#but why is it always them... they are so lovely and so well-written i just can't believe they get so much hate

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, ���Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

Perma Tags: @mbioooo0000 , @thatgirlangelb (<- you've been added without choice. suffer.)

[wellofdean]

got these tags today from prev: #i think it's beautiful bc it didn't set out to be queer#life uh finds a way#it's not the best television ever#like not legit among the greats#but it had some incredible moments

And like... I have made a LOT of posts, at great length saying why I think Dean was always imagined as a queer character, and where the queerness was baked into the DNA of the show from episode one, and which I will not reprise here, but as much as I disagree that the queer glory of Supernatural is something it tripped and fell into by accident somehow, and without everyone involved knowing that queerness was part of what they were making, I do agree with something here: it's beautiful because it was a fucking journey.

Supernatural was not like today's prestige television with a tight 8-10 episodes and a fully planned narrative from day one, it was old-timey TV that arose out of things like Twin Peaks and The X-Files, falling somewhere between a weekly procedural and a serial. It had broad plot arcs sketched out, but the day-to-day grind of writing and making it was driven by characters that took on depth and meaning as it went along; network television long seasons with lots of filler that did nothing to further the serial plot, but let us get to know the characters, who became more and more lovable and real the more time we spent with them, in an organic way.

Maybe my Gen-X is showing here, but there's something beautiful about something that feels open-ended, isn't there? I mean, Supernatural STILL feels open-ended. Like, any moment now patient zero Jensen is going to suit up and tell us more of Dean's story, and we won't know where it's going and it will be fucking GREAT just to spend any time whatsoever with Dean? Television nowadays feels so PLANNED and yeah, there's some great stuff out there, but Supernatural had something special and fucking great that doesn't really exist anymore.

Like, what does it mean "one of the best" or "legit among the greats"? Supernatural was 15 years of storytelling, and for all the fucking kvetching on this, the Supernatural website, about its vagaries, it was pretty consistently well written. Jensen Ackles is a legit great actor who is seriously underrated for his sheer fucking craft, and as much as it is undeniable that Supernatural has some genuinely silly episodes, taken as a whole, when all of it is in your mind, the themes and threads in it are unironically epic in scope, and it has legitimately interesting things to say about those themes. AND it has incredible moments. AND the most devastaingly romantic love story I can think of.

Like, fellas, it's one of the best TO ME. It's legit among MY greats, and I would argue it deserves a place up there.

I got this one hobby horse, and god knows I'm gonna saddle up and ride it: Supernatural was a legitimately good show and it was queer as hell in its very bones.

[blueaprondelight]

rockstar!carmy thoughts (via that lovely video olive so graciously blessed my feed with - here) NSFW THOUGHTS WILL BE POSTED TO MY OTHER BLOG! THESE ARE SFW!

okay, so like hear me out on this one because i just needed to get my thoughts out about this man rockstar!carm. in some other life, he's a guy who plays guitar in a band he started with his friends. i don't know why, no one does. he's playing some show in some city he's too lazy to remember (he's just in the background anyhow, he doesn't consider it his job to know where the fuck they're playing). his same tattoos on his arm - maybe with a few other music based ones - with a fender six string over his muscley arms and he knows he has his fan girls. every member does but he has a few more than the other guys because.. he's carmen berzatto he-fucking-llo. and who can blame them for choosing him!?

but he's literally paying them NO mind. no eye contact with them, no flirtatious ways like the other guys. he has you at home waiting for him.

i can totally see him meeting you through a mutual friend or even - hear me out - you being the photographer for their tour. he'd make EXCUSES just to talk to you about any and everything just because he wants to hear your voice go on and on

it's giving "forever" by the beach boys but i digress

that man would call every chance he gets. on long bus nights, after shows, before they go on stage. he'd call just to hear your voice, to hear you talk like he was there, to ask how you were doing. because to him?? that was his like stage freight buster.

if he's caught by paparazzi, it's usually always with you. his arm slung around you, or standing with you behind the stage (he thought he was out of sight but somehow he never is), arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his chest as the opener plays and he has so many things that remind you of him! he has a photo of you in his wallet, he has a photo of you and him that was taken by some friend at some party hanging on his bunk or as his home screen that fans can see easily whenever his phone is on in his hands before or after the show he'd have your initials written somewhere on his guitar, he'd have a kiss mark from you 100% on it as well, i stand by that

[mythals-whore]

ASSIGNING THE MEMBERS OF THE VEILGUARD A TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM BECAUSE I CAN!!!

Harding - Debut

Obviously she’s our Ferelden farm girl so this just makes sense, but let me elaborate anyway. Harding is VERY Tied Together with a Smile/ The Outside to me?? Not to mention i feel like she would love the angrier songs Picture to Burn/ should’ve said no. We know how she gets when she’s angry. And you can’t convince me she wouldn’t LOVE Our Song.

Neve - Midnights

Do i even need to explain this one?? Neve gives such Midnights vibes, vigilante shit/mastermind/midnight rain???? Also SO yoyok coded. i feel like her romance is very Labyrinth/Snow on the Beach. And the woman who pets all of docktown’s stray cats is very “karma is a cat” of her idc.

Bellara - Red (TV)

This one was hard! It was between Red and 1989 to me. I just think Bellara would love the high energy pop beats (22, WANEGBT, Starlight). But i think she would LOVE Treacherous/State of Grace as well. Will help with the fanfic writing 100%. I put TV here specifically bc Better Man & Forever Winter could very much remind her of Cyrian??? And you can’t convince me Bellara wouldn’t be obsessed with ATWTMVTV.

Lucanis - Speak Now

Purple vibes, obvious. But he’s like, very Enchanted to me. AKA loves reading romance novels and the concept of romance but doesn’t know much about it/has never experienced it but wants it badly. Which is also why Electric Touch/Sparks Fly apply here. Don’t think about Lucanis listening to Castles Crumbling when he gets back from the Ossuary to find that Caterina is gone (+ later if you don’t save Treviso). Also Innocent was written about him, Taylor told me.

Shout to passenger princess Spite which i feel Taylor embodied when she wrote Dear John (iykyk)

Davrin - Lover

First of all, he is SO The Archer. “Ive been the Archer, Ive been the prey” “i jump from the train and ride off alone i never grew up its getting so old” “i cut off my nose just to spite my face and hate my reflection for years and years” its so Davrin (also one of my favorite songs maybe ever so this is big news). Also as @pinayelf pointed out, Assan as the Arrow?? Dying. But also Davrin’s romance is so Its Nice to Have a Friend. I saw someone talk about this not that long ago, but he’s very much a friend first?? Like he gives the vibe that as your LI you just hang out and rib on each other. I just i feel like they laugh a lot. + Lover as an album is soft but very anxiously attached?? Which i feel is the whole inner life of “i am a Grey Warden and im not supposed to get to attached bc it can’t last.” Honorable mentions go to Daylight/I Think He Knows/Cruel Summer/ Cornelia Street

Could also be convinced he is Reputation bc Reputation seems hardcore but is secretly very soft.

Emmrich - Tortured Poets (The Anthology)

Emmrich would LOVE the flowery language in this. Would love analyzing the lyrics with his besties. He’d love The Albatross (which, coincidentally is one of my favs, guess he just has good taste) and The Manuscript. Also tbh i don’t know much about his romance but “you know how to ball, i know Aristotle” feels like Emmrich with a much younger Rook (shout out to But Daddy I Love Him as well). Idk i think he’d secretly love it. Also relating Robin to Manfred bc that is his son??? On the sad side i feel like Emmrich is very the Prophecy/Peter because he has that dialogue about how he ‘once thought he’d get married’ like he always wanted love but never found it.

Taash - evermore

This was very difficult but i think the general witchy vibes are very “I’m Rivaini, we’re cool with spirits”. Also Tolerate It feels like when their mom comes to visit and no matter what Taash does it’s not good enough. Laash specifically is Dorothea/Ivy to me. And then of course (endgame spoilers) Marjorie after their mom dies and RWYLM if Harding is also gone. As a fan of the ‘pots and pans’ of Closure, they also get this one assigned to them. Just feels right.

[akookminsupporter]

There’s a photo—or, well, I guess it's a screenshot from this clip—that happens to be one of my absolute favourite pictures of Jimin and Jungkook. This clip itself is one of my favourites of the two of them for two reasons.

The first reason, and probably the most obvious one if you’re someone who pays attention to details, is how perfectly their outfits are coordinated. It’s like they’re matching but not in a way that’s too deliberate or forced. They’re both wearing the same colours, but the way those colours are used or styled is slightly different in each of their outfits. Jimin and Jungkook do this quite often—whether it’s a coincidence or intentional, who knows?

If you think about it, they’ve always had this knack for wearing the same colour palette. Over the last few years, they’ve even started leaning towards a similar overall style of clothing. The main difference is that Jungkook’s outfits tend to be noticeably more oversized, while Jimin’s clothes are oversized as well, just not to the same extreme. But in general, their styles are so alike that it’s hard not to notice. They both gravitate towards neutral tones—white, black, greys, and the occasional earthy tones. Jimin, however, is a bit more adventurous when it comes to colours. He’ll sometimes add a pop of something unexpected, but even then, he stays within a very sophisticated, monochromatic or neutral vibe.

This makes it pretty common to see them with outfits that feel unintentionally coordinated. Sure, other members also dress similarly from time to time—for example, Yoongi often wears neutral tones, too but you wouldn't immediately say he coordinated his outfit with Jimin or Jungkook or both.

Now, the second reason I love this clip has more to do with the phrase written on the back of Jungkook’s bomber jacket. If you take it from the perspective of what we believe their relationship might be, that phrase feels incredibly meaningful. It almost seems to capture how they have to navigate the world they’re in. For people like them—living under constant scrutiny, with so much pressure on their shoulders—it must be incredibly isolating at times. And yet, the phrase on his jacket seems to reflect the idea that, no matter how hard or lonely it gets, they’ve got each other.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I’ve always thought that phrase encapsulates so much about who they are and how they seem to handle things together. From the way I see them, there’s this unspoken connection between them—a sense that they just get each other on a level that’s hard to explain.

This connection goes beyond clothes or coordinated outfits. Jimin and Jungkook seem to share so many things in terms of their personalities, tastes, and even their thought processes. Out of all the members, I feel like this is something almost unique to them. It’s not just fans who notice it, either. The other members have commented on it, sometimes confusing one for the other or saying that either one of them could’ve done or said something because they’re so similar. Even their laughter sounds alike, especially when they’re together. It’s one of those little things that feels so endearing and makes you wonder just how much time they’ve spent together to develop such similarities.

Can you imagine what they’ll be like once they’ve finished their military service? I can’t wait for all the behind-the-scenes content that’s bound to come out when the group starts promoting together again.

At the end of the day, their dynamic feels so special. Whether it’s through their coordinated outfits, shared laughter, or the way they just seem to click, there’s something about them that’s completely unique. It’s one of the reasons why moments like this clip—and even something as simple as a photo from it—stick with me. It’s not just about how they look together but about everything they represent.

