#i really deeply truly want and need this to work. im exhausted n it hurts AND im gaining weight so literally what is the point

[maretriarch]

this is humiliating but im going to start buying myself ponies online as a reward for staying x days "clean" from purging..it's been taking a real emotional and physical toll on me as of late and I wish I was strong enough to just like, fucking stop its truly not that hard. but it is. also itll be cheaper than going to inpatient care. so.

[angrylizardjacket]

mouth full of white lies {Machine Gun Kelly} 2

2. i been fronting that it’s just for the summer

Summary: So you’re together, sort of, and it’s great! Everyone seems to be convinced, that’s not the issue. The issue comes when you fly to LA for filming, and you decide to stay with Colson, but the room only has one bed. And the paparazzi crash your first “date”. And he kisses you and your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, which is not supposed to happen because this isn’t a real relationship! But it’s fine. Probably. 

A/N: So bare with me, it’s a very long chapter. Also, pretend the Tunnel of Love remix by haroinfather came out before 2018 and not in 2019. Enjoy. 

the brainstrust: @sataninsatin @silvertonguedserpent @juliarose21 @kellysimagines @estxxbritt @machine-gun-casie @harringtonstudios @misscharlottelee @narcvissa @hiworlditishumbleme @angelwarner28 @nevilles-insinuations @rumoured-whispers @mgkobsessed @edwardtriggerhandzz @suckerforbarnes @wastelcve @bakerkells @local-troubled-writer @freddiessmallnipples @oopsiedoopsie23

----

It feels like you’re braced for impact when you walk into rehearsals the day after you release the video. Douglas has already seen it, of course he has, he messages you minutes after it’s posted.

[Dig Doug: Not gonna say I Told You So, but im glad you’re happy. 🦆🦆]

It gets you to smile, despite your anxiety surrounding the whole situation.

“Now what?” Colson asked after the video was posted, sitting next to you on his bed. The duvet is so soft, and somehow the whole situation is so inherently soft. Maybe it’s that you’re both in hoodies and sweat pants. Maybe it’s that you’d just told the world that you’re dating. His eyes are so blue.

You phone goes off. 

His phone goes off. 

Both of you have Twitter muted, but even so, it needed to let you both know that you were getting a lot of mentions.

“Now we’re dating,” you say, flipping your phone over, while Colson picks his up, opening Twitter and beginning to scroll through his mentions. Where in the Hell were you meant to go from here.

“Alright, cool; you wanna get pizza or something?” He asks, simple as that, and it’s now you seem to realise that you’ve been so stressed from everything that had been happening that you hadn’t been remembering to feed yourself.

“Honestly, I’d love to.”

The next day, however, it’s the elephant in the room; the others don’t say anything, but everyone, even Douglas to some extent, was wondering how in the hell they had missed your apparent relationship. But it’s not awkward; you and Colson act the same as always, you take notes for Josy, and get coffee, and type away on your laptop. 

They break for lunch, and you look up from your work only to see Josy making a beeline for you, an intimidating look of determination written all over her face. Ah, here’s where the interrogation begins. Glancing over your shoulder you see Colson shoot you an amused, if concerned look, glancing to Josy. In response, you shrug; it can’t be helped.

“We need to talk,” Josy tells you, steers you from the room, across the parking lot, into a whole new building, where she paces for about three minutes, unable to look at you, hands basically pulling out her hair, all of which amuses you greatly. When she comes to a stop in front of you, it’s as if you can see the cogs of her brain turning, her fingers steepled in front of her mouth as she tries to order her thoughts.

“You know you’re my favourite assistant in the world and I treasure our friendship, right?” She asks, and you fix her with a fondly exasperated stare.

“Of course, you see fit to remind me every time I bring you coffee -”

“Then why, my little duck, my little goose, apple of my eye, enchilada of my bosom,” she says with an almost poisonous sweetness, looking you directly in the eye, “would you date one of my actors?” And you have to hold back your laughter in the face of her sincere and rather angry confusion.

“Josy, please,” you start, and she already looks like she wants to interrupt, “I like him is all, okay? I won’t be a distraction -” you can already see her trying to protest, but you hold up your hand to stop her, “and he won’t distract me; if anything, it means there’ll be no outside distractions, hopefully.”

“[Y/N] you test me,” Josy sighs deeply, scrubbing at her face, “how long?”

This gives you cause for hesitation, because neither you nor Colson had thought to get your whole story straight the night before. He had ordered room service and you’d just talked about music until you finally went back to your own room. An oversight, sure, but you had been glad to have a plan, and were happy to figure out the details later.

“A few weeks -” when you say this, Josy makes a choked, wheezing noise, and you pause, “since... uh, since he took us around the city at the end of the first week.”

“Does Douglas know?”

“He’s not my handler,” you fire off reflexively, and Josy winces, a little sheepish, “but yes.” You paused. “Now.”

Josy lets the whole conversation slide with some reluctance, and she asks you to get her lunch from the deli a few blocks away. You agree, partially because it’s your job, but mostly because you’re just glad to get out of the building and away from her exasperated, judgmental stares.

He’s corrupting you. It’s what the media thinks. It’s what Josy thinks. And something about the assumption is already starting to get under your skin. But right as you start to get truly annoyed by the subtext she had been blasting you with, you hear your phone chime.

[Colson: am i gonna get The Talk from my AD later on? Ducky: wot Colson: like u no... if you hurt my daughter im gonna hurt you Ducky: Josys not my mom??? shes like 3 years older than me???? Colson: its a joke. chill ducky. everything alright tho? Ducky: told her wed been dating since that night i filmed a few weeks ago Colson: smart. everyone thinks weve been together since then nyways Ducky: you want anything from the deli? Colson: what Ducky: im at the deli. u want a sandwich? Colson: yeh sure. surprise me. maybe chicken idk. webber wants a chocolate milk Ducky: milks bad for vocal cords Colson: he doesnt care 😈]

It makes you laugh. He makes you laugh. It’s as easy as that; you’re still friends, it’s just that you spend more time together, are closer, when you go out for dinner with the cast, he’s invariably beside you. You’re both always on time to rehearsals, and he keeps sending you selfies from costume and makeup tests, and it’s going fine, great even, despite all the nasty DMs you were still receiving. Of course the supportive ones always outweighed the negative, and even the negative didn’t really bother you, because it’s not as if there was a real relationship in jeopardy, so it actually took a lot of weight off your shoulders.

Filming is set to start on location in LA after about a month and a half of rehearsals, and while the first month had primarily been working on scenes, the extra fortnight you’d been there had been almost consistently rehearsing as a band for eight hours a day, six days a week. The day before you’re due to fly off, the whole cast looks exhausted at brunch. 

“Pass me the salt,” Colson yawns, half asleep with his head against the window of the cafe.

“It’s right in front of you,” you counter, knocking his knee with yours beneath the table.

“My arms don’t work,” he groaned, but he was smiling now, just a little. You look to the other cast members all enjoying their own respective breakfasts. Daniel’s on voice rest, despite the fact that they’re going to be using recordings of Motley Crue themselves for the actual film, they still want him able to perform covers for when they’re filming; currently he’s nursing a lemon and ginger tea with enough honey to drown a bee. Actually, Colson was the only one out of the four of them not to be drinking tea; both Iwan and Douglas both having ordered a cup with their breakfasts. Iwan was the only one who looked ready for the day, with the rest of them all slumped over in various states of exhaustion.

“Ducky, come on, please?” Colson actually whined, and you rolled your eyes, passing him the salt.

“You’re so needy,” you tell him, but your smile is enough to let him know that you’re joking.

“Why’re you called Duck, if I may ask?” Iwan asks, and you heave a sigh, knowing Douglas was already smiling before you even turn to look at him.

“Because when our parents first brought her home, all she did was follow me around like a duckling,” his tone is all fond, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a side hug despite your indignant noise of protest.

“Adorable,” Iwan grins over the lip of his cup. You just groan, and steal a bite of Douglas’ pancakes, though he doesn’t seem to mind, “have you worked much in the industry?” Iwan’s accent sounds like home, and despite how quiet and bitter he is in character, he’s rather bright and talkative as a person.

“Here and there; I actually spent quite a few of my teenage years as Doug’s assistant when he would be filming in London,” you say with a half-smile, “still a bit of a duck I suppose, but it looks good on my CV. I do odd-jobs on sets here and there back home, have been a runner for a few TV shows, but I don’t really go out of my way to be on camera, you know,” you shrug, before hearing your mistake. Both Colson and Douglas are already laughing, while Daniel and Iwan just seem confused. “Apart from, like, my actual job, you know? Like I’m on camera for YouTube, but not for a real movie or anything.”

“Well you seem very good at your job, we’re glad to have you onboard,” Iwan nods with a surprisingly sincere smile. Beneath the table, Colson’s hand is on your knee, and he gives you a small squeeze.

“I thought your hands didn’t work?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and Douglas almost spits his drink all over Daniel at the implication.

“Excuse me?” His eyes are wide as saucers and Colson’s quickly turning red.

“I said my arms don’t work but damn, call me out why don’t you?” He splutters, raising his hands in the air in mock surrender, with only mild wincing. It’s about now that you realise the assumption that your brother had jumped to.

“His hand was on my knee, Doug, I was trying to make a joke,” you explain, flustered, though Daniel and Iwan on the other side of the booth have collapsed on top of each other with laughter. You, Douglas, and Colson, however, are all equally mortified, and make a point to move so neither of you are touching as you finish your breakfast quickly.

“I just appreciate,” Daniel was still chuckling as you all left the cafe, as was Iwan, “that Doug genuinely thought Colson was getting busy with his sister at brunch, like, right next to him under the table.

“Nah,” Iwan actually laughs, his smile sharp, “they’re just really in character.”

“Hello! Hello and welcome back, ducklings! Today we’re flying all the way to sunny L.A, which honestly isn’t that far from Portland, but the production company was nice enough to not make us road trip it.” 

The video starts in your hotel room, and follows you as you pack your things, and cuts to a montage set to some royalty-free music, of you heading to the airport, of the cast yawning. Your brother buys you breakfast at a fast-food restaurant in the airport, and you check your bags; a panning shot in the waiting area, of every single member of the cast and crew that are taking this flight on their phones.

“You look cute,” you mutter very quietly to Colson, who’s sitting next to you, scrolling through Twitter with a travel pillow squished up around his neck. He gives you a toothy smile, leans his cheek against the pillow, and winks at the camera. 

The hotel you’re staying at is beautiful, all marble pillars in the foyer and beige and cream counters, and it feels like it might be too much. This is where the stars stay, and you? You know you’re absolutely not a star.

“Duck?” And there’s Josy’s voice, hesitant, about to tell you the jig is up, hand you keys to a water stained motel room a few blocks away. When you turn to her, she’s got two separate key cards in her hands.

“Yes, Josy?” You ask sweetly; it’s not her fault, after all, that you’re not a top-billed star. 

“So corporate wanted to put you with some of the other crew, they’re staying in a place down the road - it’s really lovely, trust me, and if you want it we can still get you a room - but,” Josy glanced to the cards in her hand, before holding them out, one in each hand, “if you’d like to stay here, both your brother and Colson are happy to share with you.” And at this, your brain stalls, looking at the key cards being offered to you.

“Why didn’t they tell me this?”

“Because they’re already heading up, but they wanted me to let you know that the offer’s there.”

So it seems that in the three minutes that you were mooning over the architecture, and giving the guys their space, since you’d assumed you’d be staying elsewhere, both your brother and your fake boyfriend happened to mention that you’re able to stay with them if you want. Douglas is not a surprise; Colson is. 

“How big are the rooms, I don’t want to -” you start, but Josy’s quick to cut you off.

“The size isn’t the matter; they’re big enough rooms, got really comfortable sofas from what I could see, but...”

“But?” You prompt, and Josy gives a smile. 

“Of course, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with; you know Doug’s more than happy to take the sofa, I just know you and Colson haven’t been together that long -” And here it all starts to make sense, and you hope the smile you give isn’t nervous as you ask which key is which. You take Colson’s.

The elevator ride up to the cast’s floor has you wracked with nerves, which you think is ridiculous; you can sleep on the sofa, it’s no trouble, and he wouldn’t have offered the room if he hadn’t meant it. So why does the idea of staying in a room with him, with only one bed, have your heart beating so fast? You’d been teasing each other, flirting and being cute together, in front of other people, that was easy, but since the night you’d released the video, you hadn’t really been alone together. You hadn’t needed to be. It seems like all you can think about as you walk down the beige hallway to your room, on auto-pilot as you scan your key card and enter the room.

