#because that implies that there are things that can't be prayed away

[gxlden-angels]

I think it's really funny when fundies are also super into the crunchy lifestyle like bestie your whole system is based on a dude with magical powers born from a virgin you can take a tylenol and stop feeding your infant raw milk now

[ba9go]

(nsfw) friends w/ benefits!bakugou katsuki headcanons

mdni: explicit & implied sexual content. nsfw under the cut

bakugou katsuki x fem!reader, friends with benefits, sexual tension, blowjobs in the classroom. definitely not inspired by my ex fwb-turned-bf haha (it is 1000%)

it was written exams season, and you were stressed. you distanced yourself from your classmates, and started ignoring mina's text messages inviting you to momo's room for your usual group study sessions. you felt a little bad, but you've always been more productive when studying alone.

katsuki was stressed too. he sat behind you in class, and over the course of the past week, it was as if his pen-clicking tendencies grew proportionally to his stress. click, click, click, click, click. it didn't bug you, though. if anything, you were worried.

katsuki was usually quiet in lessons, but he'd been sighing more. you don't blame him. there was so much content to be memorised. so many chapter sections and parts.

class had ended, and your classmates were already streaming out of the room, but you were still packing your things up. apparently, katsuki was still packing up too.

"fuckin' hell," katsuki groaned under his breath. you heard aggressive page-flipping behind you. you looked behind out of concern.

katsuki's sharp gaze flickers up from the thick stack of notes on his table. when he meets your gaze, you note that his glare lacks its usual ferocity. he looks tired.

"what?" he snaps at you. a second passes, and you see his glare falter. his brows furrow slightly.

"you good?" you ask anyway.

"me? are you good?" you blink, and then realise that you probably look like a zombie after the all-nighter you pulled.

you try to say that you're fine, but katsuki raises a brow at you, so you shake your head. yeah no, you are absolutely not good right now.

"not really. m'really stressed," you sighed.

"you gettin' any sleep?"

you shake your head.

"you should sleep."

"i know."

"you need rest."

"i know."

you sigh, and you turn away from katsuki to pick up your bag. you should probably head back to your room and continue studying—

"m'stressed too," katsuki admits quietly. he doesn't meet your gaze when you turn to look at him again.

"oh," you hum absentmindedly. you're not sure what you should be saying to him. it was bakugou katsuki, after all. he didn't want or need your pity. what would katsuki want? what could you offer katsuki?

you must be really sleep-deprived and definitely not in your right mind, because you undo the first few buttons of your shirt and start to retie your ponytail.

"want some help?" you ask, sounding a little more hopeful than you'd intended. you hope katsuki got the hint.

katsuki stares at you through narrowed eyes. he's quiet, so it feels like your proposition is just hanging heavy in the air between the both of you. you're mentally screaming at yourself, wondering what the fuck you're doing, but it's too late for you to back out, so you just meet katsuki's steady gaze and pray he doesn't notice the blush dusting your cheeks (he definitely does)

"yeah," katsuki finally says. he drops his notes and one of his hands disappears under the table. you can't help the way your eyes follow the movement, and you watch shamelessly as katsuki unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants.

katsuki looks at you through empty, tired eyes. he knows he's not in his right mind either. he would've never asked for such a thing from you, he respects you too much for that. you're his classmate. his friend, and one of his most trusted ones at that.

but katsuki isn't blind. he has eyes. he knows you're stupidly hot. he'd never admit it, but he's spent a few nights jerking off to the thought of your plush, wet lips around him.

katsuki isn't in his right mind, but even if he were, he's not sure he'd ever be able to turn down such a proposition from you.

katsuki pulls his boxers down, and his cock springs out. it's thick and pink and veiny and you rub your thighs together restlessly.

katsuki shifts his chair back and nods towards the now-empty space between his legs. "c'mere."

you end up on your knees, under katsuki's table, with a mouthful of cock.

"holy fuck," katsuki hisses through gritted teeth when you open your pretty lips and your hot breath hits the head of his cock. there's a bead of precum along his slit, and katsuki lets out a quiet whine when your tongue darts out to lick along it.

katsuki's embarrassed, immediately bringing a hand over his mouth. he moans into his palm when you press a wet kiss on the underside of his cock, right below his head. he wonders where you learnt how to do this, who taught you how to suck cock this, who else had you between their legs like this, when it could've been, should've been him. katsuki swallows his anger and jealousy.

"katsuki," you whisper, and katsuki swears he almost came right there and then. he hums in response. "wanna hear you. wanna know i'm doin' a good job."

and who was katsuki to deny you?

"oh, fuck," katsuki moans, low and guttural, when you finally wrap your lips around him and sink your mouth down on his cock. you're so good for him, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to nut right down your throat.

katsuki opens his eyes when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. you're deepthroating him, and he thinks he's going insane.

you're looking up at him with your mouth stuffed with his cock, yet you somehow manage to look so cute and almost innocent, batting your lashes prettily at katsuki.

your eyes are teary and you moan something around his cock. you look so pathetic, but you look like you're absolutely loving it. katsuki loves it too.

"so good f'me, baby," katsuki grabs the end of your ponytail and wraps it around his hand and pulls. "wanna ruin you. mess up that pretty mouth. show me how good you are at sucking cock, yeah?"

katsuki almost regrets egging you on, because you start bobbing your head up and down and it feels so fucking good. katsuki throws his head back and moans brokenly, and he's so fucking glad the last person to leave the classroom was smart enough to close the fucking door. you both sounded filthy, with your wet sloppy slurping and his loud ass moans.

"shit, fuck," katsuki feels his dick throb at the sensation of your tongue against his cock. "slow down, fuck, m'so fuckin' close, fuck—"

you ignore him. your jaw hurts like fuck right now and your legs are so sore, but you love this. love sucking katsuki's cock, love making him feel good.

so you bob your head up, down, up, down, until katsuki spills into your throat with a cry.

"cumming, fuck," katsuki squeezes his eyes shut. his hips stutter as he rides out his orgasm, fucking into your throat and forcing his cum down your throat.

you keep katsuki in your mouth until his dick starts to grow soft and he whines at the overstimulation.

"feel better?" you asked, voice fucked raw.

"yeah," katsuki reaches down to pat your head affectionately. "thanks."

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh

[seungkw1]

you're so sweet, but... — hvc

♡ pairing: bf!vernon x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut ♡ wc: 3.1k ♡ warnings: brat!reader, brattamer!vernon, sub!reader, softdom!vernon, praise kink, degradation kink, slight exhibitionism, unprotected piv sex (do not do this), fingering (f. receiving), gagging (f. receiving), lots of spit going on, body worship, spanking, manhandling, hair pulling, head pushing, nipple play, doggy, riding, dacryphilia, oral (m. receiving/f. receiving implied), cum swallowing, slight possessiveness, pet names (princess, babygirl, good girl, slut), minor fluff at the end ♡ a/n: ummmm yeah so here’s the vernon fic i’ve talked about writing for a while i kinda went feral hope u like it !! :)

Your sweet, wonderful boyfriend always treats you so well - but you secretly wish he would be a little bit meaner sometimes. One day while he’s working from home, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

“How long is the call?”

“Shouldn't be more than an hour.”

You pout at your boyfriend, tugging at his arm, trying to drag him away from work. 

“That's too longgggg,” you whine. 

“Sorry babe, duty calls.”

You cross your arms, rolling your eyes at him. “Vernon, you can't just say duty calls about a Zoom meeting.”

Vernon turns around, taking your hands in his as he steps back toward you. He leans in and gives you a big kiss on the lips. 

“Love you.”

He spins you around and sends you off with a light tap on the butt. 

“It's a good thing you're cute,” you say, looking back at him with a grin. He gives you a playful smile before shutting the door, leaving it slightly ajar. 

You last about 15 minutes. Ever since you moved in with your boyfriend, you hadn't spent much time apart from him at all - so when you went on a trip with friends, you didn't realize how much you'd miss him. You were only gone a week, but it was enough to drive you nuts - and make you stupidly horny. 

You lay upon your bed, caressing yourself lightly through your clothes, imagining Vernon was here on top of you, stripping your clothes off so he can worship your crevice of your body. He always is so good to you, speaking soft, sweet praises as he fucks you: 

“You’re taking me so well, baby.”

“You look so pretty riding me like this.”

“That’s it, cum for me darling.”

It’s incredibly hot, and you're so grateful to have such a loving partner who prioritizes your pleasure above everything. 

However…

You’ve never admitted this to him, but sometimes you wish he would be a bit meaner. 

Vernon is well aware that you have a praise kink - it pairs perfectly with his love of complimenting you. But recently you’ve started dreaming of your sweet, wonderful boyfriend calling you a dirty little slut as he throws you around, pins you down to the bed, fills your pussy up with cum and then fucks it into you all over again. And it really turns you on. 

You’ve been hesitant to share this with him - only because you don't know if it’s something he'd be into. In the year or so you've been together, he has never spoken down to you in any way - the man simply doesn't have a mean bone in his body. You worry it would upset him if you expressed this desire to him and he couldn't deliver. 

You ponder this as you lay there, fantasizing about being dominated, degraded, fucked so hard you forget your own name. You don’t even have to touch yourself to know how wet this is making you.

A very debaucherous idea suddenly comes to you. 

You think about it for a minute. You know you probably shouldn't do it, but you're feeling so depraved right now that you don't even care. 

You hop to your feet, making your way back to Vernon’s office. The door is still unlatched. Praying the hinges aren't creaky, you slowly push it open about halfway, enough to bring your whole body into view. You see him sitting at the desk’s chair, looking a bit bored but focused, his posture pin-straight and perfect as always. His eyes flicker over to you as he notices you standing there. He looks at you with concern - you never interrupt him when he’s at work unless it's something urgent. He tilts his head slightly, silently asking you if something is wrong. 

You bite your lip to hide the smirk creeping upon your face. You slowly lift your shirt, sliding it above your bra to reveal your tits. His eyes widen. He’s still on camera, so he doesn't let himself react more than than, but you can tell he’s getting flustered already. 

You pull your shirt over your head, dropping it to the floor. Your hands make their way to your jeans, unfastening them, slowly dragging the zipper down. Vernon stares at you, shaking his head as subtly as possible. 

Don't do it, his face reads. 

Doing it anyway, you start pulling your jeans off, caressing your hips seductively as you slide the pants down your legs. As you kick the jeans off, you pull your underwear up tight against your cunt, showing off the existing wet spot - making it even wetter as the thin fabric sticks to your soaked folds. Your pussy is all but on full display. 

Vernon’s ears burn bright red. He tries to ignore you, turning back to his computer. 

“Sorry, can you repeat the question?” he asks somebody on the call, his voice straining to remain unwavering. You hear a muffled voice in his headphones, repeating what they just asked. Vernon gives an abrupt nod and answers the question. 

You wait until he finishes his response. Once he’s done speaking, you see his attention start to drift back over to you. You reach behind you, releasing the hook of your bra. Your breasts fall softly out of the garment as you slide it off; you toss the bra toward Vernon, not quite far enough for it to be spotted in the webcam, but daringly close. 

The flush begins to spread to his neck. He maintains a cool facade, but you can tell he is stewing inside. You smirk, pleased with yourself for managing to make him so distraught so easily. 

He answers another question, shifting in his seat slightly to accommodate the growing erection in his pants.  

You take a step into the room. He shoots you a panicked look. You take another step, reaching over to the desk. You lean over and- 

Pewwww. 

With a sad sounding noise, the entire computer shuts off. You release the power button. Vernon stares at the black screen for a moment, in shock. He turns back to you, shock washing over his face. 

“What the fuck are you doi-”

You disappear from the doorway in an instant. Vernon runs after you. 

“Hey!!”

He chases you into the bedroom. 

“What the hell was that for??”

“I dunno,” you reply, grinning at him coyly. “Just felt like it.”

“You can't just interrupt when I’m in a meeting like that! What if it was important??”

“Was it?”

“No, but-”

“See? You’ll be fine. Just say your internet went out.”

He purses his lips shut. “That’s not the point. You could have gotten me in huge trouble.”       

“Oh no,” you say cheekily, poking him in the chest. “I guess you'll just have to put me in my place then.”

Vernon looks at you, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. He lets out a huff. 

“So that’s what you want,” he responds incredulously. “You’re acting like a brat on purpose.”

You step forward, grinning as you get in his face. 

“Now you get it.”

“Jesus y/n, that was too risky!” he scolds.  

You clasp your hand tightly on the bulge in his pants. He lets out a sharp groan. 

“Yeah, but you like it.”

He stares at you, trying to be upset, but his eyes start to glaze over as you squeeze his cock. 

“Now,” you continue, speaking softly. You lean in and let your lips linger in front of his. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

He stands there, mouth slightly agape, dumbstruck by your audacity. 

“I-”

Before he can continue, you start undoing the button on his jeans. You tug on the zipper, having to put a little extra effort in due to his hard cock straining to escape from the confines of the denim.  The zipper glides down over the bulging mass; he sighs at the relieving sensation. You pull the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his tip - he's already leaking with precum. You collect it on your index finger and bring it up to your mouth, licking your finger clean. 

“God,” Vernon groans through gritted teeth, his cock twitching against his stomach. “You’re a fucking menace.”

He reaches for your core. He pulls your hopelessly drenched panties aside, dragging the pads of his fingers over your slit. 

“Look how fucking wet you are.”

You whimper as he slips his middle finger inside you. He slides it in and out a few times before adding his ring finger. You cry out as he curls his fingertips to hit your g-spot - he always knows how to touch you in your most sensitive spots to drive you fucking crazy. 

He starts fucking your pussy, the heel of his palm pressing deliciously against your clit with each motion of his hand. After several deep pumps he pulls his hand out - it’s already soaked. 

“Open,” he commands. 

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out. He shoves his fingers inside. You latch onto them, sucking your own juices off. He pushes further into your mouth, making you gag. Your eyes start to water. 

By the time he pulls out, his hand is coated with your spit. A big string of saliva sticks to his fingers; it breaks, the remainder dribbling down your chin. Vernon leans in, slipping his tongue into your mouth, dragging it around the inside of your teeth.  He reaches for your cunt again, gently circling your clit. His spit-covered fingertips glide easily over the bud, the stimulation making your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Oh my god,” you moan into his mouth. You start grinding your cunt against his fingers. “Just fuck me already.”

You whine as he pulls his hand away. Grabbing you by the hips, he pushes you over to the bed. He practically throws you onto the mattress. He pulls his jeans and boxers down in one go, yanking them off hurriedly. His shirt quickly joins the discarded clothes on the floor. Standing fully nude before you now, he slowly begins stroking his cock. With one finger he reaches beneath the crotch of your underwear, pulling the elastic back. The cool air of the room stings pleasantly against your wet cunt. He releases; you jump slightly as it snaps back against your pussy. 

“Get rid of these.”

You don't move. “Do it for me.”

He stares down at you, his eyes filled with lust.

“Fine,” he growls.

He reaches for you, running his hands up the sides of your thighs. You lift yourself up a bit so he can strip your panties off - but instead he grasps you by the hips, flipping you over onto your stomach.

He nearly rips your underwear off, not bothering to remove them, but sliding them down just enough to expose your cunt. He smacks you on the ass, hard. You let out a small cry at the stinging sensation.

“You like that?” he asks as he traces his fingernails over the tender area.

“Mhmm,” you mumble into the sheets.

He grabs you by the hair, yanking your head up.

“Speak up, princess.”

“Yes,” you whine. 

He spanks you again, even harder this time. Your skin begins to burn where his hand struck you.

“More,” you plead.

He leans over, gripping your hair in his fist still as he speaks softly into your ear.

“Oh I don’t think so,” he mutters. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. “You’ve been very bad today, I’m not just going to give you what you want so easily.”

He grabs his cock in his other hand, leading the tip to your heat. He strokes it over your entrance a few times, the combination of your juices and spit coating his cockhead. He pushes into you slightly to tease you, but you’re so wet that it slips right in. You cry out at the sensation; he lets out a long moan as he slowly pushes further, making you take his full length. He rests for a moment with your pussy wrapped around his whole cock, breathing deeply.

“God your pussy is so perfect,” he whispers into your ear. “And it’s all mine, isn’t it babygirl?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimper. “All yours.”

“Good,” he grumbles. “A good little slut all for me.”

He begins to fuck you, slowly at first, sliding in and out of you, making you feel every inch of him. Quickly though his pace increases, thrusting into you with powerful strokes, his hand unreleasing in your hair. Your legs start to quiver as his cock hits you in the perfect spot each time. You grasp onto the sheets, desperately clinging to them as your boyfriend fucks you like never before, your cries muffled into the mattress. Vernon pulls you up again, your moans filling the air as he wraps his other arm around your torso, squeezing your breasts as he holds you tight against him. He plays with your nipples, pinching them and rolling the bud around between his thumb and index finger. You already start to feel your orgasm approaching when he releases your tits, sliding his hand down your stomach and reaching for your clit.

“Fuck I’m so close,” you cry out between an unholy symphony of moans. Vernon groans as he fucks you even harder, his cock pounding into you as his fingertips flutter over your sensitive bud. Your screams escalate, so near to your climax - but before you can cum he pulls his cock out of you; he rests it against your ass, dragging your wetness all over your skin. He flips you around again to face him, throwing you onto the pillows. 

“Not yet,” he tells you as he climbs over you. He lays beside you, grabbing your arms and hoisting you on top of him. “Wanna see your pretty little face when you cum for me.”

You straddle him, sitting with your pussy resting upon his shaft. He laces his fingers through yours, holding your hands as he pulls you toward him. You begin to rock your hips back and forth, sliding your cunt up and down his length. Your clit pulsates as his hardness presses against it with each movement.

“Want you to cum like this,” he mutters, his eyelids halfway closed as your pussy strokes his cock. He grips onto your hands tightly, supporting you as you pleasure yourself upon him. You grind against him, your cunt throbbing, begging for release. A burning sensation builds in your gut; your mind starts to go blank - the only thing you can think about is Vernon, laying under you as he watches you unravel atop him, losing all composure on his cock.

“I’m gonna cum,” you wail. You relinquish all control, letting your orgasm take over. Your body trembles as every nerve in your body is set ablaze like fireworks. You scream out your boyfriend’s name as you release over him, cumming long and hard, your climax seemingly endless.

You start to come down, breathing heavily as you recover from your high. You collapse onto Vernon, laying your body on his chest as you bury your face in his neck. He lets go, sliding his hands around you, squeezing you against him in a tight embrace. He lets you catch your breath, but only for a moment. 

“Look at me,” he demands as he lifts you up to face him. Your face is undoubtedly a mess of tears, but Vernon thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says as he plays with your breasts. His cock twitches against his stomach, painfully hard, straining for release. “Should I give you my cum now, love?”

“Please,” you beg.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

You open your mouth wide and exaggeratedly stick your tongue out. 

“Fuck,” Vernon groans. “Whatever you want, babygirl.”

Quickly you climb off of him, kneeling between his legs as he sits upon the edge of the bed. You take his cock in your hand, giving him a few pumps as you take his balls in your mouth. You lick up his length, letting his tip rest against your swollen, wet lips as you look up at him with big doe eyes. He brushes your hair out of your face.

“So beautiful.”

You stick your tongue out, giving his cock kitten licks as you gaze into his eyes. You then take his length in your mouth, swallowing him to his base.

“Oh fuckkkk,” he moans.

You look up at him as you suck his cock, gagging on his length and creating a mess of spit all over him. He stares at you as if he thinks you’re the most desirable thing in the universe - and to him, you are.

“Look at you, princess,” he coos. “So pretty with my cock in your pretty little mouth.”

You speed your pace, your head bobbing up and down faster and faster. Nothing matters more to you in the world right now than bringing him pleasure. His eyelids flutter as his eyes begin to roll back, soft moans emanating from his lips as he pushes your head down, making you take all of him with each stroke of your mouth. Grotesque sounds try to escape you, to no avail; the vibrations of your hums send Vernon over the edge. He lets out a string of “ah, ah, ah”s, getting louder as he gets closer and closer, until…

“Oh my goddddd.”

His hips jerk upwards as he releases, painting the back of your throat with hot white ropes of cum. His cock throbs in your mouth as you swallow his load. The pressure upon your head lessens as the tension in his body begins to fade. Giving you a final few spurts of cum, he relaxes; he pulls you back up onto the bed, taking you in his arms as he rolls over onto his side. He holds you against him, you as his little spoon, as he peppers your cheek with kisses. He whispers into your ear, his voice low and raspy.

“I fucking love you.”

You smile. “I fucking love you too, baby.”

He takes your chin in his hand as he turns your face toward his. He gives you a long kiss. As his lips part from yours, he squishes your face playfully.

“But don’t do that again,” he says with a grin.

You giggle. “I won’t - but next time I come home from a trip you have to fuck me right away.”

Vernon presses his nose against yours, his face dead serious. “Yes ma’am.”

You kiss him again. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

He shakes his head. “Can’t work, the internet is out.”

“Oh yeah,” you grin back at him. “Bummer.”

“Besides,” he continues, shifting you onto your back and making his way down the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you up to his face.

“I’m starving.”

[mid-80s]

fixing eddies bangs

pov: eddie asks you to fix his bangs

cw: grinding, implied sex

you immediately say yes.

it has been a dream of yours to cut eddies hair or to style it in any way and you hop at the opportunity when it's presented.

you're both on the floor of eddies room, him practicing for his gig the following night, you picking an outfit for him for it.

you don't know when you'd become his personal stylist, but you always find yourself picking out his show outfits.

suddenly eddies soft tune that he's been playing stops. "can you cut my hair?"

the question out of the blue, as they hadn't even been saying anything before, simply content in the others presence.

you turn around, stunned, and look at him with a look that says really?

"c'mon, i know that styling my hair is like a wet dream of yours," you roll your eyes and turn back to his closet, being stubborn. "but i really need my hair cut for tomorrow!" you don't budge. "you're my bestest friend in the whole wide world and i would really like you to cut my hair." nothing. he rolls his eyes.

"please?"

and that's how you ended up sitting on a flustered eddies lap cutting his bangs.

he kept squirming and you're no expert, so didn't want his hair to look worse than it already did. soo you sat on his lap. not the best idea for either of you as now you have to try not to squirm as eddies manhood is rubbing up against your clit just right.

you're both a blushing mess and you pray he can't feel your pussy twitch from his big hands around your waist, the cold from his rings giving you goosebumps through your thin shirt (that's probably his, you don't remember), and his big doe eyes, staring at you like you're the prettiest thing on earth.

and you're not far off as that is exactly what eddie is thinking.

having the girl he's been crushing on for years a half an inch away from his face is not helping the feelings he's been trying to push down, or his growing boner.

it's just the way you press your lips in a line when you're focused, the furrow of your brows, the tilt of your head. ugh, the twitch of your tight cunt against his boner. fuckkk.

he feels his cock jump at that and he knows you feel it too. and as much and he doesn't want to admit it, he's kind of glad you do, especially now because he knows you're feeling the same.

just a few more snips. you tell yourself. it's not helping you feel better because you have absolutely no idea what to do when you're done. eddies grip on your waist tightens and your pussy twitches again.

and then you feel eddies cock twitch. like it's fucking mimicking yours. you finish his hair, and look him dead in the eyes.

