#who knew that would be relevant ever again

[bloggingboutburgers]

I think everyone will benefit from properly tagging posts. xreader fics abd ship fics ONLY include the relevent _x_ tags but none of the character's name on its own, allowing all the usual fanart, theories and such to stay on the main name tag and not be crowded out by horny fanfiction (I say this as someone who very much enjoys very horny, very smutty xreader fanfictions. I want to be able to search the fics I want directly without having to trawl through headcanon posts, fanart, unrelated ship posts, etc.).

No one really has a tailored experience on the internet (I'm glad tumblr is at least a little more user dictated than advertiser algorithm based), but I do get the frustration and discomfort that comes from the abundant hornyposting feeling inescapable.

It's tempting to take offence to persistent cries against xreader stuff. I like special POV episodes of shows for the same reason I like xreader fics. My favourite characters WERE the company I kept, my only real form of companionship (albeit simulated) for many many years. Not because I am allo, basically. I sought something to meet my social needs growing up where I was unable to find community or companionship in real life.

Unfortunately, because they are usually sexual in nature I just came to associate a need for human connection with sex (so am I allo or just conditioned to blend sexual, platonic and romantic feelings and actions together?). I was just happy to feel like I had someone to hang out with. I knew they weren't real and that I needed to find real people to connect with (not for lack of trying, kids are just cruel. Finally made friends as an adult, yay).

Didn't intend for any of that to be so sad or pathetic, but hopefully it gives context for the prevalence of xreader fics. Alongside the varied reasons people write / read them (no just blind allo horniness), especially in light of the widespread loneliness epidemic over the past decade.

It's still more than ok to not want anything to do with them either (be it due to being aroace or not - I know plenty of allos who find xreader fics cringe).

Something I need to clarify here – we get it. Well, we don't fundamentally get it, but trust me, we've been told time and time again why people would write/draw/be into xreader content (it's all part of the package of "aroaces MUST put themselves in allo people's shoes at all times"), and we know they're perfectly legitimate reasons, and we don't find it sad or pathetic, or cringe. At the very least I don't at all. That's not what it's about. It's not something as surface-level at that.

The thing is... The same kind of understanding effort is VERY rarely put forward in return for us. And the fact that we're perceived as naysayers is symptomatic of this. We're not crying against xreader content. People are free to do whatever they want. We just want it to be tagged to keep ourselves safe, and so we can appreciate some variety and find fandom content we can properly connect with with the identity we have.

The issue isn't that there is xreader content, or heck, that there's lots of it. It's that, as @kaoruko-han put it, "everyone is assumed to be into this", and that you can't express something as simple as "I'd rather read something else" without being finger-pointed as a villain.

Yeah, no one has a tailored experience online, but there's still a very clear lack of balance on what is acceptable to tailor to or not (and for us, that includes tumblr). And trying to find fan-content while being sex-repulsed? Bruh, you'd better pray on your lucky stars and be ready to trudge through an ocean of stuff that's loaded with the very thing that makes you scared, uncomfortable or downright triggers a feeling of sickness in you, because a lot of it ain't tagged. An alarming amount of people don't bother, because why would people like you exist, right? There's only ever them, and puritan bigots. It's that black and white in a lot of people's heads.

Here's the difference though: we, too, want people to be able to vibe to whatever fan content they want. We just wish "people" included us properly in this case. As it stands now, trying to find fan content that won't give you an uncomfortable feeling as a sex-repulsed person feels kinda like this (I'll try to illustrate that to the best of my ability as a vague comparison, please no one take that as a clear parallel, I'm literally just trying to explain how it feels in a way people who have no idea how it feels might understand): you're not into gore at all, you don't wanna look at it, but your streaming platform keeps recommending you those series that are loaded with gore. You try to filter it out, but no matter where you go, you keep being recommended those series. And no one ever gets your discomfort and you're being branded as nothing but a wet blanket for not wanting to see gore. It's kinda like that.

At this point I admire sex-repulsed or romance-repulsed people who still TRY to find anything at all in fandom spaces. I've stopped reading fanfic altogether and I've largely stopped engaging with the large majority of fandom spaces for those reasons. And that wasn't an easy choice, or one that I find fun because it feels incredibly lonely, but it's the result of years of exhaustion and strain on my mental health trying to navigate something that's so hostile to me at its core, even if it's unintentional.

So... Yeah. We know the reasons, just like the content itself, they're kinda impossible to ignore. But we are largely being ignored in this, and it's not just something at an "ick" or "picky" level ; for a sex-repulsed person, being spammed with sex entails much more than that. It's not even frustration anymore at this point, it's downright despair a lot of the time. So... Yeah, like you said, everyone would benefit from stuff being more properly tagged. For us it'd be so huge to know our safety is taken into account – that we're taken into account at all. Thing is, we're not, and we're so invisible in this and most other things that at this point, I don't have much hope. Sex-related controversies allo people can understand would sooner create a change than anything done for our sake.

[xyurishux]

CHAPTER 1 - AS A WHOLE, TOGETHER

Word Count: ~1.7k

Tags: GN!reader, Mentions of family disputes

Summary: You begin to tell Sebastian how deep UrbanShades rabbit hole truly goes, starting with yourself.

Pardon any writing errors, they may happen!

“ oh sweetie, you’re not ugly, society is,”

“So,

When I was younger, life was as normal as can be. I was in mediocre family, it was me, my mom and my dad. I’d only see my mom in the morning, and when I was back from school my dad would be home for dinner. It wasn’t until way later I learned about his job, but that isn’t relevant right now. My dad was a mystery to me, he’s my dad but I didn’t know much to anything about him. I saw him everyday when I got home but it’s was for such a small period of time, did it even count?

Life was so mundane and repetitive. Go to school, pass tests, summer break then restart it all over again. Life was boring but it wasn’t difficult.

I would do anything to be back there…” You paused looking out into the ocean, it was dark you could mistake it for the above, only simply at night. You breathe out from your nose continuing on with your story.

 “Anyways, it was back in September of 2009 when my father got a promotion. Seeing his face 4 to 5 hours per day dwindled down to seeing him once every two weeks or so, usually on Sundays. He became an enigma.

“You see, something I couldn’t see at the time was that as I grew older, his need to be in my life lowered, and sadly, that same fate fell too with my mother by default.

His job already took a toll on their relationship. Only spending 4 to 5 hours with your partner every day over the span of five years isn’t so great.

My mother would see him as much as I did and now, he just wasn’t there. The signs of a falling relationship presented themselves beforehand, but now it was obvious to anyone that the only thing keeping them together was me. At least, for my mom that was the case.

“The house was more silent than it ever was empty…”

You looked to the side with your eyes to see Sebastians full attention on you, perhaps it was the story? Or maybe he didn’t have anything better to do or it might have been the way your voice spoke with full sincerity and no sarcasm. It was like someone else took control but it was undoubtedly you and he was fully enthralled.

Your eyes met and you looked back down at the cold tile as you carried on.

“Ether way, it was in November of that same year where things would shift. My mom would realize the steady money flowing in and at growing amounts. Now you have to understand that my mother isn’t of the suspicious type nor is she a person who comes up with wild conclusions. She was (and still is, I hope) a reasonable and sensible woman. She knew that this wasn’t a simple ‘promotion’, but to know where all this money came from, well…she didn’t have the slightest clue. She didn’t know and she would never know. Well, truly know…

“The first snow started to fall as December began and Winter break freed me from my studying. Shockingly, dad came home for the holidays and New Years. Funny anecdote, I remember getting my first iPhone as a gift from him that year. It was an iPhone 3GS, God the memories…my mother was not pleased in slightest.” You laughed silent tilting your head to the side as your reminisced, it was good and loyal phone…

 “Continuing on, after Christmas as a family and with the family the next day, my parents had the only disagreement I’ve ever witnessed (only a disagreement, it wasn’t enough to count as a fight).

I think it was about 2 am and the only light that was on was the one above the kitchen table. My dad was sitting facing my mother who standing up, the last of the family who came over for the party had finally left. Chip bowls and wine glasses were still scattered on the coffee table, only barely visible by the outside Christmas lights. I watched as my mom tapped her nails against the wooden chair she was partly leaning on as she took a deep breath. I could tell she was tired, exhausted even but I could also tell she had something bugging her and she needed to let it out. I watched them from the darkness that the staircase provided, I was undetectable. I listened to them talk, leaning my upper body to the wooden railing trying not to miss a single word. I don’t remember much; it was about the money at first but it was nothing compared to what my mother said next.”

“Samantha, look- “

“I’m breaking up with you”

“My mother broke up with my father. I sat upon the steps dumbfounded, I didn’t expect that from their conversation but even then, I didn’t know what to expect. The last of the conversation consisted of my father staying silent and staring at the table as my mom talked important matters to him. She told him that she would stay for the New Years and then move in with a friend in an apartment she found. After that she finished the glass of wine my dad poured for her at the start and left the kitchen when he didn’t have anything to add.

I’m pretty sure that night was the only time I saw my dad cry. He was still in love with her, never ever once thinking of ending their relationship. Never ever once thinking of loving another woman.

 Most children would walk down the stairs they sat on and go comfort their weeping father or at least ask if he was okay. But our relationship was so estranged to the point where I felt no reason to go down and comfort him. He simply was just my father, nothing else nothing more.

I watched him cry silently with his head in his hand as I sat on the steps with my legs close to my chest. I sat there for a few more minutes. I don’t know why I sat there watching for so long. Maybe I was intrigued with the sight, it was something new. A man I’ve know all my life was a mystery to me and now the last sight I might ever see of him is him crying his heart out. But soon enough I got tired, I walked back up to my bedroom and fell asleep to noise of the on going shower my mom was taking downstairs.

The next morning felt cold and unbalanced. The floor was cold to the touch and it was actually closer to noon then morning. The hall was silent as I walked down it and saw at the end of it that my mom was packing a suitcase and a large duffle bag. They were both placed on the bed with an equal amount of folded and unfolded clothes thrown around the two. It was enough to be unable to see the white and blue floral comforter underneath (or I remember it to be enough). I walked into the room and as if I didn’t witness the scene at the kitchen table last night I asked, “Are we going somewhere?”

She was so concentrated with her packing that she jumped startled when she heard my voice. With her hand over her heart, she turned to me with a forced smile (I knew that it was) and spoke words that I will never forget.”

“What were they?” Sebastian asked quietly, his full upper body now laying against the desk where you two sorted files on together almost an hour ago.

You smiled, “Well,

“Sweetheart! You scared me there,” She said, her smile faltering, “No, mommy is going somewhere, alone, but not forever. You’ll have to stay with dad for awhile.” She turned her head away as she folded a few pants and placed them into her suitcase. Then she squatted, and I had to look down to see her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lashes wet. I felt her hands on my upper arms as she continued to talk, “Mommy, mommy needs to go find herself for a bit, okay? Not for long but mommy needs this…I love you, eternally and always”

She left the same day with kiss on the forehead, her phone number seared into my mind and a “Be good while I’m gone, I’m a single phone call away”

And then I was there, at my door step, cold and watching as my mom entered her friend’s car with one last kiss blown to me. I caught it and placed it onto my cheek as she drove off. Now it was me and my estranged father and a lot of complex emotions I didn’t know how to decipher or begin to understand at the age of ten.”

You finished, pausing to take a breath for a second while also stretching your aching muscles.

“And then what? What does this have to do with us? With me?” Sebastian asked harshly as he raised himself from the desk.

“Give me a second, I need water and a snack, I’m a bit peckish,” you joked, smirking to him, before continuing, “Ether way, we’re barely getting into the meat of the story. I was just explaining how I got stuck with my father. Now will be getting into what he was doing

behind closed doors…”

And we start rolling, ~

@splatting-stampede

[wingedblooms]

More precious than soldiers, than any weapon.