It’s quiet.

There’s the gentle whistling of wind that comes from the balcony, the overhead sun beating down on the pristine, Hollywood beaches. He sits on the balcony, plush armchair, smoking a joint with his shirt off. Inside, it’s all white walls and gold accents, his suitcase on the bed, already open the contents inside surprisingly neatly folded. There’s a door beside you that you’re pretty sure leads to the bathroom, and the room itself is spacious, with a gorgeous, gray sofa sitting off to one side, and a wall-mounted television on the other. Just for the moment, all the fears and anxieties in your mind vanish at the sight of this pristine serenity.

Quietly, you wheel your own suitcase to the sofa, and pull out your phone. 

He’s stunning, like that, his feet up on the coffee table on the balcony, free hand tapping a lazy beat on the arm of his chair. You take a candid photo of him as he exhales smoke, and it catches the sunlight beautifully, with the water out of focus in the background. 

“Can I post this?” You ask, and he jumps a little, not having heard you come in, before his concerned expression morphs to a genuine smile when he realises that it’s you. Turning the phone to him, you show him the photo you took, and he lowers his sunglasses to get a proper look at it. After a beat, his gaze flicks to yours.

“’course, it’s a nice photo.”

“You’re very photogenic,” you brush of his compliment with a smile, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose, looking out from the balcony.

“You crashing here?” 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you respond, and he actually laughs, though the sound is kind.

“Wouldn’t have offered if it was.”

Easy. Like everything else about him, it seemed, this was easy.

You caption the photo ‘the view from my balcony 😍’ and post it on both Twitter, and your Instagram story, tagging him in both, and you set about checking out the room’s facilities. It’s a normal, if fancy hotel room. Little bottles of soaps and shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom, TV with a bunch of standard channels, and a whole ton more that you could pay for if you wanted, it even had a set of cables so you could charge your phone, either side of the bed. The singular bed. Which Colson has clearly already claimed.

Maybe it had been a mistake to not board with your brother. 

“I’m getting lunch, you want anything?” You call, needing to get out of your own head for a bit, wanting to explore the city a little. He’s quiet for a moment, then you hear a strained ‘yeah’.

“Gimme a moment, let me put on a shirt and I’ll come with you,” he tells you through a lung full of smoke, putting the joint out in the ash tray provided, tucking the other half in his pocket for later.

“You not gonna vlog this?” He asks, half smiling in the elevator, hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Oh, shit, knew I forgot something,” you mutter, and you go to punch in the number of your floor again, but his hand catches yours. 

“We’re coming back after, don’t worry about it.”

And, well, you don’t.

It’s easy to talk to him, you swap stories about life in the entertainment industry from two wildly different perspectives, and you find a cute and overpriced restaurant to have lunch in. All the while, you’re so aware of where you are, how there could be any number of people snapping photos of the pair of you. It’s not like you’re being overtly couple-y, you’d only been putting on this ruse for three weeks at this point, but he pays for your lunch.

“Oh, I didn’t realise this was a date,” you admit, a little surprised, a little flustered. He shrugs, eats the last bite of his burger, and smiles.

“Why not? We haven’t had the chance to go on one yet, let’s take it for a test drive. Do they- are boardwalks still a thing? Is a boardwalk carnival still a thing or was that just the nineties?” You’re actually rather taken aback by his suggestion, and can’t help but grin, picking up your mostly empty glass to swirl the ice at the bottom.

“Pretty sure boardwalks are a thing, not sure about carnivals on them, but we can check it out.”

You each finish your drinks and leave, setting off for the waterfront. Feeling bold, you tuck your arm in his, and enjoy the Spring-time sunshine. The boardwalk, as it turns out, is still definitely a thing, as are the kitschy carnival rides along it. 

“I feel like a fuckin’ teenager,” Colson mutters under his breath, knowing you’ll hear it, “if we see a couple where they’re both wearing braces, looking like they just got out of school, I’m throwing myself straight into the ocean.” He informs quietly, and you snort at that.

“Not a fan of traditional cute date shit?” You ask, as the pair of you approach the ticket booth. 

“Not in the slightest,” Colson admits through his teeth while trying to smile at the attendant. The attendant, who obviously recognizes at least one of you, is doing her best not to look like she’s staring. You each buy a ride pass and head in, and the girl tells you to have a good afternoon, with a nervous sort of excitement. 

“This feels like somewhere I’d go with my daughter,” Colson looks doubtfully up at the ferris wheel that sat ahead of you at the end of the pier, looking more than a little perturbed, but his words struck you in a way that you hadn’t expected.

“Have you told her about us?” You asked, and he casts an unreadable glance at you.

“Listen, if we’re going to talk about... stuff like this, let’s at least do it somewhere a little more private?” It seems he, just like you, is acutely aware of how busy the little set of attractions is, and having already been recognized once, it’s almost certainly not going to be the last time today.

The gangly-limbed teenager working the ferris-wheel doesn’t even hide that he’s staring at Colson with hero-worship in his eyes, and he gives you a look over, followed by an approving, rather smug nod, before closing the door of the carriage. It makes your skin crawl.

“Why does everyone get to decide if I’m good enough for you based on my looks?” You hear yourself mutter, but Colson’s slinging his arm around your shoulders as the pair of you are raised steadily into the air. 

“Who gives a shit? They’re jealous, and it doesn’t matter because we’re not really together anyways,” he’s got a point, but your expression is still downcast, and there’s a strange sadness settling in the pit of your stomach. 

“I suppose.”

Once you’re high enough in the air that no-one from the ground should be able to hear either of you even a little bit, Colson sits back, lets his gaze drift across the horizon.

“I told Cassie about us, told her the truth.” He doesn’t sugar coat it, doesn’t try and explain his way out of it, when instead he looks tense, like he’s read to defend himself. You, however, nod, giving him an understanding smile.

“Of course, she’s your daughter,” you pause, and he finally looks back at you, and you think you see some hint of relief in his eyes, “I never expected for you to lie to her.”

“She’s a good kid,” he assures softly, “got a good head on her shoulders.” And now he’s turning fond, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “fuckin’ who knows where she got it, ‘cos it ain’t me.” Laughing a little, he’s surprised when you answer, voice soft and sincere.

“You’ve gotta give yourself more credit,” you tell him matter-of-factly, “you wouldn’t be half as successful as you are if you didn’t have a good bit of sense.”

“I knew there was a reason I was dating you,” he teases, pulling you in close, but you play along.

“Yeah, it’s that good sense of yours,” you returned, and he gave you a gentle shove. “Am I going to meet her at all?” You ask finally, and Colson gives another shrug.

“Yeah, I mean sure, she wants to come to set, so if you’re around you’re welcome to meet her,” his fingers are drumming lightly against your shoulder, “I should warn you though, she tends to vet any girls I’m getting serious about pretty hard, fake or not.” And yeah, you’re laughter’s a bit disbelieving, and though he sees the humour in it, he doesn’t seem to be joking, “she’s a good judge of character, and I’ll tell you now, I’m mad protective of her, but she’s mad protective of me too.” The thought of it is actually endearing, and you lean into him, letting yourself heave a sigh of contentment, glad to have talked this through.

“This would have been real nice to film,” he muttered, a teasing edge to his voice as the two of you stared out at the glittering ocean.

“Don’t even start,” you gave his ribs a shove, which only made him laugh, the sound warm and easy in the afternoon air, the sun moving slowly to the horizon.

Slowly but surely Colson was warming to the little boardwalk carnival. The two of you play obviously rigged games, and ride the rollercoaster that creaks ominously, and he even convinces you to share some fairy floss. He snaps a picture of you grinning wide and genuine as you offer him the treat, and posts it to Twitter with the caption ‘sweet’. 

There’s a Tunnel of Love ride that Colson had adamantly refused to go on at first, but as sunset was drawing closer, he relented. 

“I’m not a cliche! I’m not a fucking cliche!” He huffs, sitting beside you with his arms crossed, his legs so long that his knees came up almost comically. You’re filming on your phone for your Instagram story, and will later add at least two heart gifs, but for now you’re just obnoxiously singing the Tunnel of Love remix, thankful that you’re the only two on the ride at the moment.

“You so fucking cute, when I see you, I uwu, can you be my fucking boo? Can you be my sailor moon?” Hearing the smile in your voice, he turns to you, something about his expression softening as he sees the joy written all over your face that the camera can’t see, “and I don't wanna fight, I just wanna treat you right; I was aiming at your heart and I don't wanna say goodbye.” 

He just laughs, and shakes his head as the ride takes off, fond adoration written all over his face.

The sun’s setting by the time you’ve ridden all the rides you wanted to, eaten all the candy you could possibly stomach, and failed at enough rigged games that you were about ready to call it quits. 

“Hey I didn’t just wanna come here for the carnival shit,” he said, and you’ve got your arm tucked into his again as he steers you both to the edge of the boardwalk, where there was a set of steps down to the beach. 

“Under the boardwalk,” you nod knowingly, which he parrots back with a smile. Beneath the boardwalk there was a gaggle of youth, looking slightly older than teenagers, some still in uniforms from boardwalk rides, some smoking, most looking intimidating, but when Colson asks them for a light, they seem to get much less hostile.

“Hey are you MGK?” One asks, and when Colson lights the half a joint he had from earlier, he nods. “Sick.” The kid nods sagely, before his gaze turns on you. “And you’re that Booth chick, aren’t you? I’ve seen you on Twitter.” It’s not hostile, it’s genuinely curious.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Eddie, that’s [Y/N], do you live under a rock?” One of the girls pipes up, decked out in black, with a thick piercing through her septum, and an intimidating amount of eyeliner. The boy, Eddie, flushes scarlet, and snaps that not everyone watches the same shit as her. “I’m Samara,” the girl offers with a grin, offering her hand to you, which you shake, more than a little pleased with their various reactions.

“I heard yous was boinking -” a third girl interrupts, wearing a boardwalk uniform and hitting a vape pen pretty hard. 

“Emma!” More than one of them shout, though Samara is the loudest.

“Is boinking still the term?” Colson snorts, taking it all in stride, though he’s got an arm around you now, “Jesus fuck I feel ancient.”

“You are -” Emma interrupts, much to the rest of the group’s chagrin, but Colson just laughs.

“I’m twenty-seven you fucker!” He crows, and Emma cracks a smile, and takes another hit off of her vape pen. “Whatever,” he shrugs, “just tryin’ to show my girl everything LA has to offer.” 

“So you come under the boardwalk?” Eddie asks, with a skepticism that made you all flustered at his insinuations.

“Can you blame us for wanting a bit of privacy?” Colson smirks, to which the group of youths all collectively ‘ooh’ at, and he gives your hip a squeeze. 

“Try the one a quarter of a mile that way,” Samara points further down the beach, “less carnival, less people.” She winks, before adding, surprisingly hopefully, “but could we get like, a photo or something first?” 

Of course you both agree, and among the group photos, you learn that they’re all working around town during winter break for college. Samara specifically asks for a photo with you, where she plants a kiss on your cheek, looking a little flustered herself, muttering a quiet thanks. You follow her back on Instagram, and she gives you this starry-eyed look.

“She’s got a crush on you,” Colson snickers as the two of you head down the beach, well and truly out of earshot of the others, and you smile, finally looking up from your phone, a little endeared at the young woman’s antics. 

“Jealous?” You ask, loftily, and you expect him to laugh, but he goes quiet. When you turn to him, he’s regarding you with amusement, and something else you can’t quite identify. “Colson?” And you slow, now near enough to the next section of the boardwalk. As promised, it was rather secluded. 

After a beat, he leans in and kisses you, soft and unexpected, but his lips fit against yours like you were made for each other. Leaning into him, you wrap your arms around him, letting him pull you close. Not exactly sure what triggered this, you’re just happy to lean into it, enjoying the moment. And then he’s pulling back, forehead resting against yours.

“You see the guy to our left who’s just left the group of kids under the boardwalk? Hawaiian shirt and expensive camera?” He asks quietly, and you glance out of the corner of eye, only to spot the exact person he’s talking about, you make a quiet noise of confirmation, and you keep up the ruse, hand coming up to cup his jaw, butterflies going ballistic in your stomach despite now knowing that it was obviously for show, “been following us for the past hour.”

“Fucking paps,” you hiss, but before your expression can sour, he kisses you again, gives you a squeeze, as if to remind you to put on a show of not noticing him. Much to your surprise, he bites gently at your bottom lip, and you let out a quiet but pleased noise that neither of you had expected, and when he leans back, he looks both surprised and kind of into it, what’s more unexpected is that the exact same expression is written all over your face too.