[twistedpink]

Hello! Not an ask, just fangirl rambling (not sure if you're into that though.?)

In answer to your ''Lilia vs Idia x Reader anyone'' from a few days ago YES I AGREE we see tons of adeuce x reader and idia x azul x reader but never with Lilia and Idia?? Which makes no sense to me, there's so much potential there! Firstly Lilia and Idia's relationship is as incredibly funny as it is touching (on top of being the two best written characters in this game but I may be biased), secondly their personalities balance each other so well, and thirdly the scenarios possibilities - them not knowing they're online bff when reader becomes close friends with them both separately (Idia moping and judging at the same time cause you're hanging with the n°1 freaky extrovert, going ''yeah obviously you'd rather spend time with a charismatic hyper dude than me...'' and ''ugh you like this guy??'' at the same time. Meanwhile Lilia finds it endearing that you'd befriend such a socially awkward guy, but also, you have weird taste?) and then bring in romance and jealousy and they get worse. But then again, make them realize they're actually online bff!! And now reader can hang out with both of them at once, and do so many fun group activities (playing four players games with Ortho -grim canonically gets frustrated with controllers : ( going to premo concerts, to cons, perhaps even a cat or game cafe), Lilia would happily drag Idia out of his room, literally if needed, and Ortho would be ecstatic his brother has not one but two friends, gets out more and always ends up having a good time (on top of building confidence and trust in others)! And maybe even Lilia could get emotional growth out of it; if two people not from his found family keep telling him how awesome and loved he is perhaps he'd start internalizing it and value himself more? But also the bittersweet romantic tension in a bff trio! Uuugghh why does no one writes fic about them

Just consider the perfect imageries of their duo : SF and medieval fantasy! Otaku shut in and chaotic adhd hyper goth! Vampire-like dark fae weapon of war and literal god of the underworld (the goth dream)! The height difference! -and somehow a great deal of their clothes are the same size

also, the snark fest would be phenomenal with both their forces combined

YES my favourite part of the musclegloom dynamic is that this is their escape, and obviously they have no idea it’s just “that guy from class” bc even if they did get close it’s pretty wild to accuse someone that you’ve been playing RPGs together for an extended period of time. Imagine the TENSION when you get closer to them as indidviduals- peeling back the layers and going “hey! I used to play something exactly like this back home, can I sit in?” And bc they’re whipped they let you, but those gaming accounts are sacred!!! So Idia starts beginner friendly games w/ you and Lils just plays the stuff he likes on new accs. Imagine being with Idia on a new game (inching your way into his lap bc sue me it’s cold) WHILE getting spammed by Lilia. Your phone’s vibrating every couple seconds and Idia’s scowl just gets worse bc he knows exactly who it is. Even going as far to TRIPLE TEXT you (wowwww record breaking) next time you’re in diasomnia despite flaming your “baby-metal mob” for doing the same thing last week. The boys accidentally finding and WEARING each other’s stuff (Lilia does it on purpose- free is free) (Idia has one sided beef and Ortho restocks his closet anyways. He doesn’t know what belongs there on a good day)

+ This and FWB, Ids needs to become your boyfriend for his confidence and Lilia is a massive swinger no matter how possessive he gets. He has you when he needs to, AND the rush of stealing you away from someone??? You spoil him <3

[grapejuice32]

Fight For Us: Part 3

Fight For Us series here

reader x undecided

In which you and Rafe have been together for years until one day you catch him cheating on you. He begs you not to leave him and so you tell him that he needs to fight for you and your relationship. Upon leaving him you have nowhere to stay but with The Pogues, their lifestyle shows you what your life can be and it leads you realise that maybe you don't love Rafe the way you used to anymore, prompting you to wonder if he's even worth forgiving.

You’d woken up much later than you’d intended to the next day, but you put it down to the nerves of seeing Rafe keeping you up later than intended last night. Begrudgingly, you pulled yourself up from your couch, time on your phone reading 10:36, leaving you with roughly an hour before you had to leave and meet Rafe. Your gaze left the screen of your phone, your attention turned to a mug of what was now semi-warm coffee on the table, a note beside it. Written in very messy handwriting it read, ‘To help with the lack of sleep from last night – JJ :)’. You were unable to control the grin that took over your face and you shook your head, running a hand through your tangled hair and sipping from the cooling drink, wincing slightly at the strength of it. A moment of hesitation passed before you picked up the note, folding it and putting it in your handbag that was strewn on the floor near your shoes.

Before you knew it, you were dressed and making your way to the club, you couldn’t help but feel insecure, knowing that the woman who Rafe had been seeing behind your back worked there. When you got there, ten minutes late but you figured he deserved to wait, you exhaled anxiously and plastered a small, fake, smile on your face before making your way through the club, weaving in between tables until you finally found the one he was sat at. His eyes were fixed on you, a small, hopeful, look present in them as you slowly made your way to the empty seat, his lips parted slightly in anticipation. 

The first forty seconds after you sat down were silent, you were fiddling with the hem of your shirt, your eyes glued to the table, not sure if you were prepared to make eye contact yet. After what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat, his voice, one that used to lull you to sleep with sweet nothings, mumbled an anxious, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you practically whispered, still not looking up at him. 

You heard him release a sigh, you weren’t sure whether it was due to the awkward atmosphere or in relief at you speaking and not remaining silent. “Thanks for um, thanks for asking t’see me.”

He sounded genuinely relieved and somewhat consoled, you couldn’t help the tears that you wanted to let loose but held back, “Um, interesting place that you chose.” You couldn’t help but say it, unsure what the setting meant. 

“ ‘s the club, we always come here.” His words came out confused, as if he didn’t notice the implications in which the setting he’d chosen held.

“Well, she uh, she works here,” you reminded, your words still coming out quiet, you couldn’t help it, “Sofia, that’s her name, right?” You asked as if you didn’t know, as if her name hadn’t been plaguing you ever since Topper told you. 

“I-shit, ‘s not, uh,” he cleared his throat anxiously, “ ‘s not why I said t’come here. I, ‘m not seein’ her anymore. It completely slipped my mind, honest. We can, we can go somewhere else if y’want.”

But you shook your head, “No, no it’s okay. As long as she’s not working today.”

“No, ‘s Wednesday, she doesn’t work Wednesdays.” The words came so casually from him, he clearly didn’t realise the impact that they’d hold. 

“Right,” you whispered, laughing shortly, as if to reassure yourself. As the minutes slipped by, the grip you had on your phone grew, prepared to call someone to come and get you. Rafe had ordered drinks for the two of you, but you didn’t pay them any mind, instead just drinking the iced water in the small glass next to you. A silence fell over the table again, it took you a while before you finally spoke again, “Is she the only one, or, or were there others?” You spoke slowly, not ready to hear the answer which could potentially make you feel even worse than you already did.

“No,” he instantly denied, “she’s, Sofia’s the only one. I swear.” You weren’t sure whether that made you feel worse or better. What was so special about her? You swallowed and nodded, still not looking at him. There was a certain fondness in the way he spoke her name that broke your heart. 

“Why? What’s so special about her? What does she have that I don’t?” You couldn’t help but ask, the questions having been keeping you up at night, desperately wanting to know where it had gone wrong. 

“I don’t, I- nothing, she, she’s not you.” He stumbled over his words, you could only scoff at that, licking your lips and finally looking up at him, slightly surprised to be met with his teary eyes, “Nobody is you. I don’t, ‘m so sorry, I jus’, I-“ he shook his head, cutting himself off. 

“You were with her for four months, Rafe. That’s a really long time.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, the reality of the situation hitting you like a truck all over again. 

He exhaled and ran a hand over his head, “I know, an’ I, I know I fucked up, kay? I jus’ I-I, please, I miss you.” The way he stuttered as he spoke, the way his voice cracked, the way a tear slipped down his cheek, all of it hurt, because you missed him too. But you’d been missing him for months, he’d only had to miss you for a week, because of what he had done to you. “I-I need you, ‘m not, I-I jus’ I wanna fix this, tell me how to fix this. Please, baby.”

“You can’t call me that.” You simply said, trying to ignore the way your heart ached at his words, because you wished that it could go back to how it had been between you two before her, but what was done was done, and he couldn’t wash it all away, even if you wanted it. 

“Why?” He asked, his words now coming out quite as yours had done previously, in a strange way you couldn’t help but relish in the power you held in the situation, a feeling that had been somewhat foreign to you until very recently.

“Because it’s not fair, Rafe.” Your head shook as you spoke, “It’s not fair to me and you know it. It can’t all go back to how it was before. You can’t just wash it all away with your words. It doesn’t work that way. I told you, if you want this, you need to fight for us.”

“I will, ‘m gonna, ‘m gonna sort myself out.” He nodded, sniffling as he wiped the few tears that had wet his cheeks away. “ ‘m gonna get better an’ ‘m gonna win you back.”

What he was saying was everything you wanted to hear, but it was too much, you needed to leave because if he kept going the way he was, you’d go back to him, and you didn’t want that, not yet at least. You looked down at your phone on your lap to message JJ.

Y: Can you come get me pls?

JJ: omw, see you in five.

You tried to ignore the way your heart flattered at his instant reply, you looked back up at Rafe and gathered your bag, putting your phone in it and standing from the table. “I’m going to go, okay? I uh, I hope you’re telling the truth. But I also hope you know that no matter what you do, it’s not going to wash away what you did.”

“Oh, okay. I, yeah, no, I know.” He nodded and you gave him a small, solemn smile and left. By the time you’d weaved your way through all the tables in the large club and made your way outside, JJ was already there. You weren’t sure how exactly he’d gotten to you so quickly, but you chose not to question it and walked towards where he stood, leaning against his bike. 

“Are you okay?” He asked as he took in your form, your teary eyes and red lips from where you’d been chewing at the skin. You shook your head, a tear finally escaping and running down your chin. 

“Thank you,” you smiled despite the pain you felt in the moment, “thank you for coming to get me.”

“Told you I’d come and get you,” he shrugged, not realising how much the simple gesture had meant to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder in a comforting manner, “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” He helped you onto his bike, sliding into the seat in front of you after handing you the only helmet he had. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pretending not to notice how he tensed slightly before he started the bike. The ride was a lot longer than it should have been, and it took you a while to notice that it was because he was taking the long way around the island. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you could only appreciate the gesture, you’d only really known him for a week, but you couldn’t help but appreciate all of his gestures, appreciate him and the others.

Please lmk what you guys think, I'd love to hear from you! I'll also be happy to try and write any requests you may have <3

Taglist: @maybankslover @pillowprincess4him @syraxnyra @sereneera @ietss @emeloyy @jamimers @watermelonlollipop @czm0

[synthetickitsune]

Dino (SVT) | Good Luck, Babe! angst | 0.7k | f!reader warnings: reader wants to leave chan at the altar for a woman A/N: i'm so late to be obsessed with this song but oh well lmao

“Hey, uh,” you speak so fast the words blur together, “Do you think we could run away together?”