@silverlinedeyes’s post reminded me of one of my favorite revelations in tod. I discussed it in the witch series a while ago, but I’m talking about it again because the language is strikingly similar and could be relevant for Elain’s role in acotar. When Yrene and Chaol visit the Oasis, we learn this:

Yrene turned in place, surveying the pillars, the carvings. No caves—none at all. “Nousha knew the location, though,” she mused. “It must have been important—the site. To the Torre.”

“But its importance was forgotten over time, or warped. So that only the name, the sense of its importance remained.”

“Healers were always drawn to this realm, you know,” Yrene said distantly, running a hand over a column. “The land just … blessed them with the magic. More than any other kind. As if this were some breeding ground for healing.”

“Why?”

She traced a carving on a column longer than most ships. “Why does anything thrive? Plants grow best in certain conditions—those most advantageous to them.”

This land was important, but the reason why it important was warped or forgotten over time. Healers were drawn to it and the land blessed them with healing magic more than any kind. We know there is a deep connection between the magic in the land and the magic of those who inhabit and care for it across the Maasverse (and that was likely emphasized in hofas because it has implications for acotar). This description of the southern continent reminds me of the healing land in the Night Court, with its slumbering heart and its full history and purpose forgotten. The peaks like green hands cupping healing waters.

As their exploration continues in tod, Chaol begins to suspect that the Fae settled on the southern continent to hide something, a treasure of a different sort.

Chaol said, “I thought only one group of Fae ever left Doranelle—to establish Terrasen with Brannon.”

“Maybe another settled here during whatever this war was.” The first war. The first demon war, before Elena and Gavin were born, before Terrasen.

Chaol studied Yrene. Her bloodless face. “Or maybe they wanted to hide something.”

Yrene frowned at the ground as if she could see to the tombs beneath. “A treasure?”

“Of a different sort.”

She met his eyes at his tone—his stillness. And fear, cool and sharp, slid into his heart. Yrene said softly, “I don’t understand.”

“Fae magic is passed down through their bloodlines. It doesn’t appear at random. Perhaps these people came here. And then were forgotten by the world, forces good and evil. Perhaps they knew this place was far away enough to remain untouched. That wars would be waged elsewhere. By them.” He jerked his chin to a carving of a Valg soldier. “While the southern continent remained mostly mortal-held. While the seeds planted here by the Fae were bred into the human bloodlines and grew into a people gifted and prone to healing magic.”

“An interesting theory,” she said hoarsely, “but you don’t know if it could stand to reason.”

“If you wanted to hide something precious, wouldn’t you conceal it in plain sight? In a place where you were willing to bet a powerful force would spring up to defend it? Like an empire. Several of them. Whose walls had not been breached by outside conquerors for the entirety of its history. Who would see the value of its healers and think their gift was for one thing, but never know that it might be a treasure waiting to be used at another time. A weapon.”

“We do not kill.”

A treasure of a different sort. Or what one might call a different kind of strength.

Later, when Yrene and Chaol confront the Valg princess beneath the Torre, their suspicions are confirmed:

“Why are you here,” Yrene breathed. “What do you want?”

“You.”

Chaol’s heart stumbled at the word. Duva straightened. “The Dark King heard whispers. Whispers that a healer blessed with Silba’s gifts had entered the Torre. And it made him so very, very wary.”

“Because I can wipe you all out like the parasites you are?”

Chaol shot Yrene a warning glance.

But Duva plucked the dagger off her womb and studied the blade. “Why do you think Maeve has hoarded her healers, never allowing them to leave her patrolled borders? She knew we would return. She wanted to be ready—to protect herself. Her prized favorites, those Doranelle healers. Her secret army.” Duva hummed, motioning with the dagger to the necropolis. “How clever those Fae were, who escaped her clutches after the last war. They ran all the way here—the healers who knew their queen would keep them penned up like animals. And then they bred the magic into the land, into its people. Encouraged the right powers to rise up, to ensure this land would always be strong, defended. And then they vanished, taking their treasures and histories beneath the earth. Ensuring they were forgotten below, while their little garden was planted above.”

“Why,” was all Chaol said.

“To give those Maeve did not consider important a fighting chance should Erawan return.” Duva clicked her tongue. “So noble, those renegade Fae. And thus the Torre grew—and His Dark Majesty indeed rose again, and then fell, and then slept. And even he forgot what someone with the right gifts might do. But then he awoke once more. And he remembered the healers. So he made sure to purge the gifted ones from the northern lands.” A smile at Yrene, hateful and cold. “But it seems a little healer slipped the butcher’s block. And made it all the way to this city, with an empire to guard her.”

Yrene’s breathing was ragged. He saw the guilt and dread settle in. That in coming here, she had brought this upon them. Tumelun, Duva, the Torre, the khaganate.

But what Yrene did not realize, Chaol instead saw it for her. Saw it with the weight of a continent, a world, upon him. Saw what had terrified Erawan enough to dispatch one of his agents.

Because Yrene, ripe with power and facing down that preening Valg demon…

Hope.

It was hope that stood beside him, hidden and protected these years in this city, and in the years before it, spirited across the earth by the gods themselves, concealed from the forces poised to destroy her.

A kernel of hope.

The most dangerous of all weapons against Erawan, against the Valg’s ancient darkness.

What he had been brought here to retrieve for his homeland, his people. What he had been brought here to protect. More precious than soldiers, than any weapon. Their only shot at salvation.

Hope.

The ancient Fae planted a weapon of a different sort—healing magic—in plain sight so that it could be used to protect the most vulnerable from the Valg. They made sure the right powers would rise up and thrive under the right conditions, like plants in a little garden. It could be a coincidence, but we’ve only heard that phrase used elsewhere in reference to Elain:

The little garden beneath the window was hers: every bloom and shrub had been picked and planted by her hand; she would allow no one else to care for it. Even the weeding and watering she did on her own. (acotar)

"Why?" Elain demanded. "Shall I tend to my little garden forever?" When Nesta flinched, Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater." (acosf)

It’s a dismissive phrase meant to belittle the efforts of both the ancient healers and Elain. But in tod, Chaol sees the importance of those efforts and what they ultimately represent for the future: Hope. Hope is more precious than soldiers, than any weapon. And in tod, Hope took the form of healing magic (and is generally connected to healing across the Maasverse). Yrene didn’t need extensive warrior training or to wield a sword; her raw healing power—a weapon of a different kind—was the sword.

Which ultimately brings me back to the questions Sarah planted in acosf. Why, exactly, were all of the Archeron sisters reforged with mighty powers? Why have they been brought to the most powerful court, surrounded by the most powerful warriors? What are they still meant to accomplish together?

We cannot answer those questions without understanding the mysterious gifts of the third sister. Elain has a different sort of strength than her sisters and for some reason, she was given such powers by Wyrd. Maybe her powers are a different kind of weapon that are needed now to address an ancient and familiar enemy. One that buried its secrets beneath the earth and warped the magic of the land to their benefit.

[65ths]

all of these metas are accidentally ending up much longer than i intended whoopsy daisy! what can i say! he likes being the center of my attention

[arsenicflame]

'im doing great!!!' <- had to read through old messages from their [????] to remind themselves that was a legitimate thing that happened and not just a delusion

[tsukimefuku]

content warning: fluff, hurt and lots of comfort, written in mixed style (head canon + fic), non-explicit smut, post Shibuya scarred Nanami. Loosely inspired by the song “gilded lily”.

Nanami Kento, who opened his eyes while on a hospital bed, barely feeling the left side of his body after Shoko tended to him, just to find you by his bedside finishing wrapping him up with bandages as a hurricane of emotions took over your face — fear, panic, anger, sadness, eagerness... 

Relief.

Nanami Kento, who reached towards your forearm with his unburnt hand, completely ignoring the bandages covering a good portion of his own face, glad to know that the last time he saw you wasn’t, in fact, the last. He had lived a proper life without regrets, or so he thought, up until those fateful moments in which he believed he was about to die without ever telling you how he truly felt.

Nanami Kento, who for the next few days, while bedridden and feeling useless after Gojo’s sealing in the prison realm, had the time to contemplate the life he’d been living so far, and wondered with an untapped honesty if the death of a pawn soldier — what he had been reduced to after such an influx of special grades — would really be relevant in this war. Would he be missed?

Nanami Kento, who had many visitors throughout the following days, such as Yuuji, Ino, Ijichi and Megumi, and shared the quiet comfort from your companionship every time you weren’t elbow-deep assisting Shoko with the wounded. He’d ask you to read for him. He said it was only needed while he got used to seeing with one eye, but the truth of the matter was Nanami just enjoyed listening to your voice. You knew and you didn’t mind. In fact, you actually enjoyed reading aloud by his bedside as you both ventured through Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms.

Nanami Kento who, for some reason, woke up on the wrong side of the bed the morning he was to remove his bandages, and cringed as he saw the scarred, burnt skin that was hidden underneath. Not because of any aesthetic discomfort, — he’d grown accustomed to seeing far worse on the daily — but because now he’d forever be engraved with the violence and viciousness of the life he chose. A constant reminder, literally in the flesh, of everything he almost lost. Every future, chance or opportunity that would’ve been thrown away on a whim during that night in Shibuya. 

Nanami Kento, whose jaw unclenched and shoulders untensed when you wrapped your fingers around his burnt hand, and who turned to regard you with his bandaged head and eye. Who genuinely and warmly smiled when you gave him the small eye patch in yellow splattered fabric you had sewn using one of his ties, apologizing in advance for rummaging through his things without talking to him first. You explained about asking for Ino’s help to fetch one of those. With this eye patch, you told Nanami, he would “have an all matching attire.”

Nanami Kento, who made a half-hearted remark about chastising Ino for using his copy of Nanami’s apartment key to go behind his back, but spared no time in actually removing his final bandages — while turning away from you — and covering the gaping hole where his eye should be with the accessory.

Nanami Kento, who one day before getting officially discharged, felt he was once again letting the opportunity of telling you how he felt slip through his fingers. The fear and the urgency from before were gone, life was once again moving in its own settled way, and you both would surely go back to tiptoeing quietly around the unsaid.

You both knew what it meant, and neither could muster up the courage to say it out loud, even with him having just survived certain death. Not even then.

Nanami Kento, who on that very evening wrapped his fingers softly around your wrist as you got up to leave for the night. Who, after you asked him if he needed anything, absentmindedly answered “you,” making your heart skip a beat.

Nanami Kento, who instantly regretted it, and wondered what could’ve possessed him to say that, but as he began apologizing, his words got muffled by the pressing of your lips against his. Who didn’t think twice before pulling you closer, having you almost fall on top of  his supine body.

Nanami Kento, who was too tired. Exhausted, even. Exhausted of waiting, of pretending, of denying himself the comfort of a less grueling existence in the comfort of your embrace, of your kisses, of you. 

Nanami Kento, who gasped into your mouth the moment you straddled over him, so gently that the bed barely moved, and drew his hands up your back, leaving a trail of heat wherever they traveled. Who hesitated for a moment when your fingers motioned to remove the eye patch you gave him, but obliged after you asked him “please, let me see you,” melting into the soft pecks you laid all over his scarred cheek, imprinting your affection on him one kiss at a time.

Nanami Kento, who was genuinely surprised to see that you, too, had a good portion of your body covered in scars from previous missions after you propped yourself up and took off your shirt. He gently descended the tips of his fingers in between your breasts, where the deepest of the marks laid gravely over your sternum. “I never knew,” he whispered, to which you replied “It comes with the job, I guess. None of us survives this truly unscathed.” 

Nanami Kento, whose dexterous hands kneaded around your body, committing every inch to memory, as all of your garments slid down onto the floor, like all the other things that didn’t matter at that moment — the losses, the fear, the past, the duty.

Nanami Kento, who had you with urgent kindness, as you both gave yourselves entirely to each other. He felt your body wave and flow on top of him, just like the soothing, fresh waves from the beach he thought he’d never get to see.