"fucking finally." you sigh, breaking the heaving silence hanging over your both.

you brush the hair off his face and practically throw the scissors on the counter while keeping eye contact and eddie looks at you terrified and confused.

you kiss him at the same time you grind against his fat fucking cock. you can't believe you didn't realize how hard he was before.

eddie tries his hardest to kiss you back but can't hold back the moan that comes deep from in his chest.

this is gonna be a long night.

[gotham-daydreams]

i just had a thought

you know what would really fuck up the batfam in the "not tonight" series imagine the reader instead of leaving gets kidnnaped and when the batfam saves them reader breaks down into crying in relief because they genuenly believed the batfam would not bother to save them

Imagine the absolute horror the batman would feel

I know its a little farfetched but i live for the angst

No, no! I love that idea!!! And it isn't all that farfetched seeing as the reader is a well known musician on some level, and even if that wasn't the case- they're still the kid of Bruce Wayne. Which, honestly, is enough motivation for someone to kidnap them, I'd say. Especially if the reasoning is for money, revenge/jealousy, or both honestly.

Besides all that, though- oh my god that would be awful! I love it!

Because imagine things from the reader's perspective (which, there is implied violence inflicted on the reader, mentions a blood, and a gun is pointed towards them. So, if it isn't your cup of tea then that's fine!):

Your 'family' that barely acknowledges you enough as it is, and the only guy who ever seems to notice that you're around is the single butler that basically takes care of everyone and everything in the manor. Now, you're kidnapped because of your relation/connection to the family, and have no hope to do anything besides just pray.

Maybe you have tried to escape before a few times at this point, but the punishment for such attempts have now gotten to the point where if you try again and fail, you'd surely die. Maybe you've also been trying so hard to escape yourself because you're just that certain and sure that the Batfam won't save you. Since, up until this point, anything dealing with or connecting back to you in some way has been ignored or dismissed one way or another. Why would something like a kidnapping be any different? Especially when they also haven't noticed other events where you have gotten hurt before.

Right from the gate, you're already thinking that the Batfam won't save you. Not that they can't, but just like with everything else- something will come up and steal away their attention, and you'll be left by yourself, and to defend yourself as always. That's what always seems to happen, and so why would now be different? In your mind, it wouldn't. So that's why when your attempts to escape fail, and the punishments not only get worse, but begin to pile up and reach a point where you think you're going to die- the situation quickly becomes much scarier.

You don't hope that Batman will suddenly show up, and instead pray that your best friend will notice your missing somehow. You don't think that Nightwing, Red Robin, Spoiler, or Orphan will suddenly swoop in and save the day, but instead try and hope that your producer/boss notices that you haven't replied to his calls or texts and contacts someone. You don't even consider that Red Hood or Robin will come barreling in and quickly deal with your kidnappers before rescuing you — instead all of your thoughts are filled with silent whispers and desperate pleas that someone- anyone you know will notice that you're gone, or that something is wrong, and will contact somebody. With that 'somebody' being the police or anyone of help, but not the Batfam.

Maybe a small thought does slip by, but you can only internally laugh at yourself because you either think that you've already lost enough blood to actually try and believe that lie, or your just growing that desperate to have a little hope. To have something to cling onto in this moment, that you chose the one thing that you're so convinced will never be given to you. A thought that only further cements itself in your mind the more time passes. With hours turning into days, and days to weeks.

Perhaps that's why you try to escape again. Deciding that you had better odds of succeeding despite your injuries, than the Batfam ever coming to save you. Let alone even thinking about it, or even realizing that you were gone in the first place. Taking that risk of getting caught again, and potentially getting killed this time, because no matter how hopeless or unlikely it seems for you to escape and make it out- those chances will always be higher than any single person from the Batfam showing up, and even attempting to save you. Even on accident, or on a whim- that possibility is so unlikely in your mind, that it's basically nothing more than a made up scenario or daydream to you. It's not an 'if' or 'when', but a flat out 'won't'.

Maybe that's why when you fail you get so scared, but can't help but feel like this was inevitable somehow. Of course, you don't want to die- but you had tried your best. You fought until the very end, and it almost feels a little too fitting that things ended up this way. With your efforts ending in vain, and you having nothing to show for it. With your attempts futile, and almost seeming idiotic from an outsider's point of view, and maybe it was.

You never stood a chance. You were doomed for failure. Not even all the training and experience you had could save you- and only now could you see how truly worthless all your efforts had been. With a gun pointed to your head, and your own blood providing the only warmth you've felt in days.

There's an odd sense of comfort and familiarity in the chill that shoots down your spine, and the cold gaze that one of your kidnappers give you. They're carelessness and disregard for your health reminding you of something, with their rough attacks and harsh punches bringing back times where you really did need the Batfam, only for no one to show up. Your call dying down as fast as it had risen that day, and one you never even bothered to make again.

So maybe that was why you were so surprised when help arrived, and even more so when you saw who exactly it was.

Before you could even fully register anything, you began to cry. A wide smile full of disbelief grows on your face, and more tears begin to fall as the smallest of laughs escape you. 'Unbelievable' is the first word that comes to mind when describing what you felt, and thought when you saw Batman drop down from the ceiling and deal with the guy who was about to kill you, and heard some commotion just down the hall.

At first, your convinced it's all some silly dream, and that maybe during your final moments- your mind decided to give you something nice to send you off. Almost like a warm parting gift to distract you from the hopelessness, and reality of the situation. Though it's only when pain shoots through your entire body when you move a certain way, that the thought of all of this being some made up hallucination or delusion vanishes, and you can't help but cry harder.

You don't know if it's a good or bad thing that after all this time- the one time they actually notice that you're gone, is when you not only get kidnapped, but can't escape by yourself. That the one time they acknowledge you, you're almost dead, bleeding out, and the most messy and vulnerable you've ever been.

Maybe life really did have some grudge against you to go to such lengths to fuck you over, but right now you're too relieved to be saved to care at the moment.

Yet, to say the Batfam feels awful on a totally new level, is an understatement. They understand feeling relieved, but to this extent? It's like you never expected them to come and save you at all... and that little thought seems to be true when one of them tries to help you out, and you're still laughing weakly as you continue to cry. Asking through a broken, wavering voice if all of this is real, and isn't some fucked up hallucination your having to make passing on easier. That they really showed up, and as a last ditch effort to not make your death anymore painful then it has to be- this isn't just some... dream, to make you feel like you were actually cared for in your final moments.

It breaks their hearts, a lot.

Especially when you repeat questions, as if trying to really make sure that they're there, that they're real, and aren't just some figment of your imagination. That they actually came to save you, and weren't off saving Gotham or the world itself instead. Constantly trying to be sure, as if the moment you weren't- then you'd be convinced that you were slowly dying all alone, with no hope of help coming — not even thinking that the Batfam would come — and just have to sit with that fact as you take your final breaths.

The pain you feel is almost equal to their's, and what really worries and scares most of them is how sure and certain you are that they wouldn't show up. That either the thought would never cross their minds, or that something else would come up and they'd leave you for dead, or that they just wouldn't notice that you were kidnapped at all.

Which, said fright and worry is only amplified when you have to keep asking "Are you really here? Are you sure?" And the like, and they have to keep finding ways to prove to you that yes, they are here. They're helping you, and they're not leaving- they actually managed to save you, and that you're going be okay now. That they aren't going away, and are very, very real.

Each little, broken laugh chips away at the pieces of their hearts, and your own disbelief that they can't seem to get rid of no matter what they do or say, is just a punch to the gut. You didn't just think that they wouldn't show up, but were fully convinced that they wouldn't even bother with it. That own realization just... hurts more than anything.

Had they really been that awful to you? Had they really caused you so much pain and hurt that you'd not only think of such a thing, but fully believe it? They didn't remember doing anything in particular that would cause you to think that way... but maybe that wasn't the problem. It wasn't what they did to you, but rather what they didn't do, and that's when the pieces finally begin to click.

Of course some don't want to believe it, similar to how some of them in "Not Here" express a brief moment of denial and disbelief themself, but they don't get to experience such a luxury anymore. Not with you here- bleeding, hurt, and crying from both relief and disbelief, because you couldn't believe that they actually showed up.

Even when they do quickly take you to a hospital and get you treated, that image of you is still ingrained into their minds. They can't forget it- how you looked at them and spoke, and just how you treated the whole situation because of how convinced you were.

From here they'll try to rebuild what they can, and all definitely be 100% more protective then they've ever been. The moment you're able to come home (which, you ARE coming home. No if's or but's. You don't get a chance this time.), they're doing everything in their power to not only 'fix' everything, but make sure that you are safe at all possible moments of the day.

It's safe to say that the whole experience traumatized the whole family to a certain degree. Not only with you being kidnapped- but you trying to escape multiple times and almost dying, because you were so convinced that no one would show up to help. (Which, while it was also because you can genuinely handle yourself and did believe you could escape on your own, the Batfam doesn't entirely believe that (and you almost dying doesn't help with that) so they chalk it up to you being desperate, because you 'knew' that no one was coming to save you. Which also may or may not make certain people worse in the process.) So they're already leaning pretty heavy on the yandere tendencies. Which most likely develop over the time you're in the hospital, and into your first week or so staying in the Manor.

Which does lead us to your little addition:

Which, you are very correct!!!

Our boy Jason, put in very simple terms, doesn't take the situation well. At all.

Seeing you bloodied, bruised, abused, malnourished, and on the brink of death no less- definitely doesn't help with his reaction at all.

Don't get me wrong! All of them react pretty negatively to the situation, and many of them have very strong reactions- Jason in particular just has the worst and strongest one. :]

The moment he sees you, he's immediately reminded of his death. The urge to comfort you is strong, but he just doesn't know what to do- and so he ends up not doing anything until you're in the hospital. Which, leading up to that point, he's checking your pulse as often as he can.

He knows what it's like to be hopeless, and feel that helpless- but to know that you experienced that? To know that you almost died like he did? It ruins him. It fucks him up more than anything else.

From the way you looked at the Batfam- the way you looked at him, and just how utterly relieved you were, despite drowning in your own disbelief- it haunts him. The state they found you in messed him up enough, but all of your questions, and just how you were even trying to reassure yourself that them showing up and saving you was real, fucked him up big time.

Before he knows it, he's hunting down the people who kidnapped you, and wiping out whatever is left of their bloodlines. Not sparing a single person, as they didn't spare you- with their generations leading to your kidnappers being born.

He's making their final moments just as painful as yours would've been. Their agony almost matching his, as he couldn't forget the night they saved you. He refused to. That moment forever engraved into his mind, reminding him of what also was if they were a second too late, and how it made him realize just how much he's fucked up along with everyone else.

While Jason can't exactly just waltz into the Hospital to visit you, since he is still considered dead and everything, he sneaks into your room instead. Trying to give what comfort he can in his own silent, but close way. Holding your hand with a gentleness even foreign to himself, and saying how he's sorry and that he'll make it up to you. Promising every night that he'll make those that made you suffer pay with their lives, and then some. Saying how he won't leave your side ever again, only to be gone by the morning.

He brings what he can as well. Even if it isn't as showy or extravagant as any of the things that Bruce, Damian, Dick and so on are getting you, or as pretty and lively as the flowers that are placed by your bedside. It's just his own little way of trying to make it up to you.

The small, little gifts he gives you are indeed little, and he doesn't give much since he doesn't think that your forgiveness or love can be bought. But he still tries to give something. So he'll give things that can be as little as hair ties or bracelets, to earrings (that totally aren't matching) and a little music box that reminded him of the melodies you've made thus far. It's all just another way of saying that he cares about you, and not only wants to build your relationship but be connected to you somehow.

The earrings, even if you don't wear them but just have them, make him feel closer to you then he can. He hopes that in some little way, that whenever you wind and let that music box play its tune, that you are reminded of him or think of him in some way. That when you wear or even look at the few ties and bracelets he's given you, he comes to mind in some small way, and manages to bring the smallest of smiles on your face.

Jason doesn't yearn to be remembered or seen fondly, but he would like to and deeply appreciate it. Since when he looks at his earnings, he's reminded of you, and the pair he managed to give you. Leaving him unable to fight back the smile that grows on his face.

For the most part, he just generally tries to be more present, hardly leaving you alone unless he has to, and spending every moment he can by your side. Moments that begin to last longer once he finishes his buisness with your kidnappers, and their families. He doesn't push too hard or is super in your face and constantly invading your personal space. He just exists in your presence, and as long as you're around he's got no complaints.

Though he does get extremely protective and possessive. Especially if your sleeping or something, and someone walks in. God have mercy if they need to wake you up, and dare to try without saying anything to Jason first.

Which- all of this boils down to you getting scary dog privileges every night, which turns into an almost 24/7 type of deal when you get discharged from the hospital.

---

Sorry if this is a little all over the place. I wrote it all in one go for the most part and haven't really looked it over, so there's probably some mistakes I didn't catch and missed 😅

Still, I hope that's alright, and as you can see- i really enjoy this idea :]

[bachiras-toaster]

jealousy and it’s consequences : ̗̀➛

BSD MEN x gn!reader

cw: smut, manipulation, obsessiveness, possessiveness, they’re all a little toxic (except atsushi), giving head (ranpo), receiving head (poe), riding (Atsushi), masturbation

synopsis. how bsd men deal with their jealousy after seeing you with their rival.

characters: dazai, chuuya, ranpo, poe, atushi, akutagawa

DAZAI, seeing you with Chuuya

He sees you with Chuuya? He dares you to hang out with him more. He's serious! Go wild. Hold hands, kiss him— Do it all right in front of Dazai. If you have the nerve to do all of those things in the first place, then surely you wouldn't be opposed to not doing it behind his back? If you're going to so obviously make him jealous, do it to his face.

He will take it out on the both of you-- You more-so than Chuuya. Dazai would probably give Chuuya a quiet and humorous warning, telling him that he could only give him so many more second chances before him hanging out with you really started to tick him off. As for you, he's gonna make sure he has you all to himself from there on out. It's clear that you purposefully making him jealous must be the result of him not giving you enough attention. Well, don't worry, because now he is completely focussed on you. He'll make sure that another person won't even do so much as look at you- Even if it means constantly having you at his side in the agency, cornering you and separating you from your coworkers.

The thing is, he'll act really nice about it, telling you how it's just because he wants you all to himself! He can't stand the thought of you around other people, and seeing you hang out with Chuuya just made him realise that. You're the light of his life, believe him. He can't have other people trying to take that away from him.

When it comes to the sex afterwards too, he gets even more needy. He's a lot more touchy with you, desperate to mark and grab any bit of skin that he can. He's whining and crying to you while he leaves his seventh hickey on your collarbone, his saliva pulling from your skin to his lip as he complains about how he feels so lost without you. Do you prefer Chuuya? Be honest with him. If you really loved him more, you'd let him leave more hickeys on you and you wouldn't try to conceal them the next day. You hated seeing how he teared up while doing so, it just meant you couldn't help but softly pat his head and sigh, treating him as if he were a sick puppy.

CHUUYA, seeing you with Dazai

He'd make his annoyance super obvious from the get-go. He probably wouldn't outright say he's jealous, but he'd heavily imply it. Whenever you come back to work, telling him that you had a fun day out with Dazai, you could swear you'd see Chuuya's eye twitch uncontrollably for a second or two. You'd constantly hear those remarks saying "What's so great about Dazai anyway?" or "How funny can he even really be?" Soon, those remarks tumble into off-handed insults, such as "Dazai doesn't have the mental capacity to take care of someone." He would never blame you for hanging out with him, it will always somehow be Dazai's fault. Dazai must have coaxed you and tricked you into hanging out with him!

His solution would simply be spending more time with you. But, instead of closing you off from the world, he shows you off instead. Insists on going out on dates, PDA in public, walking past the detective agency holding hands in the hopes that Dazai would see it through the window and take the hint... You know, the basic stuff.

But when he's fucking you, the jealousy really shines through that man's eyes. He has you pinned down as he thrusted deeper into you, forcing you to choke out his name as a flurry of moans escaped your lips. Are you still thinking about Dazai right now, or have you finally come to your senses? He's so relentlessly rough with you when he's jealous, so you better pray that that jealousy is mild and not angry, because your legs would have a field day. He'd keep going at it until he was satisfied, ensuring that only his name could linger on your tongue- Only then would he accept that you're only his.

RANPO, seeing you with Poe

Questions the hell out of you. Like, you've been spending a lot of time with Poe recently, haven't you? There's a sort of blunt curiosity to him and he just can't help but swarm you with these queries. "Did you hang out with Poe today?" "I heard you and Poe went to the park." "Yeah, I was busy earlier, but I'm glad you found someone else to hang out with. It was Poe, right?"

He would victimise himself a lot, really dramatising the situation. He'll ask you if you really love him or if you think he's actually worth hanging around. If not that, he'd constantly try and convince you why you should hang out with him instead. If he sees that you're about to leave the agency to go to and meet Poe, he'd immediately stop you. Suddenly, it looks like the perfect day to go for a stroll around the park with Ranpo, don't you think? Or go to the movies? Maybe a nice library? You can even choose the place! Just don't choose Poe over him, he will cry when you're not looking.

Giving him head is the only possible solution to convince him that you wouldn't leave him for somebody else. Having you tucked sweetly between his legs as he leaned back in his office chair, his hand gently stroking the back of your neck- He really deserves this after going through the stress of thinking that you and Poe had something going on. He's an arrogant man, but he can't help but worry, you know? But since you can put aside some time in your schedule just for him, then he supposed that he shouldn't be too concerned.

POE, seeing you with Ranpo

He isn't very surprised at the idea that you could choose Ranpo over him, because of course! Anyone would. It's Ranpo, right? The smartest man alive- Who wouldn't choose Ranpo over Poe? If destroys is self-esteem and his self-worth seeing you and his rival get along so well and so easily. He is very aware of the fact that Ranpo is very intelligent, but would he have the brains to take you away from him? Is he that cruel of a person?

He tries everything to win you over from that man. Even if you don't realise it, doing so much as interact with Poe's rival is enough for him to spiral and to cause him to believe that you must already be considering ditching him. What is it that you want? Gifts? He can deliver that to you in truckloads. Do you want a relaxing holiday? He'll write up a cute story for you, no problem. Poe would kiss the ground that you walked on if it meant that you chose him over Ranpo. He would try everything in his power to remove that man out of the picture, but we all know that there isn't a novel complex enough to trap the Ranpo Edogawa.

So now Poe's tucked between your thighs, working his tongue at your senses as begging that you stay with him. The head is good, right? Tell him that it's good. Tell him he's doing a good job. You need to ensure him that you could never leave him for someone else, otherwise he'll keep whining about it against your skin. He'll continuously ask you if you like how he makes you feel so he can ensure that he can keep doing the right things. He's a listener. If he finds out what you like, he'll use it to his complete advantage.

ATSUSHI, seeing you with Akutagawa

Perhaps the least toxic one when it comes to dealing with jealousy. He doesn't blame you, he only blames himself. You know he gets super self conscious, right? There's no doubt that you're only hanging out with Akutagawa because he hasn't been treating you well enough. At first, he would confide in his friends, like Kyouka or Kunikida. Kyouka would threaten to hurt you, but he would frantically beg her not to put you in harm’s way; and Kunikida would tell him that he shouldn't be jealous, and that you're allowed to have other friends. But he simply can't help it.

It would lead him to pour his entire heart into taking care of you. He needs you to know that he loves you completely, and that you're the only one for him. Gifts, dates, compliments, praise, he'll provide it all for you. If you still choose Akutagawa after all of that, he'll accept it, but he hopes you'll choose him in the end.

So now you need to ride him, tilting his chin up so you could stare down at his pretty little face. He'd whine and cuddle you as you bounced up and down on his lap, blushing profusely as he mutters how much he loves you. He'll give everything to you, everything you want. He'll treat you right. He doesn't want to be jealous, he just wants to be yours.

AKUTAGAWA, seeing you with Atsushi

What could that stupid weretiger have that he doesn't? He's threatened to kill Atushi enough times now, so seeing you interact with him doesn't help his bloodlust and the desire to knock his lights out- in fact, it's just a greater motivation.

And his jealousy is so obvious in the way he threatens you too, grabbing you by the collar and telling you he wouldn't hesitate to have the Port Mafia toss you on the side of the street if you continue conversing with the enemy. You need to make a decision: The Port Mafia or the Armed Detective Agency- Akutagawa or Atsushi? The decision is clear, right? He knows that you wouldn’t dare choose the weretiger over him and you were simply doing this in order to get a rise out of him. He knew all too well.

So now, instead of giving you all of the attention you could dream for, he ignores you. He turns away and isolates you until you’re practically begging for his attention once again. It was just a joke, you just wanted a little bit more love— That’s what you would tell him, but it would never be enough to undo the anger in his heart.

There is no jealousy sex that comes afterwards, it’s just plain voyeurism. While he works on something to do with another one of the Port Mafia’s upcoming attacks, he’d tell you to touch yourself while he plans this and if you’re good by the end of it, he’ll finish the job. But now that just leaves you in another seat on the other side of the room, your legs spread open as you tried to stimulate yourself at the sight of him working. Of course, Akutagawa had no intention of actually touching you to serve as punishment-but you weren’t aware of that, leaving you whining and biting down on your lip as you prayed he would look at you for just a second. Even through your masturbation, he still chose not to look you in the eye, which you found was even more agitating than him not touching you instead.

[neuvilletteswife4ever]

What if reader could not feel any physical pain (yandere harbingers)

YANDERE FATUI HARBINGERS X READER WHO CAN'T FEEL ANY (PHYSICAL) PAIN

(Suicidal reader too)

WARNINGS:

Implied suicide, self harm, experimentation, harming others, obsession, kidnapping, Dottore, needles, non consent.

"Aren't you ashamed for escaping, my love?" Dottore asked as he had just injured (experimented) you badly. Your body was bleeding, but you didn't feel any PHYSICAL pain. Only MENTAL pain. Your mental health was fucked up. But they didn't care how drained and sad you were. As long as you were by the Fatui Harbingers side, everything was fine.

Dottore was experimenting on (hurting) you for one reason. He wanted to PUNISH you for escaping. While he knew that you didn't feel the pain. He knew how sad you were. How sad you were for getting this fate. But it's all your fault. Your fault for escaping.

As your body was bleeding you stood there, with no signs of pain, only sadness. The Fatui Harbingers bandaged the injured places as they kept telling you that it was your fault. Your eyes had lost it's spark. There was no life in them anymore. They had killed your mom, dad, siblings, friends, everyone around you. They said that your friends and family were trying to "take you away" from them.

Obviously that was all bullshit.

Childe hugged you from behind as he whispered threats in your ear. "Escape again and we'll make sure you don't see the light anymore" or "Try escaping again and you're getting chained to the bed for the rest of your life". He said it in such a lovesick voice. There were practicallly hearts in his eyes.

Arlecchino kisses your hand as she says:

"Don't ever escape again. Do you know how worried the children of the hearth were?" She said, as if TRYING to make you feel guilty. You did the right thing...right?