During the second of silence you realize your words probably weren’t clear enough to be understood, but that doesn’t matter. You only need to say them. You only need for them to be heard. You don’t expect much at this point.

The answer comes from a robotic voice notifying you that the number you called cannot be reached.

That’s not a no - that’s all you can think. 

Since your calls go unanswered, there still is a possibility that the person feels the way you do, right? You’ve been friends since you can remember, surely there’s some chance that she wants happiness for you… right? That she will forgive you and save you from your own choices like she’s always done.

Although you’re sure that your husband-to-be could make you happy too, it doesn’t feel right. You know he could, though. You need to believe it. Chan’s a good man. A kind man. He’s just not… You don’t even know what he’s not. He’s everything that they say would make a good husband, but is that what you’re looking for? You don’t know. Probably not, seeing as you’re still trying to reach your best friend. Former best friend? There’s too many things you don’t know.

You hang up the unanswered call and let your hand drop. Staring at the lit up screen with the contact info pulled up, it feels like the universe is mocking you. Just then, there’s a knock at your door.

“Love?” It’s Chan.

You quickly try to collect yourself, but you don’t trust your voice not to betray you and your complicated feelings, so you just hum in response. 

“I just… I want you to know that I love you.” You close your eyes and let a wave of gratefulness wash over you. You truly don’t know what you’d do if Chan wasn’t so set on not seeing you in your wedding dress. The door separating you and him feels like the wall you built around yourself inside your own head, one that you never allowed him to break through.

“I know you must be nervous - I’m so nervous. My heart beats so fast it hurts,” he chuckles. All your friends and family always told you that his smile and laughter is infectious, so you used to laugh and smile along whenever he did. This time you don’t.

“But I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together,” the smile in his voice is so loud. You feel nauseous. You call the number again, your fingers trembling as they tap away on the screen. You can only pray that she’ll pick up now, at the worst moment possible. Would you still go through with it? You’d love to say you don’t know, but right now that’s the one thing you’re sure of.

“Just… deep breaths, yeah?” he laughs softly again and you can imagine him standing on the other side of the door, fidgeting with the piece of paper with his vows written on it, “I love you. See you soon.”

You want to cry. The call goes on and on, unanswered once again. At least the tears will be written off as nerves or happiness. Today you can cry as much as you want without judgement. Nobody will know because nobody will ever know you like she does.

She was right, you realize and it almost makes you laugh. She knew that you’ll change your mind when it’s too late. You have no idea why you didn’t listen. You can be oblivious, but you thought you’d be the one to know your heart the best. Apparently, that was another foolish assumption on your part. Just the same as thinking everything will click into place when the wedding day comes and you’ll be walking towards the altar.

It doesn’t matter that Chan’s looking at you like you’re his entire life or that his entire face lights up. It doesn’t matter that some of the guests tear up with genuine happiness for you two. You feel sick to your stomach, your knees almost give up as you meet Chan and he takes his hand in yours.

His vows are a white noise in your ears.

It takes everything in you not to change your vows to a simple apology to her.

[echo-riot]

✞⛧Fading Love (Abby x Reader)✞⛧

Warnings: graphic violence, emotional distress, angst, infection (zombie-related), grief, sad ending

An: Another one from the drafts ✌️😎

The air is thick with dust and the heavy scent of decay. You can feel it in your bones, that oppressive weight that only the world after everything has crumbled can bring. Every scavenger’s mission is filled with the possibility of danger, but you and Abby have become efficient at navigating the wasteland, like two hunters in sync. That’s why this feels different. You didn’t expect to feel so… vulnerable.

The two of you have been out all day, the sun now dipping low, casting long shadows through the overgrown streets. You hadn’t thought it would be a problem, at first, when you spotted that small building—just another old store, its windows long shattered, half-buried under vines and debris. But now, standing with Abby by your side, you wish you had listened to the gnawing sense of unease.

You’ve been in worse places, done worse things, survived worse situations. But as you step into the dark interior of the building, your foot catches on something hidden beneath the layers of rotting wood and scrap metal. You curse, but before you can steady yourself, the creature comes out of nowhere. A click of claws against concrete, followed by the guttural hiss of an infected, and then—pain.

The sting hits your leg first, a hot burst of fire shooting up your calf as the infected’s teeth sink into your flesh. You scream in shock, stumbling backward, but Abby is there—always there—pulling you away, her strong arms gripping your shoulders. She swings her crowbar with precision, the infected’s skull cracking open in an instant. But by then, it’s already too late.

“Shit,” Abby mutters, her voice strained with that raw edge you know so well. She’s already kneeling beside you, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “You okay?”

The world feels slow, like you’re watching from somewhere far off. Your breath is coming in shallow gasps, but you know what’s happened even before you look down at your leg. The deep puncture marks are already swelling with a sickening tinge of purple, blood welling around the wound. Your fingers tremble as you touch it, knowing full well that the infection is already starting to spread.

“Abby…” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

Her eyes are wide, and you can see the panic clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach, but she’s fighting it. She’s always so strong, so composed in the face of danger, and yet right now, you can see how utterly helpless she feels.

“Don’t worry,” she says, though it doesn’t sound convincing. Her fingers graze your cheek, and you can feel the tremble in her touch. “I’ll get you back to camp. We’ll figure it out. I’ll fix this.”

But you know. You’ve known from the moment that bite sank into your leg that there’s no coming back from this. The infection spreads too quickly. There’s no cure. No matter how hard Abby tries to save you, the end has already been written.

You force a small, weak smile, but it’s hollow. “It’s okay, Abby.” The words are barely above a whisper, but she hears them, her brow furrowing, a fresh wave of panic clouding her gaze.

“No,” she breathes, her voice tight, almost pleading. “Don’t say that. I can get help. We’ll find a way.”

You want to tell her that there’s no point, but you can’t bring yourself to crush whatever hope she’s clinging to. So instead, you look up at her, your vision starting to blur at the edges. You can see her trying to steady herself, her jaw clenched as she pulls you into her arms. You know what she’s thinking: she’s already planning a dozen ways to save you, even though she knows there’s no saving you from this. The thought of losing you is enough to make her break, to make her desperate.

But there’s a finality to this moment, something that both of you have been trying to deny for months now. That unspoken thing that’s always hovered between you, ever since you first met. The way you felt when her eyes softened just a little too much when you laughed, when you caught her lingering glances. You’d never said it out loud, but you’ve been waiting for it, just like she has. Waiting for the right moment to bridge the gap between you.

You don’t have time for that anymore.

“Abby…” you murmur, your hand weakly reaching for hers, your fingers trembling. She looks down at you, her face drawn tight with worry, but there’s something else too—a quiet sorrow, as if she already knows what you’re going to say.

You reach up, your other hand pulling her closer, your lips brushing against her cheek. You can feel the warmth of her skin against yours, the familiar strength of her body. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever needed, and you’re not sure why you waited so long to let her know.

“I love you,” you breathe, the words tasting like bittersweet honey. They come out so easily, and yet you’ve been holding them in for so long, waiting for a moment that never came.

Abby’s breath catches in her throat. “Don’t,” she whispers, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “Don’t say that. Don’t leave me. Please.”

But you know it’s too late. You can feel the infection crawling up your veins, darkening your skin, numbing you from the inside out. Your heartbeat is slowing, and there’s nothing either of you can do to stop it. The world around you seems to be closing in, but in the distance, you hear her voice, soft and filled with a desperation that makes your chest tighten.

“I’ve wanted this too,” you say softly, your eyes locking with hers, and for the first time in months, you can see the same truth reflected in her gaze. The pain of knowing that it’s too late for anything more, but the desire to feel the closeness before the end.

Abby hesitates, just for a moment, her eyes searching yours, but she knows. She knows what this is. And as she lowers her lips to yours, the kiss is soft at first, tentative and unsure, as if neither of you wants to let go of the moment, even though it’s fleeting.

But the kiss deepens, and everything you’ve been holding inside spills out. The love, the longing, the ache of knowing it’s not enough, that this moment will be your last.

When you pull back, her eyes are shining with unshed tears, her face a mask of anguish, but you can see the understanding between you. The kiss was everything it needed to be: a farewell, a final act of love in a world where so little of it remains.

The world around you fades, the edges of your vision blurring, darkening. Your body grows heavier, the cold creeping up your spine. You know what’s coming, and as much as you want to cling to the fading warmth of Abby’s touch, you feel the sickness crawl deeper inside you. Your heart is slowing, the infection taking its toll on you. You can feel the numbness spreading, and you know, with every heartbeat, that there’s no coming back from this.

You hear Abby’s voice again, shaking with desperation, but it’s too far now. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you…” Her hands are still cupping your face, her fingers trembling as if she can hold on just a little longer, but you know the truth. There’s nothing left to hold onto.

“I love you,” you repeat, barely able to force the words out. It hurts, every breath feels like a weight, but you need her to know. You need her to hear it because you’re not sure she’ll ever hear it again. “Please… just remember that. You’re… everything to me.”

The world continues to darken, and you feel her lean closer, her lips brushing your forehead. She’s crying now, her tears falling on your face, and it’s like her heart is shattering with every drop. But you know it’s inevitable. You know she’s doing what needs to be done, even though it’s killing her inside.

“I’m so sorry,” Abby whispers, her voice breaking between each word. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I can’t— I can’t let you turn. I can’t lose you like this.”

Your eyes flicker open one last time to meet hers, her face a blur of emotion, her features twisted with grief, but you see the love in her gaze. It’s the same love you’ve felt all along, but now there’s nothing you can do to change the outcome. You’ve run out of time.

“Please,” she says again, her voice trembling. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You don’t have the strength to answer. All you can do is squeeze her hand weakly, trying to tell her it’s okay, that you don’t blame her. But you don’t think she’s listening anymore. She’s shaking her head, her face twisted in anguish as she pulls away from you, her breath ragged, raw with pain.

The sound of her sobs fills the silence, and then you hear the distinct, sharp click of a gun being cocked.

Your heart stops, but you know what’s coming. You know what she has to do. You want to tell her it’s okay, but the words die on your tongue. She’s already made the decision for both of you.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, almost too soft to hear. Then, there’s the deafening crack of the gunshot, and everything goes still.

It feels like your world ends in a single, violent second. There’s no pain, no more fear, just… nothing.

Abby’s voice, barely a broken breath, drifts through the empty space that’s left. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you go like that. I’m sorry…”

[dcnatural]

Above Wayne Manor

Word Count: 3632

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Jason Todd x Tim Drake x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: During a plane ride after a mission, Luke Fox begins to flirt with you, but your brothers get jealous and decide to mark you as theirs.

A/N: Work written for the @macrocest winter bingo, filling the prompt for "marking their territory".