Nanami Kento, who for the first time ever since waking up from a sure death, felt a warmth capable of pushing away the cold grip of death around his throat, your warmth. 

Nanami Kento, who had survived. Who was glad that you did too, and loved you with no apologies through each second of it all, all touch, and kiss, and tongue, and smell, and taste, and breath, and promise.

Nanami Kento, whose arms wrapped around your body as he whispered against your lips, soft pleas none of you could put into words, but both knowing what they meant. He held you tightly as you unraveled for him, muffling your cries of his name with his mouth.

Nanami Kento, who was enthralled by the sound of his name in your voice, your need, your pleas, your smell, your flesh, your desire, and it was all too much, as he filled you whole while sinking his palms over your thighs, pushing himself as deep as he could.

Nanami Kento, who kept you in his embrace while your ear rested right over his chest, and you could hear each and every heartbeat echoing through him. Who asked you to stay the night, and you knew, right then and there, that you would.

You, who knew that no matter what happened, you’d never leave Nanami’s side from that day on.

End notes: I always wanted to write a post-Shibuya Nanami piece, and the inspiration finally hit! A huge thank you to @redlikerozez and @rahuratna for beta reading this.💜

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[pippin-katz]

In Defense Of Edwin

Something that has bothered me is that there's a significant amount of people who talk about Edwin being unaware of Charles' pain as if he's oblivious, or like he did something wrong; that is simply unfair to Edwin.

Charles is happy, friendly, and wonderful. That is his personality. That is not all forced.

People are quick to jump on the line that Charles has been hiding his pain from Edwin, but a line people are ignoring from that argument is: "He's probably been hiding it from himself!"

His behavior indicates that he doesn't talk or think about trauma or negativity unless it's relevant to the situation. I doubt Charles even realized how bad his trauma was until the Devlin Murders. His pain was so repressed that he wasn't "feeling" it anymore.

Charles’ Triggers

While I'm not going to say that Charles did not hide his pain from Edwin at all, I am going to point out that this may have been the first time, in a very long time or ever, that they encountered something this close to home for him.

The only real reason Charles discusses his trauma now is because the Devlin House triggers him, genuinely in a psychological way. It's not just the "crazy dad" that gets to him. There are so many details that fit Charles personally. That whole situation is too fucking much for him.

The song Owner Of A Lonely Heart playing in the background; a song that he says he liked enough to get the cassette tape but that it was smashed by his father.

The controlling and restrictive behaviors of the father on his daughters. The eldest daughter writing about walking on eggshells and looking forward to graduation.

The way that the father kills them; he doesn't shoot them, or poison them, or whatever, he butchers them. His attacks are physically direct. He swings an axe, so his movement is the root of the violence. If it had been a gun, it would've been his finger on the trigger, but the bullets hitting them. Charles was abused by his father through the means of a belt, which is physically direct.

The loop, having to watch it over, and over, and over again with no break, no relief, and not being able to do anything, no matter how many times he sees it happen. Charles' abuse seemed to be regular and constant, no matter what he did. It always ended the same way.

All of that is then exacerbated by the Night Nurse forcing him to reexperience his trauma the very next day. That's a lot of specific details and events that lead to his complete breakdown.

Charles hasn't been consciously choosing to hide all of that pain from Edwin. It had been buried to the point where even he couldn't see it anymore, but the Devlin House uprooted it from his subconscious.

Charles’ Parents

Now, he does hide his habit of checking on his parents from Edwin, but that's not fully about his abuse. Charles misses his family, his life, being alive.

It's worth noting that he only shows Crystal his parents because he's trying to connect with her about not being able to go home. He didn't bring that up on a whim. It was relevant to help Crystal feel understood. She's not special; if someone completely different from her did the exact same thing, Charles would've shown them too.

Now, let's talk about him not telling Edwin. Charles may not have a full comprehension of Edwin's experiences, but he knows he's different from "normal" people. Hiding his parents from him is likely just as much about not wanting to hurt Edwin as it is protecting himself.

Edwin does not show any type of longing for his life. Everything he knew about the world from his time is gone or been changed beyond recognition. He doesn't have a family to miss, not that he was close to them in the first place; even if he did have an emotional connection to them, they've been long dead.

And Edwin seems unbothered, but there’s no way for Charles to know that for certain. Watching his parents weekly would remind Edwin constantly that he does not have anyone. He’s worried about being insensitive; he feels like he would be unintentionally taunting Edwin and rubbing salt into the wound.

Edwin has been dead for over 100 years and spent 70 of those years being torn apart by a demon in Hell; how could he even remember physical sensations other than pain and exhaustion? How could he remember the taste of food while running through Gluttony, watching its inhabitants vomit profusely? He never saw the appeal of romance or sex prior to his death, and then he witnesses the bloody masses of people in Lust; how could he be anything other than repulsed?

Charles tells him that pain is not a contest, but he almost without a doubt compares his own experiences to Edwin's. It's something people with low self-esteem do more than others. He feels guilty, like he’s selfish for being upset; Edwin has it so much worse.

How does being abused by his dad compare to being dragged to Hell? He got hit with a belt; Edwin was ripped apart. Who is he to whine about his life to a boy who has died more times than days Charles has existed?

He may not have had the specific details before, but the knowledge of it being Hell was enough. When you don't put your own needs on your priority list, that's one of the first "justifications" your brain comes up with. They already have enough on their plate, and you don't need to talk about it. You're totally fine! So yes, hiding his parents from Edwin makes sense from his perspective.

But his abuse? Charles doesn't even realize how much pain he's in; how could Edwin have realized?

My point is that Charles wasn't actively choosing to hide all of his pain from Edwin for thirty years, so to blame Edwin for not noticing is like blaming a blind person for picking up a red ball instead of a blue one. He couldn't have noticed; there was nothing for him to notice. Charles wasn't wearing a full mask.

The second Charles shows any indication that something is wrong, Edwin does notice!

Edwin may have trouble with people, but he's not oblivious, and he knows Charles. If he's ever been upset like this before, he would've noticed. He notices Charles' change in behavior after Crystal joined in only a day, and he doesn't deny it when Edwin calls him out.

Edwin also follows up on asking if he needs to talk about his father. Charles brushes him off, but Crystal and Niko show up before Edwin has a chance to press a little more, which I think he would've. I don't think Charles would've opened up, but it would've shown that Edwin is aware that all is not well. He is aware, but on top of being in the dark about it, he's got his own shit he's working out and cases to solve. His attention is divided.

I think it's important to remember this fact that has been driving me mental for months now:

Charles and Edwin’s dynamic during the show is a completely different dynamic than the one they've had for the past thirty years.

The introduction of Crystal, going to Port Townsend, meeting Niko, Monty, fighting Esther, the Cat King, etc. etc. etc. Everything about their relationship gets shaken up from the start of the show. They're both acting differently in all sorts of ways, and some they even acknowledge to each other.

What we saw of them in Port Townsend is not what Charles and Edwin were during those thirty years. It's unfair to pass judgement on something we don't actually know about.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting really tired of fics/posts making a commentary about Edwin not noticing being something he has failed at. Does Edwin feel guilty for not realizing it sooner? Absolutely, but please, at least acknowledge that it wasn't his fault if you're sticking to canon. If you want to twist some shit into it to make it more complicated, make it more angsty, go right ahead! I'm absolutely not stopping you!

But canonically, at least I feel after studying these characters under a microscope, Edwin could not have known sooner.

(ko-fi)

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

Have you ever thought how in that one episode of TFP where Ratchet is high on robot steroids and launches a single servo attack on the Decepticons, and no one knew who he was?

Like Knockout thought he was some hotshot new player, legitimately thought he was a brand new warrior that had been brought in. And he's an officer, someone who would be updated and aware (at least somewhat) of relevant information about the handful of Autobots that are on Earth and kicking Decepticon aft. It had been repeatedly referenced that Ratchet doesn't leave the base and Arcee even said something along the lines of millennia passing since he'd been in combat.

Can you imagine being a vehicon in that mine?

Someone not entitled to that extra information because you are a "highly trained" body shield and all of a sudden there's this new person? Just taking down EVERYONE? SCREAMING for Megatron to face him? Like?!?!? Who is this? There are like 5 'bots, who the frag is this person?

AND then you hear how he tortured a servant-class miner to get his info. Like, wtf dude, that's Decepticon low.

And then he disappears? Is never seen on the battlefield again? No confirmed death, just gone.

And then he shows up again working with Shockwave?!?!? Helps restore Cybertron?!?! DISAPPERS AGAIN UNTIL THE PREDACONS START ROAMING AND FRAGGING UNICRON LAUNCHES AN ATTACK?

Ratchet is a cryptid to the Nemesis's vehicon population and nothing can change my mind.

[deadsetobsessions]

Cassandra Cain wandered. It has always been so, it will always be so. The moment she clutched the bloody remains of her own freedom in her hands, Cassandra flew and flitted between the cracks of the places she finds.

The only thing that ever made her stay was her dad and their family. The only place she ever settled in for more than a scant number of months was Gotham.

But they’re in a place- a universe- Cassandra could never return to, could not follow, because they had forbidden her to do so. Tim’s grip on her arm, two textures of bloodied skin and torn gloves, told her everything he wanted to say. Her little brother all but shoved her through the crack between planes and universes, and begged her to live with fearful eyes and the grim set of his shoulders.

She has never been good at denying Tim.

The first few weeks were… difficult. She ran- liberated a boat, from men with sabres and cruel hands- and learned to feel the desperate pull of freedom on her hands amongst the waves. She was lost, adrift, silent in her grief. She could be free. She has never been freer. But Cass had never wanted to be free from those she claimed as her own.

Cassandra was built and trained to survive. To walk into a fight and come out the victor, no matter the cost. So she adapts and overcomes and tries not to wallow in her grief.

This new world was different. Brighter, in many ways, than her home dimension. Not that it was hard, considering her home was a wasteland by now, with the moving corpses of what once was her family. The former vigilante knew better than to take it at face value. The brightest places tend to have the darkest shadows. And so, she travels, looking for a purpose. Looking for Hong Kong, because she’s well aware she’ll never find a Gotham again. She braves the sea, travels in between groups of pirates and struggles to understand the slips of sounds that did not make sense to her. It was like before Bruce found her all over again and Cassandra tried a little to learn like how he would have wanted her to. But it is hard, and spoken language was never important to her, never necessary. It was relevant only because her loved ones deemed it important.

Then, she finds a boy on an island, whose words were simple and who was always warm-welcoming-happy-free.

Predictably, Cassandra learns the word “meat” right after learning his name. He was like… the sun. Bright, bold, and unfettered in his will. More stubborn than her brothers and sisters, a feat Cass had not thought possible outside of Gotham, and more than Bruce, only because he could not be swayed by logic. He was Monkey D. Luffy and he wanted to be freer than anyone else.

“Join my crew!”

Cass could not kill. She could not be a pirate.

“Shishishi!” He throws his head back when he laughs, and Cass can tell that he means it. That he thinks her silly for-

“Then my first mate won’t need to kill! We’ll be strong enough to leave people alive! That’s your dream, right?”

Cassandra is breathless. She is still. And- maybe Luffy doesn’t have the training she does, but he understood. She could read it in the lines of his shoulders, the way his rubber limbs don’t snap. She couldn’t believe that she would find anyone that would understand her will to never kill, not after dad, who had wrapped her in shadows that whispered safety and understanding-

“You wanna be free and you want to help without killing! I’m gonna be the Pirate King, and the Pirate King’s crew’s gotta be the free-est! And we can help people if they pay us in meat!”

- but Luffy was a supernova and Cassandra believes.

“Okay.”

“YES!” Luffy roars with happiness, grin wide as the glow in her heart. “I GOT A FIRST MATE!”

——

Cass contorts herself into the barrel- not a difficult feat, since she was already small to begin with- and sighs. She pokes Luffy’s forehead before lightly tugging on his cheek, stretching the skin a bit, in a small scolding.