As the Fatui Harbingers worship you, you said you were hungry out of nowhere. "I-Im..hungry.." You managed to mutter out. Just because you couldn't feel pain didn't mean your BODY could withstand the pressure and all that.

"Of course darling, I'll tell the maids to cook you the best food in Teyvat." Columbina says in a heavenly voice while having her eyes closed as usual.

"N-no..I want you guys to make it for me..isn't it best for my "lovers" to make it for me..?"

No way in hell would you call them your lovers. All the Fatui Harbingers looked really shocked to hear you call them that. Their obsession grew 1000x more after you called them that for the first time. They were all red from blushing.

"Oh uh- of course!" Scaramouche says while covering his face due to it being red. The Fatui Harbingers left immedietaly to make you some delicious food. However. They forgot to put the chain on your ankle as they always do. Now, you could finally end this miserable life of yours. You had been Suicidal for a while now.

The windows were all locked. Of course they were..you managed to grab a sharp object with the last strength you had and threw it at the window. It wouldn't budge.

"Oh Archons, save me!" You prayed quietly

And then the window broke. Were you really gonna end your life? Yes you would. Were you really gonna jump down from a 100 meter palace? Yes you would.

As soon as you were about to jump, you felt a sharp pain in your back and then you blacked out.

You woke up to all the Fatui Harbingers sitting beside you with food. It looked like some of them were gonna cry. Was their darling really gonna commit suicide just to not be with them?

"Do not EVER do that again." Capitano said in a strict and deep voice.

Poor you. You will NEVER be alone from now on. Say goodbye to your privacy, because now their possessiveness and obsessiveness has grown by 100 000x

Request anything yall. Smut, angst, male reader, pregnant reader, ANYTHING. Anything is allowed, just not anything that is about homophobia, racism and pedophilia. Just make an explanation about what you want the POV to be about. Not just "male reader", explain what the pov should be about. Hope that makes sense cause it's really hard to make these povs up by myself 😭🙏

[apollophanes]

Spiritual Pollution in Hellenic Polytheism

In Helpol, we have three concepts known as lyma, miasma, and agos.

To some, humans are seen as naturally pure beings, but because we are living mortal creatures, spiritual dirt can cling to us and make us impure.

Here, I will discuss these three types of pollution

(Disclaimer: Some of this information comes from my own personal interpretations, and therefore may not apply to the beliefs of everyone)

Lyma

Lyma means "something to be washed away". Itis generally just physical dirt. It isn't much of a big deal when it comes to spiritual matters. However, it is still best to be free of it when approaching the gods.

Miasma

This is where things get complicated.

Miasma is essentially general spiritual pollution. Miasma is something that is completely unavoidable and should not be shamed (well, depending on the cause). Miasma is mainly caused by things related to life and death. This includes sex, childbirth, visiting a cemetery, blood, sexual fluids, etc.

However, miasma has different degrees of severity. More severe miasma comes from acts such as rape, hubris, murder, etc.

Miasma also spreads from people to people. If you walk past someone on the street who just came back from a funeral, their miasma will cling to you as well. This also highlights how unavoidable miasma is. But usually, this kind of indirect miasma is not as bad.

We are not allowed to approach the gods in a state of miasma. Luckily, miasma is not difficult to get rid off (excluding the more severe cases listed above).

All you need to do is wash your hands.

If you get a cut on your leg, the blood is miasmic and therefore you can't approach the gods. But all you need to do is wait for the bleeding to stop, wash away the blood, wash your hands, and then you're good to go.

There is a debate I once had on whether miasma prevents us from praying, giving offerings, and participating in festivals. To me, the answer is yes, but not with prayers. Let me explain why.

In a very simplified description of a certain myth, Orestes killed his mother. This caused him to enter a state of severe miasma and a state of agos (which I will explain later). Long story short, he prayed and asked Apollon to help purify him, in return for a grand offering later on. Apollon heard the prayer and came to help purify Orestes.

In this example, we see that Orestes was still able to pray to Apollon in the worst state of miasma, but promised to give offerings later on.

This implies that prayer is not an issue with miasma.

Here is another example: You don't need to wash your hands when talking to someone, but you should wash your hands if you want to give that person food.

In a similar way, in my opinion, you don't need to wash your hands for a casual prayer, but you should wash them before giving an offering. Although, I also prefer not to pray when I know I am in a miasmic state.

However, this is my own interpretation and others may have different views.

There are other ways to cleanse miasma such as khernips, incense, and scapegoats.

Ocean water is also said to cleanse miasma extremely well.

Agos

Agos is a cursed state and is the most extreme form of spiritual pollution. However, agos is not easy to get.

If you commit a horrible act such as murder, you will be in a state of extreme miasma. However, when the gods notice your crime and get enraged (keep in mind that it is usually not that easy to anger the gods), the miasma evolves into agos.

Miasma is a naturally occurring thing, but agos only comes from the wrath of the gods.

Agos is difficult to remove and is a pretty big deal.

Luckily, you don't need to worry about agos unless you're a horrible person who commits heinous acts.

Aaaand that is my interpretation of spiritual pollution in Helpol. I hope this post can be helpful to you!

Blessed be!

[moondirti]

DEE IK THIS IS SO OFF THE BAT BUT IMAGINE RIDING MIGUEL’S ABS??!;!;?:?:? WHATS UR CRUMB ON THAT BCS IM LITERALLY ASCENDING INTO HEAVEN JUST BY THE THOUGHT OF IT😩☝🏼

SUMMARY: after the events of DOUBLE RAPTURE, we follow Mig back home and explore his less than ideal relationship with his world's version of you.

explicit (18+) | 1.5k words

part one / can be read as a standalone! WARNINGS: smut, ab-riding, handjobs, codependant relationships, submissive (?) miguel, ANGST, fear of commitment (on the reader's part), implied parental issues, drinking, anxious/avoidant attachment styles NOTES: did this take me forever to respond to? yes. have i been thinking about it every day since i received it? also yes. please have a little drabble as a sweet treat for your genius mind, anon. sorry i took it too far

This is how it is with Miguel.

Buttressed on a leather couch that isn't so much leather anymore, but cotton dotted with the flakes of black suede that've managed to hold on through the years since you bought it. It's old, unstable – somewhat an apt metaphor for your relationship to the man – and stands situated across a television with no cable. He shows up at your door on any unannounced night, where for once you wish he'd catch you with plans pre-made, and intrudes on your vain attempt to connect the old screen to your neighbour's internet.

And it's ironic that you should end up watching dated cartoons anyway, stuck inside your apartment that is a fraction the size of his, because he always opens on some variation of the same line – the very thing that woo'd you all those years ago, when you were younger and prone to any man's charm:

What's a pretty thing like you do in a place like this?

It's dark outside – night-worn inhibition being one of the main constituents to poor decision making – and his skin gleams golden in the dim lamp light. You can't refuse him for all your rationale on why, so he comes in and you pour a strong drink whose hangover tomorrow will take precedence over your guilt. He drinks too, perhaps to make your eventual rejection easier, and the two of you make-out on that tumbledown couch until your lips turn blue.

Sometimes, he comes up for air – only when he gathers enough courage to break away from you – to whisper filthy nothings and little promises on the shell of your ear. Neither are empty, you know. Miguel’s good at making good of every word when it comes to you. The push and pull gets to him, fuels his gears until he’s pouring proper work into making you happy. From what you can physically face – gonna have you creaming on my cock, cariño – to prospects that remain ever-frightening – wanna stay like this forever, you on my lap, sharing our home. 

You’ve never had a reference to ‘our’. Commitment remains a fickle thing for you, instilled by parents who didn’t have the mind to give it. He knows as much, but you don’t think he understands just what keeps you around regardless. What keeps you at the door, waiting for an acknowledged three-knuckle knock. None of the in betweens, flowers, nor the heights you reach spread-eagled underneath him. It’s always just been exactly that – his return, done every time without fail. 

(And there’s the ever-negging fear that one day he’ll grow sick of the cycle. 

On one hand, you hope he does. It hurts him more than it does you, and you hate to watch him leave. Yet on the other, more volatile hand – you pray he fucks you so well you forget your reserve, that he breeds and carries you away from this hole you’ve dug yourself in.) 

For now, though–

For now, you lift the shirt off his frame. He’s let his chest-hair grow since you met him last, and if you strain to remember, he’s gotten bulkier. Abs more pronounced, with pecs that bounce when you graze your nails down his side. It’s refined, a look that makes him appear older. You swoop down to lick his neck, moaning hotly once you reach his mouth. 

“You been working out, Mig?” 

“For you, hermosa. Figured you’d like me better like this.” He groans, kneading the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, snapping it on your skin in an explicit plea to take it off. 

“And who told you that?” You say, acquiescing, working the lacey strip off your hips. Your cunt sucks at it, belligerent in letting go now that it’s soaked the fabric through. 

“A couple I met. They remind me of us.” His head follows yours when you draw away from an attempted kiss. It’s unintentional, done to stand off and strip completely, yet his reaction to it sends little tremors of pleasure to your core. “Of what we could be.” 

“Shhhh.” Once you’re completely bare, tits freed from your tank top, you straddle him again, a little higher this time. His waist is cinched enough to allow you to do so with little fuss, tendons at the top of your thighs aching only slightly. “Make me feel good, please.” 

“Of course.” 

His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, holding it in place while you arch your back and trap it underneath you – sandwiching it between your mound and his midriff. The pressure is electric, charged to fervency, buzzing as it lights every nerve ending from your waist below. And three thrusts forth and back see to it that he’s slick, lubed with the juices that gradually seep from your needy slit. 

The sight, the sensations, the thought that he’s putting effort outside of this room for you – they all make you exceedingly weak. Your legs wobble, practically jello, spine made out of sand and unable to support you fully. Miguel stays firm, one large paw squeezing your breast and the other at your pelvis. You’d ask him to help, to move you against him until you see stars, but a stone lodges in your throat and prevents the words from finding clarity. 

It’s guilt, of that you’re familiar, but for a number of things; the fact that he would help you seek pleasure in spite of his own – his erection left abandoned under the confines of his pants. The idea of desecrating his hard work, those muscles made pronounced, with your filth without fully appreciating it first. For everything, everything, and it’s so crushing that you stop moving altogether. 

“No, no. C’mon, pretty. Keep going.” He begs, pelvis thrusting up with need. You shove your arm behind you, seeking out the zipper keeping him from you, palming his hard length with clumsy assurance “Don’t worry about me. Wanna feel you cum on my abs. Gonna lick you clean after. We have forever if you’d let me. There’s no rush.” 

No rush. It’s far from the typical Miguel sentiment, and you blink in perplexed contemplation. But he just grins, brows knitting up with reverence. 

“Did these people also teach you to take your time?” You struggle to say patience, because he’s always been patient with you. 

“Something along the lines.” He mutters, suddenly sheepish. His fangs always intrude when his tone is quiet, like they’re intentionally making him difficult to understand. He knows he’s special to you when you try to decipher it nonetheless. 

“Don’t be making me jealous, now.” You taunt, dipping to bite his lip. It’s fun to pull up, up, until he whines and shoves you harder onto him. Achingly empty and close to cumming on his abdomen alone. Slowly, you start to gyrate again, riding unrelenting sinew. And in the meanwhile, you manage to get his zipper undone, sneaking your hand beneath his briefs.

“I’ll explain lat… later, p-promise.” 

“I don’t doubt it. F-Fuck,” Somehow, the pleasure is simultaneously heavenly and not enough, this little game you decided to engage in tiptoeing the line. He’s good even when he isn’t trying, just laying there, pinching pebbled nipples with enough callousness that it aches in the best way. On your first date – which wasn’t really a date, but a happenstance meeting at your father’s shady bar – he’d been hesitant to hurt you like you wanted. The best he could do was pepper your neck with sore hickeys, pocketed in the back alley, touch kinder than any you’d experienced before. “Oh my god.”

“Y-You’re so soft. My gorgeous girl. So soft and… and pretty when you do that.”

“Mig.” You wail, useless in properly pumping his pulsing cock. It’s all you can do to palm the head, smearing prespend all over his velvet tip. And it’s hard, like smelted iron, throbbing hot and heavy. It’s been so long since you’ve had it in you that you’re sure it’ll take some effort to fit. The abstraction fills you with desperation so poignant that you start moving faster, rougher, seeking an end where you’re stuffed full yet doing nothing to actually achieve it. 

That is, until–

“What do you need?” He asks.

Your hole clenches. Your guts knot together. Your orgasm gathers, full and sloshing wet, trapped behind the wall he’s been breaking down since his arrival. 

“You!” You finally admit. “You.” Softer. 

And when you cum, soaking his middle with shameless indulgence, all he does is flip you over to settle beneath him. The couch rocks with the sudden upheaval, threatening collapse, so he keeps a firm hold of your shoulders, kneeling between your quivering thighs. His breadth bobs from over his pants – you don’t recall taking it out – purple with restrained pain and just waiting for your cue to allow him entry.

“I’ve got you, cariño.” Miguel hums, positioning himself onto the divet of your cunt when you give a frail nod. “I’ve got you.” 

And you know, of course you do. He’s never backed away from a promise before. Because that is how it is with Miguel.

[jeonbunnie]

promises

pairing: reader x namjoon

summary: marriage life with namjoon hasn’t been the same lately. he’s been cold and distant, always whispering on the phone. and you can’t help but notice…

genre: angst

content/warnings: established relationship; married!au; idol!namjoon; cheating/infidelity; implied sex; eventual smut; explicit sex

soundtrack: lemonade by beyoncé

a/n: this used to be a series but I decided to rework it into a oneshot. The plot is mostly the same, however now the reader gets to choose the big decision at the end (kind of like a choose your own adventure).

word count: 18k

Pray you catch me

♪ you can taste the dishonesty/ it's all over your breath, as you pass it off so cavalier. but even that's a test/constantly aware of it all/my lonely ear/pressed against the walls of your world. ♪

. . .

Something is wrong.

You don’t know how or when things changed, but something shifted between the two of you. There is a distance now, more tangible than the miles that separate you from him when he’s on business trips. Farther than the long-distance phone calls that became less and less frequent. Even now, as you lay in the same bed with him only a few feet away you can tell.

Something is wrong.

Because you can’t remember a time when you and Namjoon had ever been so far apart.

He would always come home late at night. Languid footsteps trailing towards the bedroom. Eyes tired and red from too many hours spent awake working on the newest album. Gravity pulled him down in a slump that could only be from the heaviness of leadership, from carrying the weight of the entire group.

And though he was exhausted, he would still find a way to come and take care of you. Even dead-tired, his warm brown eyes would light up and his lips would curl at the sight of you. He’d make his way over and pull you close, until your bodies became an entangled mess of arms and legs, chests pressed together as you curled into each other's warmth. His fingers would run soothingly through your hair and he’d ask you how your day went. The moments you spent within his arms seemed to make even the bad days good.

But it's been a long time since your husband held you close and melted away your bad days.

The clock on your nightstand reads 1:23 AM in angry red letters when his phone goes off in the middle of the night. You can hear the sheets rustle and feel whatever is left of his presence slip away as he sits up, answering on the second ring. “Hello?” Before you can even stop yourself the words are flying out of your mouth. “Who is it?”

The woman who speaks sounds nothing like you. Her voice is broken and fragile, spiked with worry and fear. He shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes because, “It’s just Yoongi.” The lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly. You are already hurting and the way he brushes you off tears right through you.

It’s not Yoongi. You know better. Your husband’s best friend loves his sleep and would never stir in the middle of the night. You want to confront him, put all your thoughts out in the open but before you can even gather the courage, he stands up, makes his way across the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone.

Again.

Somehow you can’t decide what’s more unsettling: the loneliness you feel when your husband leaves or the loneliness you feel when he’s around.

You are too unnerved to go back to sleep. Not that you are sleeping anyways. Now that you are truly awake to the situation before you, sleep does not come. You’ve been staying up for days, eyes wide open. But it was more than just insomnia. Your mind is awake with all the possibilities, visualizing every single scenario. You can’t close your eyes because in an instant you are there. Thinking about it all over again. You can't ignore it, nor pretend not to see it. You are not blind anymore. And so sleep does not come.

With every nerve on edge you throw back the covers and swing your legs out of bed. You can’t just lay there trapped within your own mind. You need a distraction—any distraction from the truth. Even if the only release you can find is putting your body into motion. You find yourself pacing back and forth, frazzled energy bouncing from one point to another.

Until you hear him laugh. It’s a deep and throaty noise that breaks through the walls and interrupts your racing thoughts. You find yourself tiptoeing closer to the sound, trying to be as quiet as you possibly can so you can creep up and press your ear up against the door to listen. How desperate you are, eavesdropping like this. You feel ashamed for sinking this low, but that shame does not stop you from wondering if you should get the glass from your nightstand so you can hear him better. If you could only hear what he was saying! But the words are muffled, like he’s talking underwater.

He used to talk to you all the time, share his innermost thoughts, his nightmares, his dreams. Talk to you about everything and nothing. Work and play. Past and present. But now, nothing.

Now all you got were glimpses of his world.

You used to be his world.

The realization leaves you cold and you press yourself closer to the light trickling through the cracked door. You can see him now. His back is turned towards you and he’s hunched over, phone clutched to his ear like he’s trying to keep all his secrets from spilling out of it. In that moment, you pray he will turn around so you can read his lips and decode whatever it is he’s whispering huskily into the receiver. You pray he will turn around and catch you. You wonder what he will do. Will he jump? Will he be angry?

Ironically, out of all the times you’ve prayed for God to answer you during your marriage, this is the prayer God answers because it happens. He turns around.

You expect to see the face of a cruel man. You could not have prepared yourself for what you do see. Because when he finally turns around, it’s not the face of a monster, but the face of your first love. Namjoon is smiling. Smiling. This is the moment your heart breaks. When was the last time he smiled at you like that? Pink lips pulled back, pearly whites gleaming. Dimples flashing in his cheeks. The way his eyes squint into tiny crescent moons.

When was the last time he smiled at you like that? You can’t remember. Your mind flickers through the memories filed in your head, though each image never seems to be quite right. Maybe because they are now clouded with suspicion. Was that last smile real? Or merely a mask?

The fact that you can’t be sure made you anxious. You can’t tell the difference because you didn’t know him anymore. Where was the man you loved? This person you do not recognize. His eyes are dark, lit with the desire you once thought was only reserved for you. You watch as his lips curl from a smile into a wicked grin.

Something is wrong.

You tried to fix it. The problem. You. It had you be you, didn’t it? Maybe he wanted someone more gentle. You tried to be meek, mild, and kind. Soft spoken, as you were always previously so assertive. You didn’t want to chase him off with harsh words or accusations. You wanted to be what he wanted. You thought that maybe he wanted someone sexy, so you tried to be that too. You made your eyes smokey and put on red dresses, even though you hated the color red. You wanted to be enough. You tried everything to get his attention, but it made no difference. You still ended up in this exact moment.

A sigh slips past your lips, almost a whimper. It’s the sound of loss.

This is when he sees you.

His smile disappears. Then he walks forward and closes the door in your face, shutting out the light and leaving you in darkness.

. . .

When he comes back to bed—wearing a scent that is distinctly not yours—it’s 5AM. He kisses your forehead and climbs underneath the sheets, yet the distance between you remains. Maybe you already know the answer to the questions that keep swirling in your mind. You don't want to believe that he broke his vows. But that hope does not stop the doubt you feel every time you look at his face.

Are you cheating on me?

Don’t Hurt Yourself

♪ I am the dragon breathing fire. Beautiful man I’m the lion Beautiful man I know you’re lying…. ♪

. . .

It is quiet in your house. The sun and it’s warm amber glow have long since disappeared, fading into black. The stillness is unusual. Normally you hate such things, always needing some sort of noise playing in the background like the tv or the radio while you clean up and do work, but not today. You need the silence so you can collect your thoughts and prepare yourself for what you are about to do.

You are done being passive. Sick and tired of sitting and waiting around for a man who did not so much as blink an eye at you. You are done crying. You already cried so much. All your tears have dried up and gone away. You can’t bring yourself to be sad anymore. There isn’t any room for you to hold inside two emotions. Especially when all you can feel now is anger.

You are mad as hell.

So you came home from work and sat down on the couch, waiting on him for one last time. Head held high, poised and collected. Muscles coiled and ready to pounce.

Just like clockwork, keys slide into the door and Namjoon comes in at a quarter to three, completely unaware of the situation he just stepped into. Looking up he stops, surprised to find you sitting in the living room. He can feel something is off. Sense it in your body language, see the difference in your eyes. For a minute, he wonders if you know what he’s been doing all night long...but that’s impossible right? How could you possibly know?

But you did know.

You watched nonchalantly as he flashed a casual grin your way. “Hey babe...what are you doing up so late?“ You didn’t respond right away, taking the time to examine him closely before you decide to speak.

“Where were you tonight?”

The second the words leave your mouth there’s a shift in the atmosphere. Thick silence fills the space between you, but your eyes never leave him. You see him blink, catch the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows down a gulp, note a flicker of emotion pass in his face too brief to figure out the expression. Was that fear? Was he nervous?

But then he laughs. It’s almost a scoff as his eyebrows pull together he shakes his head in what masks as confusion. “What?”

“I know you heard me Namjoon, I’m not going to ask you again.”

“What are you talking about? I was with the guys tonight, we—”

“Don’t,” you stop him, holding up a hand. ”Don’t do that. Don’t lie to my face. I am so tired of you lying to me, please for once just be honest.”

He doesn’t say a word, only sighs and runs his fingers through silver locks and as unsatisfactory as it is, you realize this action is the closest you’ll ever get to a confession. But it’s not enough. Your hands come up to rest on your face almost like prayer before you ask your next question.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“God (Y/N), are we really doing this right now?”

Anger presses up against your chest and before you know it, you’re on your feet. “Yes, Namjoon, we are really doing this right now. Because I can’t stand one more minute of this fake marriage. I’m not stupid. I see you! And I’m not going to pretend like I don’t anymore.”

“Fine. Fine! What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want?”

“I want the truth!”

He fixes his gaze, eyes locked on you. “Oh, you want the truth? Ok here’s the truth. Yes, I was with her tonight, and yes I fucked her, and it was the best goddamn fuck I’ve had in months. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

His words hit you like a bullet to the heart. No, you weren’t happy. You wanted his candor but not this. His tone...the way he was talking to you...You almost couldn’t believe it. How could he? The man you called your husband would never so much as raise his voice towards you. Yet here he was, spitting out cruelty. The brutality of his words mixed with his contempt was too much. Your nails dug into the couch as you tried to steady yourself, tried to push through the pain.

Your mind was swimming with information, trying to come to terms with the new knowledge but one question still lingered. You had to ask:

“Why?”

“Fuck, why? I’m on tour all the time, It’s not like you’re around?”

Are you kidding me?

Whatever pain you felt quickly turned to anger and you whipped around to face him.

“Who the fuck do you think I am Namjoon?! You didn’t marry one of your little groupies. I have a job and a life! I can’t just drop everything and follow you around the world like some love-sick puppy!”