A/N: This work is a sequel to Below Wayne Manor. I rarely make part 2, but BWM was so well received that I decided to make a follow up, Thank you to all the read, liked and/or commented <3

It had been a couple months since you had lost your virginity to your brothers, in what became the first of many secret meetings in the cave. Bruce remained oblivious to the whole thing and, while you had a feeling Alfred had somehow found out, the butler had never mentioned anything to anyone.

You'd thought it would be weird to be in a relationship with your three older brothers. In reality, it was anything but. Those nights in the cave were your favourites, your heart beating faster whenever Dick, Jason or Tim sent an encrypted message asking for a meet-up. It wasn't always the four of you, sometimes you hung out with just one or two of the boys, or they hung out with you, but there was no jealousy among the four of you. You didn't quite know what to call that dynamic, but you knew it felt right.

The only thing that bothered you was the secrecy of it all. The hushed tones, the hidden encounters. Never being allowed to even talk about what happened in the cave when you were out of it. You wish you could just… be with them. Let everyone know you belonged together. Surely there were bigger issues in Gotham than four siblings being in love. Or, even if you couldn't be public in your civilian identities, why not let everyone know that Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin and Flamebird were in a relationship? But whenever you brought up the topic of going on dates or even doing it in the manor, your brothers quickly shut down the idea, saying that Bruce would go crazy if he found out.

Sometimes, at night, you laid awake worrying that for them it was just a casual fling. Sex for the sake of sex. But then, how to explain the sweet words they whispered in your ear all the time? Or the frequent emotional conversations you all had after sex? Still, as months passed by, you learned to accept it as merely 'siblings with benefits' and gave up on dreaming of it being anything more. 

* * * 

The low hum of the Batplane's engines filled the cabin, a constant, soothing vibration that contrasted with your still accelerated heartbeat. The sleek interior was dimly lit by faint blue panels, casting long shadows over the faces of your companions. Dick sat at the controls, his hands steady as he navigated the aircraft through the night sky. Jason was leaning back in his seat across the aisle, arms crossed as he watched Tim type the mission report on his laptop. Luke, sitting in front of you, tinkered with the cowl of his Batwing suit. 

You sat by the window, your knees tucked to the side and your head resting against the glass. Outside, the world stretched endlessly beneath you, the clouds below glowing in the moonlight, pierced occasionally by the faint glimmer of city lights. The stars above were shockingly bright, free from the interference of Gotham's ever-present smog and neon haze.

"It's beautiful, right?" Luke said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. You glanced over to find him watching you instead of the view, a crooked smile softening the sharp angles of his face. Ever since he had taken the role of Batwing, you two had been spending a lot of time patrolling together, so when Batman asked you and your brothers to take care of a splinter cell of the League of Assassins in Markovia, you decided to invite Luke to tag along. And it was a good thing you had, as he had proved essential in the fight.

You nodded, "The view? Beautiful indeed."

"Yeah, I was totally talking about the view," he said with a laugh, his tone a little too quick. A faint blush crept up his cheeks, barely visible on his deep brown skin. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, then after a moment of hesitation, got up and slid into the empty one beside you. "So," Luke began, his voice trembling slightly, "I've been meaning to ask, do you have a boyfriend?"

You noticed Jason tensing on the other side of the aisle, his hands gripping the armrests of his seats a little too tightly. Even Tim glanced up from his screen to stare, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned to his task.

You laughed, "No, I don't." You shrugged, keeping your voice casual. "Why do you ask?"

Luke chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, not that it's any of my business or anything. I just figured, you know... someone as amazing as you probably wouldn't be single." He winced as if realizing how forward that sounded, his gaze darting away before returning with a sheepish grin.

You felt a warmth spread through you at the compliment. Luke was undeniably handsome, with a sharp jawline framed by neatly groomed stubble, warm brown eyes, and a soft, boyish smile that was making your stomach flutter. However, you were seeing someone, or rather, multiple someones. But you couldn't tell him that. 

"No, no one special," you replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Luke's shoulders relaxed a bit, his eyes glimmering with hope. "Good to know. Means I still have a shot, right?" His grin widened, but his fidgeting fingers betrayed his confidence.

From across the cabin, you felt Jason's eyes on you, burning with unspoken tension, while Tim's typing slowed once again. Dick glanced back briefly, his brow furrowed but his focus still on piloting.

"Maybe," you said with a playful smirk, deciding to let the moment hang in the air. "You can start by asking me out."

"That's enough!" Jason growled. His chair creaked as he pushed himself up, the sudden movement drawing everyone's attention. His boots thudded heavily against the cabin floor as he strode over to you and Luke, his expression darkened with a barely contained fury. He loomed over Luke, his shoulders tense, and his fist clenched tightly. "You better stay the fuck away from my-"

"Sister", Tim cut in, jumping to Jason's side to hold back his arm, before Jason could throw a punch he would regret later. "How would you feel if I was shamelessly flirting with Tiffany?"

Luke stood up, he was shorter than Jason, but he held his ground, his chin tilted up in defiance. "I'm sorry, I thought we were all friends", he raised an eyebrow, looking from Jason to you and back to Jason. "I'm just trying to get to know your sister better. Is that a crime?"

Jason scoffed, "You're trying to get into her pants, more like it." Tim's grip on his arm tightened, but Jason shrugged him off, his eyes never leaving Luke's. You let out a sigh, leaning back in your seat.

Dick, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. "Jason, enough." His voice was calm, but authoritative, making everyone pause. "Luke, come here, I need you to take control of the plane."

Luke hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking between Jason's tense stance and Dick's calm demeanour before he finally nodded and made his way to the cockpit. Dick handed over the controls, giving Luke a brief rundown of the basics. All the while, Jason and Tim continued to shoot you angry looks, while you kept your gaze fixed on the window, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You couldn't hide that your brothers' jealous reaction had been a pleasant surprise.

Once Luke had settled into the seat, Dick placed a large headset over his head, adjusting it securely before strolling into the cabin. 

"There, now we can have a private conversation." Dick said, as he sat down next to you, his thigh brushing against yours. "You too", he added, turning to Jason and Tim, "take your seats." The two obeyed, taking the seats in front of yours and Dick's so that the four of you were facing each other. 

"What do we even have to talk about?" Jason grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, I don't know, how about the fact you almost punched Luke because he showed interest in me?" you retorted.  "What's that about?"

Jason hissed in a low tone. "I don't care what you do. But have the decency to not rub it in our face." Jason's jaw clenched, his eyes darting away from yours. 

"Besides, he's not good enough for you," Tim added. 

"While I disapprove of his methods", Dick said with a pointed glare towards Jason, "Jason was right to interfere. You shouldn't be dating anyone right now, birdie," he ended in a soft tone, placing his hand over yours and giving it a light squeeze."

You raised an eyebrow, a defying smirk on your face. "And why not?"

"Because you fucking belong to us, and we don't want anyone else sniffing around you", Jason blurted out.

Tim and Dick nodded in agreement, their gazes intense as they awaited your reaction to Jason's outburst. 

"I belong to you?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. You were very pleased to hear that he considered you to be his, but you weren't going to let him know that just yet. "I wasn't aware I was a possession."

Jason winked at you. "Oh, doll, don't play coy. You know exactly what I mean."

"Or perhaps she just needs to be reminded of who owns her", Tim added with a conspiratorial smile.

Dick chuckled and looked from Jason to Tim. "Well, maybe we should remind our little bird that she does actually have a boyfriend. Three, in fact."

Before you could reply, Dick pulled you into his lap, his mouth going straight to that spot in your neck that made you gasp in pleasure. Not missing a beat, Tim left his seat and kneeled in front of yours, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before tilting your head towards him and capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth. You moaned seeking more contact.

Jason, taking advantage of the way your body arched towards Tim, reached over and unzipped your suit, his knuckles brushing against your skin. You shivered, your nipples hardening into peaks, straining against your bra, which Jason noticed as soon as had removed your bodice.

"Oh, it never fails to amaze me how easy it is to turn you on", he said in a mocking tone, thumb brushing over your sensitive nub and making you whine.

Dick's mouth moved to your collarbone, his teeth grazing your skin. "She's always ready for us, aren't you, sweetheart?" he asked and could only nod. You could feel his hardness pressing against your backside, and you rubbed against it, eliciting a moan from him. 

"Use your words, pretty girl," Tim urged as his lips left yours, his hands moving to your waist, unzipping your suit further and pushing it down to your hips and leaving you almost completely exposed.

Three pairs of eyes watched you with intensity, waiting for your response. Your head was fuzzy from their kisses and touches, and you could feel your clit throbbing with need, your pussy also desperate to be filled up. "Fuck yes," you shouted. "I'm always ready for you."

Jason smiled wickedly. "And why is that?"

"Because I'm yours", you told them with honesty, squeezing Dick's hand while you looked at Tim and Jason. "I've always been yours." Jason opened a large smile and leaned down to kiss you, his mouth rough and unrelenting against yours.

"And it's time we let the world know that", Dick growled into your ear, causing you to shiver.

"Is everything alright back there?" Luke yelled from the cockpit.

Tim pressed a button in his earpiece to reply. "Just keep flying the plane to the Batcave and mind your own business", he said, before tossing the communication device aside.

Jason bit down your lip, teeth sinking into the tender skin and making you taste blood while Dick's mouth continued to attack your neck. Tim removed your boots and the rest of the suit with agility, his hands going for your bra and panties next. 

Dick then stood up, lifting you with him, and carried you to the back of the plane where a large, plush couch was situated. He laid you down gently and Tim and Jason followed, their eyes never leaving your naked body.

Tim kneeled beside you, running a hand up your thigh. "Spread your legs for us, sweetie", he commanded, his voice low and rough. You complied, cheeks burning bright as you revealed your glistening pussy to them.

"Here's how this is going to go", Dick announced, taking control once again. You and your brothers were used to having him barking orders and dictating your encounters. "Baby, you have really hurt our feelings tonight," he said to you, giving a wink to show that he wasn't really being serious. "So we are going to hurt you in return."

Dick's words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself getting wetter. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. You had seen them playing rough with each other, but so far, they hadn't ever hurt you. The thought of them doing so made your heart beat faster. 

Jason chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You heard the boss, doll. We're going to make you pay for teasing us like that."

Tim leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "If it ever becomes too much, remember you can always safeword. We don't want to really  hurt you."

You nodded, rolling your eyes as you muttered the term you had heard then use before. "Yes, yes, I know. Batword."

The three men nodded and exchanged a knowing look. Tim sat down on the couch and suddenly Dick was flipping you onto your stomach and bending you over Tim's knees, making sure to hold your legs in place. You still hadn't really processed the change in position when you felt Jason's gloved hand coming down hard on your ass, causing you to let out a small shriek. 

There was barely time for the stinging sensation to pass before Jason gave you a quick succession of five slaps. This time, instead of a cry of pain, you let out a loud moan of pleasure, your hips grinding automatically against Tim's legs, seeking fiction.