“Awe, nap time!”

Cass sighs, too familiar with the antics of a chaotic younger brother.

[literaila]

small talk

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru has never learned the definition of "small talk" and you don't care to teach him

a/n: i was requested to hold off on the angst, so i decided to comply (very gracious, i know) so take a flashback fic, in which our characters lack all of their trauma (also I'm working on the next actual part and it... might take a bit)

last part | next part

second year, month two.

“c’mon, nanami, you owe us," you're saying, laying across the couch in nanami's room, feet sore from walking around all day. 

it's only noon, and you already feel like you've suffered through several weeks of this. your only two classmates siding with each other almost always. 

except for now, because you're pouting. trying to convince kento that being a recluse will get him nowhere in life--you would know. 

“no, i do not.” 

you roll your eyes. “sorry? who sliced the curse in two before we even got the chance to look?" you ask, rhetorically. "oh, you? that’s right.” 

nanami shakes his head, but you see his lips twitch—about to give (another) involuntary apology. if you keep up the whining, he'll probably give you his firstborn. 

“it could be fun,” haibara adds, chewing on some weird candy he picked up at the convince store by your mission. it smells like a rotted corpse, which is what you told him when he offered to share. 

“i seriously doubt that.” 

“well, i seriously don’t care,” you tell him, “this is the first time we’ve been invited. unless you want to spend the next two years getting wedgies—“ 

“gojo can’t even touch me,” he argues, arms crossed. his eyes are unyielding as he stares at you. “and geto is more respectable than that.” 

haibara laughs, probably at the mention of a wedgie. 

“well, i wouldn’t know. but i’ll find out tonight when we all go with them to… wherever they’re going.” 

because you showed up a couple of weeks after the two of them, much to your dismay, you haven't become acquainted with your seniors or any of their quirks. it's honestly unfair. but neither of them seems to care about their upper hand or the fact that you're tired of being stuck around them all of the time. 

“i have plans.” 

“no you don’t,” you snort. “we’re your only friends.” 

“that’s not relev—“ 

haibara hangs on nanami’s shoulder, smiling at him with his puppy dog eyes. “kento, we have to go. i want to ask geto a couple of questions, and y/n’s already annoyed.” 

you huff, crossing your arms. you have a good reason to be upset. 

nanami looks at you, then sighs. “i already told you, it was a grade four, it didn’t even look ‘cool’ like the one you and haibara exorcised last week.” 

“i’m not talking to you.” 

haibara laughs, going to sit down next to you, ruffling your hair. it’s irritating, how nonchalant he is about this. like nanami didn’t steal your mission right in front of you. 

and kind of adorable. you lean into him, resting the side of your body against his arm. maybe his energy will mix with yours. 

“y/n, i already apologized.” 

you turn your head away from him. 

“this is very immature.” he gives haibara a pleading look. 

you can feel it as he laughs against you. 

nanami sighs. “fine. this once. if you ever ask again—“ 

you jump up, moving beside him to squeeze him into a makeshift hug (which he doesn’t return). “i knew you’d come around,” you say. because you did. nanami is notoriously easy to break, despite his untouchable demeanor.

nanami sighs again. more forlorn. “this is going to be a disaster.” 

and obviously, haibara takes this opportunity to move to his other side, participating in the group hug.

* 

in all honesty, you’d expected more. 

it’s not that you idolize your upperclassmen—if they can even be classified as such—but seriously, after a year they haven’t come up with anything more entertaining than dragging someone’s tv into the common room and playing mario cart? 

you figured there'd be more excitement here. a lot more break-ins, and more chances for heroics. 

but, you remind yourself, trying to sit pleasantly, this is the first time any of you have been invited. the first time you've spent with geto, Gojo, and shoko without yaga hanging over your break, threatening all of them to be nice. you just want a chance not to be the only new one around. the least educated, weakest.

so you might as well try and enjoy it while you can.

besides nanami and haibara, you don’t have a lot of friends. you didn’t, even before you started at jujutsu high. you barely even had a family. 

so you’ll take what you can get (even if it's three people who speak in code and seem to do nothing but fight).

“oh, how’d that mission you guys went on go?” geto asks after he’s beaten haibara at a fourth race. “where was it?” 

“harajuku,” nanami says, sounding more like he’s telling you his grandma just died. 

“get anything cool?” gojo asks, leaning his head back against the couch so he can look at you upside down. his sunglasses are sliding off of his nose, and you blink. 

“we left pretty quickly,” haibara answers, for all of you. “it was just a grade four.” 

“they sent all of you for that?” shoko, who is pretending to read some sort of biology book right in front of the tv, raises her brow at you. 

at least there’s some common ground there. being the only two girls in a fifty-foot radius creates its own sort of bond. 

you’re about to remark something snarky about nanami and his control issues, but haibara is eager to please, so he says to her, “nah, it was supposed to be harder. grade two, they said.” 

“been there,” she answers. 

geto raises a brow, but his eyes don't move from the screen. “no you haven’t?” 

“listening to gojo’s story about that ‘grade one’ he ‘exorcized’ is basically like being there.” 

“hey, that was true!” 

the two of them give the boy a look, then resume their activities. nanami taking haibara’s place—not without some convincing—and the rest of you watching. 

wow, what a life for jujutsu sorcerers. 

you laugh at the thought and ignore the weird look shoko gives you. 

eventually, gojo makes his way from across the room, his chin resting on geto's temple, and sits on the floor next to you, long limbs getting in the way. 

you barely glance at him with your brows raised, then look back to the screen. nanami is surprisingly good at it. and you find gojo kind of... bizarre. he's always laughing, always leaning against something, and just his presence right next to yours feels like an intrusion. 

“so,” gojo whispers to you, schemingly. “gabumons better than agumon, right?” 

you turn to him, tilting your head. “what?” 

“kind of an unpopular sentiment,” he adds, “but true. i mean, c’mon, metalgarurumon? freezing breath? so cool,” he says, like you’re supposed to know what it means. he's got that same grin on--the one you've watched from across the courtyard, shaking his hand, and probably even that time you caught him napping on the dining table. 

“…what?” 

“satoru, leave her alone,” geto says because this must be a regular occurrence.

“i’m just making small talk!” 

shoko snorts. “i don’t think you’ve ever talked small a day in your life.” 

gojo opens his mouth but apparently has nothing to say about that. 

he sighs, leaning his chin on a hand, and watching the screen again. clearly, his classmates have ruined all of his fun. how is he supposed to mess with you in peace with them around?

when he catches you staring at him a moment later—mostly bewildered because you’ve heard many rumors about satoru gojo, and none of them involve him being a grumbler—he grins. “your turn.” 

“to what?” you say, hoping he doesn’t mean the game. 

he leans toward you. “to make small talk.” 

“i don’t think your turns over.” 

“you’re supposed to continue the conversation. answer my question…” he hints. 

“you didn’t ask a question,” you say, “just made a statement about what’s-your-mon and who’s-your-mon.” 

he looks around, outraged, like you’ve said something completely insane. 

you cut in before he can add anything, “and you know that small talk is supposed to be about, like, the weather, right?” 

“the weather? you’d rather talk about that than cyborg digimon?” 

“…i think so?” 

“ignore him,” shoko calls. 

but you can’t. there's something about him that gets under your skin. and, it's satoru gojo, he's intriguing in his own, annoying way. 

“fine. how do you like the weather?” he asks, tapping his fingers against his chin, smiling at you again. 

you pinch your lips together. “it’s fine. rainy.” 

he throws his head back, groaning. “see? this is boring. and so is this game, because suguru just beats everyone.” 

“i think nanami won the last round.” 

he gives you a ‘really?’ look, and you shrug. 

“do you guys do this a lot?” 

“do what?” 

you gesture towards the tv. “sit around and do nothing.” 

gojo scoffs. “this is very important, you know. we take video games very seriously.” 

you take a look at geto—who’s sticking his tongue out while he handles the controller—and haibara, who’s pointing at nanami’s face and laughing. 

you must’ve missed something. not that you've been paying much attention to the game, anyway. 

you've been mostly obsessing over your expressions, trying not to say anything out of place, and figure out how to speak to any of these people without sounding foolish. 

which, so far, hasn't gone well. 

“what do you guys do, then?" gojo asks, sarcastically. "meditation circle?” 

you snort. “study, usually. or hand-to-hand combat. haibara and i need the practice.” 

“shoko won’t spar with me and suguru can’t anymore after we accidentally put a hole in the gym wall last time.” 

“that was you? how do you accidentally break through concrete?” 

he shrugs, winking at you. “suguru’s flying frog things are heavy.” 

“flying frogs?” you say, skeptically. 

“oh, child,” satoru pats you on the head. “you’ve got lots to learn.” 

“apparently,” you say, and turn back to the tv, and the debate the four of them are having about character types or something. 

but gojo doesn’t move from his spot. he sits next to you for the next hour, and you learn, for the first time, just how insufferable he is. 

especially with his smile, which you find yourself staring at every couple of minutes. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[neptuneiris]

Behind the Scenes (02/05)

Behind the Revelation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: after running away for second time, the past returns and you force yourself to remember as Aemond demands explanations.

word counter: 9.3k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

warnings: language, angst, discussion, mention of abortion, aemond being a dick.

Aemond remembers perfectly well the moment you disappeared from his life without warning.

It was precisely after his manager and all his team left your apartment once everything was clear and somehow "solved", on the same day you let him know that you were expecting his child.

He stayed a moment longer with you, comforting you and wanting to be there for you, to make you understand that you were not alone and that despite everything, he would be there supporting you and would not leave your side, ever.

But unfortunately he never knew what was really tormenting your mind. He didn't realize how hurt you were when you both made the decision.

And he didn't realize at the time what an idiot he was to you and the bad decisions he made. He only realized after you left, without warning and without a trace, as if you never existed in his life.

Stress, frustration, worry and anguish clung to him, thinking he would go mad, and he quickly turned to Criston and his entire team for help.

At first, worry gripped him. He thought something bad had happened to you when messages didn't reach you and when you called, your number was forwarded straight to the mailbox.

He asked your makeup partners about you, but none of them had any relevant information. They had only seen you the same day you told him the news.

Your disappearance, however, was not convenient for Criston, who needed to know your condition, to know about the baby.

However, when you were reported missing to the police, it was only a matter of time before they discovered that you had, in fact, run away.

He learned that you had spoken to the owner of your apartment to inform him that you would no longer be living there and also that you had quit your job. You never revealed your reasons, you simply handed in your resignation and left.

As the pieces fell into place, Aemond realized that he could not ignore reality. Your expression, described by everyone who had seen you one last time, was the same: deep circles under your eyes, a face marked by fatigue, eyes swollen with tears and sadness.

And Aemond, try as he might, could not accept it.

After you left, he pushed his entire team to find some clue to your whereabouts. He used all the resources his celebrity status afforded him, keeping a small police back-up, hiring private detectives and even trying to locate your parents, but it was all to no avail.

You simply vanished along with his child in your womb.

And Aemond could do little more than immerse himself in his thoughts, in despair and worry as he found nothing of you.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, while Aemond persisted in his search without success. In those moments he didn't care about his work, he only fulfilled the filming time of some projects, avoiding interviews, red carpets and any other public activity.

Until it was only a matter of time before in the midst of his misery, he was forced to return to the recording studios and face the cameras, continue with his work, but all the time his mind was focused on you.

Between takes and script lines, you were always on his mind and what you had once been.

He wanted nothing more than to see you, to touch you and hold you tight against him, not wanting to let you go, to apologize for his behavior and beg you not to leave him, regretting over and over again that he had kept you hidden, that he had allowed so much of his work to affect you both.

And every time someone did his makeup and fixed his wardrobe, he couldn't stop thinking about you, wishing, longing for it to be you and no one else.