“Back to the boardwalk, uber back to the hotel?” You ask, resolutely not talking about what had happened, but still smiling and all up in his personal space.

“Love it, let’s get out of here,” and he takes your hand, and leads you back to the safety of the street. It’s the first time the two of you had kissed, not that you’d realised it in the morning, but it was good, you reflect, it felt like it made sense. If you’re a little more giddy than you probably should be on the way back, Colson doesn’t seem to notice, in fact, he’s grinning too, humming to himself.

There’s two posts, one right after the other on Samara’s Instagram story when you check it that night, after having briefly seen it in the uber on the way back to the hotel. 

The first is a video captioned [gross thats my mom and dad] The video was pixelated as hell, and she hadn’t tagged either you or Colson, but you knew it was the two of you, wrapped up in each other, half a mile down the beach. In the background, her friends are arguing about something much closer, though one voice cuts through louder than the rest.

“Hey, Hawaiian shirt hipster paparazzi fuck! Yeah you! Give ‘em some fucking privacy!” And as the voice, who you think is Emma, shouts, Samara turns to focus the camera on the paparazzi Colson had spotted earlier, still incredibly zoomed in, capturing his sheepish, angry expression in all it’s rather pixelated glory.

“Fuck you kids!” He shouts back. Someone throws a can at him.

“Piss off!” Samara shouts, “we know you’re not taking photos of seagulls, cunt!” He goes to respond, but the group just starts chucking things at him. In the background, you can see yourself and Colson heading back up to street level, oblivious to what was going on.

The second post is a screenshot of a set of DMs between yourself and Samara.

@yourinstagramhandle mentioned you in their story

6:28pm

@yourinstagramhandle responded 😍 to your story @yourinstagramhandle: god i fucking love you guys, it was so great to meet you @unholy-samara-tin: 😅😅😅 it was the right thing to do lmao no stress he was a creepy fucker

It’s captioned [HOLY SHIT I’VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN].

You get dinner with Douglas and tell him about your day, and he gives you this sweet, if a little smug smile.

“You seem very happy.” He says, knowingly.

“I am, it was a good day!” You tell him, and he hums, but won’t say anything else on the matter. The conversation is taken up mostly by excitement regarding the makeup and costume fittings that they have over the next week and a half before filming starts, and then it’s back to your own rooms. At your door, Douglas calls out to you, three rooms away.

“It’s strange to see you so grown up, duckling,” he hasn’t called you that in so long, not since you were children, even your mother had abandoned that nickname for the mildly less embarrassing ‘Duck’ in the past few years, and while it warmed your heart, you couldn’t help but tense in anticipation for some sort of gentle, sibling embarrassment, probably to do with you sharing a room with your ‘boyfriend’. 

“And?”

“And nothing,” he shrugged, “never thought you’d become cool is all, a star in your own right, aren’t you?” 

“Of course I’m cool, would you like me to give you some pointers?” You asked sweetly, and Douglas couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I? Anyways, have a good rest of your night, Colson and Dan have gone out drinking.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” you tell him, and the two of you finally go into your separate bedrooms. He’s right, of course, there’s clothes strewn all over the bed, and the shower’s been recently used, and the whole little place has a warm, clean smell, like the last mist of some spiced cologne was still lingering in the air. The only light on is one of the bedside lights, and the lights of the city outside twinkle brightly, though you can’t see many stars for the light pollution. You crack the screen door to the balcony open, and shiver a little, though you tell yourself it’s from the cold, and not because the rather comforting and clean smells were quickly dissipating. 

You are alone when you try to fall asleep on the plush but desperately uncomfortable sofa, alone and struggling to pass out with the bedside light still on, not wanting Colson to have to stumble around in the dark when he gets back. You spend almost a full hour on your phone blocking people who send you nasty DMs, and responding to a few kind ones, and you post a photo of the roof just captioned ‘cant sleep’.

It’s just gone one when the door clicks open, and Colson steps in, pretty well coordinated, and trying to keep quiet. But then there’s you, staring back at him in the lamp light.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

Awkward silence.

“Why are you on the sofa?” He asks, hauling his bag from the bed, shoving his loose clothes in haphazardly, before patting down his pockets. “Sorry if I woke you,” it’s almost an afterthought, and he pulls out a box of cigarettes.

“You didn’t,” you tell him with a yawn that says otherwise, but you power through it, “and I didn’t want to intrude.”

He casts a dubious glance at how you’re angled on the sofa, but doesn’t say anything, and opens the sliding door wider to sit on the porch and have his cigarette. Without even hesitating, you join him, and your spine thanks you the moment you stand.

“Nice night?” You ask, sitting out on the balcony with him.

“Nice night,” he agrees, adding, “nice day all around.” And something about it makes your heart flutter. “You know you can take the bed; I’d rather sleep on the floor than have you get scoliosis.”

“I don’t think that’s how scoliosis works,” you say with a huff of laughter, but he just hums, “and you don’t need to do that, I’m fine,” you try to insist.

“You know you’re welcome to just share the bed, it’s fucking massive, I feel like I’ll get lost in it,” he actually yawns, takes another drag of his cigarette. 

“So you want me to, what, ground you somehow?”

“I just wanna know that if I roll over in the night and there’s something solid there, that it’s your arm and not like, the lightpost in fuckin’ Narnia,” he tells you, and breathes out a lung full of smoke. You watch it hang in the air, pale and silver in the light of the moon. 

“We’re gonna be in the tabloids tomorrow,” you tell him quietly.

“No-one reads tabloids anymore, we’re gonna be on like, those snapchat news things,” he says, and laughs but it doesn’t sound very amused. “Have you been getting less shit?”

“Actually,” you consider, “yeah, most of your fans are mad supportive when you ask them to be. What about you?”

“Your fans are cute, you know that? I was scrolling through twitter and I saw a whole bunch of photos of us like, photoshopped together,” he paused to chuckle, “some had flower crowns.” You can hear the smile in his words, and he seems quite enamored by the phenomenon. It’s a nice moment; he’s drunk and a little high and you’re exhausted, and you fall into bed like it’s a sitcom.

“Tell your spine I said ‘you’re fucking welcome’,” he tells you, and it’s so absurd that you laugh, even as you pull the covers up over you and snuggle in, comfortable as all hell, before turning the light off.

Then, there’s movement, and a loud ‘thwap’ as Colson’s hand comes to knock your shoulder, landing on top of the duvet. 

“Narnia?” He asks, and you give a small smile in the dark.

“Just me.”

You wake in the morning to the sound of Colson’s alarm, or more accurately, his groaning at his alarm. And swearing. And muttered ‘fucking makeup tests’. 

He’s dragging himself into the shower while you relish your days off, nose and eyes peaking out from the covers when he comes out of the shower wrapped in a towel. The two of you make direct eye contact before you mutter a flustered apology and flip away from him, though he doesn’t seem to know how to react, just quietly getting dressed. The rest of his morning routine passes mostly in silence, before you hear him open the door.

“If you wanna get like, lunch or dinner or something, lemme know, or I’ll let you know if the boys are organising something,” he tells you, and you call out a sleepy thanks in response. The door closes. Silence. You could go back to sleep, but you’re curious about the turn around time for paparazzi media, and you were not disappointed.

MTV’s snapchat story posted “MGK and New Boo [Y/N] Booth Caught Getting Steamy Under the Boardwalk” the headline.

The self-proclaimed ‘Rap Devil’ Machine Gun Kelly, best known for his album bloom, has managed to find himself locking lips with YouTube’s darling [Y/N] Booth, though you may know her best as the vlogger, and entertainment industry insider, DuckDuckBooth.

It seems new media’s hottest couple have finally landed in LA after their surprising hookup in Louisiana, set to continue working on some mysterious project that they keep hinting at, and they seem to still be going strong!

The pair were caught after a cute date along the Hollywood seaside - 

[And here they’d entered your Instagram story, from the Tunnel of Love, as well as Colson’s Twitter picture of you with the fairy floss.]

- after meeting a group of fans, they found somewhere a little more private to get a little bit romantic in a way that 90s kids truly will appreciate; making out under a boardwalk. It feels like it should be ripped straight from a John Hughes movie set in Hollywood.

However unlikely this pair may be, you can’t deny that they’re cute together.

[And here’s those traitorous, and almost painfully HD photos of yourself and Colson, wrapped up in each other, that the paparazzi had taken the day before, though with the legs of the boardwalk, as well as the ocean and the sunset as your backdrop, the photos themselves are surprisingly stunning.]

“Fucking paps,” you mutter under your breath, and screenshot the photo anyways. If it’s your lock screen, well, it’s what any real girlfriend would do, right?

[prettywordsyouleft]

Through His Eyes - Part 11

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 [M] | 13 - FINAL

He had done the right thing.

Whilst that wasn’t what Jaebum’s heart believed as he replayed your crushed emotions from the other night over in his head, his rationale continued to chant it over and over in his head as a well-versed mantra. In hopes, it would somehow make him feel better. That it would wash away his guilt.

Jaebum had panicked seeing you so easily in his practice space. When you first walked in, he thought he was day-dreaming, hallucinating you into the room as a way to shake off some of the exhaustion and stress he was experiencing. But he knew when Jinyoung suddenly stood up that you weren’t a figment of his imagination, your brightly smiling face was actually there.

For a second, he felt the warmth of that smile. He was comforted by the happiness you exuded. He could tell you had done something worth celebrating.

And yet he realised just how out of place you were just standing there.

You weren’t a part of the endless schedules, the dance practices, the business management of his career. And so Jaebum had grown too angry too fast, not having the energy to deal with something more than what he already was.

He had been rash, even if he felt he had been right. No matter how many triumphs you faced, eventually you had to find solace in your own accomplishments. You didn’t need him to tell you how well you were doing at each step of the way. He could already see how the return to your art was making you flourish within yourself again.

Soon, you wouldn’t even need him to hold your hand. You would be flying with your own set of wings.

Jaebum stared at your painting across the room and wondered just how you did it. The colours blended evenly, as if you had meticulously chosen each one and placed them side by side in harmony. It amazed him to know someone like you. Even though he had always believed in you, your painting was evidence that human nature was beautiful.

You were beautiful.

Sighing heavily, Jaebum climbed out of his bed, moving over to the painting and picking it up. When you had placed it down next to his possessions, he could tell it was something you had put a lot of effort in to. The hesitancy was evident in your posture on whether to leave it. He had been selfish to hope you would. And when you stormed out of the studio, this present was all he had to return to, staring at the simple brown paper packaging, wondering if he had the right to even open it now.

It had taken him two days to finally slide it out and when he did; his heart craved you more than anything. He longed to tell you just how much he loved it, how well you had painted it, how thankful he was.

But all of that would mock you and he knew that reaching out to you under that premise was a cheap shot. Especially since you had been silent towards him ever since your argument, Jaebum knew that when he saw you next, he couldn’t use the painting at a conversation starter. You would need more from him.

His head hurt every time he tried to figure out a way to seek you out.

“Maybe it’s for the best that you both take a break from each other,” Jinyoung mentioned over the phone as Jaebum made his breakfast, preparing for another long day ahead.

“You too?” he questioned heavily, shaking his head slowly. “Even you think Y/N doesn’t match me?”

“Match you? Hyung, is your relationship, well, have you finally established it?”

Jaebum frowned at the sudden urgency in his best friend’s voice, wondering what exactly he had said that alerted Jinyoung to react like that.

He thought over the question he just received and scoffed. “Establish what?”

“Oh, so it’s still at that level.” Jaebum couldn’t tell if Jinyoung sounded disappointed or not.

“At what level? I just thought you were agreeing with the others that I need to distance myself from Y/N instead of doing everything for her. The promotion has helped with that, of course, but I don’t know, I feel like I’m missing something.”

“You’re missing her.”

Jaebum sighed heavily again. “Yeah, I really am.”

It hurt more the longer Jaebum didn’t hear from you. He had faced breakups before, yet nothing had pierced so deeply within him like this. Sometimes Jaebum would laugh at himself, incredulous that he could even compare missing you like this to the aftermath of a relationship dissolving. You hadn’t dated him, yet this separation felt final as if you had once been his lover. Everything connected to you, memories flooding his system on the regular. How you scrunched your nose up at the smell of coffee, how you laughed like music, how the trees felt under his hand. Even his sanctuary, his studio, was full of you.

Jaebum couldn’t concentrate and his music was suffering.

He was incomplete.