"Oh, it seems our little slut likes that?" Dick said, running a finger through your folds to collect your wetness. He admired it for a moment, and then brought his finger to his mouth, sucking it clean. Tim's hard cock poked at your belly, pre-cum already staining the leggings to his suit.

Jason merely chuckled at your reddening but cheeks, and gave you another series of smacks. You didn't bother to suppress yourself this time, letting out a series of whimpers and groans. Jason kept slapping you while Dick and Tim watched, cooing words of encouragement at you: "Good girl", "Taking your punishment so well", "You look so good with palm marks on your ass".

You mentally counted each slap, and Jason kept them coming until you reached fifty, evenly divided between each cheek. When he finally stopped, your skin was burning and you knew that in the morning there would definitely be marks. Which was what they wanted, afterall. Your brothers were marking their territory, laying their claim over you.

"So pretty the sounds you make…" Jason said, running his tongue over his lips. his bulge was visible under his pants and your pussy clenched at the thought of his cock. He crouched in front of you, face close to yours. "Are you holding on alright?" He asked, and you could feel the worry in his tone.

"I'm good," you said a little breathless. "Just… thinking about getting fucked", you confessed.

Dick shook his head."No, no, no. You are not getting any cock tonight, princess. This is supposed to be a punishment, remember?"

You whined. "But--"

Jason cut you off, grabbing you by the throat and cutting your breath. "You heard him, you are not getting fucked tonight. Complain again and we will keep denying you for a whole week", he finished and let you go.

"Or maybe we will comply and fuck your ass", Tim added nonchalantly. Your eyes widened. Although you had talked about it before, they had never actually entered your rear entrance, and the idea of them doing so was quite… intimidating. Especially considering that all of them were well sized.

"Sorry", you quickly apologized. "I promise to not ask again tonight."

"Good", Dick replied, running a head through your head. "Your turn, Tim."

Tim got up from the couch and Dick took his place under you. Jason slid on your side, and with his gloves off, he touched your folds, smiling upon feeling how wet you had gotten just from his spanking you.

Tim maneuvered your body again, so that you were sitting on Dick's lap, your back against his torso, legs opened on the front. As you wondered what exactly Tim was going to do, his mouth closed around your clit and he began sucking hard.

Dick wrapped his arms around your shoulders to prevent you from moving, and Jason's hands casually grabbed your boobs, while Tim gripped your thighs, keeping you from squirming too much, while he kept licking and sucking your pussy. 

You could feel your orgasm building up, your body tensing as you got closer and closer to the edge. Tim's tongue was relentless, flicking and circling your clit at a maddening pace, while Jason's fingers pinched and rolled your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted, your head thrown back against Dick shoulder, your hips bucking in an attempt to get more friction. Tim's hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he continued his assault on your pussy. Dick took full advantage of your exposed neck, his teeth sinking into your skin and his lips sucking hard enough to form a deep red bruise, marking you just like Jason had done with his handprints on your ass.

Then, as soon as it had all started, Tim pulled away with a loud pop, leaving you panting and on the brink of an orgasm. You let out a frustrated groan, your body aching for release. Tim calmly got up to his feet, unbuckling his belt while Jason and Dick continued to play with your body, their hands roaming over your skin, their mouths leaving marks all over your neck and chest.

Tim's belt hit the floor with a clatter, followed by the sound of his zipper being pulled down. You looked up to see him standing over you, his cock already out and in his hand, stroking it slowly. He was long and thick, the head glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips, eager to taste him.

Tim smirked at you, wrapping a hand around his length and giving it a slow stroke. "I thought we had made it clear that you weren't getting any taste of us today."

"But, you-", you protested but Jason clamped your mouth, turning your words into muffled sounds. While you were still confused, Tim began to furiously masturbate. 

"Just stay there and be a good show," Tim commanded, his voice rough with desire. 

Tim continued to stroke his cock, his eyes locked onto yours, his gaze intense and hungry. Dick moved his hand to touch between your legs, while Jason continued to suck your breasts, the combined sensations causing you to moan and arch your body, despite their strong hold. Tim's strokes became faster, his grip tightening around his cock. You could see the muscles in his arm flexing, his breath coming in short gasps.

You watched, your mouth watering, as he jerked himself off, his hand moving up and down his thick shaft. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum", he panted, his abs tensing. He let out a low groan, his hips thrusting forward as he came, his hot cum spurting out in thick ropes. Jason moved out of the way just in time for Tim's cum land on your chest and stomach. You let out a whimper, feeling the warmth of his release on your skin.

Dick chuckled. "Look at you, all covered in his cum." Dick's voice was a low growl in your ear, his hands smearing Tim's release all over your skin. "You look fucking gorgeous, baby."

Jason leaned in, his tongue licking a trail of cum from your collarbone up to your chin. "Delicious too," he murmured, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, sharing Tim's taste with you.

Tim, still standing over you, looked down at you with a satisfied smirk. "Do you still think you don't belong to us?"

You shook your head, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal. "I'm yours," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dick pulled you in a tight embrace, not caring about the mess in your chest, his lips pressing against your forehead. "We know, baby. And we're going to make sure everyone else knows too."

Tim and Jason exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They both nodded, their expressions serious. "It's more than time for Gotham to know that the Wayne girl is taken," Tim said, his voice firm.

"And as a bonus, we get to piss Bruce off," Jason added. 

Dick released you and carefully placed you on the couch. "Which reminds me, we must be near the Manor. I'll go land the plane." 

"Wait. What are you going to tell Luke?" you inquired.

Dick waved his hand dismissively, already strolling towards the cockpit. "I guess I'll just tell him to stay away. Or he'll have to deal with your three boyfriends."

[loloelia]

Dearest sibling

(Fifth sibling short story)

Leshy and Eko (the lamb lmao) were sitting in one of Leshy's massive garden near his temple.

While Leshy was playing on a tall tree ,picking up fruits and the leaves that came with it , meanwhile the lamb was sitting on the edge of a fountain ,alguee sitting at the bottom of it ,all they could do was stare at the god of chaos ,in complete silence .

The mossy worm eventually looked in the way of Eko and noticed their staring and eery silence.

"Oh little laaaammmb, what's with the silence, little brother ? " ,Said the worm laying on a thick branch,looking down at the lamb.

-"please.....do not call me that lord leshy..."

-".... sooooooo ,little sis ?", asked the worm, swinging his clawed and mossy paws.

-"no !... dont call me that ,im not- "said the little lamb a bit panicked before getting interrupted by the worm's chuckling.

-"ohhhh ,little sibling then ? Got it !" ,said the bishop climbing to a lower branch in order to pick up the lamb.

-"no ! My bishop ! Please ,stop it ! You and I both know we are in no way related ! You know im not Narinder don't you ?....so why....why do insist on calling me a sibling ?..." asked Eko ,their voice getting lower with every word and their head lowering with their voice.

The worm had placed the small lamb on the branch next to him,letting the little lamb swung his hooves in the void under him

The bishop of chaos chuckled and answered the lamb's question.

"Easy enough ! They are 2 reason, my dear little sibling ! First, i know you arent Narinder but ill tell you something ,youre probably just like him ,but.....weaker ,smaller !" ,said the worm with a smile,poking Eko's cheek,"You sure will never be able to hurt us because you dont even know how to use the red crown !"

"But alsoooo~ ," he raised them by the back of the collar of their robe ,and bringed them to eye level," i do watever i want. And i wanna treat you as a sibling. But you still are nothing but a lamb. If you bore me out of my love for you,ill entertain myself by twisting your head of your spine. Shamura loves you ,and i do too, but that can always change."

The lamb was curled up on themself ,barely daring to breathe ,they knew their next death would be their last.

Leshy was right. They were still a fragile mortal despite the crown on their head, a crown they couldnt use.

Their life was hanging of one thread ,and those gods were the ones who had the scissor. They knew that the moment shamura realized they weren't their dear brother ,death would be quick to welcome them.

Leshy smiled a bit ,and giggled as if the look on Eko's face was but a silly joke.

The worm lowered his hand until the lamb's hooves were on the ground ,and letting them go.

"Now go ! Shamura's gonna wake up any minute now ,dont want our dear sibling to think youre gone ,would we ?" He said with a warm smile as the little lamb stepped back from the claws of the god.

They nodded and bowed to Leshy as if to say goodbye ,wich got a snicker out of the god of chaos, and they were on their way back to shamura's temple.

@kiko---random-stuff-probably ,since you asked me to tag you !!!!>:)

I hope you and anyone who reads this enjoyed this small ,not very well written , shirt story about my bigger cotl story !

Funny enoughim more proud of the art i made to go along with it than the actual story ,but i still think its great !

I really wanna start writing this but im afraid that my current vocabulary aint enough,im trying to learn but its kinda hard.

Anyway

I love you all!! All the people who said they like my 2 am idea ,and everyone who read this ,youre amazing !!!

Thank you for reading

Hope i get to write the actual story soon :,)

[cwritesforfun]

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Escape part three

Part One Link <~ read first Part Two Link <~ read this too

Y/N = Your First Name & L/N = Your Last Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the Gladiator 2 characters or plot* I do change some of the plot!!!

Masterlist

Y/N's POV

Geta rested for a while, and eventually, you realized he was here to stay. He had told you countless times that he wanted to stay, but it hit you that he really did want to.

You thought that him staying would be easy, but why should it be?

Geta disagreed with your leadership style to the point where he kept arguing with you in and out of court. You finally had it with his constant disapproval, and you made your guards escort him out of the room. The rest of the day at court was tense for you. Everyone seemed to be walking on ice around you.

You meet Geta in one of the sitting rooms in the palace and have tea delivered. You take a cautious sip and ask, "So, Geta, would you like to tell me about what was wrong today in court?" Geta glances at you and answers, "I just don't like the way you let everyone have a say in court proceedings. I also didn't believe some of those crimes should have been pardoned. They deserved to be executed." Your eyes widen, and you reply, "I see. Geta, I let everyone have a say in what happens at court because that is what happens in this country. I let everyone preach their case and why they think I should listen to them. It keeps people happy to know that their views have been heard. It also ensures that I know the full story going into the proceedings. I know Rome was different, but you are not in Rome now." He looks distraught, and you continue, "And as for the crimes being pardoned, I think you would benefit learning from my advisors about the rulings in my country. I'll talk to them tonight, and you can attend lessons during the next couple of weeks so you can better understand my decisions. I don't like how you reacted in court and think you can also learn how to better express your disagreements. I'll make sure that is included in your lessons." He asks, "Anything else?" You answer, "I think it might be best if you sleep in another room while you attend the lessons so you can try to remain unbiased. Knowing how I would think may influence your lessons.” He reaches out for my hand and replies, "I thought we weren't going to be parting ways again." You reply, "We're not exactly parting ways. I'll still be at the palace and join you for dinner. Besides, I believe some time apart will benefit us. We began this relationship quickly and with an intensity that no others can grasp." He nods and replies, "Fine, as you wish, your majesty."