“Yeah well, maybe if you did I wouldn’t have needed to find someone else.”

The nerve of this man!

“So you want my entire world to revolve around you? You are so selfish! As if I don’t already do everything for you. I cook, when you come home at night there’s dinner on the table. I keep this house spotless, but it’s not like you’re even here to notice--”

“I’m not here cuz I’m too busy working the job that got you this house in the first place!”

“Wow. So it’s ok for you to be away from me on your job, but if I can’t be there for you then I’m the problem?” You stared him in the face, only to be met with a glare to rival your own.

“You’re a real piece of work Namjoon.”

How is it that he could look at your relationship and see only your flaws, but never his own? You should have known better than to put all your faith in a man with a god-complex. He only ever cared about himself and his own career. All he had were excuses. You started to walk away from him when his next words stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re so perfect. It’s not like you haven’t done it.”

You cast an incredulous look over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Just what is he trying to imply?

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Now who’s playing dumb. I’m not stupid either, I know you’re seeing him behind my back.”

This again? “How many times do I have to tell you, Jackson is just a friend.”

“You’re a fucking liar. He doesn’t look at you like ‘just a friend’, I know you slept with him.”

Now you were furious. You took several steps towards him till you were so close you could feel his heated breath on your face. “Let’s not get it twisted, I’m not the cheater—You are!” you said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to put this on me! You and I both know I’m not the one who’s unfaithful!”

By the end of your sentence you found yourself out of breath, panting. You were shouting the entire time. Unable to keep the fire inside; your fury, abated. You looked at your husband, finally eye to eye and sighed.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” You spoke, your voice coming out much softer than either of you had expected. “I wouldn't do anything to disrespect you like the way you disrespect me.”

Once again silence swelled within the room and all you could do was look at him and wonder how you had ended up here. The two of you never used to fight, not like this. It was never this bad. But things were different now.

“W-why did you do this to me? To us?” On your wedding day you both took vows to be united as one in this relationship. He was hurting himself just as much as he was hurting you but he was so wrapped up in his own pride that he couldn't see it.

“Are you even sorry?”

Namjoon didn't say a word.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, trying to find some kind of peace. But by the time you finished counting your anger still hadn't subsided. You couldn't find peace because there was no peace here.

Everything in this relationship was so, so hard. You couldn't pick up the broken shards of your relationship all by yourself and he wasn't even trying to fix it.

“I can't—I can't do this anymore”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes. “Can't do what anymore?”

“This!” You yelled, throwing your arms out.

“You. Me. Us. I can’t do it anymore and I don't want to.”

And with that you spun on your heel making a direct line for the bedroom. You could hear him follow behind you, but you didn't care. Your mind was focusing on something else now.

All you cared about was getting the hell out of there. You went into the closet and pulled out an overnight bag, snatching clothes off hangers and stuffing them inside.

“What are you doing?”

You had to laugh at his question. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving you.”

You didn’t stop packing. After taking out enough clothes you grabbed your bag and walked out of the closet. On your way you caught a glimpse of Namjoon with a blank expression on his face.

“Don’t tell me you're actually surprised?”

Brushing past him, you made your way to the bathroom. “I was so blindly in love with you that even when I knew—I knew what you were doing, I tried to stay. But I deserve better. I deserve so much more than you.”

After gathering the rest of your stuff you turn around to walk out the door only to find Namjoon leaning against the frame. Taking in his image made your steps falter.

He looked strong and athletic in a white muscle tee. His arms were crossed over his chest, a gesture built out of displeasure, but only served to highlight the curve of his biceps. When you finally tore your eyes away from his body and up to look at his face, you sighed. He was clenching his jaw, showing off all his angles while his lips pushed out into the perfect pout. His eyes as always were dark, intense, and fixed on you.

Well, not always fixed on you.

He was so beautiful and you hated him for it. Or rather how he made you feel. He could still make your heart skip a beat even as it was breaking.

Yes, you still loved him. But clearly his love for you didn’t run quite as deep.

“So what now? You want a divorce? You signed the prenup. You're not going to get any money out of me.” He growled, voice deep and raspy.

There he goes again, always so damn arrogant…..His words served as a reminder. This is why you had to go. You broke eye contact, concentrating on zipping up your bag. “You can keep your money. I’ve got my own, and I can take care of myself.”

You crossed in front of him, swiftly taking a pair shoes then sitting on the bed to put them on. It dawned on you that he didn’t even ask you to stay. But then again, although it hurt to make this decision, you didn’t have to blink away any tears.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

You laced up your shoes, pulling the strings tight. “I don’t know.” You snapped. “Since you seem to think all I do is sneak around behind your back, maybe I’ll go see Jackson. Or maybe I’ll go out and find me another man. All I know is, I’m never coming back to you. I can promise you that.”

You weren’t playing nice but you were honestly so done with his attitude, mistreatment, and all the pain he caused you. Confident in your decision, you got your bag and stood up, striding towards the exit.

“Hey!”

You ignored him.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

“Kiss my ass, Namjoon!” You sassed, walking out the door and out of his life.

Resentment

♪ I may never understand why. I’m doing the best that I can. And I tried, and I tried to forget this. But I’m much too full of resentment…

. . .

Kim Namjoon knew you would probably leave him if you found out about his affair.

You weren’t the type of woman to let yourself be walked all over, and honestly he was surprised you’d let him get away with it for so long. For months you put up with the late night calls, the sneaking around, the constant lies...And he watched the light dim in your eyes as he broke his vows. It wasn’t like he wanted to cheat on you—not at first.

But anytime he was away from you on tour he just got so lonely.

Sure he had his bandmates and his fans but when the stage lights turned off and the cheers died down none of that was enough to keep him going. Whenever he got by himself it’s like the floodgates opened up. And all the pressure, the high expectations, the push for success, the hate, all of it came washing over him.

And Namjoon felt like he was drowning in it.

As much as he wanted to tell you what ailed him, he didn’t wanna put you under any more stress. You were already constantly worrying about his welfare, filled to the brim with your own concerns. He didn’t think it fair to make you shoulder his burdens as well. But holding all his feelings inside only made things worse.

The helplessness, the anxiety...he just wanted to make it go away. Even if only for a moment. And that’s all it was. A moment of weakness.

The first time it happened he regretted it immediately. He stayed up the whole night, staring at the ceiling, consumed by his guilt. It was the biggest mistake he had ever made. He planned to go home and just come clean, tell you everything that happened. Then beg and beg for your forgiveness.

All he could do on the plane ride back home was pray to God you would somehow take him back.

But then he saw your face. The bright smile you gave him when he walked in the door and heard the joy in your voice as you greeted him. Felt your love as you curled into his embrace, nudged your head in the crook of his neck and whispered “I missed you so much”.

How could he tell you the truth then? How could he tell you what he had done, that he’d broken his promise and given himself to another? He wasn’t even on stage, yet here you were, looking at him with stars in your eyes. You were the only person who truly knew him, flaws included, and despite it all you still loved him.

He couldn’t watch the love and devotion in your eyes turn to hatred and disgust. He couldn’t cope with the reality of the situation. The fact that your heart might close to him forever, that you might leave him.

And then he’d really be alone.

No, that couldn’t happen. If you left..? At the time, he hadn’t wanted to even think about it. So instead of doing the right thing and being honest he closed himself off. If only to keep himself from breaking down. Everytime he looked at you he felt ashamed of his actions. It didn’t feel right, lying to you. Maintaining a distance was the only way he could keep his secret a secret.

The second time it happened, it wasn’t a mistake. A mistake repeated more than once is a decision. And when temptation swept by, manifesting itself in long legs and a warm body to hold at night, Namjoon couldn’t resist.

The guilt hit him just as hard, if not harder than the last time. If he had to face you in that moment without a doubt he would have spilled out all the ugly truth. But it didn’t happen that way. He was on tour for an even longer time than usual, and the separation gave him more than enough time to compose himself, to bury the guilt far enough where it would not resurface. But in doing so he had to become a different person to you. Hard. Cold to the touch.

It affected him as much as it affected you. With every shrug and look of indifference, every evasion he could feel himself slipping further and further away from the man he wanted to be, from the man that you deserved.

And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

The third time it happened, you knew. Even now he couldn’t figure out what tipped you off. He knew there wasn’t any lipstick on his cheek or lingering perfume (Namjoon was stupid for cheating, but he wasn’t that stupid). Nothing tangible to hold your suspicion but you felt it. You questioned him, asking things like ‘what’s wrong?’ and ‘did something happen tonight?’, each inquiry only put him on edge and he snapped at you, starting a fight to distract you from the truth.

That night he left home, seeking comfort in the arms of the first girl he cheated with. He crossed a line that night. He knew he shouldn’t have met with her. But she already put her number in his phone and he was too much of a coward to be left alone with his thoughts in a hotel room. But in doing so he opened up pandora's box. He lay in her bed as she stroked his ego, telling him how important he was, how much better he deserved.

And soon enough he started to believe it. That he was better than you and that you were somehow, not enough for him. His superiority somehow justified him stepping outside his marriage. He found himself faultless, thinking it was your job to keep his interest and if he wasn’t happy, it was only his right to seek out happiness elsewhere.

But now, sitting alone in this dark house, all Namjoon could see was how wrong he was. So very, very wrong.

Months. You’ve been gone for months now. At first, he barely missed you. He didn’t have to. The very next day he had to fly out to Tokyo for a concert and he went back to his regular routine. Practice. Performing. Parties. The occasional girl to keep him satisfied. He didn’t need you then. And why would he? When he had all the people surrounding him, screaming his name. Singing his praises. He had no need to miss you until he went home. And that's when reality sunk in.

He came home to more than just an empty house. As the days rolled by he came to realize just how much you took care of him. Not just as a homemaker but as a mate. You were his heart, the sun and moon, his entire world. Namjoon could have killed the man who said you don’t know what you have until it’s gone because as cliché as it was, the expression couldn’t have been more accurate and the truth stabbed him like a knife.

The loneliness he felt when without you was ten times worse than when he was with you.

Your presence had a bigger impact on him than he could have imagined. Something about your ambience was instantly calming. Even if you weren’t doing anything together, whether it be just sitting on the couch or laying in bed beside him your being there gave him peace.

He tried to fill the void, find your image in the millions of girls that threw themselves at him, the women he led to his bed deep within the night. But there was no recreating you.

Namjoon hadn’t known peace since the day you left.

If it was possible he was even more restless than before. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a full night's sleep. It had to be retribution for all the nights he kept you awake with the creeping thoughts of his betrayal. You, the love of his life, who he took for granted.

He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him, for his own selfish desires.

All because he lied.

And now all he wanted was a chance to get you back.

He pulled out his cell phone, trying to reach you again. He couldn’t keep track of all the times he called your phone, only to be met with your voicemail.

When he watched you walk out that door…a part of him hadn’t really recognized it as real. He was too full of himself to see it happening. His ego told him you’d be back, that you wouldn’t—couldn’t—really leave him. You’d cool off for a couple of days, then come back and try to make things work because that’s the type of person that you were.

He knew you were strong. Strong enough to move past his mistakes. He just didn’t know you were strong enough to move past him entirely.

Namjoon runs a hand across his face, dials your number, and prays. He’s not necessarily sure who or what he’s praying to, but he could really use a miracle right now. Because that’s what it would take for you to actually pick up the phone.

“(Y/n) please, please pick up.”

The phone rings once, twice, three times and then—

"We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

He hangs up, angry.

He doesn’t have the right to be angry, that much he knows. Mercy and grace from the woman he scorned is far too much to ask for, but he needs you, and he’s desperate, so he’s asking anyway.

Namjoon foolishly made the mistake of thinking that you couldn't live without him. But it was he who was the one who couldn’t live without you.

So he’ll keep calling. Even if it only goes to voicemail. He’ll keep leaving message after message after message.

Whatever it takes.

…

♪ I may never understand why. I'm doing the best that I can. And I tried, and I tried to forget this. But I'm much too full of resentment...♪

…

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You didn’t have to check caller ID to know who was on the other side of that line. Annoyed, you sighed and rolled over onto your side. Curling up into the couch, you choose the warmth and sweet bliss of sleep over another argument.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?”

“No.” You answered without so much as opening your eyes.

Behind you, you could hear Jackson moving around, presumably to shut off your phone (you didn’t care enough to look).

The ringing grew louder and louder and soon enough you could feel your phone vibrating against your back. “(Y/n), answer the phone.”

“No.” You repeated, throwing the cover over your head. It’s entirely too early for this. Didn’t he have something to do? Wasn’t he busy? You didn’t understand it. Now that you were separated, he suddenly had all the time in the world to call you?

You could hear Jackson sigh behind you. “I swear if I have to hear your ringtone one more time—I’m going to lose my mind. Just answer the phone!”

“If it bothers you so much, why don’t YOU answer it!”

“M-me! Me?” Jackson sputtered. “Do you want me to die? Do you know what that man would do to me if he found out you were staying with me? He would kill me.”

That much was true. Namjoon would be furious to find out you’d been staying with your male best friend, which is exactly why you went to Jackson’s place when you left him.

Was it petty? Yes. Was it worth it? Hell yes.

If his feelings and pride were hurt than good, that made two of you.

“I mean, I could probably take him. But Namjoon when he’s angry is a totally different person. Actually no, he wouldn’t just kill me. It would be murder in the First degree. I’m not answering.”

“Then put it on silent. I don’t care, I’m not talking to him.”

Suddenly, the warmth of your blanket was ripped away from you, forcing you out of your bubble of comfort. “Did you—did you just snatch my cover off? Jackson!”

“(Y/n),” He said, coming closer and taking your hands in his. “You are my best friend and you know I’m only saying this out of a place of love, but this has to stop. You have to go.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Look, it’s not like I don’t want you here, I love having you around you know that. It’s just—you’ve been hiding out on my couch for a couple of months now—”

“—Hiding! I’m not hiding!!!”

“And I refuse to harbour a fugitive anymore.”

“I’m not a fugitive…” you grumbled.

Jackson shot you a cross look.“Namjoon is searching high and low for you and you’re avoiding him here, in my apartment.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ok, AND?”

“And! I really don’t think staying here is doing you any good. You are not dealing with what happened. It’s not healthy. He’s calling for a reason, you need to talk to him. You can’t run away from this…”

You bit down on your lip, contemplating everything he said. He wasn’t really wrong. But you were far too exhausted to deal with Namjoon again.

You couldn’t go through another fight.

You weren’t angry. At least, not in the way you were before. The last of your anger had been exerted in a fit of rage when you returned to your home to pick up some things you left behind. This is what you told yourself. A lot of damage had been done. Broken dishes, shattered glass, photos ripped out from picture frames. Tiny vengeful acts that piled up to one huge mess. After all of it you were only partially satisfied. But that time had come and gone, you didn’t think you had any more fight in you.

You were filled with too much bitterness, too much resentment for any of that.

No matter what, you still couldn’t wrap your brain around it. How could he do this to you? You thought that having him speak the truth and actually admit to what he did would give you peace of mind but all it did was give you more questions than answers. Now just the thought of talking to him made bile rise up in your throat.

“I...I don’t even know what I would say to him.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything. He’s the one who fucked up, he should be doing all the talking.” His expression softened. “But...I think you should listen. If this is really over, you need closure.”

“And on that note, you’re gonna pick up the next time that phone rings or I will revoke your couch privileges!” He said, standing up with a smile on his face.

“I hate you for this.” You growled at him.

He smiled back at you, “I love you too.” He kissed your cheek, placing your cellphone in your hand, then left for his bedroom.

You looked down at the piece of metal in you hand and sighed. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t talk to him. And yet...there was still this small part of you that wanted to hear his voice. Determined to ignore that emotion you stood up from the couch, headed straight for the kitchen. Stress eating had become a terribly bad habit of yours, but you couldn’t help it. You were the type of person who ate her feelings (and honestly, food does make everything better).

You were shuffling through last night's leftovers, trying to decide if you should heat up a plate of dukbokki or humor yourself with dessert for breakfast when Jackson’s home phone went off.

You waited a bit, figuring he would pick up eventually, but he didn’t. “Jacksonnnn~”, you whined. Nothing. Whatever, you thought. I’ll just let it go to voicemail.

You turned back to the fridge, taking out a pint of ice cream when the beep of the machine sounded and a voice broke through the apartment's silence.

“Hey (Y/n),” At the sound of your name you immediately stopped everything and froze.

“It’s me, Hobi. I know you’re crashing at Jackson’s right now,” Your jaw dropped. How could he know that? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going.

You could hear him giggling on the phone. “Don’t worry I’m not gonna tell. I know you don’t wanna hear anything that I have to say but I’m still gonna say it anyway.”

“Namjoon’s a mess...We've been through a lot together—I’ve never seen him like this before. He made a mistake. A big mistake, and he knows it. But he loves you more than anything. Just hear him out okay? And not for him, but for you...I know you still love him too. Call me back, yeah? If you want, you can ditch him but don’t ditch us! We all miss you over here…..Take care of yourself.”

By the time the message ended you had teary eyes, only half a pint of ice cream left, and a decision to make. Suddenly, you didn’t have much of an appetite.

And then the phone rings. Your phone.

You let it buzz for a bit. Fully determined to ignore his call once again. But you couldn’t stop looking at the phone. Everyone’s words were circling in your head. What if your friends were right? Were you making a mistake? Would you regret this in the future?

The phone just keeps ringing. You wished it would stop so you didn’t have to think about any of this. You closed your eyes and decided to let fate make the choice for you. If he called back, you would use the last bit of fight in you to answer the phone. But if the phone call ended and he didn’t call back...then you’d really be done and let everything be.

Your ringtone died and you held your breath, waiting.

There was a long pause. Nothing.

Maybe he'll give up. Maybe he’s sick of all this too.

Expect—the phone rings again. Namjoon was still fighting for you.

So you pick up your phone, press the answer button, and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

…

♪ Loving you was easy once upon a time. But now my suspicions of you have multiplied. And it's all because you lied. ♪

…

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I......I didn’t think you would actually pick up the phone.”

“Neither did I…”

Silence is a funny thing. It’s nothing, and everything at the same time. Somehow the emptiness is still able to fill a void. Nothing is said aloud, but a thousand words are said in the silent space between you and Namjoon. It’s probably only been a few seconds, but it feels like minutes have gone by, or maybe even hours. In those moments of suspended time you decide you don’t want to listen to anything coming from him. Not even this silence.

It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts. “Don’t hang up!”

His voice is rushed, desperate…..and soothing. Though you’ll never admit that you miss the sound of his voice. Your intellect tells you not to listen. To block him out. Hang up the phone, and move on with your life, you don’t need anything from him...Maybe that was true. But underneath all the hurt, and the deeply buried anger, there was a part of you that wanted something from him.

What that something was you couldn’t tell, but it was enough to make you linger.

When you didn’t hang up, Namjoon spoke. “I called you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for months now.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” His voice was strangled, raw. If you didn’t know any better you would think him to be holding back tears. But you couldn't even remember the last time you saw Namjoon cry.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready to talk. Everything isn’t always about you.”

You can hear Namjoon take in a breath on the other side of the line and you imagine him clenching the phone in a fist, the way he always does when he makes an important phone call. The silence stretches on for a beat too long and you’re two seconds away from hanging up again when he speaks. “I don’t wanna fight. I didn’t call to argue with you.”

His words are soft, yet you still find yourself on edge. “Then what do you want, Namjoon?”

“I want to see you.”

“No.” You said, shaking your head. Not gonna happen. You find yourself pacing against the kitchen floor. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Why not?”

His words are a match, igniting your fury and immediately all of the anger you worked so hard to keep suppressed comes bubbling up to the surface. “Why not? Are you serious?!”

“After everything you’ve done you really think I wanna see your sorry face again?” Tears filled your eyes—but you were frustrated—not sad. You were letting him get to you. Namjoon always made you feel too much. You knew you’d get worked up if you talked to him, it’s why you put it off for so long. You worked too hard to try and keep yourself together for him to tear you apart again.

You want this to end. “I have nothing to say to you. Goodbye, Namjoon--”

You take the phone from your ear, ready to press end call, and you would have, if you didn’t hear his faint voice through the speaker say: “If you feel anything for me at all, don't hang up!”

You can’t do it. Hang up. You won't lie to yourself. But you can’t force out a response either. Instead, you lean against the counter, letting the silence take over as you wait for Namjoon to form his next sentence. “I don’t blame you for wanting nothing to do with me. I didn’t call you to make you upset. I just want to talk about us.”

Us. What a foreign concept. You try picturing it in your mind but no matter what, you still can’t form a full image with the two of you together. You’d been apart for so long, and if you really thought about it, the separation began long before you ever left home.

“There hasn’t been an us for a long time. I tried to talk to you before—look what happened. I’m tired Namjoon. I just—I can’t keep doing the same thing over, and over again.”

“It’s not going to be the same.”

You frown. “How can you say that?”

“Because...I’m not the same. I’ve had a lot of time to think things over. I know I fucked up (Y/n), I’m so sorry.” You scoff at his poor attempt at an apology. “I’m supposed to accept that? You think you can just call me up, apologize over the phone, and everything will be okay?”

“No, of course not.” You hear him exhale sharply. “I know it’s going to take more than that. But it’s not gonna get better if we don’t talk about it. We can’t move forward if we don’t talk.”

“What makes you think I want to move forward?”

“You didn’t hang up…”

You hate that he’s right. You want to pretend like it didn’t mean anything but it did. It would be so much easier to just let it go—to let him go. Beyond all reason, you’re still hanging on to this relationship.

“Can we just talk, please. Just...just come home.”

“That’s not my home. It’s not. So much shit has happened in that place…” Your voice cracked and you couldn’t even finish your sentence.

How could you call that place home? Nothing felt right there. All it held were bad memories. Thinking of it only brought back the nights you spent alone, those times you cried yourself to sleep, and the worst fight you ever had with Namjoon. There was no peace there. You couldn't go back to that broken place. You feel a tear roll down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. This time you knew the tears you cry come from pain, not frustration.

Dammit, I said I wouldn’t cry for him anymore!

“It is your home. It’s our home. You can come back anytime.”

“I don’t want to!”

“Okay, okay.” he said, his voice gentle. It was the same voice he used to use when he used to talk you down from your bad days. You could tell he was trying to calm you down, and it made you angry that it was kind of working. He suggested an alternative: “You don’t have to come home. Let’s just meet up somewhere.”

You don’t want that either. “Namjoon...Do you have any idea what you put me through?...W-why would I want to see you? Why would I want to hear anything you have to say?”

“I..I don’t have an answer to that. But I know you deserve an explanation.”

That made you quiet. These past months all you did was ask yourself why. Why did he do it? What reason did he have for breaking your heart? And there were so many more questions. You knew you wouldn’t get any peace of mind until they’re answered. It was what you wanted. No, needed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it,” You conceded. “Where should we meet up?” You were not going ‘home’. You don’t feel comfortable there. There was a lull on the other line as Namjoon thought of a location.

“Can we meet at our place?”

. . .

