And i just.. i have an idea. “

“Y/N... Are you out of your mind? You actually want to see him again, that makes no sense..”

I sank into the seats, feeling defeated. Did i want to see him? No. Not really. At least not in the way my sister thought. I wanted to see him, just to remind myself that he was happy without me. That perhaps, letting me go had been good for him.

I thought that might help me move on.

But it didn’t work that way. i still loved him . Maybe more than he deserved. But then when was love a quantified commodity? If we only ever got the love we deserved, would anyone ever be loved enough?

If you only loved someone because they loved you back, how many people would you find to love anyway?

“I want to help him. I’ll always want to help him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Maybe move the amethyst and jade on to the left? I think the rhinestone necklace and the bullet cabochon need to be on the second set of exhibits.” i said, scribbling down the instructions on a piece of paper, and watching one of Seokjin’s men carefully move the pieces as instructed.

“This is pretty damn amazing. all the tickets are sold-out. Not bad for a first time exhibition. “ Seokjin winked, giving me a one armed hug , his smile wide and happy.

I grinned and stretched my neck up to kiss his cheek.

“all thanks to you and Chae Rin unnie.... You guys really didn’t have to do this.”

“Come on, it’s the least we can do after you helped us out with Chae Rin’s show last month.”

Chae Rin’s fashion festival had hit a rut when her jewelry designer had taken ill all of a sudden. I’d designed jewelry for her entire line in a short time and in repayment, Seokjin and his sister had sponsored my first exhibition in Seoul. i was still completely overwhelmed by the attention and the flooding reviews and orders. it was surreal.

With Chae Rin endorsing my brand , almost the entirety of Seoul’s elite had become potential customers and long time clients in the space of a few weeks. i’d just shifted to a bigger studio last week, and the orders were still coming. I still worked alone though so most of those piece had a three month waiting period and amazingly the clients really didn’t seem to mind. Apparently, they absolutely adored the thought of wearing something that was handmade and customized , just the way they wanted.

“i think this is going to be a good show. “ i said with a smile, grabbing the clipboard and running my finger through the pieces, feeling a bit like I was dreaming. A dream that i could perhaps reach.

in the wake of that thought came a sharp searing pain right in my gut.

a dream..  

But not the one I’d dreamed so hard and so long, i thought bleakly.

“He’s back.” I said softly. Seokjin frowned.

“what?”

“Yoongi. He’s back in Seoul.” I sighed.

Seokjin looked surprised.

“i think he’s in trouble. I just.... I know i shouldn’t care but Seokjin... is there anyway you could help me meet him?”

Seokjin looked torn.

“Y/N...”

“it’s just.... there’s something i think will help him... help the hospital, I mean. i just want to make sure that he doesn’t have to lose out on the hospital...”

“Please tell me this isn’t about the...”

“We could make it an auction...” i said desperately. i didn’t really want to talk about Yoongi with Seokjin. this thing with Seokjin was still new and budding and i didn’t want to wreck it before it even began.

“Y/N! it’s your first exhibit... You can’t just make it an auction and...”

“of course we can. Look, i have it all planned out. I’ll have a pre-show,  during which i’ll talk about each piece and tell it’s story. anyone who buys it can get a one on one consulting with me and i can tell them exactly how and why the necklaces were made. Women like that. if they realize that the jewel has a special meaning, they’ll pay more for it. . Trust me, it will work. i’ll work hard for it... i can..”

“Y/N ...is it even worth it to...”

“Please..just... please Seokjin. Let me do this.” I felt my breath hitch. “ Yoongi saves lives. He saves helpless children. Nothing can be worth more than that....”

Seokjin sighed, gently wrapping his arms around me in a hug.

“okay, sweetheart. But that bastard better fucking apologize for the shit he pulled. You’re too good for him. You need someone who will cherish you for the amazing woman that you are. ” he said fondly, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. 

I hesitated, hating the way it was Yoongi’s face that flashed through my head , everytime Seokjin kissed me.