Geta's POV

How can one sit through boring lessons all day and not be annoyed?

I keep telling myself that I'm doing this for Y/N, but really, her choices of people to lead my lessons are a drag. For the first week of my lessons, I sat in lessons with her old governess from when she was a child. This lady was cold and stubborn. She kept snapping at me, and she treated me like a child. The second week, I was with her foreign advisor, who was a persnickety old man who kept quizzing me on viewpoints of this country. I kept thinking of how I would react as Emperor of Rome, which was the wrong thing to do. Speaking of Rome, apparently, it thrives under Lucius' reign. Both of these lessons required extra reading too. They had Y/N's notes inside and she often included little jokes that made me smile. I love her. However, the third week of lessons was my favorite. I learned from her military advisor who was both kind and fierce. His team respected him and followed him. He was kind to me and it seemed he actually liked me.

If I thought that was bad, well, I have been attending lessons early in the morning until dinnertime, where I must sit with Y/N and other members of her court as they all chat about their lives. I don't always get to sit next to Y/N, and she rarely acknowledges me. I just want to hold her and kiss her, but her guards keep strict protection around her. Almost no one can even talk to her. Am I a threat? Why is she ignoring me? I need to talk to her. Does she love me?

I'm sitting in my room with a book after my last lesson when a guard informs me that Y/N wishes to speak to me before dinner. Finally.

I get dressed and follow the guard to the sitting room nearest the dining hall. I enter with a smile on my face and see my lovely Y/N sitting at the desk. She stands, walks toward me, and guides me to the couches. I notice her pour two glasses of alcohol from the bottle on the nearby table and I ask, "Love, what is wrong?" She hands me a glass and answers, "I pushed you away wrongly. There was a threat to my life, and I wanted to protect you. So I sent you away. I do believe those lessons were something that you should have done, but I shouldn't have ignored your presence the rest of the time. I'm sorry." I quickly grab her open hand and ask, "What about this threat? Is it neutralized?" She nods and answers, "We apprehended the team this morning after my tea was poisoned. They were trying to harm me because they heard I sheltered you here. They escaped Rome to live here, away from you and Calla's rule. They are being held in prison for the attempted assassination. And as for the tea, well, I noticed it looked weird and I had my doctor test it for anything out of the ordinary. They used a generic poison and we found it quickly." I reply, "Don't send me away again. I'm here for you, no matter what. I love you, my Y/N... does the threat because of me scare you? Will you send me away?" She shakes her head and answers, "No, love. I'm not sending you away. I tightened security, and we'll make sure my people know you are no longer a threat to their lives. This is not Rome, and I would not stand for mistreatment of my people." I ask, "How will you tell them this?" She answers, "It's an idea that I wanted to run past you. I think an engagement is in order." I jokingly answer, "I would like to be engaged to the governess." She tilts her head and asks, "What?" I answer, "I was kidding. I was trying to make you jealous." She replies, "Oh, I'm not threatened by her." I bite my lip, smirk, and reply, "Non-jealousy looks hot on you." She laughs and says, "I meant for us to be engaged, silly." My eyes widen and I say, "I accept your proposal, Queen. I would love to be your husband." She smiles and says, "I am happy to be your wife soon, too... We'll draft a speech for us to give to my people, so they may know the Geta that I love." . . . Taglist: @doodle-with-rhy @ziggeddie

[blitzwhore]

Hello! I'd like to ask if you've seen the post with the screenshots that says Stolas inflicts his own torment by going with Stella's whims despite having more power and prestige than her. There is a rebuttal, of course, but someone else also added that the reason people think as the screenshot says is because the writers didn't put enough emphasis and reason on the hold Stella has over Stolas and his fear of her, as well as the fact that her apparent uninvolvement with Octavia makes his reason to stick with her seems very weak. They do put an intriguing essay on how the fear of Stella for Stolas could have stand out more.

Personally I think that he's probably desensitised and numb to her after with Paimon as well and the image of a nuclear family is a must for both society and daughter. Perhaps we'll have more answers in s3. What do you think?

Drink water regularly, may a good week come to you.

Hi! I haven't seen that post, no.

When I see posts arguing about the quality of the show's writing I almost always ignore them, because I'm not interested in discourse and I want my blog to be a place that's fun for me and others to scroll through. I don't want fandom wank and 'criticism of the show' on my blog because I go into fandom spaces to have fun, not to get angry. So if I'd seen that post, I probably would've just sighed really hard and kept scrolling.

That being said, because this ask touches on a subject matter that is extremely personal to me, I'll bite and share my personal opinion, which is that the writing is perfectly executed exactly as it is. Helluva Boss is a show for a mature audience—it says so at the beginning of every episode. That doesn't just mean "hey, there's sex and drugs in these episodes". It also means, "hey, some heavy themes are going to be handled in this show, and we're not going to hold your hand and walk you through them. It's up to you to use your media literacy and critical thinking skills to pick up on the things we're going to show you".

And maybe it's because I'm an abuse survivor myself and I know exactly what it feels like to go through decades of abuse, and maybe other viewers' interpretation of Stolas' character is completely different, but... I personally had zero trouble picking up on Stolas' motivations, fears, and emotions, or on why he made each decision at each turn throughout the show.

I'll put the rest of my answer under a cut, because it's personal and rambly. But in short: yeah, I do agree with what you said at the end of your ask.

1. "He's more powerful and has a higher status than Stella, so he's inflicting his pain on himself by not standing up to her"

So there's this thing called learned helplessness, and, fun fact, it is heavily linked with PTSD and depression.

"(...) Learned helplessness occurs when someone repeatedly faces uncontrollable, stressful situations and does not exercise control when it becomes available. They have “learned” that they are helpless in that situation and no longer try to change it, even when change is possible." (source)

It's not about the power and capability to control the situation Stolas actually has. It's about the power and control he feels he has—which is none. Zero. He says this to us constantly. "Owl in a cage", "you have no choice", "my entire life's been written in stone, he taught me that I could choose".

He was told since he was a kid that his duties, his marriage, his life trajectory were non-negotiable. He never knew a life outside of his palace—his gilded jail. He doesn't know what we as the audience know—that there's a whole world out there where he can build a better life for himself with people who actually love him—because he's been raised to be a pawn in a game much bigger than himself, and he knows it. I don't need (and don't want) the show to spoonfeed me this fact. It's spelled all over his character if you know how to see it.

2. "Stella's hold of Stolas and his fear of her aren't emphasised enough in the show"

Stella literally tries to hit him at the end of The Circus and looks shocked and taken aback when he grabs her wrist to stop her. I don't need them to show me Stella hitting Stolas 15 times in order to know she's been doing it.

He hugs himself and makes himself small, walking away to remove himself from the situation as quickly and quietly as possible, when Blitz starts yelling at him in The Full Moon. I don't need them to show me Stella yelling at Stolas 20 times to know she's been yelling at him for years. We've seen her yelling at him in Loo Loo Land, in The Circus and in Seeing Stars. We know it happens. We know it always has.

I also don't need them to tell me that repeated physical and verbal abuse causes a victim to become extremely afraid of their abuser and causes them to be triggered by anything and anyone that makes them feel unsafe, because I've lived it in my skin. And I know plenty of people who watch the show who are not abuse survivors, and they're also able to see that Stolas is behaving like any abuse victim exactly with zero support would act.

In the moment, he freezes and flees. He makes himself smaller. He gets away from the situation in any way he can. He "keeps the peace" to keep the abuse to a minimum, doing anything and everything to please the people around him because that's the only way he can feel some semblance of control. ("Yes, if that's what Blitzy wants" / "Do you like it when I talk to you dirty?" / just him sheltering Octavia from his suffering to be the perfect parent for her, and give her everything she could ever want and need, going as far as making promises he couldn't keep).

In the long run, he becomes hopeless and drowns in guilt. He assumes he probably deserves what's happening to him, and thinks it's his own fault that he's so affected by the abuse for being too weak to stand up for himself. He blames himself for not being good enough for the people around him ("I'll believe him, and not the voice that says I'm not enough"), and mentally berates himself for being a coward and a failure, and for not knowing how to put an end to his suffering. He turns to passive (sometimes active) suicidality because that's genuinely the only way he can see of getting back control over his own body and life. ("When I'm gone you'll be okay" / "I'll give my life to clean your slate" / "I don't care what they fucking do, I'm seeing Octavia" / "do it, pussy").

3. Stella's uninvolvement with Octavia makes Stolas' reason to stay with Stella seem very weak

I... Look. I can't be the only one who grew up in a broken family, and surrounded by plenty other broken families. Kids, especially small kids, can't rationalise that family relationships don't always work out and sometimes divorce is the best option for everyone involved. Especially not in this society we live in, where divorce/separation are seen as a failure, and children are (at least passively) taught that divorce is their fault.

Stolas knows all this. He doesn't want Via to feel like she's growing up in a broken house, which is what separating from Stella would accomplish. We also don't know if Stolas would've kept custody of Octavia had he divorced Stella when Via was little. But it's very likely he didn't want to risk leaving Via alone with Stella, even just half the time. Especially not when Octavia has been having nightmares and crying over the mere thought of being abandoned by Stolas. Divorcing Stella would very likely result in Octavia feeling abandoned by him.

I don't know, man. I feel like I don't even have the right words to reply to this point. I still remember being 8 and sensing that something was very wrong with my parents and feeling like it was my responsibility to fix it, or else my world would end. Stolas tried his best to protect Octavia from feeling this way, from feeling responsible for anything that happened between her parents. He just wanted her to be happy. The only way he could do that was by playing 'happy family' in front of her so she could grow up carefree. He tried his best to give her enough love that she wouldn't feel the absence of her mother's love. I really don't know what else to say to this.

If you want media to spoon-feed you its themes and hold your hand as it shows you what each character is going through, then... I don't know, man. Stick to media that does that. There's media out there that genuinely does this really well. Heartstopper, for example. The Hunger Games, in a way. But maybe think twice before diving into adult media meant for mature audiences and criticising it for wanting you to be a mature viewer. Maybe it's just not for you.

Anyway. I'm gonna drink water now, please drink some water too if you're reading this (included, but not limited to, the asker). Hope you all have a nice day ❤️

[jupiterthesmart]

Overanalyzing the FNAF fandom's view on Fanon Henry - a result of Toxic Masculinity?

Just know if you like Fanon Henry I'm probably not referring to you. I'm referring to the people who make him a one dimensional OC who's happy and cheery all the time, the 'stereotype Henry' if you will. And no I don't care about his weight or anything like that, only how people viewed him to change him so much in Fanon. Disagree if you want but I'm not looking for hate or debates here! (Though Tumblr is the least toxic place to share this opinion XD)

TL;DR Fanon Henry is a caricature of what happens when a man reaches out about his emotions, he's seen as ""weak"", no matter what, and people will always insist he's weak because of his mental state. It happens to celebrities, to historical figures, and even to FNAF characters because toxic masculinity is and always will be in everything!