It was a hasty decision to turn up outside your house. It wasn’t his first time driving all the way here, he had done that countless times now. But actually appearing in front of your door had been out of his reach until now. He wondered why he had hesitated, why it had taken him almost a month to do so. Jaebum should have come here immediately and approached his apology sooner.

The guilt was eating him up.

“Jaebum?” a voice called and he turned, seeing your mother before him. He bowed in greeting and then smiled weakly. She didn’t return the gesture, even though he could see in her eyes that she was relieved to see him.

Thankful there could be some progress.

“Is Y/N home?”

“She is, but I don’t think you seeing her would benefit her at all anymore.”

His hopes faltered then. “Are you sure?”

“I’m certain. Actually, Y/N is adamant she doesn’t need you in her world anymore. She’s finally finding her rhythm again and for you to come back in and disrupt that… I just really can’t allow that to happen.”

“Did, did she struggle?” he wondered, not really wanting to know the answer. It would be natural, after the way he had crushed you like that, to feel some pain, yet he hoped it was fleeting, unlike his own. The idea of you crying for too long without his arms to hide within caused Jaebum to experience despair.

He should have come earlier.

“You are struggling.” He glanced away from his heavy thoughts to the mother’s statement, eyes wide at her conclusion. Words failed him and she toiled with wanting to protect her daughter’s feelings and reach out to comfort his. Jaebum realised this woman before him had constantly been a bridge between him and you, relentlessly withholding the brunt of your combined pain, of your worries. He choked up then, unable to figure how to say thank you for something so intricate.

“I warned you both from the beginning, yet you each thought you knew better. Feelings are complicated and connections are precious. You were so busy looking out for each other that you failed to recognise your own feelings and labelled yourselves as selfish when you did. For Y/N, breaking free from you was hard but necessary. You relied on each other to be safe, to feel wanted, cherished. She’s finding her own self-worth now, Jaebum. They say acknowledging how you truly feel deep down can help you understand the actions of others. Ignore your guilt; she is stronger than you think. My question for you is do you even know how you feel?”

“I miss Y/N.”

“Why?”

He didn’t know how to answer, standing there racking his brain for a reason. Why did he miss you? There was no definite answer and the longer he dwelled on it, the more confused he was.

The mother smiled softly. “It seems you have a lot more to consider before you turn up in front of Y/N again, Jaebum.”

Whenever things got tough for Jaebum, he would just work harder. If he was busy, he couldn’t think and when he wasn’t thinking, he didn’t need to know how he felt. He spent the next three weeks living each day in and out like that, waking up early, cramming as much as he could into his day so by the time he crashed onto his bed, he couldn’t stop to ruminate over you.

It wasn’t as simple as that, however. Jaebum still met with you in his dreams. Sometimes you would appear completely at random, smiling at him from afar, as if to let him know you were okay. That he could move on without you. Others, he wished you to appear, to hold his hand like you used to, to dive into his arms, to allow him to be your safe haven. His yearning for you in these dreams almost mimicked the growth of friends into lovers and on the odd occasion when he knew his mind was taking things too far, he would force himself awake, thumping at his chest that felt too restricted, all the air within it being sucked out as the tears fell from his eyes.

Why was it so hard for him to move on when you already had? He wondered if you had made new friends who supported you, who encouraged you forward. Did you have someone at your side who helped you see or were you doing that for yourself now too? Jaebum was convinced you now saw more of the world than he did. Although he had his eyesight still intact, he felt blinded by this internal emotional hell, unsure of what he felt anymore. Was it fiction or fact? Nothing made sense anymore.

When he dreamed of you in the way that was unfathomable for what you once had, he would stare at your painting until morning arrived, trying to decipher something within the way the colours mingled with one another, the brushstrokes, anything that could clue him onto how you felt when you made this piece.

Why had you painted this for him? What about it made you think of him? None of his favourite colours were prominent, and without any clear design element, he would often grow frustrated, the puzzle he needed to crack eluding him.

Mocking his inability to understand you.

“It’s all just layers,” he mumbled as he stared at it for the umpteenth time on his evening off work, his gaze still searching even after convincing himself it was a lost cause. “Layers of paint. Layers of colour. Just layers.”

Layers of you. From when he first met you as a fan. The smiles he gave you like everyone else. Recognising you in the crowd and tipping his head in acknowledgment. Grinning when he saw you that morning of the exclusive pass.

The accident. The loss, the pain. Those were layers you shared together as well. The trauma of knowing you would never see again. The constant worry if you were okay.

And then the time you spent together. They all stacked up on top of each other, creating a blend of your lives together over the last several months. How he would smile at your silly mistakes. When you made his heart beat faster without him expecting it to happen whenever he just looked at you. How he felt complete whenever he was with you.

Layers.

Jaebum lurched towards the painting, laughing at how stupid he had been all this time. He eyed everything in a new light, seeing the build-up of everything between you both for what it was. Picking it up, he smiled at the painting, the burst of understanding enabling him to take a deep breath.

The first of many.

It was then when he felt the bump sequence along the spine of the canvas, turning it to see your painting had extended there. What was the message you had made? Jaebum had taken an avid interest in Braille ever since it became a form of being able to communicate with you, yet he didn’t know how to read it himself. He had used apps to translate text to Braille or read Braille aloud for you in the past, and he stared dubiously at your hidden message before taking the painting back to his bed and reached for his phone. Sometimes the scanner could pick up on pieces that weren’t necessarily as well-formed as properly prepared Braille was, so it was worth a go.

“Come on,” he urged the app, waiting for it to read it back in real time.

Jaebum’s breath caught in his throat when the answer was relayed to him and he placed the painting down before racing out of his home, his heart thumping in his chest noisily. Had it been dormant all this time? With all his layers of confusion towards you, had he really misplaced the normal beating of his heart? It seemed like it was only thriving again now, beating in rhythm to his anxious desire to see you.

Nothing would stop him this time.

“She’s not home,” your mother mentioned at his frantic arrival on the front doorstep and before she could explain further, Jaebum nodded, fare-welling the woman before dashing back out to his car. The rain that had been drowning the city sombrely all day long had conveniently picked up, Jaebum laughing at its harsh way of falling from the skies.

“I know, it took me long enough,” he told the heavens, as he swung his car into a park near the art studio. He wondered why he was so confident that this was where he would find you, uncaring of the water bullets lashing down at him. He made his way inside Madam Cho’s art gallery and studio, only slowing down when he noticed the new artwork that lined the entryway. He eyed each and every piece that belonged to you. Jaebum needed this pause, to steady that heaviness the skies and his heart were labouring him with.

He also just wanted to remember everything about this moment.

When he saw you, it was from outside of the room, in the darkened hallway. You were surrounded by light however, painting alone in the brightest spot of the studio. It suited you to be illuminated that way and he slowly made his way into the room, watching your subtle changes.

You angled your head when the door opened. Your paintbrush stilled with his footsteps.

And then it fell to the ground when you sensed him behind you.

“Jae… Jaebum?”

Encasing you in his arms for the first time in what felt like forever, Jaebum was unsure if it was the rain or his emotions that dripped down onto your shoulder. He smiled when you didn’t immediately push him off.

“I’m sorry I’m late to receive your confession, Y/N. Will you accept mine?”

_________________

[Part 12]

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[inkstaineddaughter]

Darkness Expectant Chapter 26: A First Journey Complete

Kylo/Reader

Some fluff, some angst and A LOT of smut!

5,716k words

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been so bone-achingly tired. You take a deep breath, blink rapidly and try again to focus again on the console in front of you, even if the text and the diagrams are starting to blur and blend together.

Your feet hurt and your back hurts and it feels like it’s been days since you’d last eaten. You understand how important the launch of this new fleet of TIE fighters is and how crucial it is that every detail be perfect. You’ve even smiled at the thought of how much your dad would have loved discussing weapons technology with your husband. But more than anything, you just want everyone around you to shut up and go away.

Kylo nudges you with his elbow again and gives you another meaningful look. He’d already told you that you could leave and go home whenever you needed to. Go to bed and he’d be back soon. But you’d (stupidly) refused, determined to stay the course. You’re grateful that he’s allowed you to lean against him and has wrapped his cape protectively around you as you shift your weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Had you actually fallen asleep standing? It feels like no time at all has passed when Kylo’s voice, his sharp, “Supreme Leader Voice” brings you back from wherever you’d been. “This will reconvene tomorrow. We’re nearing completion anyway.” You watch as the officers and designers shuffle out of the room, mumbling and shutting off datapads and consoles.      

“I’m not sure what kind of reward you expect for that,” he says as he props you back up on your feet. “You didn’t have to stay.” You yawn widely and shake your head at him.  “This is im… important! To you and to the entire Order. I should be here for it, be involved.” Kylo sighs deeply and mutters “Be involved in bed.” Naturally, you hear him. And smile as he hooks his arm around your shoulders and leads you out of the command room. But the sound of your name, at once urgent and relieved, brings you all the way to your senses.  “Supreme Leader, may I steal my daughter from you for a bit?” Your mother sinks into an obviously sarcastic curtsy before hurrying across the command room. “I promise I’ll give her back in one piece. I’ll even feed her dinner.” She looks back at you, pleading, but with a strange undercurrent of something almost like excitement. “(Y/N), I really, really need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” Kylo answers smoothly as he quite literally hands you over to her. You scowl at him. These two certainly do love making decisions when it comes to you. Resigned to your fate, you allow Kylo to place a kiss on your forehead, and tell you that he loves you before linking your arm with your mother’s and heading back to her quarters. She’s rambling about how difficult it was to find you and she can’t believe you and Kylo were still working this late. And you wonder how easy it is to slip from the role of Loving Daughter to Devoted Darkside Wife, to “Fuck-Me-Kylo-I’m-Your-Whore”. Almost as if they’re not really separate roles at all. Just you.

Only two people in the Galaxy can truly anticipate your needs. And never fail in meeting them. And you almost melt with gratitude when your mother places a plate of Kodari-rice and groat chop in front of you after you’ve sat down. “I have to feed my kids, right?” she asks as she settles into the chair across from you. Her eyes flick down to your belly and you smile.

But it just means that you won’t be going to bed hungry. And you plan on going to bed within the next…. however long it will take you to finish eating/pretending to listen and walk back to your quarters and your bed.        

“I’m sorry to drag you here and I know you’re tired, but this is serious,” your mother tells you, leaning across the table. “Not bad, though. Just serious, so please don’t worry.” Of course, now you’re already worried. Every horrible scenario runs through your head as you set your plate down and steel yourself for the worst. She draws a deep breath and closes her eyes briefly. And your heart stutters and starts beating again when she says the words, “I’m thinking about getting another pittin.”

Relief washes over you as you sink back into the chair and glance at the clock on the wall. Even pregnant, exhausted and miserable, in the battle between sleep and pittins, pittins will always win. So much for getting to bed any time soon. “All right,” you rub your hands together as you sit up and your mother looks at you hopefully. “There is no such thing as too many pittins. And I’m sure I can get you special permission to have more than one in your quarters, if you need it.” You wink at her. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the rumors, but apparently I have some influence with the Supreme Leader.” Now, male or female? And what are you thinking for names?”  

You have no idea how much time has passed when your mother deposits you back at the door to your quarters, kisses your cheek and thanks you for all your help. Kylo is probably in bed, if not already asleep. At least you’ve eaten dinner and are looking forward to curling up and falling asleep next to him.

But the lights are on inside and a familiar smell fills your quarters. Familiar, but still elusive. It smells like comfort. It smells like home. “Kylo?” you call as you walk in. The dining table is set with a full tea service and plates of crumblebun and Jogan fruit tarts. It’s then that you realize the smell is sapir tea. Your heart clenches at all the memories woven into and around the taste and smell of the drink.

He comes in from the food prep area, gestures for you to sit down at one of the seats and you notice that, for all the elegance and symmetry of the table, your husband, looks a little disheveled. From his messy hair and rumpled pajamas, down to his bare feet. Why hasn’t been in bed?  He sees the confused look on your face and gives you one of the smirks that you’ve come to know so well. The kind that make you want to smack him, make you want to kiss him.

“Which one of us is going to say ‘Happy anniversary’ first?” he asks. Anniversary? Of what? Alderaan? Jakku? Jedi Temple?! You wrack your brain, trying to give meaning to the day. Kylo takes a step closer to you and holds out his hand. “It was one year ago, the day we met.” The day you met? The first time?  “A year?” you whisper and do the math, quickly acknowledging the time spent in fear and fortitude with Snoke and whatever was lost as the Resistance struggled in their attempt to rescue you. It seems more like a lifetime, several lifetimes. The blink of an eye. “It has!” you breathe.