His one nights were only worse, he couldn't sleep and got caught in a whirlwind of his own mind, questioning himself over and over again:

Why did you run away?

He knows his behavior wasn't the best but why? Why not give him an explanation?

He could only continue to stare at a spot on his ceiling while guilt and remorse invaded him, recognizing his own mistakes, the decision he made and the one he convinced you too carry out, a selfish decision for his own benefit that now takes its toll on him.

And there in the restlessness of his luxurious apartment on Visenya Hill, Aemond is alone with his thoughts.

And he couldn't help but imagine you in scenarios you never shared, of both of you holding a little person you both created in your most intimate moments, probably with his characteristics or yours as well.

But every time he imagined it, he could see a little boy or girl with silver hair and blue eyes, making him smile softly with sadness and with his eye full of tears.

But he didn't even know if his child was still in your womb or if you had made the decision you refused to make at first. And he couldn't help but wonder, among the same questions that always torment his mind:

Where are you?

Are you all right?

Why did you run away?

Did you decide to have the baby?

Did you find support somewhere?

He just didn't know and that frustrated him too much, not knowing if you were even okay, staying in uncertainty and worry, longing to find you, to see you and know what happened.

And those same questions haunt his mind when he sees you again after almost two years. The face he desperately searched for so long is finally there, a few steps away from him, watching him with the same surprise and disbelief he feels, unable to assimilate reality.

But when you decide to escape for the second time, it is as if he receives a blow to the stomach, stripping him of all the air in his lungs.

He is paralyzed, unable to move, as he faces the reality that you are finally there, in front of him, after almost two years of searching without success.

His heart beats with overwhelming intensity and a persistent echo of confusion and surprise resounds in his mind. It is a moment when reality and emotions intertwine in a way that is almost unbearable for him.

Why did you run away?

I'm sorry!

I miss you!

But he remains motionless, as his brain tries to process the wave of emotions that threaten to drown him.

But not just from seeing you again, but from remembering every moment he shared with you, every laugh, every caress, every one night they spent together, all overwhelming him.

The need to understand, to discover the truth, engulfs him completely. And without hesitation, an inner voice screams in his head, "Move, you idiot!"

Everything seemed to crumble around him, with questions echoing back into his mind, unanswered questions. And thanks to that, a spark ignites, pulling him out of his paralysis: despair.

And that is the call to action that drives you to react immediately, determined not to let you escape again.

Every step he takes is charged with urgency, an urgency to get answers, to know what happened with a tight lump in his throat, especially at the thought of the baby.

Everything at that moment seems overwhelming, but his desire to know, or rather his need to understand your escape and to know what happened to his child, eclipses all other considerations, filling him with worry and longing.

The thought of that little being that would have been a fusion of the two of them envelops him in desperate confusion.

The vision of a part of him and you floating in the air like a faded dream haunts his mind, asking himself questions about whether you decided to go through with the pregnancy or not.

Aemond advances through the corridors of the studio with a totally worried look on his face, desperately looking everywhere to find you. And in the distance, he spots your running figure and instantly rushes after you, determined not to let you out of his sight.

You both plunge into a busy atmosphere, where you hear the subtle sound of indicator lights and the distant hum of electronic equipment.

And there you were, trying to run away from it all, with your trembling figure, having an emotional breakdown and tears streaming down your cheeks, while Aemond with desperation in his eyes, tries to catch up with you.

"Y/N, wait!"

His voice, piercing and close, only manages to increase your anxiety. You try to move away from him, desperate to evade him, willing him to lose sight of you while you don't stop.

"Wait!" he shouts in desperation, pleading.

But you can't. You don't want to and you can't face this. Not now. Not when you thought you'd never see him again.

Aemond rushes towards you, reaching for you, grabbing your arm tightly and stopping your steps, scaring you. He turns your body towards him, watching you with desperation and need, instantly catching the tears and suffering on your face.

"No!" you exclaim with concern, trying to free yourself, "No, please, let me go!"

"Y/N—" he begins to say, confused and worried, breathing agitatedly.

"Let go of me, Aemond!" you demand.

You manage to wriggle free of his grip, straining to keep your distance from each other, avoiding any contact, but he grabs your arm again, stopping you and showing irritation.

"Can't you wait a fucking minute!?" he hisses at you, annoyed, though the pain lingers in his gaze, "How do you expect me to let you go like this!? After everything that happened—

"I don't want to talk to you!" you sentence, the pain palpable in every word.

"Y/N, please," he begs you, his voice taking on a sad melody.

Her eyes search yours, desperately seeking understanding in the midst of the emotional storm you both face.

Your chest pounds with a mixture of pain and confusion, where again you try to break free from his grip, but he gives your arm a firmer grip, preventing you from pulling away, firm and resistant to your efforts.

"I told you to let me go!" you shout angrily, crying.

"Why do you keep running away!?" he demands to know, his voice annoyed, full of confusion and pain, "We need to talk and you know it! I need to understand!"

You remain silent, your gaze fixed on his face and your eyes filled with tears, as Aemond feels all his emotions threatening to boil over.

"What happened?" he demands to know, hurt, without letting go, looking for an answer in your gaze, "Where did you go?"

Again you remain silent, feeling the lump in your throat, as the tension between the two of you is palpable and the held breath of both of you is in anticipation, waiting.

"Why did you disappear?"

He insists, completely frustrated and insistent.

"I've been looking for you all this time and I could never find you. I never knew who to ask where you were or where to try to find you."

Nothing.

You say absolutely nothing.

Aemond's hand trembles slightly as he gently releases you from one of your arms, but his determination and insistence did not waver.

"Talk to me, please," he pleads, "I need to know."

And the whole moment only becomes more intense when he mentions your son.

"W-what… what happened to our child?"

A silent pain crosses your face, but your lips remain sealed, trembling slightly. Frustration increased in Aemond's chest as he receives no response from you and it also makes his anger increase.

"What happened to him, Y/N?" he snaps, his patience reaching its limit.

And you, still trembling from all this, find yourself caught in the vortex of it all, your eyes reddened, your gaze hard and hurt, where you couldn't find the courage to answer the questions accusing you.

And Aemond, for his part, let the anger and resentment flow like a raging tide against you.

"How could you just walk away? Disappear without a word?" he says, his voice carrying with it the weight of betrayal he feels, "I was willing to help you. I-I thought we could get through this together, but you just took off, left me and vanished as if you never existed."

His every word echoes around you, the accusation hangs heavy in the air, and you, feeling the courage flowing through your veins, decide to answer him with the same intensity.

"Help me?" you repeat, earnest and hurt, "Oh, right, you mean that 'help' you were planning to offer by not acknowledging your own child publicly and legally so as not to ruin your career?"

The words leave your lips with a cutting tone, like a sharp blade aimed straight at his heart, where surprise flashes all over Aemond's face, as if that revelation had come as an unexpected blow, even though he already knew.

And before he can articulate a response, you continue, your voice echoing with pain, annoyance and defiance.

"I left so I wouldn't ruin your career, whether I had the baby or not. Because if I had an abortion, eventually the media would know, right?" you inquire regretfully, "But that's not exactly why I left," you clarify, "What other choice did I have if I decided to have it? Hide with my child until you decided the time was right? Live in the shadows while you enjoyed the spotlight?"

The recording set, even with its cinematic sounds and the frenetic activity of those working on it, now resonates with the clash of arguments and emotional charge unleashed between him and you.

And he, still processing the raw truth being revealed to him, tries to defend himself, but you don't give him a chance.

"I stand by my decisions, Aemond. I wasn't going to be a prisoner to anyone's expectations, even if it was you," you spit, your gaze still pained but defiant. "You weren't going to acknowledge your child for the sake of your career, at least not in his early years or who knows after how long. And what was the benefit if you did it later? We would finally see the light after all we would have gone through with your manager and your whole team to keep saving your reputation?"

Your words float in the air, creating a dense silence that fills the space between the two of you.

Despite the raw, exposed emotional wounds, Aemond desperately searches for words that might calm the intensity of the moment somewhat. However, neither you nor he can deny the truth, as it becomes clear that you are right.

But still, with a lump in his throat, he tries to defend himself with a vulnerability you haven't seen in him in a long time, exactly since you let him know of your pregnancy.

"I didn't mean to… I-I… I didn't know how to handle it," he mumbles, his expression reflecting confusion and remorse.

You sniffle and let a couple more tears fall down your cheeks, your eyes full of pain but also determination.

"That's the thing. You always thought about your career, your image, but what about us?" you ask him in your broken voice, "What truly mattered most?"

The question echoes between the two of you, leaving Aemond without a convincing answer.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, looking at you with regret, "I shouldn't have done that, I know," he tells you honestly, "I shouldn't have let Criston and the others interfere too much. But…" he sighs, "I-it wasn't easy for me."

And you, undeterred, feel disbelief wash over you and reply bitterly.

"It wasn't easy for you?" you repeat, "And what about me?" you inquire, "Did you ever think about what it would be like to put yourself in my shoes?"

"Y/N—

"You only thought about yourself, just like everyone else, while I also had to think about everyone else but me," you say hurt, "And I didn't want to cause you any more trouble. I had to have, raise and care for my son all by myself."

The revelation hits Aemond like a bolt of lightning, his eyes widen in shock and disbelief, staring at you in disbelief.

"A son?" he repeats in a whisper, taking it in.

You stare at him for a moment, not understanding, but after you realize that in all this time you have told him nothing concrete about your son, you see the realization all over his gaze, that regret and longing.

You let out a long breath as you look away from him for a moment and bring one of your hands to wipe away your tears, feeling that sharp pain in your chest.

While Aemond, he really couldn't say a single word that could ease the pain he has caused you.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible, "I was selfish, I didn't think correctly."

"No, because you only thought of yourself and I faced everything alone. I didn't want to cause you trouble or be a burden, I decided it was better not to drag you into this for your career, so as not to affect your life, so I decided to leave. And I don't want to affect you now either."

You say as you begin to back away and Aemond, feeling the ground crumble beneath him, again stops you.

"Y/N, please, we can fix this, just… don't leave, not again," he pleads with you, his gaze full of anguish as he urges you to stay.

"There is nothing to fix," you tell him with hopelessness in your voice, completely broken, "Your life remains the same and my only priority is my son."

"He's my son too!" he exclaims, frustration and annoyance creeping into his voice. "You think I don't want to know him, take care of him and do the right thing? Of course I do!"

He, glassy-eyed, tries to make you understand by looking at your face, but you can't.

You can't and you don't want to.

"But, Aemond, it's not just that," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Your career, your life, it's still the same. And I don't want my son to live under the gaze of the entire press, making speculations about you and me. Nor do I want you to feel obligated to be a part of his life out of guilt."

He, feeling helpless, tries to hug you, but you pull away, but he again with his worried look full of determination, holds you again.

"No Y/N, I swear it's not like that, I promise," he clarifies to you, sad, "And this is not only for our son, but also for you. I want to be a part of your life, his life."

The dilemma hung in the air, the tension between the two of you forming an invisible barrier. And you, with tear-filled eyes, know this is not possible.

"I can't," you whisper to him in your broken voice.

And despite this, he doesn't give up, rather he persists with words laden with pain and determination.

"I know I made mistakes and that I failed you, but I'm not going to let this go and you must know that."

His words send a shiver down your spine and you feel the urge to scream at him to leave you alone, that everything is already done, that he can't just come and change something that is already built between you and your son.

And before you can respond, a production assistant rushes over.

You understand that you made the mistake of running away and not informing him absolutely nothing about what happened with you and his son.

But at least you're right about one thing now: you don't want your son to become the next entertainment in magazines and all the media, in case Aemond decides to publicly acknowledge him just to make amends.

"Mr. Targaryen, we need you to finalize your makeup and wardrobe. The producer is upset because the scenes are about to shoot," the concerned man announces, interrupting the intensity of the moment.

Aemond, without taking his eye off you, nods with a mechanical gesture.