609 words, 3,336 characters ;-;

My reasoning/rant V

What's the appeal of Fanon Henry for people in the FNAF Fandom?

Let's think of the traits Fanon Henry has - He's a good father, depicted as weaker than William Afton, with softer colors, usually shorter, more emotional, and overall every "not manly" trait you can think of dialed up to 100.

I've noticed the same people who prefer Fanon Henry seem to love Canon William. It seems like an OC next to a FNAF character which is fine, but I'm looking for the reason why people feel the need to change Henry so much?

It could be passed off for some sort of ""understandable"" fandom reason for him being turned into an OC and all his canon personality ignored (like if he was POC or a woman) Because then the reason would be obvious and I wouldn't have to question it. But he's a conventionally attractive white man! He's a father with two kids and a blonde haired blue eyed wife! What did this character go through in this fandom to have so much change done to him for seemingly no underlying or discriminatory reasons?...

Well! My theory is people see him as 'weak' because of his depression, and so the fanon version represents that. Like, think of it. He lost his entire family, his business came crashing down, his friend turned out to be a child murderer, and Henry got so emotionally unstable that he killed himself. FNAF has some pretty one-dimensional characters but not Henry, in fact I think he's one of the more well written in early FNAF. But... why dumb him down to just 'William's friend' or 'Charlie's dad'? Why recognize his depression as the only thing that matters?

I don't hate the people who make him fat but this is one of my points too. Fat people in media are typically seen as weak and depicted as overly emotional, (especially fat men, because rounder features make them seem, you guessed it, less manly.)

Not to mention the way people on the 'Fanon Henry' side tend to describe him as pathetic or always point out how sad he is all the time, and every other character trait is perfect. It's weird! He has more character than that but people forget... I wonder why. This doesn't happen to William because he's the more 'stoic, smarter' one despite him being WAY more emotional than Henry. William wasn't infantilized because he abused his family, killed children, and gaslit his closest friend. Those are ""manly"" traits to the fans, and even seen as attractive. Henry, the one who has more written about his personal life and family in flashbacks than William has so far, the protagonist of this story, is babied because he's a depressed man. He killed himself to avoid help, and the fandom treats him exactly how he would've been treated if he reached out. He's 'weak' because of his emotions.

He never said how he felt out loud in the books, and in FNAF 6 if you listen to the tape where he is venting out his frustration and saying his plans, you get a game over and get falsely sent to a mental hospital. This man did not want help for his issues, he told no one, and would get whoever knew how he felt institutionalized or burned! But ultimately his verbal suicide note in FNAF 6 came back to bite him. Fans took this as a sign that he was extremely verbal about his emotions, thus making him "weak." Now that's all he ever will be in the eyes of about 80% of the fandom.

...And that's why I will ALWAYS prefer Canon Henry.

[iwoulddieforher]

Here’s an ask! (For Casey x Alex obviously lol)

You’ve mentioned a couple times Casey tends to be self deprecating. How does Alex support her?

When/how does Alex realize Casey uses the batting cages/gym as an outlet (and takes it too far sometimes)? How does she handle it?

Oh! And while I’m on firsts! How about the first time Alex sees Casey in one of her shirts that say Cabot? (Loved the stealing clothes stuff btw!)

Thank you so much for the ask <333 I LOVE ASKS I LOVE TALKING GRAAHHHHH

This got hella long!!! Warnings for discussion of self harm, self hatred, blah blah blah and also implied sex below.

Have this picture of upset Casey (fittingly for what I ramble borderline incoherently about here) so the reply doesn't seem so short above the divider

It's always difficult for me to write more comforting interactions between the two, because as much as it feels natural to make them comfort each other to a really high degree, I want to keep the characterization provided by the show as closely as possible and thus despite my intrinsic urge to project the way I personally as an author want someone to treat me if I was in the high-stress scenario these two find themselves in, the reality of it is overt comforting probably would not work well on either of them. They're both strong, independent and emotionally resilient women- and the flaws they have oftentimes probably could not be directly addressed or they'd just withdraw and become defensive.

Thus, since Casey slips self-loathing comments into casual conversations, it always comes off more as a wry joke, and that's why other people such an Olivia or Elliot just assume she's poking fun at herself or venting frustration. Alex, too, initially perceives similar, but then she starts registering Casey's 'tells'. The way her hand flexes as though she wants to bite the fingernail on her thumb and has to consciously hold herself back from doing so, the way she refuses to make eye contact with anyone and if she is forcing herself to do so anyway her gaze is very blank because she's not actually looking, the angle of her shoulders and collarbones in relation to her spine- stupidly specific, intricately tiny things in Casey's body language that show, no, she's actually really stressed. When the correlation between these minor actions and Casey's comments jumping to a more frequent pattern emerges, Alex realizes this is actually an issue and although Casey conceals it by jesting she's being dead serious, she does believe she's unworthy of what she has or incapable or whatever else negative Casey believes about herself.

Since noticing it at all used such attention to detail and the actions are so minor they're unexplainable, Alex realizes that if she approached this issue head-on Casey would probably do a wonderful job at gaslighting her into believing she was making up problems, so she doesn't. Instead, she simply begins peppering praise and reassurance throughout daily interactions, enough that Casey realized it had increased but not much that she'd grow suspicious. Little things, like staring at Casey's figure for a little bit extra long so Casey would notice Alex was admiring, making sure to smile down at the legal notes Casey had asked her to review so when Casey studied her face intently while Alex read she'd know Alex was beyond proud of her, or just straight on whispering compliments into Casey's hair when they passed eachother in hallways.

Eventually, she did see Casey's deprecating comments decrease, and instead when Casey was stressed she subconsciously sought out Alex because she knew she'd find gentle praise and reassurance from her when Casey felt as though she was lacking.

I think your second ask is somewhat asking for a continuation of Softball to the Ribs (Kiss it), so I'll just talk about the storyline I would've written had I decided to make a next part (which I won't, all my fics exist solely as one-shots);; Alex finds out because Casey did tell her in the bathroom that it was a softball, she just didn't know the details of how the injury occurred. I think Casey would never tell her, Alex would find out from something like Life360/Find my Phone since it would make sense to me that at some point they start sharing locations due to the nature of their job. Casey vanishes for random hours at a time when she's grappling with heavy caseloads and Alex checks it to find her location as being at the batting cages. The first time she sees it she does nothing, she just makes sure a warm bath is already all set up for her when she comes home and drops by an Apotheke (what the hell is Apotheke in English????? nOt my language) to pick up muscle rub and then pretends she's initiating sex as an excuse to massage it into her. Casey is nonethewiser.

Eventually, though, when Casey has been gone too long or it's happened back to back on multiple days, Alex goes to the batting cages and sort of just sits in the corner with her legal notepad and despite being uncomfortable in the weird sporty setting proceeds to try to work there. Her presence is grounding for Casey and it makes her want to push herself less because she doesn't want Alex to watch her get hurt- and when Alex gets bored of faux scribbling random shit she just starts being the one who controls the batting cage so she can press the button to stop it if she thinks it's going too far.

Self-harm is a very difficult issue and I wrote Casey to be using exercise dependence as a means to do it, and I have a concern with many fics in which a character's romance causes them to suddenly lose interest in what is a destructive coping method, and I think at least in my experience that's unrealistic. Self harm is wildly addictive and Casey is dependant on this to make her feel as though she's coping with stress she otherwise can't, and although Alex would obviously love to step in and pull that feeling out of her, that's just... not how life works, most of the time. If it was something like cutting or burning one self, obviously that's an entirely different story, but where the line between healthy exercise and an overt dependence that leads to self destruction ... that's hard to differentiate at times. What athlete hasn't accidentally gotten injured? The same story could exist in which Casey uses exercise as a healthy method to deal with stress (literally in the show that's what it is.) and the whole thing happened by genuine accident if it wasn't for the fact Casey simultaneously wasn't eating. If her ribs weren't visible in that fic Alex probably wouldn't have known something was seriously wrong. But I wrote Casey as intentionally putting herself in positions in which the risk for it is very high, and not caring for herself after- but how could Alex read Casey's internal dialogue and draw the line somewhere? It's complicated.

Alex focuses, then, on fostering a nurturing, loving environment and accepting every part of Casey as she is.

She can't directly stop Casey from participating in sports but she does ensure Casey eats and sleeps to a healthy degree and if she realizes something like Casey skipping meals more than is normal for people with inconsistent work schedules she'll do something to make sure Casey gets the care she needs.

Eventually, through this environment and Alex's comfort, Casey can build the emotional skill set required to cope with stress adequately - that's the ultimate goal, because even if Alex did somehow twist exercise out of her grasp, there's always the possibility something in their relationship would break and Casey would fall straight back into it. Alex is smart enough to avoid that possibility.

Finally, the first time Alex realized Casey was wearing something of her's was one of the first times the accidental swapping of blazers occurred that I described in the other post. Alex had stopped by Casey's office with food during a lunch break and while they ate Casey extended her arm to reach for something, and Alex realized her name was on the sleeve. Cabot suddenly becomes very bothered and jumps Casey's bones the second they're somewhere more private because holy shit does the idea of Casey being her's and similarly labeled do something for her.

[duchessonfire]

Savior Carl!AU re-read Part 2 Chapter 6

Follow-up of my re-read of Part 2 Chapter 5. If you're not interested and don't want to have your dashboard spammed, you can block the tags Duchess reads and Savior Carl AU reread.

Commentary for Part 2, Ch 6 below the cut (spoilers for part 2 ahead):

Work has officially started again and I'm swamped so I'm only getting back into this re-reading now. (Btw, I'm currently listening to "toxic till the end" by Rosé and my god it's so Savior!AU Cegan... Same for "number one girl" from her Rosie album)

So, chapter 6, the beginning of the heatwave. This is so funny because I still remember writing part 2 and being like, okay I have 2 more chapters and the Claimers plot is done, so what can I do to shake things up at Sanctuary? And at the time I was teaching a class on the short story "Roman Fever" by Edith Wharton and I was explaining to my students the whole stereotypes about southern Europe from the povs of characters from England or the north-eastern coast of America, how the warmer climate is associated with looser morals, promiscuity, how people used to cold climates start to act a bit erratically when it's too hot and they let go of some of their inhibitions. And as I was preparing for this class, I was like... wait a minute... *lightbulb moment*

Anyway, this is how the idea of the heatwave came about and it's crazy that it is still ongoing in part 3, but at the same time it feels very fitting. Right when Negan has decided he's going to be a good man and keep things platonic with Carl, I turned the oven on and blasted them with heat :)))) No regret.

This chapter is very much a pivotal moment in the story because a lot hinges on it. In the previous chapter, Negan showed Carl a surprisingly human and compassionate side of his personality, but everything that has been happening since the start of part 2 (the increasingly erotic tension between them, Negan's cruelty) is still there.