Kylo shrugs almost imperceptibly, his face melting into a smile. “At least one of us has been keeping track. Come and sit.” He takes another step closer, but you can only stand frozen as images and memories flood your mind, taking you back to the very beginning. When you stood in your quarters, shouting at your mother that they can’t just “give” you to Commander Ren. When you sat across from him at a conference room table, he offered you his hand and you offered him your loyalty. Did any part of you know then, how much either of you would give to each other? Or gain in return?

It may have only been a year together, but Kylo immediately recognizes the look on your face. He sees how your eyes fill and your lip wobbles before he sweeps across the room and sweeps you into his arms. He’s warm and steady wrapped around you. “Still mine,” he whispers into your hair. “Now come sit down.”

You finally sit and have barely looked over the table, taking in the tea service and the delicious looking meal, when a realization hits you. “My mother!” you hiss and watch Kylo lean back in his chair, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “She was in on it the whole time! Keeping me distracted so you could have a chance to… oooooh! I bet she doesn’t even want a new pittin!” You’re not really angry, not at them anyway. Though the thought of Kylo and your mother working together like old friends, to plan a surprise for you is mildly irritating. Working together because you had forgotten what will probably be the most important day of your life.

Kylo shrugs and picks up his teacup. “I can’t speak one way or another about the pittin,” he says. “But I did enlist her help with keeping you busy while I set things up.” He holds out his cup. “Anniversary toast?” he asks and you scramble to lift yours as well. “My wife,” he says simply. The other half of my soul and every voice I’ve ever heard inside my head. It all lead to you.” You’re not even sure how to follow that and your hand shakes as you hold out your own cup.

“I didn’t want to hand my entire life over to you. Didn’t want    

The sapir tea is just as lovey as it’s always been, smelling like home and warming your heart as well as your fingers that are wrapped around the cup. Though you want to save some of the crumblebun for breakfast, you can’t seem to stop eating it. Kylo sees you hesitate as you reach for another piece. “I’ll have more sent over,” he assures you. “It’ll be here by the morning.” He looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the Galaxy, like you’re not even real. Sometimes, he makes you feel like you aren’t real. Nobody real could ever do anything to deserve him. “A year!” you marvel through a mouthful of pastry. “It’s funny how it seems like a lifetime or like no time at all.”

Kylo reaches across the table and places his hand on yours. “I can do this now if I want,” he says. No more confusion or tangled emotions. He can reach across anything now and take any part of you he likes. Your fingers slip perfectly between his as you twine them together, bring him closer. “You remember the day we first met, don’t you?” he asks.

You blink in surprise. “Of course, I do! I was completely overwhelmed by everything, but I remember you. It was like you took up the entire space of the room. And I had no idea where I was supposed to fit.”  

“You were so scared.”

“I was so scared,” you agree.    

“It was frustrating!” Kylo continues. “I could feel it and I hated it. I just wanted to comfort you.” He clenches his fingers around nothing, as he remembers. “You were wearing blue that day and your hair was tied back.” Kylo shakes his head. “You were confusing even then.”

“I was scared and I was angry,” you remember. “So furious that I was essentially being handed over to another person, like I was some kind of property.” You had fought your mother hard on this. No way were you willing to give up your whole life and submit to a complete (and still terrifying) stranger, just because you had become some kind of Force tracking device.

“I mean, I knew who you were, of course,” you continue. “I’d been seeing you at ceremonies and functions and whatnot for a while. But it was ‘Commander Ren’. He was tall and wore all black and a mask and was supposedly immensely powerful.” That’s it, really. Your mother would drag you along to any First Order pomp and circumstance. So, you could fold your arms and scowl at everybody, sick of hearing what a beautiful young lady were becoming or how your dad would be so proud of you.

Kylo looks surprised by the fact that your paths had previously crossed, that you hadn’t both just burst into existence the day you met. “I wish I’d seen you,” he frowns. “Recognized you.” But you shake your head at him, convinced that he would have had very little patience with you back then. He was in the early stages of training with Snoke and you were a teenage timebomb. You scoff, and giggle darkly. “I doubt you would have wanted very much to do with 16-year-old me. I was a pretty unpleasant.”

You watch the familiar shadow fall over his eyes, darkening them with something other than regret. “I might have,” he says. “You were close to legal age. Old enough to marry.” Your breath catches, tightening your chest and sending a surge of warmth that travels through your body and settles heavily in your cunt. “I could’ve taken you anywhere,” Kylo continues. “Done anything I wanted to you.”

“I would have let you,” you reply and realize that you’re not the least bit teasing. You’re certain that, even then, the tiniest flash of light between you would have become the consuming fire that devours you both now.

And you each notice how the atmosphere changes. The romance and sentimentality have vanished as you meet each other’s eyes across the table. You can almost hear that lightning crackling and buzzing in the corners in the room.

You shrug and continue. “I miss you like that sometimes. Not that you aren’t terrifying now.” Because he is. Still towering over everything in his path and leaving devastation in his wake. Now unmasked, his victims and followers are able to see everything, from the slightest flick of an eyebrow to every feature contorted with rage.

“But the mask and the hood, the voice modulator.”  You look down and realize that you’d been subconsciously rubbing your hands over your thighs and see how your legs have spread under your own touch. You place your hands back up on the table. “It was absolutely frightening, but exciting.”

Kylo continues staring at you, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide. As you stare back, you see his tongue dart out to moisten his lower lip and you wonder what the chances are of him just snapping and fucking you hard and fast on the table, teacups shattering on the floor and jogan fruit smearing onto your thighs.

“I saw you at functions and ceremonies, but there’s so much I feel like I missed. That I would have loved to have seen.” You become aware of how your voice is now shaking and how difficult it is to  catch your breath. “The power and the destruction,” you continue. Kylo has seized your hand again and is now squeezing, his thumb rubbing hard against your knuckles, the same way he would rub against your clit if you were naked beneath him.

The table suddenly seems too wide, too much distance between you as you hear the teacups rattle against their saucers. “I especially wish I’d been there when you killed Han Solo,” you confess. “Not that I haven’t seen it countless times in your mind, but in person, it would have been so much more. I wish I could have felt all of it with you.”

“I wish you’d been there too,” Kylo groans. You can see the color rising in his cheeks and the sweat that beads across his forehead.

“I’m not a total deviant,” you attempt to explain before he cuts you off. “Yes, you are.” And you smile, because when it comes to him, you really are. Nothing is sacred. Nothing too brutal to share with him, to revel in together.

“All right,” you admit and shrug. “Maybe I really like the idea of sucking your cock right after you’ve murdered your father, I don’t know. Maybe.” Kylo briefly closes his eyes and huffs out a breath. “I would have thrown him off that bridge myself, so I could reach you faster.”

The lightning in the corners is now crackling inside your head, the Force pressing against your chest, making it even harder to breath. You feel the walls of your pussy throbbing, contracting to the rhythm of your heartbeat. The room already smells like sex. “You’ll see so much more,” he promises. “So much worse.”

But the lightning mutes, the pressure on your chest increases and you feel your ears pop as you instinctively place your other hand over your mouth and yawn widely. And the mood disappears. Kylo releases your hand and graces you with one of his rare, toothy smiles. “I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long,” he tells you as he walks around the table and helps you to your feet. He wraps his arms around you and holds you as tightly against him as he can, as much as the baby belly will allow. “You always seem to do that though, don’t you?”

“Hmmmf?” you mumble, your nose pressed into his chest. Kylo releases you and steps back. “Start yawning in the middle of an important conversation. Am I really that boring?” he asks. You remember the first time he’d kissed you and stumbled through a confession of love. You’d sat next to him, your hand in his, somehow both hanging on his every word and disbelieving of the entire situation. Until you’d suddenly, and quite rudely yawned right in his face.      

Before you can answer, he reminds you for the fourth time to go to bed and you finally acquiesce. It’s hard to leave though. The vision of your dark warrior and Jedi killer clearing off the table, with tangled hair and no shoes is not one you want to tear your eyes, or heart away from.

In the bed chamber, you peel your clothes off and pull a simple sleeping shift over your head. If Quica decides to sink her claws into your back as you sleep, you’ll be protected. And if Kylo decides to sink anything else into you at any point during the night, you’ll be accessible.

With all the events of the evening, anniversaries and pittins and jogan fruit, you feel your earlier excitement waning as drowsiness starts to cloud your head. Quica settles on the bed next to you, her furry body pressed against you and her purr vibrating in your own chest. At least Kylo will be able to curl up next to you, you think. A year. Even if the small kicks and summersaults from inside your own body remind you of the passage of time, it still seems unreal.

“Off the bed.” The voice that pulls you from your doze is threatening, but familiar. Quica is gone and you blink up at the figure standing over you. It is a figure of nightmares, of comfort and confusion. Of lust. Silver lines and leather-clad hands. Instinct takes over and you hasten to roll out of the bed. To obey.

“Don’t move,” Kylo warns you. And though you can’t see his eyes behind the mask, you can feel them on you, tracing every curve, noting every bit of exposed and flushed skin. All the elements that you remember are there, the hood pulled up over the mask, the draping cowl across his chest and the frayed and uneven cape. Your heart drops and your pussy clenches. Gods, you’ve fucking missed this!

The leather is cold against your skin as he drags his hands up your arms, raising them above your head. “You should never have to undress yourself,” he says as he pulls off your shift in one swift motion and lets it fall to the floor. “Not when I’m around to do it.”

Kylo holds your chin in place and swipes his thumb over your lip. “Scared?” he asks. The modulator making his voice distorted and nearly unrecognizable. You know he’s going to push your limits tonight. But it is your anniversary after all, and it doesn’t seem fair that you should get to have all the fun. You swipe your tongue across the pad of his thumb and swirl it around the tip just like you love to do with his cock. “Not yet,” you answer.

He pulls his hand away from you and you watch as he climbs onto the bed, only slightly awkwardly as he tries to avoid getting tangled in the cape. And he settles on his back. And not even on the side he regularly sleeps on, but in the middle of the mattress. And you’re utterly puzzled as he lays his head down just below the pillows. This is obviously some sort of anniversary surprise he’d planned. But, unlike the tea and dessert, you doubt very much your mother has had anything to do with it.

Kylo doesn’t turn his head to look at you and instead keeps his faceless gaze trained on the ceiling above the bed. “Are you going to join me or not?” The words are clipped and he sounds impatient. You wonder if he expects you to enter into his mind and anticipate his requests before he asks. Easier said than done. But you see his finger tapping against his thigh, watch the bedchamber light reflect off the shiny leather of his glove. You decide that, in this case, going along with him will be more fun than being a cheeky brat. And you pull yourself onto the bed next to him.  

You climb atop him, straddling his hips in the old familiar position, moving your hands up his chest. “No,” he scolds, seizing your wrists and pinning them together. With his free hand, he lightly smacks your ass and you stifle a small moan at the feel of the leather against your skin. And you sit there, throbbing and leaking against him, but confused about what exactly he’s asking. “Up, up, up.” He releases your wrists and you crawl off. “Mask,” he says, pulling the hood down from where the fabric had snagged on it. And you sit there, feeling naked and stupid. Although it might be to your advantage. “Ummm, yes?” you reply.

Kylo reaches and grabs your wrist again, pulling you closer. Even through the voice modulator, you can hear how his teeth are clenched. “Ride it!” And your heart doesn’t just drop in your chest at his words, it disappears altogether, leaving a dull, aching emptiness inside you. Your cunt clenches around nothing and you feel the heat travel up your body and the surge of moisture between your legs. “Come on,” he urges almost gently as he pulls you up toward his head.

You shuffle up the length of the bed, your calf brushing against his arm, each individual pleat in the sleeve leaving a trail of goosebumps down your leg. You’re mesmerized by the sight of your breasts, your nipples hard and bright pink. And though your belly obscures most of your legs, you watch as you lift your knee, swinging it over to settle and sink down into the bed just above his shoulder. And just as your belly hides the lower half of your body from view, it also hides Kylo’s mask from view. Though it does nothing to muffle the sound of his voice “same damn quote”. And you wonder what the view must look like to him. How many times has he looked through that visor and seen people’s last moments and watched the life in their eyes drain into nothingness? The burning, blinding glow of his lightsaber or his vision covered with spatters of blood. The only view now is of your open, throbbing pussy as you sink down onto his face. No victims or battles or dead fathers. Just swollen flesh as so much red.    