"I'll be there in a second," he replies, but his attention remains anchored on you.

The man persists, trying to make him understand the urgency of the situation, but Aemond is unwilling to let you go. His gaze, full of pleading and determination, watches you intently.

"Please don't go. Wait for me to finish rolling so we can go somewhere else and talk," he pleads in his voice laden with urgency.

And you feeling caught between the intensity of the situation, you inhale deeply, feeling the man's annoyed and desperate gaze on you as well as on him.

"Fine," you say without emotion.

"Fine?" he repeats, thinking maybe he has misheard.

"Fine," you affirm.

He nods gratefully and his gaze reflects both relief and gratitude.

"I promise I'll try to finish soon," he states softly, his voice with determination.

You don't say anything back, only he finally turns away from you but his eye continues to watch you longingly and intently, as if he fears you're going to vanish again right there.

And as he begins to walk away, you inevitably dive into memories of the past, reliving both the good times and the bad times you shared with him, as Aemond wishes today's shooting would come to an end so he could get close to you again.

However, once he is no longer in your sight, nor you in his, the weight of remorse becomes evident in your chest.

Although you told him to stay and talk to him later, you find yourself unable to do so. And you quickly make your way to the nursery, take your son in your arms and leave the film set without wasting another second.

You are truly sorry for him, but this is necessary. All you want at this moment is to protect your son and also your broken heart.

ALMOST 2 YEARS AGO

"We need to approach this with caution."

Criston Cole speaks, completely serious and as he paces around the living room of your apartment, you sitting on the couch and Aemond standing with an attentive and anxious look to him.

"And there's no need for us all to make fools of ourselves, we know the most viable option at this point is an abortion."

This immediately grabs your attention, watching Criston with your eyes wide as Aemond beside him frowns and stares at him in confused disbelief.

"An abortion?"

"I'm sorry, Aemond, but your image is everything," he tells him seriously, "A pregnancy at this time will affect your career," he explains, "Right now you are supposed to be in a relationship with Cerelle Lannister and how do you think people are going to react when they find out about this?"

"We would have to make confidentiality agreements if you decide to accompany her to the clinic," his publicist speaks, "Deny rumors and manage your public image."

"But if she decides to go into the clinic on her own, it won't be so complicated," speaks a man on her PR team.

"And an abortion at home?" suggests Criston, as if it's the easiest and most normal thing in the world.

"An abortion at home is not the best, it will be more difficult and anything can go wrong. The safest thing is the clinic."

You all start talking about different techniques to preserve Aemond's reputation, which is his job, while you stand there among everyone in silence, horrified at the thought of an abortion and overwhelmed by the magnitude of the decisions they are suggesting around you.

You look at Aemond completely panicked and looking for his support, but he is completely focused on his team.

"And how could we hide it? I mean, how exactly would that be handled if I decided to accompany her to the clinic?"

Disbelief washes over you completely, watching him confused and hurt.

He can't seriously consider—

"We'll implement a diversionary strategy on your behalf, like a charity event with attention-diverting photo shoots where we can work with some media to make sure the news prevails," the woman explains, "All while she goes through the process and you accompany her."

"If you are going with her to the clinic you must be completely covered," Criston tells him, "I will form a security team for you, we will lock down the entire clinic so that only she is attended to and so no one can recognize you."

"The best thing to do would be to create confidentiality contracts," suggests the same guy from before.

"Yeah, do that," Criston points out, "No one can know about this, not even the production company or your family, Aemond, you know what I mean?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks annoyed, "How do you expect me not to tell my mother about this? Y/N's parents don't live here, she doesn't even talk to them and we need that kind of support," he says incredulously.

"Do you want this to come to light by accident?" he asks between his teeth, "It doesn't matter that it's your family, no one can know, besides all this could have been avoided if both of you and especially you had been more responsible," he reproaches him.

You listen as Aemond speaks again, but you don't pay attention anymore, you just keep silent, observing the emptiness with tears falling down your cheeks.

All while around you they keep talking about more strategies, while you, you feel that you are the spectator of your own life, feeling hopeless, sad and scared.

And that's when Aemond finally notices your state and his gaze changes, looking at you with concern and understanding, feeling like an idiot for not knowing what you want to do. You haven't even been given the option to abort, just everyone and he has already decided for you.

"No, wait," he says serious and firm, stopping his entire team, to quickly turn to you, kneeling down and taking your hands in his, "Hey, darling," he looks at you worriedly, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, "Are you okay?"

You blink softly as you lower your gaze, trying to chase away your tears but it is impossible, while the eyes of the others also watch you, where finally your voice has space in the conversation, but you look at him hurt and worried.

"Do you really want me to do this?" you ask him with your voice completely broken.

"You need to think about what's best for both of you," Criston answers you instead, "This is an accident, it's not planned, neither you nor he wanted this to happen, so the best option is an abortion."

"B-but I'm scared," you say weakly.

"And you must not only think of yourself, you must also think of him and his career."

"That's enough," he says annoyed turning to Criston rudely and annoyed, "Didn't you hear her? She's scared and she's not having a voice here. She has as much right to decide what to do as I do."

"Aemond," he warns him, "We're here to protect your career."

Aemond clenches his jaw, tension beginning to emerge throughout the room.

"Yes, I understand that, but this isn't just about me, it's about both of us and especially her. We can't make a decision without considering what she thinks."

Criston folds his arms and lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Aemond, I understand your point but the reality is different. The press can be ruthless–

"Sometimes, Criston, there are more important things than the press," he replies in his firm tone. "And this is one of those times. I'm not going to sacrifice Y/N's happiness and decision for the sake of my career. We need to find a solution that works for both of us."

Criston shakes his head as he purses his lips.

"Fine," he says seriously and looking at him expectantly, then looks at you, "So tell us, Y/N, what do you want to do? Have the baby?" he asks clearly incredulous.

And you, feeling everyone's piercing gaze, making you feel nervous and scared, respond with all the fear in the world but not being unwilling to not let them know what you think is best.

"Yes," you reply quietly and with a completely vulnerable tone.

The expression on Criston's face worsens, not believing it, as well as the woman publicist and the entire PR team look shocked and annoyed.

And Criston, frustrated, can't contain his anger.

"Y/N," he calls you in a serious voice and wanting to make you understand, "This baby was not planned and all of us can help you handle this correctly and privately. We simply cannot let this affect Aemond's career."

His words echo throughout your living room, feeling the tension, as you feel the weight of all the expectant stares, feeling completely vulnerable and helpless.

"B-but I'm afraid of going through an abortion and I don't think that's—

The anger in Criston's eyes increases, while some of the team members exchanged serious and uneasy looks with the atmosphere becoming increasingly tense.

"This baby wasn't planned, Y/N," he repeats to you seriously and with a firm tone, "You can't ignore reality."

"Look, we understand that this is a complicated situation and a difficult decision," the publicist tells you, "But you must consider the impact it will have on Aemond's career if you decide to have him."

"Besides the fact that the news of an unplanned pregnancy could generate a negative narrative in the media," the PR man says.

"And it will affect his career, definitely," adds another woman.

"But I—

You try to speak, with desperation in your tone of voice completely broken and tears still streaming down your cheeks.

"Y/N, our job is to protect Aemond's reputation at all costs. And that's exactly what we're going to do."

Criston tells you as a final answer and you can only look at him completely bewildered, sad and hopeless, while in an attempt to seek support in all this, as they are deciding everything for you, you look at Aemond with clear despair in your eyes.

And he watches you with tight lips and a look of sadness, frustration and resignation, and then turns his gaze away from yours and immerses himself in his own internal struggle between his feelings and the reality of his career as he lets out a sigh.

Until finally he breaks the silence.

"Okay," he looks at everyone with a tired but determined look, then looks at you, "We'll have the baby."

Disbelief and surprise wash over you, watching him with relief beginning to reflect in your eyes, as Criston and his entire team, look on in complete bewilderment and alarm.

"Aemond—

Criston tries to speak, with clear dissatisfaction all over his eyes, but he won't let him.

"This is my responsibility too," he tells him firmly, "But it's her body and she decides."

"You're not thinking clearly—

"Listen," he interrupts again, serious, then looks at you again and turns to you, "Y/N," he says softly and with some caution, "We'll have the baby, okay? You will stay in my apartment, I will settle all the necessary expenses and I will be by your side always, making sure that you and the baby have everything you need, as it should be," he assures you.

That relief and that little spark of hope and happiness persists, until all that was beginning to bloom vanishes in a second when Aemond says the following words:

"But I cannot recognize the baby publicly or legally."

Then, everything around you stops.

His words echo continuously in your mind like a distant echo and you watch him completely bewildered, confused, hurt and even with some betrayal as your breath catches.

"Actually that might work," says his publicist, "Up to a certain time but it might work."

"Really?" asks Criston seriously but thoughtfully.

"Recognizing the baby legally and giving him his last name will be a public record and document, anyone could access it and it would be too much of a risk to Aemond's career. But by not doing so, it gives us more time and an advantage."

"You'll still be able to take care of him and be there for him, privately. And when the time comes, giving him your last name won't be a problem, you could even set a date."

Aemond listens carefully, then turns his gaze back to you, while you can't take your eyes off him and ask him silently, completely hurt: why? Why do something like this?

You understand perfectly well his job and what is at stake but what about you? The baby? Does his career really matter more?

But you can't formulate words, you just continue to watch him, until there is simply nothing more inside you, only pain and betrayal, unable to believe that he said those words and it breaks your heart even more when he says to you with remorse and seriousness.

"Y/N, please understand that I want to do the right thing, but I also need to protect my career. And this is the best I can offer you right now."

You watch him in complete silence, your eyes relieving your sadness, disappointment and sense of abandonment.

"We need to make sure that during the pregnancy Y/N and the baby are well taken care of, postpartum as well, preventing either of them from appearing in public until the time is right, keeping the news from leaking out."

"Or Y/N can go out publicly but she can't be seen with you," the man says to Aemond, "And the baby must be in cover all the time, especially if his hair is silver like yours afterwards."

And you again stand in the middle of it all, silent and resisting the urge to just cry louder. Your heart is beating too hard, where your emotions are tangled in confusion and pain.

"So it could work? For a while?" asks Aemond, hopeful, but with clear frustration and worry in his eyes, realizing that he really doesn't want to do this.

"Sure. As long as she's not seen with you during and after the pregnancy and the baby is fully protected, everything will be fine."

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak

there were some of you that I could not tag:(

[thelastairsimblr]

Family Pack #4

I’m happy to share some sims with you all today! In this post, you’ll find 12 households (40 sims total), each with their own stories and biographies. All of these sims have additional Everyday outfits, skills, bonus traits, Likes and Dislikes, sexual orientations, pronouns, family dynamics, and Lifestyles. You can find them all on the gallery under my Origin ID: TheLastAirSimmer or in the tray files linked under the cut! As always, feel free to tag me if you end up using them.

Abreu

A respected food critic, Maria’s opinion is highly valued by all as the towns’ baked good connoisseur. Her husband Joaquin, a renowned pianist, is no exception; he worships the ground she walks on. Together, they project their creative outlooks onto their sons. Santiago, the eldest and a romantic, has the full support of his parents and wants to become a professional wedding photographer. Even though young Rémy feels he didn’t inherit his parents’ imagination, he still wants to make them proud.

Naval

Aparna owned her own restaurant while raising her two girls alone. Hema was able to help out when she was old enough, allowing Aparna to find success and receive critical acclaim by publishing her own cookbook. Today, Hema is focusing on her engineering studies while trying to find love; she’s very smart and sincere, but a bit naive. Ridhi is chasing a riskier path; she wants to be a famous musician. And while Aparna hopes that this is just a phase, she supports her youngest daughter anyway.