You knew exactly what Namjoon meant when he said “our place”. When the two of you first started dating, it was really hard for you to be together. You work as a stylist at a fashion magazine and you met him and the other boys while working at a photoshoot. Namjoon caught your eye with his intuitive gaze and cool persona. He spoke to everyone on set with a natural esteem you found attractive. You were so surprised when you actually got the chance to speak to him and he turned out to be nothing like he appeared.

Gone was the calm, collected image you saw in front of the camera. Namjoon stuttered when he asked for your name, his cheeks bloomed into a rosy red. His nervousness charmed you, and in that moment, somehow you knew you would end up falling for him hard.

It didn’t take very much for you to give him your number. But finding a spot to go on a date with the famous rapper proved a bit more difficult. You never liked the idea of sneaking around, but you understood why. Namjoon wanted to keep things private to protect you, just in case the news of him dating didn’t go well with the public. For a long time it seemed like there was never going to be a place where Namjoon wasn’t recognized.

All the face masks and hats in the world couldn’t hide his fame. You grew tired of being swarmed in coffee shops and restaurants. You just wanted a place where you could talk, maybe hold his hand, and be at peace. Ironically, you found it when you stopped looking. It ended up not even being in a building, but instead an empty park.

Its lush greenery held quiet beauty. Not very many people knew about it, which made it perfect.

Some of the biggest conversations you ever had as a couple were spoken out here, and today was no different.

You walk up to a table nearby, tugging on the hem of your white summer dress. Fidgeting like this makes you feel stupid. You shouldn’t be nervous. If anyone should be nervous for today’s meeting it would be Namjoon. But ever since you agreed to see him, a bad feeling formed in the pit of your stomach. You didn't want to be nervous. You didn’t feel like you’d make it out of this alive if you were. You had to be steel. Strong, unbreakable. You couldn’t allow yourself to get hurt again.

It did not surprise you to see him there early. He was the type of person who liked to be punctual. Or at least he used to be. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t the same person you married. You didn’t know anything about him. Hell, after the last few months you were still trying to figure out some things about yourself.

Under the shade of the table's umbrella, Namjoon sits, bouncing his leg up and down. The only other time you’d seen him this nervous was during BTS’s first dome concert. His head faces down, staring at the ground with a look so intense he doesn’t even notice you approach him. The daze is broken once you sit down on the bench.

Namjoon jumps up, eyes wide as he looks at your face. “Y-you came?!”

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes. Obviously...you thought.

He clears his throat, quickly sitting back down. “Thank you.”

For a while you just look at each other. You have to calm your heart as you take in his appearance. He’s just as handsome as you remembered. But something was different. He changed his hair. His silver locks were now a honeyed blonde. The warm glow of his skin had disappeared. And his once bright eyes now hold dark circles underneath them. He looked like shit, but you were still attracted to him, what logic was that?

The air tenses with silence, the way it always seems to do when you’re around him now. This is a mistake. Neither of you know where to begin. You hate it, but you know this conversation will never get anywhere if you don’t initiate it. “You said you wanted to explain. So explain.”

Namjoon looks tense. “I-i don’t even know where to start.”

That irritates you. You came all this way, and he didn’t even plan what he was going to say?

“What about the beginning?”

Namjoon sighed. He licked his lips, folded his hands, and then he did it. He told you everything. He told you about his anxiety, and the loneliness he felt. The desire to make it all fade away even for just a few moments. How he almost came clean the first time around. And the guilt that festered inside him for keeping the secret for so long.

“I wanted to tell you. But I knew I couldn’t tell you I cheated and keep you I—” Namjoon stopped. He looked away from you, biting down hard on his bottom lip before returning his gaze to yours.

“I was selfish. And I was wrong. There is no excuse for what I did. I’m so sorry, (Y/n).”

Your lips parted in shock. Going into this situation, you expected things to go a whole lot different. You expected him to try and defend himself, or at least blame you for the reason he cheated���but that wasn’t happening. Namjoon wasn’t trying to justify what he did, but instead taking full responsibility for his actions. Those words weren’t coming from the same man you walked away from. That man was filled with too much pride to even acknowledge his own actions—let alone apologize for them.

His actions surprised you. It was almost enough to make you drop your guard. Almost.

“I know you have questions. I’ll answer anything you ask me honestly, I swear.”

You paused. This is the moment you've been waiting for, and now that it was finally here you didn't know what to say. There were so many questions you wanted to ask. But you want to be sure you'll ask the right questions. And that you're prepared to hear the answers. Once you got the information you were dying to hear, you couldn't give it back. You’d have to live with it.

Finally, you spoke. “How’d you do it? How’d you keep this a secret for so long?”

“I kept a second phone hidden.”

The answer came with some relief. You knew you weren’t crazy, that there was some secret method to his deceit. The idea had come once or twice to go through his phone, but you knew Namjoon would never be that messy. “Did anyone else know?”

He nodded once, and a wave of aggravation rippled through you. “Some of the members knew.”

“Are you serious?” You laugh, but the sound felt hollow coming from your lips. “They must think I’m so stupid….”

“You know they don’t think that, they love you.”

You grimaced. Yeah, right. “Not enough to let me know the truth.”

Briefly you wondered which members knew and what kept them from coming to you, but you tried to push those thoughts away. You came here with questions for Namjoon. Nothing else mattered.

“Was it emotional?” You asked. “Did you love her?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. No, it was just physical. They didn't mean anything to me.”

All the blood in your body went cold. “They?”

Namjoon opens his mouth. Then closed it again. “Shit.” He hoped to leave that part out of this meeting. A part of him knew it wouldn't be fair to you but would the truth really be any better?

“.....There was more than one girl?”

He ran a hand down his face then nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Yes.”

Through gritted teeth you ask, “How many?”

You wait for an answer but this time Namjoon keeps quiet. “You said you'd answer anything.”

“I know—”

“So that was a lie?”

“No.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Then why won't you tell me?”

Namjoon tensed, jaw clenching. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You narrowed your gaze on him. “Well it’s too fucking late for that don’t you think? ‘Honestly’, huh? You’re so full of shit Namjoon. Being honest means telling the whole truth. All of it!”

“How many?” You press. Part of you is afraid of the answer but you still need to know.

You wait, staring him down but Namjoon looked away. He can’t say it looking you in the eye, instead he buries his face in his hands then mutters out the word three.

“Three?” You repeat.

You lean back from him, gripping the edge of the table. It felt like the world was spinning around you. Wow. Three girls. Three different girls.

Sensing your distress Namjoon quickly added. “They're just girls. They don’t matter.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept that for an answer. “Of course they matter. You made a choice to go to them, instead of me. I have to know why. What did they have that I didn’t?”

“Everything.”

Ouch, okay. You close your eyes as the pain from that statement washes all over you. The pain you feel isn’t new, but familiar. Like reopening an old wound. But Namjoon isn’t finished. Before you can even process his words he speaks again. “They were selfish, demanding, and manipulative...the complete opposite of you.”

You feel your brows pull together. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? The fact that all the women you slept with are somehow lesser than me?”

Namjoon looks confused and hurt. “(Y/n), I don't know what you want from me. I can’t change the past, all I can say is I’m sorry.”

For so long all you wanted was for him to apologize. Really apologize. No excuses, no bullshit. But now that you finally heard it, sorry just didn’t feel like enough. Instead his words make you feel empty inside. Sorry, isn’t enough to stay. You want to leave now.

Clearing your throat, you got ready to go. “I don’t know what to say to that and I don’t have anymore question so—”

“Can I ask you a question?”

You huffed out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Why did you leave? You said you'd never leave me.”

You feel yourself flush with frustration. “And you said you'd never cheat on me. Promises mean nothing. Words, mean nothing. The only thing that matters is how you act.”

“Besides,” You said, looking away from him to the beautiful summer landscape. “You didn't try to stop me. It's like you didn't even care.”

“Of course I cared. I made a mistake—”

Standing up, you slam your hands down on the table. “It was not. A mistake! Oh my god! How can you still not get it? Cheating is a choice! You made a choice! You think I didn’t get lonely all those nights I spent by myself? You think you’re the only man who’s ever approached me???”

“Of course not—”

“No. Of course not! Because I’m a catch, Namjoon.” Not caring how loud you get, you raise your voice. “I am kind, I am smart, I am ambitious, I am beautiful. You had to be out of your fucking mind to cheat on me!” You said, pressing your index finger against your temple.

You’re crying now, hot tears streaming down your face.“Why can’t you see that? Everyone else can.”

It’s the only question that goes unanswered. Namjoon stares at you, eyes glistening, but he doesn’t say a word.

“I can’t do this,” You wiped at your wet face frantically, standing up to leave.

(Y/n), please.” Namjoon moved to stop you but you ripped out of his grasp.

“I have to go.” You say reaching for your bag, ready to walk away from him, from your marriage, and all the hurt he just laid at your feet.

Love Drought

♪ Nine times out of ten, I'm in my feelings. But ten times out of nine, I'm only human. Tell me, what did I do wrong? Feel like that question has been posed. I'm movin' on.

. . .

You haven't seen Namjoon but that doesn’t stop you from thinking about him.

You think about him almost every single day. What was he doing? How was he moving on without you? Was he moving on at all, or was he just sitting around somewhere...waiting for you to come back?

All these questions only fueled your anxiety and your determination to stay as far away as possible from Namjoon. If you didn’t see him, if you went away...Then those questions would go away too, right? You were going for the whole ‘out of sight out of mind thing’. But it wasn’t working. Because even though you said you were done—Namjoon still had pieces of you. Literally. Your things still remained untouched at the house.

You meant it when you said you didn’t want to go back home. But you needed to come get your belongings. It takes all of your strength to make the drive over without stopping to throw up, or cry. Stepping inside the place where your marriage died was the last thing you wanted to do on your day off. You put off the inevitable for months but it’s time now, you’re moving on, and you’re moving out.

So why was it so hard for you to move past the front door?

You stood there, frozen at the threshold. Heart aching at the thought of what you’re about to do. Fuck (Y/n), you cursed at yourself.You’re a grown ass woman, you can do this. Get in there. It was dead quiet in the house, as you hoped. You’re too much of a coward to call Namjoon and let him know you’re coming to take the last of your things. Couldn’t even text him. No message you typed out felt right. Anything you had to say you already told him. At this point, you both know your marriage is at its end. All you can do is pray that he won’t be there the same time you are. It’s why you chose to come in the evening. Namjoon wouldn’t be home until very late at night because of his schedule. It would give you enough time to get most of your things packed up.

Bawling your hands into fists you gripped your door key tightly, slid it in the keyhole, and unlocked the door. You take two steps inside, close the door behind you, and it feels as though you’ve stepped through time. It’s like nothing’s changed. You don’t quite know what you were expecting. You didn’t have any expectations coming over, but now looking at the space before you, you decided this isn’t it.

The house isn’t spotless, but it’s tidy, neat. In stark contrast from the last time you were here, and the fit you threw. Somehow you expected the house to look exactly in that state: broken. But nothing’s really changed. Soon your feet take on movement of their own, walking you towards the bedroom. Being back in that room is strange. It's almost as if you never left him at all. The sunset pools through the window, drowning the bed in light that looks like honey. The space has the essence of your home. The only difference you feel now is the emptiness. You spent many nights home without Namjoon but it never felt like this.

This time you’re really all by yourself. You don’t live in the same house anymore, but you're not completely alone living off your bestfriends couch. It’s been years since you’ve remembered what it feels like to be without a partner. You wondered...This emptiness...Is this what it would feel like to live without Namjoon?

You swallow down a sob, trying not to drown in your loneliness and turn and walk into the closet. Remember why you're here. Get your things, you just have to make it through these next few minutes. You reminded yourself that the hard part, the confrontation (and the leaving) was already over. All you have to do now is pack.

Strange enough your heart still aches, though not in the way it did before. This is not the ache of betrayal. You truly believed that pain would never subside but it did. Not by time but by choice. You had to choose to let go of the anger and the hurt, choose to free yourself from resentment. No. This ache was something else entirely. But you couldn’t put a name to it.

You step inside your closet, eyes studying your hung up clothes and the suitcases hidden underneath them. Not wanting to spend any more time than needed here, you got on your knees and started pulling out suitcases, folding up clothes, and putting them away. It all went much quicker than you’d expected (you got most of your clothes out during the beginning of your separation). You were picking off hangers at the end of the closet when you came across a garment bag. The garment bag.

Right away you knew you shouldn’t. Only a masochist would unzip the garment bag to their wedding dress when they’re currently living apart from their husband. And yet, you still did it. Tentatively your fingers reached out to grab hold of the bag. You pulled it into your lap and slowly undid the zipper. Then you saw your wedding dress, and you melted. As your eyes traced over the lace detail the memories of that day flickered through your mind.

It wasn’t at all what you expected. When you were younger, you always dreamed of a big wedding, everything you've ever heard about in fairytales. You wanted it to happen early in the morning, in a beautiful church with stained glass windows, surrounded by all your friends and family. You expected there would be flowers everywhere, and something else, something special. The romantic in you hoped for doves or maybe butterflies. And your dress? Only the most regal ball gown would do as you walked down the aisle to the man of your dreams.

Of course, fantasies rarely become reality. The issue of privacy is important when marrying a celebrity. At the time, just getting married seemed impossible, let alone doing it big. With the group's growing fame and Namjoon’s busy schedule, how could you find the time to get married? Or find a venue where fans or media couldn’t find you? You’d have to plan every second, every detail. Nothing could be left up to chance. Both of you were so in love but also, so very stressed with the situation before you until Namjoon made a second proposal.

“Why don’t we just elope?” he asked.

It was late at night. You lay in the comfort of his arms, head resting on his chest and mere seconds away from blissful sleep, so it took you a full minute to process that sentence. You lifted your head to look into his eyes. “What?”

Namjoon smiled down at you, thumb rubbing slow circles against your back. “Let’s just do it. Get married, I mean. Who says we have to wait or plan? I love you. I wanna marry you now.”

You sat up in bed, propped yourself up on your arm, and searched his face. “Are you serious?”

You watched amused as he narrowed his sharp eyes at you in a mock glare. “Why would I joke about this? Of course I’m serious! Let’s do it.”

You looked at him hard for a minute, but when Namjoon didn’t flinch you knew he was for real. Then of course the panic kicked in. “Baby, what? Let’s do it? It’s not like we can just walk into a church and say ‘I do’ !”

“Technically, we can.”

You shook your head, “No. What about all the plans we’ve made? I already booked the venue, and our caterer—”

Namjoon rolled over onto his side, facing you. “So we’ll cancel. The date’s still months away, that's more than enough time to give notice that we’ve changed our minds.”

You laughed,, but your shaky breath came out like a scoff. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get those reservations?! That cathedral is wedding heaven! It is stained glass perfection. The wait time is usually up to a year. A YEAR. And our cake, it’s being made by Giovanni Bianchi—world renowned pastry chef—Giovanni Bianchi. It’s a seven-tiered baked dream. And you want me to cancel?”

To your disbelief Namjoon simply shrugged. “Do we really need all that?”

He reached out, taking your hands in his. He looked down, stroking them with his thumbs in an effort to soothe you. “Grand cathedral or not, as long as we’re together, I’m already in heaven. Our wedding will be perfect no matter where we are because we have each other. And the cake? Well, why would I need a dream cake, when I can have my dream girl?” He said, winking at you.

Your heart swelled at sweet words. As much as you wanted to roll your eyes you couldn’t help but smile. God, he was so cheesy. But isn’t that why you loved him? Still...you felt anxious. He might have melted your heart, but you weren’t fully convinced.

“Yeah okay, very smooth. What about our families? They’ve been looking forward to this so much. Our mothers will murder us!” You made a face, suddenly remembering your wedding party. “Oh the boys…..Jin will be so disappointed if he doesn’t get to be your best man” (you distinctly recalled him rejoicing at the news knowing he’d be “the most handsome” best man ever).

Namjoon brought your fingers to his lips and kissed the tips in between explanations. “It’s not about them”. Kiss. “Jin will get over it”. Kiss. “Our families will forgive us”. Kiss. “We’re not getting married for anyone else but us, we can do it however we want.”

You nodded your head in agreement, though you were still unsure. You knew all these things. Of course your marriage would be just for the two of you. You had no interest in simply performing the act for others approval. You loved Namjoon, you loved your relationship together, and you wanted to do what felt right for the both of you. Still, you couldn’t help but worry about the public’s opinion.

“What about your fans?” you asked. “What if pictures get out?” The whole point of all this planning was for privacy. The world knew BTS was dating, many fans suspected they had secret girlfriends, but a wife? How would they react to that? You didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all Namjoon and his image. You know how hard he and the rest of Bangtan worked to be respected in the music industry. What would happen if the world found out their leader was dating a nobody like you?

Namjoon looked you straight in the eyes, and spoke in a calm voice. “I don’t care. I’m not ashamed of loving you. Let the whole world see that I’m marrying the kindest, loveliest, soul I’ve ever known. I don’t care what they think, or what they say. I just want you. All I want is to be your husband, and for you to be my wife. Nothing else matters.”

You felt another wave of love pass over your heart. His sincerity stunned you. You glanced at him with glistening eyes. “Namjoon…Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He grinned at you, letting go of your hand to reach up and cup your cheek. “Are you done yet?” He teased. “Despite all your protests, I haven’t heard you say no…?”

You took a second to think through your conversation. Namjoon was right. You never said no, because as crazy as it was, you agreed with your fiancé wholeheartedly. You wanted this, you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, and you wanted to get married as quickly as possible. With a new resolve you shifted in the bed straddling him, then wrapped your arms around his neck. “Okay,” you said.

Namjoon raised both eyebrows up. “Okay!? Just like that? Anything else I need to assure you of? We have our marriage license. I have a tux. You already have your dress. I know you’re concerned but we have everything we need.”

You nodded. This time you were sure. “Let’s do it.”

Namjoon hesitated, then his face broke into a smile that was so bright it gave life to one of your own. In that moment you realized what you thought to be nerves earlier was really just excitement. You brought your hand to his shoulders, squeezing tight. “We’re getting married,” you whispered, voice full of awe.

“We’re getting married!” Namjoon echoed.

Before you knew it, you were walking down the aisle. You let him plan it all. You got married at night, in a small church, without stained glass windows. There was no big guest list, but neither of you could stand the thought of going through the ceremony completely by yourselves, so you allowed for your immediate family to be there (that included Yoongi, Hoseok, Jin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk). Flowers did not adorn every pew, but the space was illuminated by soft and warm candlelight. No butterflies or doves. It wasn’t like what you imagined in your head. Life rarely coincides with those kinds of plans. But Namjoon was right. Because you had each other, it was perfect.

In the end, the only part of your wedding that lived up to the fairytale was your dress. It was everything you wanted in a gown. All white with a sweetheart neckline, crystal embroidery and layers upon layers of tulle. The dress felt a bit heavy, but you can still remember the look on his face when he lifted your veil. In one glance, he made all that weight disappear. You felt lighter than air. “You look like an angel.” He whispered, voice sweet and low, so only you could hear. In that moment all you could feel was love.

So how did you end up here? Clutching your wedding dress on the closet floor, desperately wiping away tears. God, what a mess you are. You pushed out a breath and started shoving the white, fluffy fabric back into the garment dress. It was a mistake taking this out. You couldn’t get it back in again. Your fingers slip as you try to grip the zipper, and you can’t tell if it’s because of your sweaty palms or your wet tears, but it won’t budge. Why won’t it zip? You pull up hard, snagging the dress in its teeth.

Shit. Frustration flushes through you as you snatch the zipper back down only to hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing in the process.

You shut your eyes tight, shoulders slumping with defeat. When you opened your eyes again all you could see was the rip in the dress, threads straining and unraveling all at once. It looked as torn up as you feel inside. Part of you is falling apart at the idea of leaving Namjoon, pressured to leave all of this pain behind and let go of the relationship. Call it mind over matter. It didn’t make sense to stay with a man you had broken your heart and your trust. All logic told you to divorce him and never look back. You know this. And yet? There is a part of you aching to repair what’s been broken, pull out the sorrow from this home, and heal all the hurt.

You were so busy wrapped in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard the door unlock, or footsteps tread into the bedroom. From the corner of your eye you saw a glimpse of blond hair, wide brown shoulders. It was Namjoon. You couldn’t help the startled gasp that fell from your lips.

“(Y/n)”, he breathed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Namjoon kept his distance. He didn’t look at you and didn’t cross the threshold of the closet door, generously leaving space between you. Instead, his eyes were glued to the floor. “I saw your car out front, but I didn’t think it’d actually be you here.” He reached up a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just...confused.” Namjoon glanced up at you from underneath his eyelashes then slowly, his smokey eyes rose to meet yours. “Why are you here?”

“. . .” You faltered. Once Namjoon laid his eyes on you, you softened, even after all this time he had that effect on you. You were still consumed in thoughts about your marriage...feeling that again, you didn’t know what to think. You almost preferred it when you felt anger or pain at the sight of him. Instead you felt something else. You looked down at your lap, fingering the dress. Was it longing? You started again, making eye contact. “I came back to get the rest of my things.”

A look passed across Namjoon’s face but before you could identify it, it was gone. Namjoon nodded, looking away from your face. His gaze shifted to your hands. “Is...is that—”

“—My wedding dress? Yes.” You tried to think of an excuse, some reason for you having it out but nothing came to mind. You shrugged, settling for the truth. “I just wanted to look at it I guess.” Both of you ignored your tear stained face.

Namjoon bit his lip, the silence stretching between you until he said, “I’ll leave you to it,” and abruptly walked away. Finally alone you breathed out a sigh.

You felt a tinge of disappointment. And you were angry with yourself for it. You don’t know what you were hoping for, or what you wanted to get out of that conversation. What’d you expect? Did you really think after everything that he’d lower himself one last time and beg for you to come back? Again? The man you married you would have, but the man who cheated on you? No, he had too much pride. This wasn’t a romance movie where the couple fights and breaks up but somehow everything magically fixes itself and they get back together. It was really over.

The finality of it all stunned you. You sat there, numbing yourself to the pain for a minute. Then you striantened out your wedding dress, and zipped up the garment bag. This time it went up without a hitch. You were just getting up off your knees when Namjoon whipped back into the room, surprising you.

“I know you could care less about anything I have to say right now,” he began, raising a cautious hand. “You probably hate me, and I understand that. I hate myself for what I’ve done to you.” He looked up in thought then pressed his hands into his eyes. When his hands fell away you braced yourself for what came next. “I’m asking you for a second chance. I’m asking you for a second chance because I love you more than anything. You are the love of my life, and I’m sorry I forgot that. I know you don’t owe me anything, least of all your forgiveness.”

He stopped, voice thickening as he gulped down tears. “But I’m asking for it.”

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing I didn’t do everything to get you back.”

Tears filled your eyes. “Are you saying that, because you love me? Or are you saying that because you want me back?”

His gaze never wavered. “Both. I want you back, because I love you. Knowing you and loving you has been the biggest blessing in my life. I don’t regret it. I'd do it all over again, just to have you in my life. Even if it meant losing you. ”

All at once it hit you. That feeling, the one you struggled to identify when you held your wedding dress in your arms. It wasn’t longing. It was love. You were still in love with Namjoon.

And so you did the unthinkable. You kissed him.