As your husband, you adore him beyond all reason and as his apprentice, you were unflinchingly loyal to him from the very beginning. Not once did you hesitate in choosing him over your mother, even over Snoke. But now kneeling, hot and dripping over his face, over the dreaded but achingly familiar shapes of the mask, fogging up the surfaces, a shiver runs through you at how forbidden and profane the whole act feels. How utterly disrespectful and you’re reminded of when he fucked your mouth as you sat on the Supreme Leader’s throne. It makes you sick but so, so wet how he takes every symbol of ritual and reverence and defiles them one by one with you. Until the only sacred things left are each other.

The obsidian and durasteel of the mask are still cold against the throbbing heat of your cunt. The silver ridges of the visor drag against your clit and you moan softly. “Make your sounds,” Kylo urges you and the deep vibration from his voice reaches all the way up into your chest. You roll your hips and the edges of the faceplate slide along the creases in your thighs. As you move faster, the unbidden image of Darth Vader appears in your head. Whether it came from some place within you or was put there by Kylo himself, you’re not certain. But it’s almost a mirror image of you now, sweaty and shaking, sitting atop the mask, sliding your wet pussy over the grooves and ridges. Leather-clad hands on your thighs, gripping and bruising the flesh. The same mask that sits in a box only a few feet away in the bedchamber. You shudder as your eyes dart over to the shelf where the burned and twisted remains of Vader’s face lie. Beneath you, his grandson squeezes your ass, wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you down harder, moving you faster as you grind your clenching cunt against him.

And he stops. Kylo lifts you, not too gently, off of him and stands. You squeak his name in surprise as he reaches for you and drags you to edge of bed. He continues staring down at you and you watch in amazement as he unfastens his trousers and pulls his cock out through the layers of fabric with one hand while still keeping the other on your leg. He shoves your knees apart and holds you steady as he pushes unto you. And he keeps going, even when it feels like there’s no more of him or more of you left. Then he bottoms out and you feel the rough fabric of his tunic as it scratches against your thighs. And the pressure on your cervix almost steals your breath away.    

He only lets a few moments pass before he begins thrusting into you soundlessly, keeping your legs spread as his fingers dig into your knees. Above you, he seems unfeeling and almost inhuman. Even though the light reflects off the wet streaks you left on his mask, he doesn’t betray a hint of his own pleasure or any care for yours, other than allowing you to keep your hands placed over his. He feels as anonymous and vague as the Commander Ren you would sometimes see at functions when you were younger, tall and clothed in black. And it’s easy to imagine him taking you anywhere and you allowing him to do anything to you.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His voice is hoarse and betrays the emotion that really is there, the mounting lust and desperate need. “Not just your precious Kylo Ren?” he pants with each stroke. “You want the Supreme Leader, don’t you? Want to feel his power and his cock deep inside you.” The “Yes!” that falls from your lips is indecent. “You want him to come in you?” Kylo asks, increasing his pace, somehow thrusting harder even though you’re clenching almost painfully tight around him. “Come hard and just fill your tight little pussy all the way up.” And you want everything from him. Too much and yet nothing at all. Every orifice on every surface in every star system. You want to burn down all the parts of your life from before he was there. Watch the entire galaxy burn as you kneel before him and take him into your mouth. As he bends you over another smoldering ruin and opens you up.

But in this moment, this is all you need. His cock in your cunt, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch up into him. Making vulgar, squelchy sounds as he fucks you through your slick. His hands that grip your knees, pulling you onto him as his thrusts become harder and deeper. You nod frantically, your throat almost closing as you choke out a “I want it!” Followed by an almost inaudible and much deeper, “Oh, fuck.”

“You’ve done so well,” he continues. “You’re always so good to me. Such a sweet…” He pauses, shakes his hands out from under yours as he reaches up, reaches to release the mask’s faceplate, to tear it off and let it fall at his feet. A sob catches in your chest at the sight of him. His face is flushed and sweaty, his lips are swollen and his hair matted against his temples. You missed him!

“Kyloooo!” you whine as you blink back tears and reach for him. He gathers you into his arms and kisses you. Holds you as close against him as your unborn son will allow. “I love you, (Y/N)!” he breathes against your skin. “I love you, Gods, I love you so much!”

Words have momentarily failed you, but you hope he can feel by the way you keep your hands clutched into the rough fabric of his cape, how you continue to move your own hips in time to meet his, how your pussy tightens around him. Everything. Too much and still not enough.

He slips his hand down between you and you feel his thumb on your clit, swirling tight circles around the painfully swollen nub. “Oh, thank the stars!” you gasp as you finally find your voice. “Please, yes!” He’s going to bring you there. Drag you along with him and then hurl you into the chasm. Before he jumps in after you.

Kylo increases the speed of his thumb, rubbing frantically over your clit. “Don’t you ever fucking touch yourself, you hear me?” he babbles. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you!” You feel your juices run from between your legs, feel them pool on the bed below you. And both of you are so, so close and so hot and so wet. “Please,” he begs. “You’ve got to come on my cock, baby! All over me.” His voice is now plaintive. “Please. I need to feel you!” You nod and tighten your grip on him, pulling him closer, trapping him against and inside you. You’ll spend the rest of your life coming on him. Every anniversary, every year.

“Fuck!!” you nearly shout as he drags the head of his dick against that one perfect spot inside you, the spot that always makes you clench around him, makes you drool over his cock, makes you sob. “Kylo! Just…mmmm, just harder!”

He smooths a gloved hand over your head, pushing back your sweaty strands of hair. “All right,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Whatever you need.” He grips your waist and slams into you so hard, it almost makes you gag. You can feel him all the way up into your throat.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” you chant in time to his brutal pace. He yanks you down hard onto him and freezes, as his thumb presses into your clit. You can feel his cock swell inside you and your pussy clamps tight around him as he explodes into you, coating your walls with him. “Oh, I’m coming!” you gasp, somehow sounding more surprised than consumed by pleasure. But consumed, you are. So consumed that you can only squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto your Supreme Leader, your Commander Ren as you ride out the peaks and valleys of your shattering orgasm. The fabric of his tunic scratches your face as you press into him, hearing his labored breathing above you and feeling the drops of sweat that drip into your hair.  

“Kylo!” you choke. “Oh, sweetheart!” He shoves your chin up, growls, “My fucking wife!” and crashes his lips against yours. Your cunt continues its contractions milking and sucking every last drop of cum from his cock. As you suck his tongue in rhythm, moving your lips against his, tasting him and taking all of him into you. His lips slide against your cheek as his softening cock slips out of you and he collapses on the bed, panting. You’re almost sobbing and your hands are on his face, in his hair, on his chest, whatever you can touch. He throws the blanket over the two of you and wraps his arms around you as tight as they will go.

“Don’t even say it,” Kylo warns as your breathing begins to return to normal. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head.” You mumble some nonsense into his shoulder, something that you hope sounds innocent and unconcerned, but he knows how he still terrifies you. Knows that even the happiest of celebrations, the sickening relief of reunion or the creation of new life together can erase that fear entirely.

He pulls his fingers through your hair, lifting the damp strands from off your neck. He hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off or even pull his pants back up for that matter. You love him. And you raise your eyes to meet his. “You can go back to sleep now,” he says. “And I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He places a hand low on your belly, nearly on your pubic bone and you feel the fluttery kicks from inside as a son recognizes his father. “I will be here,” Kylo continues. “And so will he. Every year and every other anniversary from now on.”        

[waitinginthedarke]

He’ll be wrong, for you.

A BTS/Kim Taehyung Fanfiction

Summary : What happens when you take on Kim Taehyung… Type: Mafia!AU (BTS)

********************Prologue********************* Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

‘Have you got any coffee?’

The question is asked in a gravelly voice, the sight of the warehouse presenting itself to you through a slightly blurred, and exhausted, vision, but you still manage to seek him out in the darkness, his omniscient smirk being illuminated by the single table-side light that separated the space between your two chairs.

‘And why might you be asking that, Angel?’

A spark of irritation flickers in your stomach at the pet name, tiredness weighing down on your responses to him, but you’re too spent to really acknowledge it with how much you desperately needed caffeine, and deeply despised your need to sleep.

‘Taehyung, have you got any or-‘

‘Its 5am, Y/n. …maybe instead of drinking coffee, you should consider getting some sleep?’

The way he cuts you off forces a biting reply to the forefront of your tongue, but before the words can leave your lips, you’d caught sight of the worried expression he was watching you with, your eyes slowly following the length of his arm till you see the way he’d reached over to gently cover your hand with his.

‘I don’t need-‘

‘The guys went to bed almost two hours ago, beautiful. And I’ve spent the past two hours watching you try not to fall asleep in that chair, despite me telling you amusing stories about the gang.’ He points out, a wry smile curling the edges of his lips, despite the deep bow in his brow, one that grows larger as he gets elegantly to his feet and takes a step toward you only to come to kneel at your feet.

‘Whatever it is that’s brought you here tonight, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. …but what I do want you to do…is to forget about it whilst you’re here; …you’re safe with me.’

He speaks the words with such sincerity as he peers up at you, his hair falling into his eyes slightly where he’d spent his evening nervously, or perhaps stressfully, raking his fingers through it. In that moment you think you might tell him everything, that you might spill your life into his lap; the ugly dark truth.

…but then you think about the way he’ll run away from you…the way he’d walk away in just the same way all the others had. 

You weren’t sure why the thought of him turning away from you bothered you so, this man who, for all intents and purposes should be your enemy, whose warehouse you’d waltzed into this evening with no idea as to why but every intention to stay...

... you just knew you didn’t want to lose him just yet.

‘I’m not going to judge you, y/n. …I just want to make sure you’re at your best so that you can deal with whatever it is that’s plaguing you. …I might have only know you for a few days, but you’ve always intrigued me from a distance. I’ve always found you-‘

‘What do you mean from a distance?’ you cut him off, the last corner of your brain that wasn’t laden with exhaustion picking up on the odd use of words that hinted at something further, and you find yourself watching him carefully as his eyes widen just the tiniest bit.

‘I monitor all the gangs in the area closely, y/n. I didn’t come to be of the caliber I am by ignoring others and simply focusing on my own wants for my gang.’ He explains, squeezing your hand gently and distracting you momentarily with its warmth and reassuring feel, before you’re quickly looking back up at him.

‘When you say monitor,….’ You begin, brain working faster than your conscious reactions as hope burns beneath your rib cage, the thought that maybe he already knew about your past and was still ready to accept you causing your heart to pound as your breathing silently speeds up.

‘I study my rivals. I learn their weaknesses and their strengths. I infiltrate other gangs databases so that I’m ready for any kind of attack I may encounter-‘

‘So you know the-you know everyone’s pasts? You know-‘

‘I know almost everything about you since you joined Kyuho’s gang…yes.’ Taehyung confirms, a glint of unsurity in the depths of his gaze as he watches you accept this information, but the way he’d worded his confession had you worrying about something much different than what he was concerned about.

‘since I joined…so you don’t-‘

‘I know the entire backstory of every single assassin and trainee in your gang,’ he begins intently, eyes flickering between yours as if he was searching you for something, and before he could even speak the words, you knew what he was going to say.

‘…except yours. Your file, before you met Kyuho, …was blank.’

A measure of despair enters you, the hope that had been building in your gut instantly being dashed as you realize he didn’t know. The need to run begins to tighten your muscles, a moisture welling in your eyes, and you quickly move your gaze from his, staring at your joined hands momentarily before all the defense strategies you’d adopted as habit over time suddenly swarm your body, taking away any control your subconscious had.

‘I think I should probably go. …get back to work and all-‘

His face fills your vision as he pulls you back to him from where you’d got to your feet and attempted to move away, and despite your cemented need to escape, you find your steely façade fracturing under the concerned expression he was pinning you down with.

‘I don’t care who you were before, y/n. We all come to be where we are for different reasons…but what brings us together is a need for comfort, and a need for revenge- it doesn’t matter how pretty you try to make the situation.’ He begins, his hold on your arm where he’d grabbed you being secure, like it could stay there forever and you’d never grow weary of it.

‘Please don’t run off because you’re scared about what I might think of your past…we’ve all got demons, angel…’

The need to flee takes a pause with those words, your eyes immediately flickering up to his to see him staring down at your hands once more as he slowly comes to grasp your fingers with his own, before peering up at you and offering you a timidly reassuring smile.

‘Please tell me you wont leave just yet.’

It’s the way he says the words so quietly, so timidly, that has you realizing the position you’d found yourself in; standing defenseless before the master assassin Kim Taehyung himself…with your heart racing at the way his eyes watched you closely as his tongue slipped out to moisten his lips.

You shouldn’t have gotten this close.