In the Savior!AU, it's very important to me that Negan never becomes too nice. I have nothing against fluff or nice!Negan (in fact, I'm currently writing the fluffiest, nicest Negan ever in my Strawberry Mama Cegan fic), but I started writing the Savior!AU back in 2021 because there was a lack of Cegan fics where Negan was still the sadistic, cruel leader from the canon. Back then, there was a plethora of fics where Carl was sexually abused by Shane, or assaulted by the Claimers, and Negan was the only one who understood/rescued Carl, as well as a lot of fics where Negan immediately became protective of Carl and put him above everyone else right after meeting him, basically 'love at first sight' fics. As much as I enjoyed those stories, I was chagrined at how few fics there were where Negan was still Negan, still cruel and sadistic and egotistical, even when he clearly favored Carl over everyone else (a great example of this, and to me still one of the best Cegan fics ever written, is Wildflowers by Gemjam).

So, to me, this what the Savior!AU is and should always be: a story where Carl and Negan fall in love, yes, but where Negan is still Negan, still monstrous and power-hungry just as much as he's loving and protective, and this is in fact is the main obstacle of their relationship: that Negan's cruelty and thirst for power will always get in the way for as long as he's the leader of the Saviors.

This is why it's so important to me to keep all those moments when Negan is canonically cruel and ruthless. And this chapter has a big one with Mark getting his face ironed off.

Carl is so absorbed by him, by his sheer presence, that it takes him a second to notice that Negan is inspecting him right back, unmoving from his spot by the stairway. His gaze trails along where Carl is slumped against the wall, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, slowly, down and then up again, and there is nothing concealed about it, his appraisal plainly obvious. His lips are slightly parted, letting Carl glimpse at his pink tongue, the tip caught between his teeth. He can’t feel hotter than he already does, but the rolling knots in his stomach are both new and familiar. He’s reminded of that time in the parking lot, of Negan’s susurrating voice making him feel like he was on a rollercoaster. When their eyes meet, Negan’s hand tightens briefly around Lucille’s handle, before going lax again. He moves forward and Carl knows he should straighten up, knows he should kneel, but he does neither. Instead, he stays right where he is, never taking his eyes off of Negan as he gets inexorably closer, his footsteps an ominous toll that sends Carl’s heart careening inside his chest. Negan stops right in front of him, the tips of his boots grazing Carl’s own. His gelled hair is curling at the temples and his skin is shiny under his salt and pepper beard, a sheen of perspiration covering the bow of his upper lip and the slight curve at the top of his chin. Negan makes a low sound, between a laugh and a sigh, and Carl’s eye follows the movement of his lips with rapt fascination when he speaks. “Pheew,” he breathes out, sending an exhale of peppermint-sweet air in Carl’s face. “Even in here, it’s hotter than the devil’s asscrack.” Then, unexpectedly, he asks, “Wanna hold her for me?”

There is SO MUCH happening here. Carl and Negan looking at each other and lusting after each other openly (the first time in the fic that it's mutual and not just one-sided), Negan's flex of the hand that shows he's barely restraining himself from grabbing Carl, Carl knowing he should kneel but staying standing because he's becoming aware of the fact that the rules don't apply when it's just him and Negan away from everyone else, Negan asking Carl to hold Lucille (the symbol of his battered heart and erect cock intertwined and wrapped in barbed wire) while he goes to have sex with someone else, so basically asking Carl to hold his heart while he fucks one of the wives...

Negan smirks, teeth flashing, and Carl should know better than to think he can hide the effect Negan has on him. “Thanks. Things might get a lil’ loud in there. Just a heads-up,” he winks. Carl swallows, hard. He is pretty sure the sweat rolling down his face must be sizzling, puffs of steam coming out from his every pore. As if on cue, he feels a plump drop of perspiration trail from his temple, along his chin and down his Adam's apple, before pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Negan’s gaze, previously light and playful, turns dark and riveted as he gives Carl’s face a long once-over, slowly going down from his sweaty brow to his flushed cheeks and lips before settling on his neck, just above the soaked collar of his t-shirt. His gray eyes stay there for long seconds, transfixed, before Negan suddenly blinks, gaze flicking to the ceiling as he mutters under a raspy breath, “Je-sus.” Carl doesn’t have time to fully grasp what just happened that Negan is already moving, disappearing inside the wives’ apartment with a sharp exhale and a shake of his head. His warm and spicy scent lingers in the air around Carl, thick and heady.

This is one of my favorite moments in this chapter because it's really difficult to write a longing/erotic scene where in fact nothing is happening, especially when I have to tread the line of Carl's pov, of him still being mostly innocent and unaware of what Negan wants to do to him, while at the same time knowing it (as shown in the dirty dream that Carl has right after this moment).

I'm not going to quote the dirty dream, but I did want to have Carl explore his sexual attraction to Negan on his own before any smut happened between them. It felt important to me that Carl had at least some time to accept that he's sexually attracted to Negan, that this anticipation builds, before anything happened. A boy doesn't go from being sexually repressed for four years to jumping into bed with a man 3x his age out of nowhere. (Btw, Carl masturbating while thinking of Negan was inspired by this awesome fic Secret Handshake by Gonfalonier) (I'm realizing now that these re-read posts could also be a great place to rec some Cegan fics. If you like them, do show them some love!)

Now, the beer scene. Not gonna lie, I still have no idea where the inspiration for this one came from but I am SO PROUD of it. It's just the most devious interrogation technique. Negan knows very well what he's doing, that Carl probably never had a drink in his entire life, that he will be affected by the alcohol, less able to think and lie, all of this without touching a single hair on Carl's head.

And of course at the end of the scene is this awesome moment that will haunt Carl again and again:

He keeps his tone casual, but Carl doesn’t miss the dangerous edge in his voice when he asks, “And since when do you take orders from pretty boy Mark?” He opens his mouth but before he can answer, Negan snaps, “Drink.” The bottle is more than half-empty, its taste milder than before, hints of sweetness coating his tongue underneath all the earthy tanginess. It takes Carl a second to remember the question he was asked. “I don’t. I just… I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” The crow’s feet around Negan’s eyes mellow for a brief instant, his expression turning understanding. But it only lasts just that, an instant, before anger takes over once more. He leans forward, towering with all of his height over Carl. His lips brush against Carl’s ear, but there is nothing seductive about it. It’s a warning, plain and simple. “Don’t be soft, it doesn’t fuckin’ suit you,” Negan growls.

It's not just the lie that bothers Negan, but the fact that Carl lied to protect *Mark*, young and fit Mark, who's already charming the pants off Amber and now Carl too. This is the first time that Negan is jealous of another man that Carl interacted with since Shane. After Carl killed Shane, Negan thought all the competition had been eliminated, that he was finally the only man in Carl's orbit, but now he realizes that it's not necessarily true.

The line "don't be soft" especially will come back in part 3 because Carl will never be able to forget it. Negan sees that Carl's lie was not done out of love for Mark but compassion, that Carl has a good heart, and of course it's something that Negan appreciates and admires, but at the same time, it's also something that deeply frightens Negan. Negan associates softness with weakness and, as his talk with Gabriel in the "Big Scary U" episode highlights, he is intent on eradicating weakness: the weakness that made him afraid of killing walkers in the "Here's Negan" flashback episode, the weakness that made him forget to turn the generator back on because he was afraid it would attract walkers and which led to Lucille's medication be ruined, the weakness that let him be captured by the Valaks Vipers biker gang, the weakness that made Lucille kill herself rather than fight cancer... Like Shane, Negan is desperate to turn Carl into a hardened and ruthless killer because they both think it's the only way Carl can survive: by being as merciless and cold as they are, because Negan and Shane have seen too many good and soft people die horrible deaths and they'll be damned if they let this happen to Carl. Negan, like Shane, knows that the real danger is not the walkers or other people, but it's yourself, your own kindness and morals and empathy. Those are the things that get you killed. It's tragic that so much of Shane and Negan's abuse toward Carl is driven by fierce protectiveness and absolute terror at the thought of anything happening to Carl.

This post is far too long already so I'll wrap it up with two scenes: the conversation between Carl and Dwight after Negan left the room, and Negan ironing Mark's face off.

I can't remember if I've said this before but the relationship between Carl and Dwight was really unexpected. I never planned on them bonding but, as I wrote the story and re-watched the episodes about Dwight from canon, it just seemed natural considering all the similarities between them: the disfigured face, the fact that they started as Negan's enemies, that their blind loyalty and devotion to Negan is underpinned by seditious rebellion (Dwight because he let Sherry get away and Carl because he freed Rosita). Dwight often acts as a sort of moral bell tolling for Carl. He's the one reminding Carl of the harsh reality of Sanctuary, of who Negan is. And for all that Carl likes to forget, he has to acknowledge that Dwight is right about everything. There will never be peace at Sanctuary, not in the long term, because Negan's Sanctuary is the product of his grief and anger and desire for revenge after the death of Lucille. The very inception of the place stemmed from the worst parts of Negan, and no matter how much Negan rationalizes it, no matter how many rules he creates to justify Sanctuary's relevance, it will never be freed of the ghosts that haunt it, of the blood and bones it was built on.

I know I talk a lot about the significance of Lucille the bat (Negan's heart and dick wrapped in barbed wire, the most vulnerable symbol of his past turned into his most brutal weapon) but I think Sanctuary holds the same place as an embodiment of the best and worst parts of Negan: the name itself promises refuge, peace, shelter and security, but Negan has fostered an atmosphere of ruthless violence and competition inside it, has kept the workers subdued and turned the Saviors into a feral pack of dogs lashing out against everything and everyone. Like Lucille, Negan's Sanctuary is fenced and weaponized, its boundaries covered in walkers to keep everyone at bay. There's little humanity in Sanctuary, like there's little humanity left in Negan. It's there, but it's faint and it's kept fenced in, tucked away inside an impenetrable fortress. It never ceases to amaze me that with all the resources at his disposal, Negan could have made Sanctuary a place worthy of the name. It's clear he knows how to make a place attractive (his room is glorious in a bachelor pad kind of way, and so are the harem and the room meant for Daryl). But he doesn't. Instead he keeps the factory gloomy and frightening. Because the Sanctuary, like Lucille, was created out of grief and fury. Negan doesn't want to make it hospitable. He wants it to be a punishment on himself and everyone around him.

I'll finish with this glorious line, which encompasses Negan's jealousy, his pettiness, and his reflex to lash out at the people he cares about because he's still, deep down, a wounded animal snapping at everyone who tries to help him:

“Since you like cleaning up after Mark so much, get a mop. Your boy made a mess,” Negan sneers before brushing past him.

Conclusion; tldr: This fic is an oven and I'm turning the temp all the way up. Carl and Negan are terribly horny for each other, but it's all part of the cooking process. Negan is marinating Carl in beer. Carl is having a dreadful time remembering that the man he jerks off to is still a monster. Negan is the most tragic character ever and the Sanctuary is basically the haunted manor in a Gothic Victorian story. Only one chapter left for part 2.