Sandcastles

♪ We built sandcastles that washed away. I made you cry when I walked away, oh. And although I promised that I couldn't stay, baby. Every promise doesn't work out that way.

. . .

It only takes seconds for you to cross the space between and press your lips to his. For a moment, Namjoon doesn’t move—doesn’t even breathe. Then his arms wrapped around you, brought you flush against him and you melted in his embrace as he kissed you, his lips softer than ever. Deep down, you know you shouldn’t. It would be too painful to become wrapped up in Namjon again only to tear yourself away from him. But your body has a will of its own. When his tongue swept across your bottom lip, you parted for him like the red sea and every emotion you’d ever felt for him came flooding back.

Every kiss you’ve ever had, every whisper of “I love you,” all of it ignited in your mind the second Namjoon kissed you back in a moment so intense you felt your body tremble at his touch. His lips moved gently over yours while his hands came up to cup your cheeks, and before you know it, you find yourself in the middle of the most sensual kiss you’ve had in your life. Namjoon kissed you like he was hungry, tongue rolling into your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan, arching into his embrace.

It was shameful how your body responded back to him. You could feel your heart rate increase, the heat rushing to your cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted him like this. Your thoughts traveled back to the words that sparked your desire: “I want you back, because I love you. Knowing you and loving you has been the biggest blessing in my life. I don’t regret it. I'd do it all over again, even if it meant losing you.”

All this time you’d been fighting against your love for Namjoon, convinced any feelings he had for you were long gone. But everything he said proved otherwise.

It was confusing to you. You spent so much time thinking that Namjoon didn’t want you anymore, you’d even come to accept it but now? You didn’t know what to think. Your mind was screaming for you to pull away, stop before it went any further. That everything you were doing right now was wrong. Except, it didn’t feel wrong. It almost felt...good. Right.

The truth is you feel exactly the same. Despite everything you’d been through, you still loved Namjoon. He was the love of your life and you wished with everything in you that you could turn back the clock and start over. If what he said was true—if there was even a possibility of Namjoon still loving you, you needed to feel that.

Namjoon’s touch made you desperate. You found your hands tracing the planes of his body, running down his muscular arms before coming back up as you linked your arms around his neck. He kissed you deeper, groaning low in his throat, and the sound was enough to drive you wild. Even this close, you couldn’t get enough of him. All you could feel was the compulsive need for more. More of his touch. More of his kisses. More, more, more.

You could feel Namjoon’s body backing you up to the bed. Your knees hit the mattress and you allowed yourself to fall back against the soft sheets. But Namjoon didn’t fall with you. You opened your eyes, instantly giving way to panic. His pause alarmed you. Your anxiety reared its ugly head, speaking cruelty into your mind. How could you be so foolish? What were you thinking, kissing Namjoon? He didn’t actually want you. He was leading you on, playing with your feelings. That’s why he stopped.

You pulled yourself up, leaning your weight back on your elbows to look into his eyes. You expected to see cold rejection on his handsome face, but what you saw in his gaze wasn’t at all what you imagined. Instead, when you looked into his eyes, all you could see was raw, unfiltered desire. And strangely enough, uncertainty.

Namjoon had a million thoughts racing through his mind, all of them questions.

How did he end up here, with you spread across his bed when only minutes before you seemed worlds apart? The situation didn’t feel real, more like a fantasy, like he dreamed you up. But if this dream was real—if this dream was really coming true—should he let it?

Of course he wanted you. If you kissed him like this a couple of months ago, Namjoon wouldn’t hesitate to take you; he’d have his way with you until you screamed his name. But tonight, the last thing Namjoon wanted. He’d spent months craving your touch; the feel of your lips against his, how the heat of your body felt flush against his. He caused you enough pain acting on his lust. He didn’t want to hurt you further by taking advantage of the situation.

Both of you got caught in an emotional whirlwind but this kiss was a mistake, wasn’t it? He looked down at you, waiting for you to push him away but you didn’t make a move. Instead, you stared at him, desire burning in your eyes. God, that look alone was enough to arouse him. Still, he didn’t make any move to kiss you.

You took a moment to look at Namjoon, really look at him. Trying to uncover the emotion swirling behind his dark eyes. The longer you stared, the more you felt like your heart was going to burst from your chest. You could see his uncertainty but the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Was it insane to sleep with your soon to be ex-husband? Yes. Did it make you want it any less?

Not even in the slightest.

I must be losing my mind. You couldn’t explain it yourself, but kissing Namjoon opened up something in you. Feelings you didn’t know you still had swept all over you. Heat washed over your body. You could feel your skin flush, passion stirring in your blood.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice taut with apprehension.

Your body was practically screaming yes. But Namjoon’s hesitation made you pause.

Reading the confusion in your eyes, he quickly backtracked. “I’m not saying I don’t want to—believe me I do—I just don’t want you to do something tonight that you’ll regret in the morning.”

Your mind wasn’t there. That moment seemed so far off from the ever-present now and the rapid beating of your heart and the warmth of Namjoon’s body. You knew you had to make a choice. Yes or no. There was a small voice in the back of your head cautioning you against this. But tonight you were following your heart. Consequences be damned.

You looked up at him and nodded. “I want this.”

Namjoon leaned forward to kiss you, and you shivered at the feel of his lips against yours. This time, there was no hesitation. You couldn’t remember the last time Namjoon kissed you like this. Slowly, tenderly, like this kiss mattered. Like you mattered. Any inhibition you had melted away as you leaned into his touch. You felt yourself lower back down onto the bed. Namjoon’s hands passed over your body, slimming down your waist, before coming to rest on your thighs. You let them linger there, savoring the feeling of his hands on your body.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. You were so into the kiss, the feel of him you didn’t notice his hands pry off your clothes until you were left in only your underwear.

He stopped then, pulled away from your lips to look at you. Then the only thing you could feel on your body were his eyes drinking you in. The eye contact alone had you squeezing your thighs together. You watched the heat build in his dark gaze until his eyes lingered just a little too long, until your skin tingled all over from the intensity.

Then he was all over you, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Hands cupping your breasts. The feel of him against your thigh. It was an assault to your senses, but instead of overwhelming you, it only made you crave him even more. You arched your back as Namjoon kissed your collarbone, slowly making his way down the valley of your breasts. You moaned at the sensation of his tongue moving down your body, closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Namjoon,” You breathed, body humming with pleasure. He looked up from between your thighs, dark eyes connecting with yours for a split second. You watched as he hooked his fingers into your underwear and dragged them down your legs. Then he gave his complete attention to your body, licking a long strip straight down your center that had you moaning his name again.

Namjoon gripped your thighs firmly in his hands, pulling you closer towards him. He wanted you to know that this meant more to him than just sex, that he loved you, and that he was more than willing to show you just how much. He takes his time tasting you. Each lick languid and loving. He didn’t want to tease you, all he wanted to do was to please you. To touch you and erase the pain he caused--even if only for a second. Namjoon swirled his tongue across your clit. Once, twice, a third time, drawing sweet moans and gasps from your lips.

You couldn’t keep yourself quiet. It’d been so long since anyone touched you. Throughout everything, you still remained faithful to Namjoon. And even if you’d been with another, no one could ever make you feel like this. Have your toes curling, back arching. It was almost embarrassing how easily you melted under his touch. Some part of you still wondered how you could give in so easy. Shouldn’t you be feeling some resistance? All you felt was longing.

You found yourself rocking your hips against him, and crying out as his tongue delved deeper.

You wanted to bring your hands up to your face to muffle the sounds but before you could, Namjoon stopped you.

“Don’t,” he said. He took hold of your hands and threading his fingers through yours. All the while his tongue was still swirling against you, making lewd sounds that had you feeling hot.

You could feel your body heating up, the rise and fall of your chest coming faster and faster. When you felt him slide tongue inside you, pressing up against your sweet spot—it was enough to push you over the edge. You came, squeezing Namjoon’s hands tight.

Namjoon lapped up your juices, enjoying the taste of your slick on his tongue. Even then he didn’t stop, coaxing a second orgasm out of you with soft licks against your center.

“Joon,” you whimpered, body humming with oversensitivity. “Too much.”

Only then did he pull away, moving to place a tender kiss on the inside of your thigh. He sat up, and you rose on your elbows ready and willing to return the favor, but Namjoon gently pushed you back down on the bed, shaking his head.

“I just wanna be inside you right now,” he rasped.

God, you wanted that too. They way Namjoon ate you out had your body begging for more. You weren't going to argue with him.

Namjoon sat up and placed a hand around your neck, guiding you back to his lips. It started out slow. Soft, sweet kisses against your lips. It wasn’t until he slipped his tongue inside your mouth that he found himself suddenly desperate for you. Even more surprising was your reaction to him. You kissed him back with just as much fever, completely captivated.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. When you finally pulled away, you looked at each other, panting, the air thickening between you two. Namjoon’s dark eyes stared down at you with an intensity that pierced your soul. You knew he felt it too. This energy...There was still love between you. But you’d already made your decision. You wanted this moment, this passion but you couldn’t trust him with your heart and be sure he wouldn’t break it. I can’t fall for him again. I can’t. You wanted him badly but wanting him, and trusting him were two different things.

“Namjoon,” you started. Then stopped, trying to find the right words to explain. “This isn’t—I can’t—”

“—Stay? I know.” Namjoon knew what he was getting into the second you kissed him. He knew this was goodbye, and that it would hurt like hell come morning. He didn’t care. If only he could change the past, he’d take it all back.

But he couldn’t. The damage was already done. This was the last time he’d ever hold you in his arms again. If he could have you, even for this short time, he’d take what he could get. He wasn’t going to fuck it up trying to make this into something it wasn’t. He loved you too much to be selfish at this moment. If this were the last time, he would make it well worth your while.

“I just need tonight.”

Namjoon pulled you tighter against him, molding you against his body. Before making any sudden movement, he pulled back a little to look in your eyes, to make sure this was still what you wanted.

You cupped his cheek and kissed his lips, reassuring him. Then he aligned his cock against your entrance and pushed inside you with one smooth move. You tensed, freezing in his arms. The feeling of your walls clenched around him made staying still absolute torture. But Namjoon wouldn’t dare move.

You close your eyes and breathe out a shaky breath, familiarizing yourself with the burn of the stretch. He’s so thick it takes a minute for your body to adjust to the size. Though the sensation of Namjoon nuzzling into your neck helps turn the pain into pleasure. You hooked your leg around his waist nudging him forward.

The small act made both of you moan in unison. “Namjoon...please,” you breathed.

He moved, starting out with a pace that had your insides feeling molten. His hands gripped at your hips as he pulled out almost all the way, then slowly slid himself deep inside you. You were so wet, so tight he couldn’t help but groan. The feel of you taking all of him, giving him this pleasure and the look in your eyes...Namjoon was sure he’d never love another the same way.

This wasn’t just sex. Namjoon knew the difference now. What it really meant to be intimate with a partner. To share his body with someone not for a distraction or stroke his ego but for love. To draw closer with one another. This was it for him. You, it was always you. There would never be another. He started to rock into you, deep and slow, desperate to make you feel that.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself to the sensation. Needing more, you raised your hips to meet his thrusts and Namjoon took the hint, snapping his hips to meet yours faster. You cried out as he filled you again and again and again. Right now, you don't have to worry about future decisions. You didn’t have to think about all the conflicting feelings you had for this man.

Not that you could think about that anyways. Your senses were all wrapped up in how good Namjoon was making you feel. His pace was brutal just how you liked it, but his touch was nothing but kind. His hands trailed up to the small of your back keeping you close. Namjoon cupped your face as he kissed you; he only pulled away to rest his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. You’d slept with Namjoon before, but something about this time was different. If you didn’t know any better—you’d think he was making love to you. He was so strong, yet so loving. You wished he could be this way with you always.

You wanted to stay here, savor this moment. But Namjoon was grinding his hips against yours in a way that had you breathless. You were so close. “Namjoon, I—”

“Come for me,” he said.

Growling, he thrust harder against you and reached down between your bodies to rub your clit, driving you towards your orgasm. Your pleasure built inside you, sweeping over your body like a wave until it crashed and washed over you, sending tremors down your body.

Feeling you come apart in his arms, Namjoon slowed his thrusts. You clenched around him till pleasure flooded his senses and he came too, burying his face in your neck and moaning out your name.

The only sound heard throughout the room was panting as the two of you came down from your highs. Namjoon brushed your hair away from your face and ran his thumb across your cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice full of concern. He rolled off you and onto his side so as not to crush you but remained close, his skin flush against yours.

“Mhmm…” you hummed. You stared at the ceiling as your heart rate slowed back down. You were expecting to feel something. Regret...maybe relief?

You don’t know what you were hoping for. Maybe subconsciously you thought sleeping with Namjoon would help you come to some kind of resolution. A grand epiphany that would tell you what to do with your situation. But really you didn’t feel any different than you did before.

“What are you thinking about?”

You shake your head as if to shake all those thoughts out of your head. “Nothing.”

Namjoon didn’t press you, but the silent tension in the air gave you the impression that he wanted to ask for more.

You’ve never felt so divided. The ego in you wanted to walk away from it all. Say goodbye and cut your losses, no matter the cost. You made peace with leaving because you were so sure that Namjoon didn’t want you. You knew you couldn’t be with a man who had no love for you. But now, knowing that there was still love here. That he still cared, that you still cared. It changed things. You wanted it to work. But you weren’t sure if you could love him the same; there was always the issue of trust. How could you ever trust him again?

“I’m sorry,” said Namjoon. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

You turned to face him then, lying on your side. “It was what it wanted and now…” You trailed off, lost to your thoughts again. You had to think about it. Dig deep and really question what it was you were searching for.

“Now what? What do you need?” His expression was torn but honest.

So you asked for what you really wanted out of him. You asked for the truth.

“I need you to tell me everything.”

. . .

And he does. That night, as you bathe together, he finally tells you the truth. The whole truth.

When the sweat on your skin dried and became sticky, Namjoon ran a bath. You both got inside the clawfoot tub and sat on opposite sides, bodies intermingling as you faced each other. It was thick with quiet as the bath filled up with heated water.

At first, Namjoon hesitated. You could tell he wanted to spare your feelings. So he gave you the truths in little bits. Pieces of information you could swallow, like the names of his past lovers, and when each act happened. Then slowly, bigger chunks that had you holding your breath as you processed the facts of his betrayal. He told you about it all. About the weakness, the desperation, and the loneliness he felt on tour. The need to be touched and seen–really seen–by someone. Even if that someone wasn’t you. How one bad decision turned into two, turned into three. And the guilt. The guilt that accompanied the deception that rose and rose like high flames, eating him up inside.

By the time Namjoon’s done speaking, the water’s gone lukewarm, and your fingers were pruned, yet neither of you gets out of the bath. You let Namjoon bring you to close, till your back's up against his chest. He lathers his hands, and you let his calloused palms wash the pain away. Till the only thing you feel is his light touch. You repeat this action to him, stroking his skin with absolute ease. Then, and only then do you step out of the water. Namjoon drapes a fluffy white towel over your shoulder and wraps it around you.

He looks you in the eyes, and tells you that you're the only woman he’s ever loved. The only woman he would ever love. And you believe him.

. . .

That night, you lay down beside him exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion that comes from lack of sleep or a long day at work. Not the weariness that leads to nights of deep slumber–no–this is the weariness that puts stress on your heart. The kind that leaves you feeling drained. Empty. Beside you, Namjoon sleeps, but you’re wide awake.

Every nerve in your body is begging for rest. But it’s your heart keeping you up tonight.

Heart over mind, mind over matter. You're split in both directions. Wanting to stay, and wanting to go. You told yourself that you were leaving. Walking away from it all.

But something felt wrong.

Everything was already moving in one way, but your heart was starting to face another. You still hadn’t made up your mind.

You lay in bed with your eyes closed and remembered the first time you left. Before you knew the truth, before you knew anything really, except for the fact that you didn’t want to live in a lie. You packed your bag and drove to Jackson’s, but you couldn’t make it through the night without breaking down and calling your mom. You spilled your heart to her, and she heard you, even through all the tears. You called to get everything off your chest, but you were also searching for answers. You were desperate for her to give you some kind of sign of what you were supposed to do or an out, but she didn’t.

“Do you remember when you were little, and you used to make sandcastles at the beach?” she asked. “You used to love playing in the sand. Barely even went in the water. You spent all day just creating something, building your own world.”

It caught you off guard. You were so shocked that for the first time in hours you stopped crying.

The memory was hazy in your mind, but you could still picture those summer days filled with warm golden sun, and the salty sea air.

“Some days as the sun set, the tide would come in and wash away everything you worked on. And you’d cry. Cry your little heart out. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to pick you up, and hold you in my arms, comfort you. But you were at that age where you needed to start learning how to comfort yourself. So I let you cry. And after you’d got out all your tears, sometimes you’d start over. Dig your hands into the sand and start building all over again. Make something new. And sometimes you’d give up, walk away and come sit by me.”

“Yeah mom I remember...but, what does that have to do with anything?”

“You built your marriage with Namjoon on a foundation of love, faith, and trust. That’s your sandcastle. And now that trust has been washed away you don’t know what to do, and you're crying out for me. Baby, I love you, but you’re gonna have to make this decision for yourself. I can’t make it for you. Whatever you decide, I will be right behind you, supporting you. If you want to stay and find a way to be together I will be here. If you want to divorce him I’ll be here for that, too. But you have to decide.”

You let her words sink in. You knew she was right. But you were so frustrated, so overwhelmed you burst into tears again. “How am I supposed to decide? It’s so hard to know what choice is right.”

“I don’t–I don’t want to make a mistake…” You said through sobs.

“(Y/n), the only thing worse than staying or going, is you holding your breath and being indecisive. You have to make a choice. Decide.”

You couldn't think of how to act on your mother’s advice back then, but in the present, you understood. You squinted in the dark and looked at the time. The clock on your nightstand reads 5:22 AM in bold red letters. You hadn’t even realized you’d been up all night with your thoughts.

You looked over at the man causing you this great affliction. Pale moonlight streamed through the window illuminated his heart-shaped face. You once thought of him to be a monster, but he wasn’t. He was just human. And for once, you finally sorted your feelings about him. You weren’t in limbo anymore.

You knew your decision:

Leave him | Choose him

[kissproof]

❦... A LITTLE LESS LONELY

SUMMARY: attemping to get ace to stay in for the night...

WARNINGS: heavily suggestive themes , fem!reader , needy!reader , dirty talk , implied sex

it's so hot in your house. hot in the hallway, hot in your bedroom, rising so much that the whole house was dark in hopes of fighting it with sleep, and despite all that ace quietly laces up his shoes in what he could make of the soft yellow lamplight of your little bedroom.

"ace,” you sigh, sleepily.

he hums. but doesn't look at you as you approach him from behind. he’s barred you from any attempt at hypnosis with the back of his head because of this game you love to play.

"won't you stay in with me?"

the mattress, beneath your sweetly cleaned bedsheets, dips and levels under your palms, your bended knees. and the hem of your plain nightgown hikes up and licks your thighs. your mother, the one who churched on sunday and prayed every other would cry if she took one look at the way you pedestaled, deified, and laid your love on this man. ace was a downright terror to castle rock. clearly, your understanding was much different.

"nah. i gotta go."

your arms bend around his level shoulders. you hold his body, musky with sweat that glistens off his skin and into yours; on your quiet chest like a wreath. "you always gotta go... i never know what you're doin' out there"

"it's none of your business,” he counters, quietly, slow enough to where you could hear him. he only has a bone to pick with you when you try to set him straight. your kisses find his neck. you smile against him. "why?” you pry, coyly. “you doin' bad things?"

ace twitches and turns his head, near kissing you. "what’re you buggin' me for?"

but you don’t respond. you glance at his lips, his face still so close to you, and it melts you more than this late summer heat. when he turns away, you own your breath again, but you continue to drape yourself on him. forehead, nose, then cheek curl along his back.

"i just can't understand why you wanna ride in that silly little car all night..." you mutter like a child, and he pauses before bringing himself close to you again, his nose and hair teasing your face.

“wasn’t so silly when i had your face pressed against my windows, whinin’ and squealin.’” you had him. you can hear it in the sudden gain in his breath. “what’s in it for me?” he presses, calmly. “hm?”

"anything,” you reply with a floating hitch in your throat.

"anything?” he taunts.

he could see by the rouse in your face, your delicate parted lips, hooded eyes, strands of your hair sticking to the wet sides of your glistening neck, that he had all the permission he needed to have his merry way with you.

"c'mon then.”

[groupielove21]

The thing with this scene being deleted from the episode generating discomfort in the fandom has nothing to do with the Buddie of it all, but with the fact that I feel like they are trying to erase Eddie and Buck's progress as characters.

What I mean is:

Bobby gave the prayer book to Eddie literally in 7X9, and previously, the two of them had had a whole conversation about Eddie's Catholic guilt, so...why remove Eddie praying for Bobby? The scene itself, even without dialogue, serves to imply how complex Eddie's relationship with God is, because it is something he associates with a part of himself that he wants to forget because he feels that he failed or was harmed (his childhood, the Army, Shannon), but for Bobby, for someone he loves, for someone who represents everything good that Eddie accomplished in his adult life, he is able to pray because maybe he doesn't believe in God, but Bobby does.

Buck once again has to see the person he loves hurt and he can't do anything to fix it. He have to sit there and wait for a signal. And the whole time he spends there we see him crying or at least about to cry and that really solidifies Bobby's place as Buck's father because he realizes that he doesn't know what he's going to do if Bobby doesn't wake up (exactly the same as happened to him after Eddie was shot).

And instead of giving us this scene where we can see all this development of the characters, what do they give us? a scene of Eddie with a prayer book in his hand that he practically hides from the rest of the team and Buck saying that he has problems with his parents and that Bobby is the closest thing he is going to get to a father figure, to be followed later for a daddy kink joke.

This chapter was genuinely a disappointment in terms of character development.

(And regarding the buddie of it all: Buck trusting that Eddie can give Bobby this peace that he can't give because he was never taught how to pray...Eddie allowing Buck to see him in a position he feels uncomfortable in, because religion is uncomfortable for Eddie...Both exposing themselves to each other in the moments where they feel most vulnerable, without teasing, in silence, letting themselves be carried away by their uncomfortable feelings but being sure that they have the other's back)

[beanmachine69]

Melting | Sebastian Vettel

Ferrari!Seb is literally my husband so here's a little fluffy drabble about him. Can you tell I don't like the summer?

(Implied smut, nothing too intense)

(picture credits to user sloane on Pinterest!)

-

"I'm going to have a heat stroke." You huffed, annoyed at the weather.

You slumped on the couch with a loud thud, sunglasses and purse still in hand, shoes carelessly kicked around the hallway. Your dress was clinging onto you, and the house felt a tad too warm too, sure it was better than the oven you just stepped in from, but you still felt hot.

Opening your eyes after a few moments of cooling down, you looked around for your husband. Where did he go? You were just about to get up to look for him when he emerged from the kitchen, a smile plastered on his slightly damp face, two icecream bowls carefully balanced in his hands.