‘I have to go.’ You murmur, swallowing thickly as you battle against your desire to stay, seeing the light in his eyes dim as he frowns at your hasty retreat, a look of hurt painting his features as his grip on you loosens so that you can put some distance between you.

But even as you get to the doorway that would take you back outside, you find yourself slowing despite yourself, slowly turning back to look at him only to see him stood in the exact same space as he looks back at you, mournful expression flicking momentarily with hope at your pause, before his features become painted stoically once again when you make no move to return.

And its that charade of indifference that he shows you, the sight making you crave his soft side once more, that has you speaking your next words.

‘I’ll be back…I promise.’

-------------------------------------

‘And where have you been all night?’

You roll your eyes at Kyuho’s abrupt, demanding question as you stroll into HQ a few hours later, barely 20 minutes of sleep under your belt, and only 4 shots of espresso to keep you going.

‘What jobs have you got for me today?’ is all you respond, not wanting to talk to him after what he’d said the night before, but knowing you had some unfinished business to attend to. 

‘Are you going to answer my question or-‘

‘Im just here to finish what I started.’ You cut Kyuho off, the interruption pulling you from your memories of the way Taehyung had held your hand more or less all night, and you flash your gaze up to look at your boss directly in the eye, finding him looking back at you with a steely gaze that flashes with mild surprise.

‘And what exactly-‘

‘Just give me my file for the day. I want to get finished asap.’

All he can do is stare at you with a single raised brow, before turning around to retrieve your prepared instructions, muttering something under his breath as he does so. As he turns back to offer you the file you can see he’s about to say something, but before he can say anything you’re snatching the thin paper folder from him and heading for the door.

‘Y/N, I want to talk-‘

‘Works calling.’ You shout over your shoulder, hating the way you felt bad about your actions with the hint of regret you could hear in his words. But before you let yourself get hung up on him, you were mounting your motorcycle and speeding toward the destination of the day’s first tests.

You preferred the hand to hand combat; the pure rush of adrenaline that takes over every move you make until you find yourself blending into a machine of pure strength and skill, only surfacing from the high of it all once all danger had dispersed from your immediate path.

So few combatants that you faced these days really appreciated the focus and skill that was required for physical attacks, preferring to hide behind guns or other such weaponry that showed just how cowardly they truly were.

The person you faced now, for example, was clearly lost without the aid that he was so used to having, his nun-chucks lay 10 meters to the left where you’d thrown them only a moment before. However, it had only taken you seconds to realize that they were the only thing this guy was really skilled with; the sight of his hands trembling slightly where they were pursed before him making your lip curl, not in amusement, but anger at his clear disregard for the basic knowledge and skill of combat.

‘Just give up, it will be easier for you. I’ll even let you go if you tell me where your boss is hiding.’ You tell him, voice neutral, emotionless, not allowing him any advantage as you hold your ground, slowly, un-susceptibly moving closer to him as he continues to bounce ridiculously on his toes.

‘I’ll never give up. You’re the one that should turn around little lady.’

Boy did he sounds like a walking cliché.

For the past 30 seconds you’d been waiting for the swipe of his right arm to jut out toward your throat, the constant eyeing of your jugular having given away his intentions before he’d even consciously decided on making the attempt. Sadly for him though, you’d already plotted your own plan of attack, within miliseconds having his face pressed harshly to the concrete, and your knee forced snuggly against his spine, his cry of pain in response resonating around the darkened shipping yard.

‘I’ll give you one more chance. And I swear to god if you call me ‘little lady’ once more I will rip your arms from your sockets without thinking twice; don’t think I wont.’ You explain, leaning down to hiss the words in his ear as you hold his arms tightly behind his back, daring him to move as you wait for him to show his understanding with a barely susceptible nod of his head.

But of course, his ego ended up getting the better of him, and within minutes you were leaving him in a heap of collapsed limbs on the concrete, the groans and cries of pain emanating from him as you walked away with the USB he’d had hidden in his jacket, proof that if you made a promise to someone, even if it was to rip their arms out of their sockets…

…you were going to keep it

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Boss, she’s back.’

You’d had all day to think over what had happened the night before, how Taehyung had confessed that he knew everything about you but the thing you simultaneously wished he did and didn’t know most. You’d spent almost every waking hour thinking about how you could tell him, what you wanted to say to him…..considering the way you’d found yourself thinking about him…

And yet you’d still arrived at the warehouse with no idea of what you really wanted to say-

-or why you’d even returned.

The simple sentence that had been called by Jungkook into the vast space of the room had been enough to conjure him from the small office hidden in the corner, the second he appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets, regarding you across the space with a level yet silently thankful quirk of his lips causing your pulse to thunder in your ears as you look back at him, trying to stifle the smile that wanted to grace itself for him.

But that’s before his expression is suddenly slashed by one of concern.

‘What happened?’

Confused, you watch him stalk across the space towards you, eyes drifting over your body and bringing your attention down to your clothes, causing you to recall the struggles of your last mission in which you’d been painted by a couple of bloody spatters in a dirty brawl.

‘Oh, its nothing…I just- I should’ve gone home to change before I came, but-‘

The end of the sentence stops short on the end of your tongue, the words ‘I couldn’t wait to see you’ hanging silently in the air between you, and when your gaze flickers doe-like up to him you see him looking down at you with silent intrigue, mouth quirking into a knowing smile where his friends could only see his back as he stood before you, and the private moment had you subconsciously biting your lip as you continue to hold his gaze, heart racing in your chest.

‘Perhaps you’d like to get a fresh shirt.’ He mused, his statement seeming to offer you the chance to leave, but just as he sees the logical answer conflict in your gaze, he’s quickly remedying his choice of words, into one more promising for you to stay.

‘I have one in the office.’

Every time you saw him again, you found yourself getting caught up in his beauty. Compared to all the other mafia bosses that you’d ever met, with their hard faces, stubble sharpened jawlines, and perfectly gelled hair, the clean, smooth skin, soft sweeping hair, and perfectly sculpted features of the man before you always caught you off guard, causing you to admire his angelic perfection for a few moments before he caught you looking-

-as he did in that moment.

‘Come with me.’

The dagger-like, curious gazes of Namjoon, Jimin, and Jungkook staked themselves into you as you followed their leader across the warehouse floor and into his office without a word of explanation, the silence the moment held feeling like it was weighing you down up until the moment he shut the door behind you, and the two of you were alone once more.

His switch from mafia boss to caring man was almost instantaneous with the click of the door shutting.

‘How was your day?’

You watch him as he moves past you to a closet in an alcove of the room, his question being dropped into your hands as casually as though the two of you were life long friends, and despite your awareness of the fact you hadn’t automatically responded to his inquest with an answer, you couldn’t help but watch after him, confusion clouding your mind as you work to get your brain to catch up with the moment, and to stop dwelling on the way his hand had felt clutching yours as he’d pulled you into the small room.

‘That bad?’

His voice suddenly being in front of you, snaps you from your thoughts, your gaze shooting upwards to find him looking down at you with an eyebrow raised, smolder subconsciously twisting his features as he waits for your answer.

‘Here.’

You hadn’t even noticed the shirt he’d been holding before him, the way his hand suddenly clasps around your own as you go to take it from him causing you to nervously swallow as you wait for his next move, letting go of the breath you’d been holding when his hand gently drops from yours, before thanking him quietly.

‘I’ll leave you alone for a moment.’ He murmurs, his expression when you glance up at him being clouded with concern, and the way he looks at his feet, eyes not meeting yours, has you suddenly reaching for him before he can walk away.

‘Taehyung-‘

His instinctive, instantaneous turn of his head in your direction, eyes lighting up as every facet of his body seems to fine-tune itself to you has every concern you had trying to battle their way out of your mouth at once, the need to tell him just how you felt, the confusion, and the blind want for him bubbling to the surface…

…only for your instinctive assassin nature to smother them as though they were the enemy.

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem, Angel.’

Staring at his back as he disappears out of the door, you’re left wishing you could have said more.

(T.B.C)

[moiraineswife]

IM GOING TO KEEP POKING YOU ABOUT AUTISTIC NESTA BC THOSE HEADCANONS WERE A M A Z I N G AND IM OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!! Can you talk about autistic Nesta in the context of nessian though please bc I would love to hear your thoughts!!

Of course I can, friend! ^_^ This will be a weird blend of like...meta and headcanons it’s just a little stream of thoughts, basically? 

Okay first thing that I love especially in the context of this is the differences, socially, between Cassian and Nesta? (And also the ironies that come with this and how they were raised but I’ll get to that in a second.) I just..Love the gender role reversal for a start? 

Women tend to be the ones who are expected to have more social skills and be good at performing emotional labour in relationships. Men are typically allowed more leeway and it’s expected that they won’t be as good at reading other people and are generally seen as less compassionate and what have you. 

This, very obviously, gets flipped on its head when it comes to Nessian. Nesta is uncomfortable in social situations, prefers to be on her own, and when she is around people she can come off as a little...acerbic, sometimes. Like she loves them but dear god she does not have the patience to be around them all the time. Cassian on the other hand, is the picture of social intelligence. He’s described repeatedly as being deeply compassionate and it’s also made clear that he’s excellent at reading and understanding people and knowing how to respond to them. 

The ironies associated with this is that revolve around how they grew up. Think about it. Cassian, who’s so deeply connected to and good with people, grew up alone as an abandoned bastard. He was trained as a soldier and rose to be an army commander, all while having this huge heart and amount of social intelligence that means he’s more naturally suited to solving problems with his head rather than his fists. 

Then there’s Nesta, an autistic who probably wasn’t diagnosed as such in the human world (if they have a concept of autism in this world (let’s say they do)) But Nesta is a girl, and she’s a noble-born girl too, whose mother loved the parties and social life that being of this class afforded her. Nesta is expected to carry that on and be good at it as well and I can just imagine her struggling with it? The parties are too loud and too crowded and there are too many people and it honestly doesn’t matter how many lessons her mother gives her on social politics and etiquette; somehow she always, always manages to do something wrong. And she never understands exactly why or how it’s wrong. Just that when she tries to join in on the conversation everything goes quite. People give her that look. And her mother is standing staring on in disappointment from the corners. 

Multiply this over the course of several years and then introduce a sister like Elain, who is so obviously better at this than her, who gets praise from her mother and from all of her friends while Nesta is shunted to the side and I’m not surprised she gave up and started thinking of them all as ‘sycophantic fools’ instead. Nesta got fed up trying because no matter what she did it was never quite right, and never ever good enough, so she stopped.

 She stopped trying to be like them and she just started being herself instead. People still sometimes fell into awkward silences when she spoke but now she wasn’t disheartened by it, she’d expected it. She still pushed people away but she didn’t sit up late at night crying herself to sleep about it anymore. This was just the way that she was. This was just who she was. She wasn’t her mother, and she wasn’t Elain, either, even if she loved them both dearly. She was herself. And if they didn’t like that, well, she didn’t much like them, either, what did she care? 

And then Cassian and Nesta meet one another and it’s like two sides of the same coin being allowed to face and see each other for the first time. Cassian comes up against someone that he can’t always read, someone who operates a little differently to how he’s used to, someone who confuses him, keeps him guessing, someone he doesn’t automatically know everything about. A challenge. 

And Nesta...Nesta finds someone who actually tries. She finds someone who sees the surface her, that cold, withdrawn, acerbic air she somehow can’t help but project whenever she’s around people (and has long since stopped trying to help it - Elain accepts her for who she is, everyone else can too) but sees her too. He sees beneath to the raging heart, the torrent of fierce emotions they all accuse her of not having.

 She’s heard them whispering in the village, heard them call her heartless and unfeeling and they don’t understand. None of them understand just how deeply she feels, just how strong her heart is. And she tells herself that it’s their loss, their fault they’ll never truly know, never truly benefit from all the fierce love she has to give...But it does get lonely. 

Then he comes along and he sees her. He sees that fierce heart and those raging emotions and he understands. He’s so unlike her, in fact it’s probably difficult to find someone less like her than Cassian. Yet he understands her. 

For all their differences in how they see and interact with the world, though, they respond to it incredibly similarly. Cassian and Nesta have...A lot of the same motives and ideals and goals, actually. They stem from very different places and very different people but they are the same. 

That determination. That ability to sacrifice and destroy yourself for someone that you love. The way that Nesta would have died fighting Tamlin for Elain. The way that Cassian spreads his wings in front of Az to protect him from the king’s magic. The way that Nesta declares herself emissary to the human world because they are the forgotten, the group no-one cares about or seeks to help. But she will. The way Cassian stands before Nesta and swears to defend the humans with her, because dying to save those who cannot protect themselves is a worthy end for him. The way Nesta shields Cassian’s body with her own; as he had done for his brother all those months ago. The way Cassian sets himself up to die so that others will live. 