Monaghan

As young parents, Stefan and Marianne sacrificed a lot. Stefan became a cop to support his family, but still gets caught up trying to relive his youth from time to time. Marianne longs for the day that she can quit her job at the local diner and become a singer. Soren feels pressure to please his parents, but really just want to play videogames all day while Tatum and Aria constantly bicker, not at all concerned with their parents’ feelings or the wellbeing of Hunter, who just wants attention.

Larson

Quite the jazz singer in his day, Clive is desperate to find ways to stay relevant in the ever-changing music scene. Fiona, longing for the authentic soul who serenaded her years ago, knows she can inspire him again; she’s stood by him through a lot. But until then, you can find the melancholy art critic drinking to yesteryear at the bar. Jade dropped out of college to pursue a career in social media (much to Fiona’s discontent) while Candice is following the artistic path her parents paved.

Agawa

Ever the class clown, Yuto knew that he had a knack for entertaining people. This was only confirmed after he went viral on Social Bunny for the first time! When he told his parents that he wanted to pursue a life in the public eye, they saw it as further evidence that he couldn’t take anything seriously. He makes a decent living streaming video games and his eccentric personality is pure internet gold. Though to be fair, he should probably be a bit cautious with what he says and does online.

Hollifield

As a teen, Whitney’s future looked bright. But she forfeited a lot of opportunities to pursue a whirlwind romance with a boy who had a dangerous edge. They were happy for a time, but it didn’t last and the only thing she kept from that relationship was her daughter Emma. She now works a lowly job in fast food while taking classes at Britechester, hoping to find a career in social media. Her days are busier as a working single mom, but Emma keeps herself entertained by befriending her neighbors.

Catton

Following the loss of her son to avoidable circumstances, Dottie found herself in the care of his two children. Filled with regret for not doing more for her son, the college professor watches the kids like a hawk! She’s keen on using her connections to better their lives. Temperamental Owen does well to make her proud with his grades, but he has an artsy side that he only shares with those closest to him. His little sister Bonnie would rather spend time making friends than studying though.

Qian

After founding a groundbreaking app, Shirong found a place among the company of the rich and powerful. His charming wife Meifing, quite the schmoozer at elite parties, is constantly looking for funding for her next big venture (while also being the go-to-girl for all the neighborhood gossip). Nuo chose to move home after grad school to save money, but is ready to leave and start her own law firm. Her younger brother Haoyu adds to her restlessness by barraging her with his antics.

Sullivan

Atticus’ dad Clifford, a retired veteran, supported his sons’ musical dreams fully, having raised him alone after his wife died. While roaming the world, Atticus met Elisa; a fashion guru with a fiery disposition. The pair had three children and Clifford moved in to help with the newborn. Like her dad, Lydia also wants to be an artist (whether if it’s for her love for acting or a desire to be in the spotlight remains to be seen) while Malicia, afraid of being unseen, finds relief in her friends.

Kingsley-Ramirez

Jaime and Paxton met/moved in together before they could actually get to know each other, both having been new to the city at the time with zero connections. They found themselves compatible not only as roommates, but eventually boyfriends as well! Jaime always puts others before himself; it shows in the passion he has for social justice causes he advocates for. Meanwhile, Pax works a parttime job at a small coffee shop, but is intent on putting himself through school to become a veterinarian.

Tanaka-Murdock

Nigel and Shannon met at Foxbury and developed feelings for each other during study sessions. Though Nigel was the only one to graduate, he admires Shannon for making the decision that was right for her. He enjoys being the breadwinner while Shannon follows her artistic instincts, though he wishes he had his wife’s free spirit. Shannon is quite hard on herself and works tirelessly until she makes something she’s proud of while their son Kason, while a quick learner, really just wants to play.

Miyake

Even if he’s never been the most social person, Kenzo is a loyal and fierce friend to those lucky enough to make it into his circle. A patron of the sciences, he cares deeply about precision and perfection. However, when it comes to raising his son Akira, he wants the boy to follow his own path, even if it’s not exactly the one he would choose for himself. Akira seems to be doing just that; far more sociable than his father, he never fails to leave a lasting impression on anyone he meets.

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Your date--or non-date--with Eddie was ruined when he dodged your kiss. Or...was it? (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, drunkenness, making out, heavy petting, mentions of smut, mention of masturbation (m), idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

chapter eleven: undo, undone

He pulled away.

You leaned in for a kiss, and Eddie pulled away.

The full extent of rejection hadn’t even set in before you felt something cold and wet on your leg. An electric blue liquid dripped down your shin, traveling in winding paths like veins. 

Haziness shifted into perfect clarity, flinging you into sudden and unwanted sobriety. The music was too loud, the dimmed lights still too bright. Every conversation was now too loud, the floor sticky beneath your Doc Marten-ed feet. 

When you mustered up the nerve to look at Eddie, you saw that he had fared even worse; his entire left pant leg was drenched and already reeked of gin and the cerulean syrup stained his sneakers. His eyes widened as he processed what had just happened, a startled deer in the headlights. 

“Oh my God; I’m so sorry!” 

The drunken apology snagged your attention, coming from none other than the woman who’d brutally massacred Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. She stumbled forward again, and whatever remained of her drink sloshed over the glass and onto the floor. 

Her lower lip jutted out into a pout and panicked tears welled in her eyes as she looked from you to Eddie. “Have you seen my boyfriend?” Her words were slurred; ‘seen’ came out as ‘sheen.’ “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“I’ll help you find him.” Anything to get away from Eddie, to avoid the thundering question: Had he pulled back because of the spilled drink, or did he cause the spill by pulling away?

It had to be the latter. He probably regretted ever offering to celebrate your graduation and would spend the rest of the evening ruminating over how he’d inadvertently led you on. Was it dedicating a song to you? The dancing? 

Except…neither of those had been his idea. You were the one who insisted he sing karaoke. You were the one who asked him to dance. He relented to appease you, and you’d completely humiliated yourself by stretching his kindness past its platonic confines. 

The woman latched herself onto your arm with one gin-soaked hand and swiped at her cheeks with the other. Up close, she barely looked old enough to legally drink. “His name is Charlie.”

“Huh?” Her boyfriend. The one you were supposed to be locating. “Oh, right.” 

Eddie scrubbed his jeans with a wad of flimsy napkins, muttering under his breath when they left a papery residue in their wake. He grumbled something about the restroom before storming off in that direction. 

Your new drunk companion rested her head on your shoulder, permed hair tickling your neck. 

“What does Charlie look like?” The bar wasn’t big, not even by New York City standards, but having a general idea of who you were looking for would be a massive help. 

She just laughed softly, a joke only she knew, head lolling as she spoke. “Y’know…tall-ish. Blue eyes. Has, um, hair with a little woop thing.” Her palm mimicked an ocean wave. Just as you had predicted, the gesture provided nothing of relevance towards your search. 

You gritted your teeth in a forced smile. “Okay, right.” Sucking in a harsh breath, you led her to the bar and ordered two waters, practically shoving the condensation-frosted glass into her hand. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” It all came out as one word: Wheresyourboyfren?

“He’s not—” You shook your head; there was no sense in trying to explain the situation to a wasted stranger. “Bathroom.”

The girl’s droopy lids snapped open. “That’s where Charlie went!” She threw her head back and cackled, and you quickly roped an arm around her waist to keep her from teetering over in her too-high heels. “You’re gorgeous, by the way. No wonder your boyfriend looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess.” Her mood rapidly shifted to one of ire as she threw out, “Bet he’d never leave you alone in this skeezy bar.”

Except he had left you alone in this skeezy bar—and he wasn’t your boyfriend. 

You could still feel his soft cotton t-shirt beneath your fingers, the way his curly tendrils of hair brushed along your hands. The gentle nose crinkle each time he smiled at you from the stage was forever etched into your brain. 

At what point did he realize he’d made a mistake? When did regret tarnish his good deed?

Tears pricked in your eyes as the weight of humiliation now set in. Your mascara would run, but who cared? It wasn’t as though you had anyone to impress anymore. 

The TV above the bar flashed with the red and blue of police lights, the colors blurred by your own tears. You blinked them away just in time to read the closed captioning scrolling along the bottom of the screen. 

The frontman of an up-and-coming punk band once again finds himself in legal trouble. Caleb Dalton, the lead singer and guitarist for Death’s Echo, was arrested early this morning for disorderly conduct and public intoxication. 

The video showed a young man keeping his head down so his shaggy blond hair covered his eyes, his hands cuffed behind his back and rendered unable to shield his face.

This is not the first time Dalton has landed himself in hot water. Just last week, the troubled musician was arrested for allegedly driving under the influence; his court date is set for early next month. All of this erratic behavior has fans wondering how this could impact the band’s first world tour, set to begin mid-June.

A professional photo of Death’s Echo took up the entirety of the screen. There was Caleb Dalton, front and center, shirtless and brooding. To his immediate left and right were two other men, one incredibly tall and lanky with gleaming chains dangling from both his neck and the belt loops of his dark-wash JNCOs. The other was shorter, stockier, wearing a black tank top that was littered with holes. If Eddie’s recollections of swanky hotel rooms and impromptu helicopter rides were true, the holes must have been purposefully designed to heighten the band’s grungy look. 

But the member who snagged your attention was the only woman in the group. Her eyes, thickly rimmed with kohl and sheathed in a smoky shadow, bore into your soul. Blonde hair fell in jagged layers and framed a heart-shaped face, her crimson-painted pout simultaneously beckoning suitors to come hither and stay away. 

You imagined those lips on Eddie’s for half a second before your drinks threatened to make a reappearance. 

The report ended with the obligatory statement: “Dalton’s rep could not be reached for comment,” before shifting to the next story. 

Tongue firmly adhered to the roof of your mouth, you gulped down some water in hopes of ungluing it. In hopes of sorting out your thoughts, jumbled from embarrassment and the jolt of alcohol to your system. 

If Eddie had seen that…you couldn’t stomach the thought of him watching as his replacement’s lips subtly curled into a smirk as he was shuffled along towards the police car. That was the smirk of a man who knew he’d evaded the law before and would likely do it again. Fame and fortune certainly had their ways of tipping the scales of justice. 

The news would almost certainly usher in unwelcome memories of his hometown and the people who took joy in vandalizing his trailer. The people who continuously made his life a living hell and faced no consequences because of their pristine reputations and Eddie’s tarnished one. 

You shoved the information deep down and vowed to never let it bubble over. If Eddie found out on his own, that was one thing. But you refused to further ruin this evening for him. 

“Dianna?”

A man’s worried voice called out from the back of the bar, his sandy eyebrows pinched together as he scoped out the cramped venue. With his crisp button-down and khaki pants, he could be Eddie’s polar opposite. 

“Oh my god! Babe!” The girl yanked herself from your light grasp. You realized that you hadn’t known her name until that moment, though there was a decent chance she wouldn’t even remember it if you’d asked. She stumbled over to the man—Charlie, you assumed—whose concerned expression dissolved into relief the moment she flung her arms over his shoulders. 

Charlie pulled her close and let out an extended sigh. His jaw relaxed, lips pressed to her temple as his frenetic energy tapered and his heart rate slowed. “Scared the shit outta me, babe.” He murmured against her ear. “Why didn’t you stay at the table?”

Your heart ached at the way he held her close, a precious commodity that he would protect with his life. Would Eddie ever touch you like that? Would he leave protective kisses all along your shoulders, nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck? Would he panic if he thought something happened to you?

If his rebuff of your kiss was any indication, it was highly unlikely.

Dianna shrugged. “I wanted to get another drink, but then I spilled it all over her boyfriend,” she said, pointing to you. 

Charlie looked in your direction as though seeing you for the first time. “That explains the guy standing at the sink, washing his pants.” His fingers sifted through the blonde curtains that flopped right back to his forehead, adding to no one in particular, “Dude looked pissed.”

Your stomach roiled, whiskey and vodka burning at the base of your throat. Between your unwelcome advances and Dianna’s drink snafu, Eddie’s good deed was far from unpunished.