The sight in itself was adorable, and you couldn't help but smile. The icecream was a bonus to the cheery expression he had as he sat down on the couch next to you, handing you a bowl- the coldness of which was welcome by your sweaty hands. He adjusted himself to be closer to you as the two of you sat in silence on the couch, cooling down.

"Can I ask you something?", You asked, breaking the silence.

"I've already told you, I'll find a way to love you even as a worm." Sebastian replied, barely missing a beat.

"Oh shutup," You laughed as you gently hit his arm, which had snaked around your shoulder. "I was going to ask if you wanted to try something new."

At this point, the heat that had gotten to your head had given you the confidence required to ask the question. However, the heat cooled down pretty fast the moment you uttered the words, and you couldn't look up from your icecream. You and Sebastian were pretty vocal about your preferences in the bedroom and overtime you two had learned each other well enough- so technically, you didn't need to be blushing or hesitating this much anyways. You were just asking your husband to try something new in bed because you saw it online.

You definitely didn't need to look up to know that not only had Sebastian finished his icecream and was staring directly at you, but his face had also adorned his signature smirk. God, it was impossible to look at him at that moment without wanting to bury your face in his chest and just hide from those bright eyes. You already knew the jokes he'd say and all the teasing that would result from the question.

He nudged you a little, and you knew if you'd look up, you'd see that ridiculous smirk and that silly little shimmer in his eyes that indicated he was going to tease you.

"What's the matter?", You could practically hear his lips being tugged upwards, "Can't finish your request?" He asked. God, the cockiness never died with him.

"It's nothing." You mumbled, praying to God for a distraction so you wouldn't need to look up at him and talk to him.

You two had had these conversations before, you were a married couple, you knew your preferences and you two had tried several new things because of conversations like these. But somehow, right now, you couldn't get your mouth to open. All the effort you were using to talk seemed to be reallocating itself into blood that made your cheeks red. It was infuriating, you wanted to talk to him, he was your husband for crying out loud.

"Oh, don't back away now." He cooed, leaning closer to kiss your cheek, his stubble brushing against the soft skin. He placed the empty bowl down, freeing his other hand to creep around you.

"Seb, cut it out, its nothing." You mumbled, turning your face. Maybe the heat had rewired your brain, because you really did want to tell him, but you just couldn't. You almost hoped he'd just read your mind and get this interaction over with already.

You heard him chuckle, as his other arm wrapped around you, turning you to face him entirely. His blue eyes locked in with yours and you couldn't help the blush that had probably turned you entirely red by now.

"Oh baby, you weren't even this red in the sun." He teased, pushing you back, making you lay flat on the couch, caged under his arms, with your icecream bowl still in your hands. "You wanna try something naughty, don't you?"

Suddenly, everything was more eye-catching than your husbands' piercing blue eyes. Not wanting to be teased any further, you hummed an acknowledgement, which didn't seem to satisfy him. He brought his face even closer to yours, to the point where you could practically feel his lips mere millimetres away from yours. At this proximity, there wasn't much else to look at apart from those stupid eyes you fell in love with in the first place.

"That's my good girl." He smiled, knowing you had nowhere else to go, and definitely no where else to see. "Now, what was it that you wanted to try?"

After not hearing a response for a few moments, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He knew you were too shy now, all of a sudden, to say something, so he pieced it together himself. He was a smart man, and even smarter when it came to satisfying you. It was only when he did piece it together did that silly, devilish smirk find it's way back to his face.

He leaned in for a kiss, which you gladly accepted, bringing your hands to his face- leaving the half empty icecream bowl on your stomach. You felt him put his weight on one arm as the other moved towards your torso. He reached directly for the icecream in the bowl, hooking two fingers in the semi-solid contents, scooping it out and bringing it to your neck.

The sudden shock of cold startled you momentarily, making you gasp into the kiss. He placed the icecream in the dip in the middle of your collarbone, pulling away from the kiss and licking the icecream on your neck, inadvertently sending chills down your spine. You gasped his name out as his beard made contact with your soft skin and his lips began sucking the area where the icecream was.

"Is this something my baby wanted?" He asked, momentarily detaching his lips from your neck.

You nodded an eager response, making him smirk in your neck. Pulling his face back up to yours, he gave you a soft kiss before looking at you. God, he looked so good on top of you like this- even after all this time, he managed to make you blush and swoon like you would the first time you met him.

"Do you wanna take this to the bedroom?" He asked, knowing your answer already.

You blushed a bit as a smiled crept onto your lips. You nodded a yes, leaning up to peck him again. You were so glad he'd manage to figure out what you couldn't say, because frankly- given your state- you weren't sure if you would have been able to ever string that sentence out anyways. You were incredibly close to him, but sometimes he just had that stupid effect on you that left you smiling, giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl.

You knew there was going to be plenty of teasing in the future, but in that moment, it seemed so worth it.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: i love seb so much, he makes me giggle sm. truly the love of my life, light of my eyes. I'm quite surprised I haven't written more about him.

As usual, send in requests or criticism, both would be appreciated! :)

[sadlynojellybeans]

So I am re-reading TOA and i have decided to write some things i noticed now that I know what is going to happen next.

THE HIDDEN ORACLE

Meg was about do develop a crush on Percy, and Apollo noticed. It was immediatly curbed by Percy mentioning his girlfriend. He did not even notice XD

Apollo actually got out of the three legged death race unscathed O.o Scared to death but unharmed

Lester is being surprisingly not pathetic??? I mean, he can't remember shit and has the constutution of a limp noodle, but he has not fainted in several chapters!!! Maybe it's because Camp Half Blood is a relatively safe space for them...

THE FORESHADOWING IN CHAPTER 26 IS DEVASTATING - he gets confirmation it is the emperors behind everything and he thinks "i would have rather tangled with Tartarus or Ouranos or Primordial Chaos" APOLLO PLEASE

Speaking of foreshadowing, Rhea?!??!? "Find your center. Enlightenment has to come from within" HELLO??!?!??

Apollo mentioning he caused an earthquake that wiped out most of Sparta and that he never liked the Spartans much??? What about HYACINTHUS???????

"I busted out some footwork the Nine Muses and I had been working on" please I want so bad to see Apollo dance. Especially Apollo as Lester

Apollo being absolutely convinced that he will never have a proper partner is tragic. "It was not in my destiny" bro

The Germani appear and the absolute first thing Apollo does is move in front of Meg. "Instinctively". This is the same guy that at the beginning of the book was evaluating which demigods would be best to keep on hand to throw at quests. I can't. Just how much exactly did he repress his protective instincts through the years and centuries?

I find so fascinating that Apollo wants to strike Nero down immediately after meeting him. Like, yes. Apollo is a god. And he would not allow anyone to threaten what he cares about. Even after his trials, he might be kinder and more attentive to demigods, but I think that anybody who crosses him (really crosses him) will have to start praying for mercy.

If there is one thing I can say about TOA is that it is certainly expanding my musical horizons, with all the songs I have to check out on youtube just to have an idea of what Apollo is singing about.

He did not suck during the confrontation with Nero?! Burst of godly strength saved the day and his dignity

"Just because she had lied about being my friend did not mean I wasn't hers. She was in danger. I was not going to leave her" man. He cares so fucking much. No wonder he never let anybody get close to him in the last years.

Didn't they say a sonnet was worse than a limerick in the next book?

"BLESS HIS CONNIVING LITTLE HEART". "Children of Hermes cannot rap". "[Cecil] was demoted to dancer" skjsjskansnkzbsnsmmsnzm

It's kind of ... sad? How happy Apollo is when flying on the giant ants. He is used to being a god who can fly whenever he wants, and a part of him is usually in the sky every day as he drives the sun chariot. And instead he has been stranded on earth, away from what is both his duty and something he greatly enjoys. "It felt so good to fly again. [...] For two or three seconds I was exhilarated".

AND THE ARROW OF DODONA IS FINALLY HERE AND TALKING FRIENDS!!!!

I cannot believe I am so happy because of a talking arrow

The arrow QUIVERED kjsnsksjsnsnzjxndnsk i love them so much

Not Apollo asking where Jason Grace is 💀

I genuinely cannot understand if this is foreshadowing or really lucky wording on Riordan's part. Rachel asks about Meg and Apollo thinks "She might as well have plunged the Arrow of Dodona into my chest". RICK. RICK DID YOU KNOW? HAD YOU ALREADY THOUGTH ABOUT THAT SCENE IN TBM OR WAS IT PURE CHANCE????

WE WERE ROBBED. I have been wondering for a few days if in TOA we ever see Apollo sing for fun (not to confuse enemies, not to open doors, not for any practical purpose. Just for the fun of it). The depressing answer seems to be no, although I might have forgotten. At the end of THO it is implied that Apollo, Leo and Calypso join the sing-along at CHB, but the fact that the books end before we actually see him sing is a travesty.

[sanemisstalker]

I descend from yuri heaven with a message from god, she says you need to be hornier on main about women, she also requested Fem!reader x Mitsuri, not me I'm just a humble messanger it's god's will

Listen!!! Listennnnnn, I struggle to write about women because I get like, pussy mind fog. I think about vag, and I become a dumb slut, and it's impacts my writing so all of it sounds like I have my hand down my pants :'p

(Also I may or may not have a multi part Shinobu cuck thing in the works, you never know XP )

Regardless, my boss gave me a Victoria's Secret gift card for my birthday, and I'm very excited to use it, but you know who I'd loveeee to go bra shopping with???

:)

NSFW CW// FEM/AFAB/BREASTED READER/ Public sex / Implied Flashing / Dom/Sub dynamics / Ownership

"I don't think they'll have it in my size." Mitsuri fretted, running her hands over the baby doll piece in search of a tag. "I mean, look! These are all so small!" She groaned as she rustled toward the back of the wall.

The item was lace and string, all pillowy and pink, and you'd desecrate the world to see your loving girlfriend in such an item. With a sheer pink fabric split by a thick line, you knew all she'd be able to talk about, the entire time, would be the way it rubbed her.

You were doing your best not to wear your thoughts on your face or verbalize them. This wasn't a date, Mitsuri had pointed out. It was a girl's night out, but fuck were you praying it'd end with her legs around your head because this was torture.

It was your third lingerie store, and she'd purchased something in every. Single. One. Insisting that you not only help her get into each item, but that you help her take it off. The last five hours of your life had been an edging game the likes of which Satan himself couldn't conceive.

It was very easy for Mitsuri to conceive, though. After all, it was a punishment of sorts. You'd gone out clubbing and slutting without her while she rotted away on an art project, an unforgivable betrayal. You swore you only kissed girls while you were out, but that gave Mitsuri no peace of mind. Especially not when she'd gotten a call a day later with a rather unsavory tone.

This was intentional torture, even if it was really hard when you looked so cute and pliant, Mitsuri had reserved herself. She had made her intentions clear (to herself) and was going to stick to them, no matter how hard you whined or begged.

"Ah!" Mitsuri bounced. You swore your eyes were going to pop out of your sockets, and your uterus with them. "Perfect!" She plucked from closer to the back, revealing the full expanse of the abysmal amount of fabric.

"That's really cute." You croaked, doing your best to be girl friend and not girl friend. You resorted to biting your fingers as Mitsuri turned back to the racks. "Under or over?"

"If I pair it with that pink sweater dress I have, it'll probably look really cute over, but it might give me a back ache if im trying to dance." She worried. "I wouldn't want to wear a bra underneath, and if I don't wear a bra, I can't just wear the matching panties-"

'Fuck, she knows what she's doing.' The thought finally donned on you, and you felt sweat begin to form.

Mitsuri wasn't very... dominate. She wasn't predisposed to it, and you found when you asked, she wasn't necessarily the most... capable. She was a very gentle lover, but occasionally, she'd get this... look on her face.

The last time you'd seen it, you were at a fourth of july party with her friends, not yours. You'd laid eyes on her 'friend' Tengen, or rather he laid eyes on you, and while Mitsuri caught up, you and the man discussed... Music, probably, you couldn't remember. It was platonically intentioned, all things considered.

Though you and Mitsuri were quite open, she was... prone to bouts of jealousy. Just here and there. Nothing extreme, but her measures she would take in response were.

The night had ended with you by the bonfire, Tengen watching with one of his, apparently three, girlfriends, as Mitsuri had knocked you on your ass and fingered you open. She'd began probing you about whether or not you wanted his dick- wanted to be in his supposed harem of women. Obviously, since you were having such a chummy time with the man, that was your desire.

She wouldn't let up until you began sobbing, only capable of sputtering out her name and well meaning apologies. She told you to recall who you belonged to- The gap was so stunting you couldn't help but heed the advice.

And she had that look there, and she had it here, and it made your knees weak with remembrance. A thin smile that made you feel like a deer in wait, pulled over, low cast eyes like that of a lynx, and then her motions. The typical Mitsuri motions filled with grace and leisure had become sultry- deliberately tempting you at every turn and flex.

Oh, you realized, you were a fucking moron. A fucked fucking moron.

You, of course, couldn't remember your blatant sins. So when she got that call from Tengen, his voice intentionally goading and laugh particularly grating, Mitsuri gathered herself and decided today wasn't going to be a very good day...

For you, that is. She'd been reeling at the way you were looking at her all day, basking in the almost dopey, lost look on your face, and that insatiable stare. She had to hold back her giggles everytime you clenched your thighs together in search of reprieve. Had to keep her mouth shut when she'd intentionally grazed your nipple while holding up a bra to your chest. You'd nearly whimpered.

She was having a whale of a time with her own antics.

"You know, we should get you something. I've always wanted to go to a rave- and dress like those rave girls! They look super cool, don't you think?"

"The like- the like string bikini ones?" You sounded like you were on your fifth day through the Sahara, this you knew. You couldn't help it. The realization had made you all the more desperate, and the image of your girlfriend in even less?

"I think I'd just wear pasties, I don't know though; I might get a little shy." She'd giggle.

"What for? You're... you have nothing to be shy about." You wanted her. You needed her. She was being deliberately cruel, how exciting.

"You don't either!" Mitsuri rushed, feeling the urge to let up on you rear its head. She stomped it out quickly, thinking about Tengen's daunting tone. "Y-You know what we should do- we should get matching pieces, don't you think?" She posed.

"Matching?" You returned.

"Yes!" Mitsuri didn't give you time to process, instead dragging you to the other side of the racks.

There was slutty, and then there was string. Mitsuri had done herself a favor in picking out something that, though it left little to the imagination, still required a bit of maneuvering to get by-

The item she pulled off the rack for you would be gone in a snip. You couldn't even fathom what it was at first-

Thin strings, all that gathered to thin even further at your pussy, each nipple only garnered with a bow akin to that on the front of a pair of panties- nowhere near enough to even cover a fraction of your nipple- anything and everything would spill in such an item.

An icey, silver tear drop dangled where your clit would sit.

You gaped.

"This is so cute!" Mitsuri flushed, doing another unnecessary bounce.

"O-on me?" You stuttered.

"Of course! Come on! Let's go try them on!"

Mitsuri had you corned in the changing room in seconds, her intentions all too clear in the rush of her motions. With the strings and lace still swaying on the hook, The top you'd been wearing had been essentially ripped off, the sudden rush of cold air hardening your already stiff nipples.

"M-Mits-"

"Hm?" She interrupted, already tugging down your jeans. As you went to step out of them, Mitsuri grabbed your leg with a steel grip. You froze in place.

"B-baby, are you- are you mad at me?" You whispered.

"Mad? Oh honey, I'm not mad." Mitsuri assured. "Well, maybe a little peeved, but I'm not mad."

"What'd I- what'd I do?" She just giggled in response, the daunting noise going right to your pussy. "Baby, please tell me what i-"

"You remember Tengen, right?"

"T- what does this have to do with Tengen?"

"You remember," Mitsuri said, spinning you around. Her hands caught in the waist band of your panties and gave them a violent, exposing, and all too audible rippppppp, "Him and his girlfriends? How he had three of them?"

"Yeah-? I remember, yes." You clarified, fearing your unsure tone would drive her actions further. Mitsuri ripped further through your panties, exposing your wet inner thighs and begging cunt to her unforgiving eye.

"You remember when you went out the other night while I was slaving away over some wax pieces?"

"Y-yes- I- I didn't even see Tengen there, if that's what you're asking- I- I told you I only kissed some girls-"

"Did you stop and question... their names by any chance?"

"No- no I didnt."

"Well, I got the funniest call, Y/N!" She reasoned, slipping a hand between your legs, "Tengen rang me, oh you're dripping, he called me, and I got told something so funny."

"F-funny?"

"You actually made out with his girlfriends! All three of them! Isn't that funny?" Her tone made it inherently unfunny. You knew she found no comedic value in such a thing.

"I-I didn't mean to do th-that."

The fitting room is silent as she ties on the sorry excuse for lingerie. It sits uncomfortably on your exposed nipples, clit now bedazzled and starring at you- almost like a target. Mitsuri stands behind you in the mirror, face presenting warm but feeling cold.

"So Tengen calls me-" Two fingers jam into your core. A pain rockets up your cunt that makes your legs threaten to give out. You can't stop the yelp, even with your hands flying up to your lips.

"He- he did?"

"He calls me, and starts saying how he's having all these indirect kisses with you, and, I don't know, Y/N-" Her fingers are brutal, complete negligence of your clit driving small whimpers from your throat with each push. "I just don't know why that makes me so upset!"

She knew exactly why it made her upset, but she wanted to hear you say it. You know she did, but talking was hard when she was practically fucking you open- and infront of yourself nonetheless.

"I-I shouldn--- ngh--- ah! I should- fuck, Mi-mitsuri p- princess, please-" Mitsuri's heart swelled at the name. She pouted a bit and slowed her assault. Even granting you the gentle graze of her thumb over your peaking clit. How kind.

"What was that? Say it again?"

"I shouldn't've- I should've stayed in with you! I'm sorry, I'm so sorr- ngh!" Mitsuri stood abruptly, her fingers still tucked in your clenching pussy. She hoisted one of your legs with her. You struggled for a moment, before she took to pining you to the mirror of the dressing room.

Her fingers began another rush, your legs jolting out in response... because this time she wasn't ignoring your clit. Every bit of muscle she had in her fingers was set on rubbing your nub and fucking you deep. The teardrop shuddered with each thrust.

You were losing vision- losing the sight of her behind you-

"You should apologize for being a complete slut." She added, voice becoming all stomach, no throat. Her cherry pink braids sat atop your shoulders, ends pressed between your tits and the mirror. Mitsuri's flesh was thick and consuming- plush yet intimidating.

It was times like this where you were reminded that Mitsuri could do whatever she wanted to you, whenever she so pleased. Times like this when you remembered that, no matter how many people you kissed, you belonged to somebody.

You were really happy about that, in a weird way. Your pussy was especially happy- Even if it was proving more than difficult to fill her requests at a socially acceptable noise level for a fitting room.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm a slu- nghh! I'm sorry I'm a slut!" You tried to whisper, failing tremendously and sounding so much like the thing you were apologizing for being. The position you'd be splayed in had completely freed your breasts from their miniscule confines. Your warm nipples rubbed against the cold glass-

The build bubbled in your stomach. Thin fingers threaded your hair. A quick spin of her wrist formed a leash. You were yanked back only far enough to see the full expanse of your face- of your pussy getting ruined by her fingers.

The sight of it pushed you over the edge. Mitsuri's fingers worked gushes of cum from your pussy. With one ankle still locked in your pants, you shivered as your cum ran down- wetting the fabric.

You twitched against the mirror. Mitsuri dropped your leg and moved to your waist.

You whimpered as she pulled your pants up over the lingerie. The fabric was drenched- you'd been insanely loud. Even as Mitsuri pulled your top back on, the bows were so present through the miniscule fabric of your shirt-

You were a slut.

As Mitsuri guided you to the cashier with her arm around your waist, you turned blood red.

"Princess, I c-"

"Hi! Did you all-" The cashiers words cut off immediately, seeing the state you're in. Her face paled, and she lost control of her eyes. She took in everything- From the way your nipples stood at high alert, to your deerish way of walking in your came on jeans-

"Everything is great! She'd going to wear it out if that's alright?" Mitsuri pushed you forward, the tag for the strings just barely hanging out the side of your jeans.

With hesitance, the cashier, who already held the scanner, scanned the item. Mitsuri handed her the lingerie she'd picked out for herself, and as the seond item rang up, her face dropped further.

"We-we're actually having a two for one s-sale. So you can- go and pick something else out for free, if you'd like."

You looked over to Mitsuri, whose eyes grew wide with a joy only predators could experience. You swore you felt your ovaries shake at the sight.

Her hand found perch on the band of your wet jeans-

"Oh! Do you have this one in pink?-"

[hyunfilms]

blue side of the sky (lmh) | ten.

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: waking up after 3 months with no recollection of your past, your friends do what they can to help you remember. except, they omit an important piece to the puzzle - afraid you would remember the heartbreak and hurt all over again.

—pairing: lee know x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers, bestfriends to lovers au | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

—word count: 5.5k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, dancer lee know and dancer hyunjin (choreography video linked for inspo), implied jealousy, oc x minho are incredibly cute and share a lil dance moment heh, heated conversations/arguments, flashback at the end - lots and looots of crying/breaking down, jisung to the rescue 😔, worthy to note that this is an important chapter but it's not the only thing that occurred in their past..

—ON ROTATION: every kind of way - h.e.r | pray you catch me - beyoncé

"Uh, yeah. We'll start in about 5 minutes or so." You hear Minho's voice just as you turn the corner and arrive at the dance studio. You had closed up at the flower shop tonight, so you thought it would be the perfect time to watch Minho's class. He sent you the address and offered to come pick you up, but you told him you'd catch a ride over instead. Besides, his class would have been starting soon— you didn't want him to be late or missing for a class he was leading.

"You sure you're good?" San asks, just steps away from the studio. Minho catches sight of San escorting you near the door, and it instantly makes his heart sink.

So, San dropped you off.

Fucking great.

"Mhm. Thank you, Sannie." You look up at him with those eyes and it's so obvious San adores you. Who wouldn't?

"Let me know if you need me to pick you up? I'll be at the gym for awhile working out with a few friends."

"Okay." You wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a hug, and Minho has to divert this attention to something— anything— to prevent the irritation from increasing. "Hey." You tug on your bag strap as you walk in, already feeling a little out of place especially without any other familiar faces by your side.

"Hey." Minho gives you a tiny smile, brushing off his feelings about San. "You made it."

"I said I would. San was nice enough to drop me off."

"Yeah, I see." He clears his throat a bit.

"I'm definitely not dressed right." You nervously look down at your leggings and oversized crewneck before scanning the room again.

"It's alright." He lets out a small laugh. "You're just watching, anyway."

"Still." You chuckle and step inside, nearly hugging the wall with how many people are in attendance. You follow Minho to the far left corner in front of the room where you can peacefully watch without being in the way, setting your things down and taking a seat on the highchair.

"This gonna be okay for you? You can always move down if you think it's too loud or too crazy."

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

"Bathroom's just out the door and down to the left if you need it."

"Thanks."

"Don't make fun of me, okay?"