They are such different people but their hearts are alike and in spite of everything they understand each other. 

So I love that aspect of this dynamic, but I also love the fact that Cassian accepts and loves Nesta for who she is. Without expecting or wanting her to change, in a way that I don’t think anyone save Elain has ever truly done. (I’ve argued before but I’ll say it again, Elain also has a lot of social intelligence, like Cassian. She also grew up with Nesta and I think that she sees and understands her in a similar way to Cassian and this is one of the reasons that the two sisters are so close - that understanding) 

Cassian’s acceptance of Nesta is really important to me because I think it’s so easy to see a character like her and expect her to change. Expect her to soften herself so that she can more easily navigate the world. Expect her to thaw herself and become warmer and friendlier and more open because this is what’s expected of someone of her gender and class. Expect her to fit the moulds that she never has fit and likely never will, but it’s expected that she’ll shatter some intrinsic part of herself to do so. And in the context of this hc it’s even more important to me that Nesta is never forced to do that, is never forced to change, and is allowed to utterly be herself...and still be loved and worthy of love and a mate and a support circle in spite of all that. Because she doesn’t conform to society’s expectations, because she can’t conform to them. And that doesn’t matter. She is not broken, she does not need to be ‘fixed’, she only needs to be accepted. 

Okay, okay, last thing on this post (which got really long and out of hand, I have other autistic!Nesta/Nessian hcs on another post that someone asked for, smaller and less meta-y ones, so I’ll just post that as it is instead of forcing them in here) but one thing I really love in the context of this hc is, once they’re together, Cassian sort of...helping Nesta understand and navigate the social world around them. 

So Nesta talking to someone and saying something and the conversation ends a little abruptly and she can lean into Cass and ask him if that was okay or- Did she fuck up? How did she fuck up? And Cassian can either gently explain the social rules that have escaped her all her life if need be, or he can reassure her that no, she did good, that was fine, they’re just a prick. 

Or Cass can do what Feyre did for her at the dinner, and reassure her that people aren’t trying to hurt her all the time, sometimes they’re just teasing but they really do mean well. (But also Cassian having quiet words and asking people to stop that if it continues to bother her) and him like...Interpreting other people for her because jfc they’re exhausting, she has no idea what’s going on at all, she is Tired. 

Cassian understanding when Nesta can’t face the idea of a party or a big social gathering, even with his help, so they just stay in that night and snuggle and be together.  

Nesta using the mating bond between them to start learning Cassian’s tells. Because she can learn how to read people’s body language it’s just...like learning any other language because it’s not intrinsic or instinctive. So she can feel through the bond what he’s feeling and thinking, and start to learn how he looks when he’s angry or agitated or upset. Even if Cass tries to hide them from her, then...She knows. 

Cassian just...Helping Nesta to navigate the tangled minefield that is social interaction and working with her and supporting her instead of just sighing at her. Understanding that there are some things she genuinely can’t do because she processes the world differently to him and her brain is just wired differently.

Cassian being completely and utterly fascinated by this and wanting to learn all about it and exactly how it’s different and exactly what he should do to help and Nesta being...Shocked. Because people either turn their noses up at her and assume she’s trying to be rude or difficult, or they just try and beat the same lessons into her over and over again but Cass just...Okay but how do we make things work for you and how can I change a little to better accommodate you for a change and Nesta just...Being really, really touched that he’d do this for her.

Nesta growing more confident in herself and far, far less insecure around other people. She opens up a little more because she can be herself and be accepted and wanted for that. She doesn’t have to choose any more between being who she is, and keeping people around her. She can have both. Cassian helping her and supporting her into reaching that conclusion and refusing to allow her to expect any less from people just because of the way that she is. Cassian never, ever expecting Nesta to change herself this way because then, well, she really wouldn’t be Nesta. This is a part of who she is and he helps encourage her and others to accept that about her. 

[irastayshome]

Ibrahim's birth

Ibrahim arrived in this world on 21st January 2017. Back then, we were lucky to afford a doula because I was hella nervous about the whole birthing process and tbh my head wasnt in the game because of all the stress at work. After the 'hard part' was over, and as I held my son, I vividly remember my doula saying that the easy part was over and the hard part of being a parent has just begun. I thought it was a joke at the time because, well, what could be harder than pushing a 3 kg baby out of your vagina? 2 yrs and 6mths on, I have mentally kicked myself in the head for taking my doula's words lightly. These days, I consider it a win when I do not raise my voice or completely lose my sh** and raise my hands at my son. I keep needing reminders of what it took to get him into this world and the many moments we failed him along the way so that I do not be complacent and mistreat him.

So I thought I might write his birth story down after all. Didn't really wanna remember all the details of something that feels rather insignificant now, but some days at home are just rough and a good reminder is useful.

*

19 January 2017. I had been on maternity leave for a week, but only just completed my case transfers from home. My mamamia had been insisting that I sleep over her place once a week for the last trimester on Hasyali's night shifts. I didnt mind at all, because my r/s with my parents have improved significantly after moving out. Distance is truly necessary sometimes.

It finally dawned upon me that I was due in a week. Being last minute as I always am, I tried to 'catch up' on the squats that my doula/birth educator had been reminding us to do at 9 pm. But really, i was just doing it for fun cause like it would make any difference at 39 weeks, esp since ive been treating my body like crap while handing over my work the last few weeks. Planned to youtube more exercises to speed up labour etc etc but fell into the rabbit hole of "natural birth positions" and "painfree birth vlogs" and before I knew it, I was hooked on the Midwives yt tv series till i fell asleep at 5 am. Damn youtube.

20th January 2017. 7 am. Felt like I ate something so bad and had to do a big one. And so I did, groggily, and went back to sleep. Feeling so smug that I could finally sleep in on a weekday. 9 am. What is going on with my bowels??? Tried to recall what I ate last night, but dont care just sleep after the business. 10.30 am. Sat up and mentally admitted that those horrid pains at the bottom of my tummy could actually be contractions! Trying to keep cool, I ate breakfast quickly, trying to mask my ronyok face each time the tightenings came by because nyayi was there and I just did not wanna tell my family. pretty sure they would have shipped me off to the hospital immediately.

Took cab back at 12.30pm and smsed hubs about the contractions, saying it could potentially be the real thing. But not sure, so I timed them in the cab. 10 mins apart. regular. oh crap its happening. Got home, discovered the bloody show. So yup i got my confirmation. Smsed hubs a photo of it but told him to just take it easy, go solat Jumaat and just slowly pack his bag aftee. He just got off his night shift so he probably hasnt slept at all. Told doula Kak Hajjar about whats going on, and was advised to just relax and walk2 until i cant talk anymore from the pain. Hubs came back, and i took off on a birth walk alone around the estate. Every few mins, I just stopped and breathed deeply, sorely regretting not pestering my hubs to come along bcoz adoi sakit and nothing to squeeze or hold on to. and in the 3 pm sun no less.

Came back, started panicking when i realised hubs belum pack!! what is it with men and last minute packing?? feeling annoyyed bcoz im about to do some serious work but he cant even get started on packing. but ok takpe, got in the shower to cool down and to relieve the pain while he packed. Contractions were now 4 mins apart, but I could still talk. NUH told me to come in now. Doula told me to wait till i cant talk. The kancong me decided to go anyway, worried about the rush hour jam on the start of a weekend.

Arrived at NUH at 6 pm, realising that id skipped lunch. I was hungry, and oh no so damn sleepy bcoz i barely slept the night before! Damn youtube. Ate mr bean pancake with hubs. Met doula who told.me i dont look like its time bcoz i could talk and joke about. I admit i secretly thought that it was because i had a high tolerance for pain hahahaha joke. Entered the delivery ward at 7 pm, was 4 cm dilated. Yay! but wait what, all that pain and only 4 cm? oh no.

So began the longest night of my life. Doulla massaged my back and did hip squeezes through contractions, and I occasionally swayed while standing with hubs. These two were just incredible birth partners. My labour pains were rough at the front, but damn the back labour pains were friggin insane! Felt like maybe I had tentacles trying to burst out of my spine and turn into Doc Ock.

At some point, i remember just saying random supplications and feeling so regretful that i had not rehearsed what selawats I wanted to read in those moments bcoz my head was really jammed up trying to manage the pain. By 3 am my body felt like it had gone through a marathon and i really did fall asleep between contractions out of sheer exhaustion. It was exhausting to just tahan the pain.

By 4 ish am (hazy on the details by now), a VE confirmed I was 9 cm dilated. At this point I was already vomitting and my head hurt so much from tahaning the pain. I remembered thinking, or maybe even saying out loud, that I wanted them to cut the baby out. Im pretty sure I was transitioning at that point but I didnt know bcoz my mind was too panicky. They told me the head was still too high to push, so they offered to burst my waterbag, but said theres no assurance it would bring the head down but wld certainly intensify the contractions. I was pretty sure I would pass out if they intensified, out of exhaustion. and never mind that I was barely able to wake up btwn contractions due to my flu and fever (yes ARGH hate flu during labour). So I refused and waited for news that im fully dilated.

6 am. Still at 9 cm. My head was thinking "how long did Kak Hajjar say transitions lasted again?? takkan lama gini??" This time, my mental strength just gave way. I screamed for an epidural. I remember feeling so terrified that my baby would be stuck while im pushing, because I had zero energy left. Fatigued from the pain and the fever, I pleaded for an epidural again n again. I rmbr my doula, my husband, the nurses all giving me such kind words of support, saying ive gone si far and am at the last lap, and encouraged me to stick to my birth plan of going without medication. But I was too defeated by exhaustion and just wanted to sleep. Hahahaha. Like i literally said "yang, i nak tido" and started to cry.

So they called in the anesthesiologist (dunno the spelling). While he prepped the long-ass needle, I felt a huge gush of warm water down there. My waters broke. At this point I could have just waited for the head to descend, but I was too tired and looking forward to a promised 2 hour rest before pushing. So I kept quiet about it. I was in tears, out of disappointment at myself for not being able to ride out the exhaustion. But my doula was so kind and reminded me that God is the best of planners, and perhaps this was the way for me to achieve a natural birth still and avoid any emergency csection if I could not push. The nurses too were angels, and kept assuring me I had tried really hard for a long time and shouldn't beat myself up. And so I slept. That was the best 2 hour sleep of my life. pretty sure I snored and drooled, in the presence of my doula. Nak kata paiseh but nah I was too tired to care, and all modesty had left the room hours ago.

8 am. Woken up by cheerful nurses who told me it was time to start pushing. I just wanted to sleep in longer, but then I remembered oh ya baby is still inside. That epidural was gooooood. So began pushing. It felt so weird pushing when I cant feel anything moving down there. They had to tell me when to push i.e. when contractions came, and kept telling me I was pushing wrong and i had to do it as how i would when pooping. I suddenly didnt know how pooping felt like anymore. Kept pushing for an hour plus, but apparently the head keeps going back in. My husb and I had affectionately named our foetus "jubjub", just to avoid calling it the baby during the pregnancy. and my doula joked that perhaps the baby keeps going back in bcoz we named him jubjub like the muppet from Hi-5 that likes to peekaboo around. haha that was a good one.

My gynae finally came in around 9.30 am ish. She told me that I had to do an episiotomy to help push the baby out. My husband stopped her and told her to let me continue trying. But eventually she kept persisting and my husband apparently could not tahan seeing me push so hard anymore (he said the veins on my face look like they were gonna burst). So he agreed. The moment she cut, I pushed and felt the head empty out of me. I thought that was weird cause I was on epidural, but apparently they reduced the dose while pushing. A few more pushes later, I heard it. Ibrahim's first cries. The nurses and my doula congratulating me. My husband telling me I did it and he was proud of me. But mainly, Ibrahim's cries. 21st January 2017, at 10.03am.

They placed him on my chest. I cried. and cried. And i thought he was the most perfect thing I could ever hold in this world.

Dearest Ibrahim, a mother can love her husband out of choice, but theres simply no choice in this love I have for you. It is so raw and intense and relentless, that Im so consumed by it from the moment I held you. There are days, now, when I feel your anger towards me because I am so hard on you, especially since im not very good at coping with the two of you. But I hope you never feel that I love you any less when I get angry. and I hope you truly forgive me when you give me a hug after I apologise each time for beating you. You deserve so much better, and i'll keep striving to be a better mother to you and adik.

Ok bye. Am gonna cry my eyes out now. Damn birth stories.