"I'll try not to." You chuckle as he starts to play his playlist, instructing for people to start stretching. It's nice to see Minho in this element because although you'd really like to remember this side of him, you can't. A few faces look your way with small smiles creeping up at the corner of their lips, making you wonder if they found you familiar. Surely, you'd been here with Jisung before— that's a given. 

When you look out at the center of the floor, Minho is talking to another individual. He's tall, with longer black hair nearly hitting his shoulders; a bucket hat on with a longsleeve and sweats. They look at you every now and then while Minho mutters something, followed by a nod from the unfamiliar individual. Then, he walks over to you, a small, toothless smile painted across his face.

"Hey Y/N, it's nice to see you."

"Hey." You say, doing a head tilt to observe him a little more.

"I'm Hyunjin. We've met when you used to visit before." His smile grows a bit. "It's nice to see your face again, glad to know you're doing well."

"Yeah, it's nice to see you too." You respond, unsure of how to move forward with Hyunjin. He seems nice though, and he seems fond of you.

"Hope you enjoy the class." He says once more before shutting off the music and calling attention from the class. They begin to explain what the choreography will be like for today— something quick, but fun and upbeat. Minho and Hyunjin start playing Bryson Tiller's On Top, demonstrating the choreo to the class. The class yells in excitement and it makes you smile, seeing how involved and supportive everyone gets. 

Class officially starts with Hyunjin and Minho breaking down the steps, allowing people to ask questions and get comfortable with the piece before practicing it a few times, then moving onto the next set. You even join in some laughs every now and then when Minho and Hyunjin start bickering, the rare moment Minho messes up his own choreography and catches himself with that look on his face.

He's cute. 

Very cute.

Especially, when he looks your way and throws a smile every now and then. You have to look away from time to time to stop yourself from feeling these feelings over your bestfriend because why did it feel so familiar, yet brand new? Situations like this can get awkward and weird quickly, but for you— it didn't feel that way at all.

It felt.. right. Like this is supposed to happen, like how things are supposed to unfold— somehow. 

After timeless practice and choreo clean up, the class is successfully dancing the piece flawlessly alongside with Minho and Hyunjin. Towards the end of class, they split them into different groups— allowing each group to do the piece together and freestyle a bit at the end. It's fun, and you love the atmosphere. You must've really enjoyed it back then. 

Too bad you aren't sure you could handle it anymore.

Once class is over, the class gathers their things and thank both Minho and Hyunjin for yet another fun piece. They wave and bid their farewells, with Hyunjin shortly following behind. He yells a quick goodbye to you with a wave, greeting Minho on his way out.

"How was it?" Minho brushes his hair back and throws his cap back on, sweat still dripping down his forehead profusely. He's trying to gather his breath as he walks towards you, wiping away at his forehead and neck.

"You looked really good out there." You smile. "You looked like you were having fun."

"That's good, right?"

"Pretty cool, I'd say." 

"Nice. At least you think so." You laugh.

"Did I use to come to class before?"

"Uh, yeah." Minho nods. "With Jisung. Chan and Seungmin would join too if they had time and were up for it."

"Sounds fun, and it looks really fun. I just don't think I could dance like that again. Wish I could."

"You can." You raise a brow. "Here." Minho holds his hand out for you to take. You give him a small smile before grabbing his hand, letting him lead you to the middle of the studio. "I'll teach you something simple, okay?" You chuckle.

"I-I don't know, Min."

"Trust me. You'll be okay. I promise."

"Okay, but don't laugh at me in the process. I'm probably very rusty and bad at this."

"Never." He smiles. "Alright." He says, standing next to you. He starts to show you the first 8-count, slowly guiding you through every step—patiently. He rehearses with you time and time again before teaching you another 8-count. It's a little more complex than the first set, but not anything incredibly difficult. You have to pause and ask Minho to repeat himself a bit, shyly laughing and apologizing at how many times you need to see him demonstrate. He makes you feel comfortable with the way he laughs along and tells you it's okay, reassuring that you're doing well— that you're hitting every step perfectly. Then, there's the other side that makes you incredibly shy and reserved again, especially when he asks you to do it for him while he watches. He finds it adorable how you cover your face and tell him 'no' repeatedly, only to finally be encouraged to step out of your comfort zone and do the steps on your own.

You feel good.

This feels different, but good.

But, at one point, you stumble on your own feet— causing you to trip. He catches you before you could take a nasty fall, holding onto your waist just as you slowly turn to look at him. He looks you in the eye and gives you a soft smile before helping you adjust your position.

"Woah." He laughs. "I got you. Are you okay?" He subconsciously brushes the hair away from your face and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of where the sudden action came from.

"I am." You look up at him with those eyes. "Thank you." He chuckles as he lets you step aside and brush yourself down.

"Mhm. How about we do it one more time then call it a night?" You laugh.

"That sounds good with me." He starts to play Every Kind of Way by H.E.R, showing you the steps to the song before having you practice along with him to the beat. Sooner or later, you're doing the steps alongside of Minho for a couple of times before he praises you and calls it a night, just to make sure it doesn't overwork you and put too much on your body.

"You did really well, Y/N. See, I told you you'd be great."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I mean it." He looks at you and smiles. "How do you feel?"

"Tired? But, good. It was simple, and not too much."

"Good. You're a natural, anyway. My words don't mean shit." You laugh.

"You're the instructor here, of course they do." You give him a playful punch on the bicep. "Thanks for this. I really enjoyed it."

"Yeah?" He smiles. "That's good. Hope that means you'll be back to watch more."

"Yeah, I will." You grab your things as Minho continues to clean up around the studio. "I'll probably get a good sleep tonight."

"As you should." He grabs his keys as he takes a swig of water. "Ready to go? Wanna grab something on the way home?"

"I'm okay. Uncle Adrian made some food and stashed some away for me." You smile. "Thank you, though."

"Course. Let's go then, princess." You look up at him as he walks ahead, subtly biting your lip at the pet name. It rolls off his tongue so smoothly, it almost seems like this was a typical nickname for you— from him. 

During the ride home, you feel at ease with Minho to the point where it's a little sad you'll be leaving him soon. You've longed for his company for quite some time. Now that you finally have it, you don't really want to let go of it. He makes you laugh on the way home, cracking these jokes and showing off his dad humor to the fullest. Even though some of the jokes can be incredibly cringy to him, he loves hearing you laugh and giggle. He also loves the way you smile at him, the way your eyes sparkle every time you talk to him.

You're just beautiful.

You are love.

He hates that you have to part ways.

"Well." He parks the car in front of the house and looks at you. "Time for you to get some rest."

"Thanks again for today. I enjoyed it. It was a lot of fun." You smile at him and give him a small pinch on his arm. "I'll come by again."

"Good." He chuckles. "Have a good night, Y/N. Rest well."

"You too." You give him one last look and a wave before walking off. After watching you walk through the side door to get to your humble abode, Minho drives off to his next destination. He's in a good mood, but at the same time, he's not looking forward to his next interaction.

He knows he has to do this.

It needs to happen.

He parks his car in an open spot on the street, sighing to himself as he gathers his things and hops out the car. He's punching in the code to the lobby door before flying up the two flights of stairs. He heads down the familiar hallway, knocking on the door and anxiously standing aside as he waits for a response.

"Hey." Minho says as he stands in front of the door, watching as Kat smirks and tries to wrap her arms around him. He steps back though, and she confusingly looks at him when he gently pushes her arms back. "Sorry, I'm just here to talk. Do you have a quick minute?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess?" She says, gently closing the door behind her and stepping outside into the hallway. "What's up?" She crosses her arms as she eyes him up and down. Minho can tell she already knows where this is going, and there's really no way of sugarcoating the situation anyway.

It needs to happen.

Minho needs things to change.

"I, um—" Minho swallows the lump in his throat. He's just not good with this stuff in general, so he struggles. But, he manages to spit out the important part of this, which is: "—I don't think we should continue seeing each other anymore." She doesn't say anything for a moment to process whatever the fuck he just said, and the next response that comes out of her mouth is a pathetic little chuckle. Minho awkwardly shifts his weight from his left foot to his right foot, digging his hands into his pockets. 

"Of course." Her voice breaks off a bit towards the end of her response. 

"I'm sorry. I think you already knew where this was going though. I'm not sure what else to tell you." He probably looks even more like an asshole right now, especially with the way his expression doesn't really change; he's not doing much to explain, nor is he even trying with her in the first place. "This needed to happen."

"This needed to happen." She repeats as she crosses her arms and tears begin to fall down. She looks away to make it less obvious that she's starting to cry, but Minho catches on. She's hurt. Why wouldn't she be? He's a complete dick, and he has no one else to blame but himself for letting it get this far.

For ever letting it get this far.

"I'm sorry, Kat." He repeats because he doesn't know what else to do.

"Save it." She finally looks at him. "So, I was right." Minho just stupidly shrugs. "What's new, Minho? I don't know why I thought this time would be different."

"Kat." Minho lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "You and I both know we wouldn't work." He sighs again because truthfully, he did think they could at one point. He did try. He liked her.

But, he couldn't take it any further. It was just.. that.

"Okay, and then.. what? You're just gonna continue on with your sick little game and keep making her think that things are okay between you two? That your history is all pristine and angelic? Like you were always so fucking loyal—" Minho furrows his brows and lets out a little chuckle before shaking his head.

"We're not going there. Whatever goes on with Y/N, however this turns out— it doesn't concern you. As far as I know, it never did. At the end of the day, she's still my bestfriend and I need to prioritize her."

"Of course you do. That's your way of prioritizing her?" She rolls her eyes. "Goodluck with that Minho. She's gonna realize how much of a dick you actually are and want nothing to do with you." She gives him one last look before she's slamming the door in his face.

"I'm sorry." He repeats softly before turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway. He lets out a shaky breath of relief mixed with confusion, unsure of how to feel about everything because again— he's no good at this. And Kat is right, in a sense. You are eventually going to find out about all this shit, about how much of an asshole he was. Then, what? Would you want nothing to do with him? Would you stay away and keep your distance?

He's so dumb.

Why did he have to go and make all of this so fucking complicated? Now, he feels even worse. Because even if this page is closed, he still feels like he'll lose you.

And that's his fault.

Minho plops into the driver's seat, tempted to call you and ask if you've gotten settled at home. But, he stares at his phone screen for a good minute before he's shaking his head and setting his phone back down onto the middle console.

He should give you some breathing room. 

With that, he takes the drive home, letting the music in the background fill the emptiness. He's not sure if he has an appetite for anything. He'll probably drink some tea when he gets home and hop in the shower before laying in bed; staring mindlessly at the ceiling. Eventually, his thoughts will travel down memory lane, then they'll fix on you. Sooner or later, he'll find he only gets an hour or two of sleep [if he's lucky] before he needs to tackle another day.

Surprisingly when he arrives home, he doesn't see Chan or Seungmin's car out front. It's not uncommon for Chan to be home late, but Seungmin? He knows that boy would never miss an opportunity to hop in bed early. He sighs as he steps inside— tossing his shoes and keys aside before waddling into the kitchen to heat up some water. He can hear Jisung clicking away at his keyboard while throwing f-bombs and other curse words at his computer screen. Minho continues to dig around to see what's around and in the fridge, but still— he doesn't find himself getting hungry for anything.  

Once his water is done heating, he pours it into a mug and steeps his tea approximately for 4 minutes. He heads up the steps with his mug in hand, placing it down along with his things on his bedroom floor before walking to Jisung's room.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jisung's yelling turns into a whine. He kicks his head back onto his computer chair before letting out a deep sigh, body slumped into the chair.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just played such a shitty round." Jisung sighs.

"Where's Chan and Seungmo?"

"Chan's at the studio, and Seungmin's cousins are in town so he's out with them."

"Surprised he's out."

"Yeah, well." Jisung shrugs. "They don't come often." He turns to look at Minho. "How was Y/N during class today?"

"Uh, good." Minho shrugs a bit and chuckles. "I taught her something easy and slow afterwards. Then, I brought her home."

"Hm." Jisung hums as he eyes his bestfriend. Minho does that thing he does when he's trying to hide something [even though he's terrible at it in the first place]. He looks down at the floor and subtly bites on his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling. "Okay, what is it?"

"Huh?" Minho chuckles a bit. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Jisung repeats, already suspicious. 

"It was just a good class?"

"All of a sudden? Cause Y/N was there?"

"I didn't even say anything like that—" All of a sudden, Minho can tell Jisung is angry. Especially with the way he cuts him off and stands from his seat.

"What the hell are you trying to do here, dude?" Jisung angrily looks at him, and Minho knew this was coming one way or another. He knew it'd happen soon. 

He just didn't think it would be today. But alas, here we are.

Fuck.

"Okay, relax. I didn't even say anything. Classes are chill regardless." He repeats as he looks at Jisung, matching his energy. "Why are you getting angry?"

"Because! I told you. Don't do this. Don't make it harder on her. I asked for one thing from you and you couldn't even do that." Jisung spits back. 

"No one is doing anything! I let her watch class and I taught her something. Big fucking whoop."

"Right. You took her home after."

"And?"

"And? Don't act stupid."

"What do you want from me?" Minho pathetically laughs.

"I know you. I've known you for years and I know the way you get with Y/N. You're trying again, aren't you?"

"Because she fucking came to class and we hung out for a bit?" Minho rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. "Besides— even if I was, what is it to you?"

"What is it to me? You're joking, right?" Jisung pauses. "Have you forgotten about all the shit you pulled with Y/N?"

"Stop acting like I have because I haven't! Thanks to your wonderful ass reminders." Minho's tone raises a bit, and he adds a bit of sarcasm to his statement. "You can't come at me for being the only one in the wrong here when you're hiding all of this from her. If you were really worried about her, you should've came clean from the beginning."

"Oh, please. You have no idea what it was like to fucking see her crying over you!" Jisung yells back. "That's why I do it! You weren't there to comfort her and console her for days, Minho! Why? Because of all that shit with Kat! I know I can't protect her from everything but I'll be damned if I let history repeat itself. So, yeah, you might be right in a sense— maybe I should've told her from the beginning so she wouldn't have these expectations. But I thought of you, too. I didn't think you'd want to lose her that way either." 

"She's my bestfriend, too."

"Stop using that excuse. It's played out and it's old. You haven't treated her like that even after the accident happened. Get a fucking grip." Jisung lets out a small groan. "You know what she's been through, you know what you've done— yet, you're trying because she doesn't remember. You're so incredibly selfish." Jisung shakes his head. "Whatever though, you do you. If this gets all twisted and blown up at the wrong time, I'm putting that on you." Minho clenches his jaw for a moment while he looks at Jisung, but Jisung doesn't look like he's going to give this up anytime soon. 

So, Minho lets out a sigh before shrugging. "I made some stupid mistakes and I know I still do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I started this mess and I'm sorry you had to see that because of me."

"Yeah, you should be. I don't know what I'll do if I see her hurt again, so please don't fuck this up any more than you already have. "Jisung sighs. He's upset, so he's saying whatever comes to mind first. But, the words hit Minho quick before Jisung can even apologize— cutting new, fresh wounds hearing his own bestfriend talk to him that way. 

"I'll say it one more time before I let this go. I know I fucked up, but I'm your bestfriend too. Sometimes, it'd be a little nice if you cut me some slack. I'm learning from my mistakes and I'm trying to do better. It doesn't happen overnight but I'm not completely hopeless, you know?" Minho turns towards his room and shuts the door, causing Jisung to groan into his hands.

"Fuck."

☁︎ FLASHBACK | SENIOR YEAR IN COLLEGE

It hadn't been too long before Minho was texting you, letting you know he was outside. You smiled to yourself and grabbed your jacket— tossing it on before shutting your door behind you. You waved when you saw his car, but you were quick to notice how unhappy Minho seemed in his car. He had his hood over his head, sitting in the driver's seat with a blank expression. You were excited to see him, but that faded once you realized he wasn't feeling the same way you were.

"Hey." You say softly as you step into the passenger's seat. "You okay?" He lets out a shaky breath before giving you a tiny, pursed smile.

"Yeah. Is it okay if we go for a quick drive somewhere?"

"Of course." You sit in the seat, uncomfortable with all the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. Everything about Minho— his body language, his tone— says that things aren't okay, and you aren't sure if you're ready for what's about to happen.

Even though, you have an idea where this is going. Judging by how disconnected he's been from you lately.

Minho pulls up to a trail, lining the lake nearby campus. You and your friends have been here before, so it wasn't unfamiliar to you. What is unfamiliar is this Minho, how silent and cryptic he's being— how he's avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

But, he finally speaks. Even though it's a lousy:

"We should talk."

"Um, yeah. I think so. What's on your mind?" He sighs, but he still isn't making much eye contact with you even as you turn in your seat to face him. The silence is lethal, and you wish he would just come out and say it.

Why hold it off when it's clear where this is going?

"Babe." You say softly. "Babe, what is it, just—"

"I think we should break up." He finally looks at you, even when he doesn't feel enough courage to. There are tears lining his bottom lids, but they don't spill. He looks out the window again, finger brushing against his lip as he waits for your response.

The main reason why he immediately breaks eye contact is because he knows you'll cry. And you do. He hears you sniffing in the passenger seat, and he hears you holding back the sobs, the sounds that threaten to leave your throat. 

He hates this, but he thinks this needed to happen.

"Why?"

"Don't you think we should? Look at us. We've just been fighting lately. We've been distant. One moment, we're okay and then the next, we aren't. It's been a cycle and I know you're tired of it just as much as I am."

"No, you don't speak for me. I would never be tired of this. I wouldn't look at us as some kind of chore, Minho." Your tone raises a bit.

"See, that's what I'm talking about!"

"No, you don't know what the hell you're talking about! Because if you did, you'd sit through this tough phase with me and work it out instead of finding the easy way out." Silence. "All these years and you think this is how we go about it?" You scoff. "Why don't you be honest and tell me what the real reason is."

"That's the reason."

"It's not. It's Kat, isn't it?" Silence again. And this time, it shatters you— breaks you into bits and pieces more than you can imagine. Because even though he isn't saying anything, the silence is telling. "Please just tell me the truth." You say close to a whisper, your cries becoming heavier when reality starts to settle in.

This was it.

He was done.

Where did you go wrong?

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just think it's the right thing to do." He isn't answering the question, and you don't know if that makes it worse.

Scratch that, it does.

He can't even tell you the truth.

"How long has it been?"

"What?" He looks at you again.

"How long has it been, Minho? With Kat. How long have you liked her?" He sighs and shrugs.

"I don't know? A couple of weeks or so?" It's fitting, the timeline is fitting. It could be close to a month when Minho has been distant. He tried, thinking this was all a silly little phase, a stupid infatuation. But it wasn't, and now he's to the point where he's too curious and can't even focus on fixing his relationship with you.

Such a shame, you think.

You tried to think of all the signs that you missed. The parties that he had gone to recently without you there, the small conversations in the library, the random texts. Hanging out with people on campus that he normally wasn't around. Jisung questioned it too, but didn't think too much of it.

Fuck. You are so stupid.

All these years and it wasn't enough— you weren't enough.

"I should've—" You pause as you start to cry into your hands. "Where did things even go wrong— I—"

"Y/N, please don't do that. We've just run our course and I think we have to accept—"

"Don't. You chose, we didn't just run our course." You groan. "I'm so stupid." A few tears drop when he continues to hear you sob in the seat next to him, but he quickly wipes it away and starts the car. He's just unsure of what else to do or say at this point. 

He's no good at this.

"I'm sorry." He says softly. "I'll take you back home, alright?" You don't say a word because you're exhausted from all of this already. Everything was wrong, everything felt wrong, uncomfortable, awkward. You hated this, and as much as you wanted to try and work this out—

There was nothing to work out.

You couldn't change his mind. He was set on it. 

You just wanted to get home.

And when you do finally get back, you simply unbuckle the seatbelt and swing the door open even as Minho calls for your name one last time with a pathetic 'please.' You don't even know if he said anything else, you don't care enough to figure it out. You just needed to get away from him.

As soon as you step back into your room, you feel yourself getting more lightheaded and sick to your stomach. You sit on the floor, back pressed against your cabinet as you shakily pressed Jisung's number on your phone. It rings twice before he's picking up, saying his hello's as brightly as he always does.

"Cielo! Yo! What's up?" You can't even get the words out. Instead, you let out a breath before you're silently sobbing into the phone. It's easy for Jisung to tell. Besides hearing your light whimpers, you haven't said anything since he picked up the call. His heart drops as he stops what he's doing and immediately begins to grab at his keys. "Hey, cielo. What's going on?"

"J-Jisung." You stutter in between cries. "Can you come over please?"

"I'm already hopping into my car." He says as dashes to his car, shutting the door and starting it up. "I'll be there really soon, okay? I'll be there." He repeats.

"Okay." You end the call and wipe away at your face. You tuck your knees to your chest, silently weeping as you wait for your bestfriend to arrive. Minho's words continue to repeat in your head, and you feel what's left of you slowly crumble into pieces. 

He wanted to see other people.

He didn't want this anymore.

He didn't want you anymore.

You try to rewind and think about every single moment you had shared with Minho— wondering where you went wrong and where you could've done better. None of this was your fault, but at the same time, everything felt like your fault.

Where could you have gone wrong?

"Cielo?" Through your silent cries, you hear Jisung scrambling outside of your door. He quickly shoves his shoes aside and swings the door open, his heart instantly dropping when he sees you crying on the floor. "Y/N, what's going on?" He worriedly asks as he drops down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

"He broke up with me."

"Minho?" Jisung furrows his brows, the anger rising within him. He knew Minho had been acting a little weird and distant lately, but he didn't think much of it. Maybe he should've, then he could've talked to him about what was going on in his mind. Find better ways to handle this.

But, you can never change someone's mind once they're set on it.

"It's Kat. He didn't say it, but I know it's her." Jisung sighs. Of course. It makes a little more sense. No wonder Kat had been around him a little more.  No wonder he seemed disconnected.

"I'm so sorry." He whispers onto your head as he continues to hold you close, letting you drench his shirt with your tears. "I'm so sorry he did this." He repeats. "Swear I'll kill him."

"No." You softly respond. "Don't."

"I hate that he hurt you." 

"H-He must really like her, doesn't he?" You pull back to look at Jisung and his heart shatters seeing you like this. The last time he's seen you this torn up was when your mom passed.

He knows you are hurting.

You hurt, and you hurt.

"I don't know, Y/N. I wish I knew more about this, but I'm in the dark as much as you are."

"He doesn't want me." Jisung lets out a breath before pulling you back towards him. "What did I do wrong?"

"Don't say that. Don't ever question yourself. None of this was your fault. He'll realize what a dumb fucking mistake this was." He rubs your arm. "He let go of someone great and that is his biggest loss."

"Jisung." You cry even harder and Jisung has no idea what else he could possibly do to alleviate the pain. He wishes he could take this way from you. "This hurts." You repeat. "This hurts so bad. Why didn't any of this matter to him? This hurts." You go on.

"I know. I'm sorry Y/N. I'm here." He hugs you tighter and rests his chin on the top of your head. "I'm here. We're gonna get you through this. You have me."

☁︎ END

⇢ read jisung's thoughts in 10.5: [cloudy days] here

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