The urge to empty the contents of your stomach only heightened when you imagined the look of utter disgust Eddie must have worn when you leaned in for that kiss and the embarrassment he felt on your behalf. A man bought you a drink, obliged your request for a dance to a mediocre karaoke rendition of a song, and you took that as some grand romantic gesture? Pathetic. 

It was just another way that you let people down. 

Eddie’s expectations of a night out with a platonic friend. 

Mom and Dad’s expectations of you taking over the motel. 

Your own expectations of Eddie secretly harboring romantic feelings for you, strong enough to shine through the cloud of insecurity constantly surrounding you. 

Once again, you were a disappointment. 

The room’s walls began closing in, filling your lungs with wet sand that clung to the muscle and made breathing an impossible task. A fuzzy film blurred your vision and warped the room until it was utterly unrecognizable. 

Air. You needed fresh air and to get far away from this godforsaken bar. A wave of heat crashed over you again and again, dousing you in your own perspiration and keeping your feet pasted to the floorboards. 

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t—

“Heiress?”

Eddie’s voice shredded through anxiety’s haze, his worried tone bursting the bubble with a violent pop. The world began shifting back into place, your mind floating back down in reluctant reunion with your body. 

“Hey.” Strong palms clasped your trembling shoulders. He leaned in to ensure you heard him over the pulsing music. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

Your response was a meager nod. His fingers glided down your bare arm, goosebumps rising in their wake, as he took your hand and led you outside. The burst of night-chilled air was a sweet nectar; your bones drank it up like a delicacy. 

Diaphragm loosening, you took one shallow breath, then another that rested a bit deeper in your chest. You anchored yourself in the moment until you once again recognized the subtle press of your lungs against your ribcage. 

Home. You needed to get home. 

Peering down to check your watch, you realized that Eddie’s hand still clutched yours. The pad of his thumb traced lazy lines along the skin between your thumb and forefinger, steady as a heartbeat. 

“It was getting kinda crowded in there, huh?” It was said entirely for your benefit, you knew: Eddie was accustomed to packed arenas and sold-out stadiums. 

Another nod. “Y-Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it t-to be…” That was the whole reason why you’d suggested a Monday night, but Karaoke Night must have brought in an influx of new customers. Couple that with the end of the Memorial Day weekend, where people didn’t want the party to end after the family barbecues wound down, and you had the perfect recipe for an overcrowded bar.

Eddie dug into his back pocket as the two of you began walking back towards the motel, procuring a dented box of Camels and his trusty lighter. His eyes, illuminated by The Brink’s dim neon signage, flicked over to yours. “Is it cool if I…?” He raised the cigarette, pinched between his pointer and middle finger, unlit until you gave your approval.

“S’fine.” You watched his thumb glide over the sparkwheel, igniting a tiny flame. The scent of burning tobacco wafted off of the end of his cigarette, the wind blowing a curl of smoke in your direction. 

He waved his hand to ward it away from you. “Sorry,” he mumbled. When he took another drag, it happened again. “Jesus Christ. Here.” Tucking the cigarette between his lips, he planted his feet behind you and placed both hands on your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. Electricity crackled beneath his touch, his fingertips the lightning and his voice the gentle rumble of thunder.

Stop it, you reprimanded yourself. He dodged your kiss. You can’t be thinking this way anymore.

He sidestepped to your right, the breeze now carrying the smoke away from you. Another deep inhale had the flame ripping through the paper, ash building up on the cigarette’s tip. The flakes floated down and decorated the tops of his sneakers in a gray snow. A warning sat on your tongue, hampered only by the cool dampness suddenly touching your bare leg. 

Eddie grimaced at the way you stumbled and stepped away slightly so the wet denim no longer pressed against your skin. “I got most of the drink out, I think. It’s just soap and water at this point.” 

You stopped again, stooping down and pinching the fabric of his jeans between two fingers. The scent of gin still clung to him, though not as strongly as it had immediately following Dianna’s spill. Or maybe it was just the tobacco’s heaviness that overpowered it. That damn cigarette, so smugly perched where you longed to be. 

“I’m doing a load of laundry tomorrow,” you managed, shaking off the remaining thoughts of Eddie’s lips as you carefully stood up. The last thing you needed was dizziness spinning you to the ground. “I can throw these in with my stuff, if that’s okay.”

Eddie grinned. It was the first glimmer of happiness you’d seen from him since asking him to dance.

“Trying to get in my pants, Heiress?”

Your feet caught beneath you. You dug your heels into the pavement to steady yourself, sending up silent praise to whatever omnipotent presence kept you from falling flat on your face. 

If he was joking with you…he wasn’t mad. He wasn’t unnerved by your attempt to kiss him. 

You invited relief in, just enough to loosen a retort from your arsenal. 

“Don’t make me rescind my offer,” you quipped back. “And in the meantime, I’ll just tell people you pissed yourself.”

Eddie quirked up an eyebrow. “On the outside of my leg? I can see why you studied psychology instead of anatomy.”

There was nothing you needed to focus on less than Eddie Munson’s anatomy right now, the way it might feel against your own, within your own. Not when the ship had only just begun steering down the right course again. 

“That girl found her boyfriend, by the way. Or, he found her, I guess.” It was the first subject your brain latched onto. When Eddie’s reply was a confused stare, you hurriedly elaborated. “The girl who spilled her drink on you.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He flicked some more ash from his cigarette and took another wistful drag. “This whole night was a blur.” 

You forced yourself to choke down the insecurity that had lodged itself in your throat. “Rockstar can’t mix liquor like he used to?” You tutted disapprovingly. “Maybe you’re getting a little rusty. Out of practice.”

“Please.” He scoffed, snuffing out the cigarette on a brick wall. “Did you see my moves tonight?”

You certainly had. Each hip swivel, each pelvic thrust was firmly etched into your memories. And then there was the way he’d danced with you, leading with the confidence of an order but the tenderness of a suggestion. 

“Fair enough,” you conceded. The fresh air was working wonders; you stood a bit straighter as you continued walking alongside him, your footsteps in time with his own. “I still can’t believe you sang Elvis.”

“Me either.” Eddie laughed through his nose. “I was going to sing something Ozzy-adjacent, but then I saw Heartbreak Hotel and figured it fit better with, y’know, our whole thing.”

Our whole thing. An invisible and intangible thing, but he felt it, too. Felt it enough to acknowledge it aloud. 

A smile blossomed on your lips. “You were easily the best one up there. Singing, dancing…all of it.” Flattery embedded in truth, you noted the tips of his ears tinging red. 

“I don’t think anyone would mistake me for a dancer.” He chuckled, hand swaying out just enough to find purchase on your back and pull you an inch closer.  

You swallowed back desire and forced yourself to focus on anything but the press of his fingers against your spine. “N-No future career in Elvis impersonation? Or ballroom dancing?” 

“Nah.” Eddie shook a stray curl from his eyes. “And I definitely stepped on your toes while we were dancing.”

“You didn’t.” If he had, you didn’t notice, too swept up in the warmth of his closeness to even register any overlapping feet or bumping knees. 

Someone barely visible in the inky night lugged a garbage pail across the sidewalk, the scraping of metal bringing your heart into your throat. The noise must have startled Eddie, too; his fingers tensed against your side to hold you in place as he stepped in front of you. 

“Shit.” He swore under his breath. Nervous, awkward laughter permeated the air when he realized that the threat was no more than a dented hunk of metal. “Sorry about that. I just thought–”

“S’okay.”

Comfortable silence, as much as the city streets allowed, accompanied you as you walked back, broken only by crickets’ rhythmic chirping and car engines revving down the boulevard. Eddie’s eyes stayed alert to his surroundings and his grip remained tight around your waist, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the earlier scare. His chest nudged your back; you could feel his heart thumping a protective beat.

A hunger to kiss away that fear, to nuzzle yourself into him until his pulse steadied and his breathing regulated, settled into you. You were starving to restore his lightheartedness. 

Eddie’s voice was rife with apprehension when he spoke again. “I, uh, think we got interrupted. Back at the bar.” 

He looked away as he spoke, and it took a moment for you to register what he said. Surely he wasn’t referring to the kiss—or lack thereof. He wouldn’t be bringing it into the conversation now that the embers of your embarrassment had finally stopped burning bright. 

You shoved the thought far from your mind, temporarily quelling the memory’s intensity and allowing yourself to think straight. The slow dance–he meant the slow dance being interrupted. “The song was almost over, anyway,” you said softly.

“I’m not talking about the dance.”

Oh. So that meant…

“Heiress.”

A hint of a warble clipped his nickname for you. Eddie’s left hand wrapped around your upper arm, fingers barely touching skin, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. You caught the way his tongue flicked over his lip, the way his cocoa irises darkened even under the streetlamp’s flickering light. Fuzziness filled your brain; your breath hitched in some unknown space between your lungs and your throat.

His right thumb brushed your chin, your jawline, memorizing the texture of your skin. He smiled, the gentle upward tug of the corners of his mouth suddenly the center of your focus.

“Heiress,” Eddie repeated, the word a whisper that left your bones humming. 

You nodded, your own fingers tangled in his cotton shirt, pulling him an inch closer that still felt like he was a mile away. He would never be close enough, you realized. 

His palm slid to your cheek, his fingers tucked behind your ear, beckoning you to take that small step forward and bridge that gap. It was your choice. You could back away and unfurl your fingers from around his shirt. You could ignore the aching need in your core, the one that matched his. 

You deserve to be happy, he’d said.

And for once, you allowed yourself to believe him.

You believed him when you stepped into him, your chest against his, rising and falling in perfect synchronicity. You believed him when noses clumsily bumped together as you sought his lips, the lips from which symphonies of music and laughter flowed. You believed him when you finally found them after the agonizing seconds, minutes, hours, days–time both hastened and ceased to exist–and connected with Eddie on a level only ever reached in your runaway daydreams.

Expectations slid down your back and swirled down the storm drains when his tongue sought entrance at your lips. There was no school, no motel, no troubled lead singer. There was only you and Eddie. 

A calloused palm clutched your shirt, the fabric bunching between his fingers. The fervor of his tug pulled the neckline down past your collarbone to reveal one white bra strap. 

Eddie’s lips danced over your uncovered shoulder, forefinger sliding under your bra strap and toying with it once his mouth returned to yours. The touch was burning, the promise of pleasure sending sparks careening down your spine. The flames spoke nonsensically, whispering to let him undress you right here in the street. 

His hunger for you was seemingly just as insatiable. The hand that rested on your cheek dove to where your skirt curved along your ass, wrinkling the stiff denim as he squeezed harshly. You let your own grasp fall from his collar to his biceps, feeling them instinctively flex beneath your touch. 

More. You needed more. You needed all of him, needed to give him all of you, until you were wholly unified with no clear beginning or end to you and Eddie as separate beings. 

Your hips rolled into him, a soft moan leaving his mouth to safekeep in yours. You let it trickle down your throat, relishing in the subtle hardness that you felt pressed against his fly. 

A shoulder collided with his and sent both of you stumbling, Eddie only holding you tighter to prevent a fall. His arms wrapped around you as he scowled at the man who dared to occupy the sidewalk while the two of you were locked in an embrace. 

“We’re in the way,” you murmured against him, nose grazing the hint of stubble peppering his jaw. 

Eddie said nothing in response. His eyes shone with equal parts determination and desire. In one swift, impulsive motion, he grabbed your wrists and led you off to the side, away from any passersby. 

“‘S probably better that we stop.” The disappointment weighing down his words spoke volumes. “Your shift starts soon.”

You shook your head. “We can be fast.” Your lips attached to his neck, sucking lightly as your teeth grazed his exposed skin. 

“Look at me, Heiress.” Eddie sighed and leaned against the nearest lamppost. He kept two fingers curled into your belt loop, bringing you with him. “I don’t wanna do this with a timeclock going.”

“It’s fine, really.” Kissing him forever still wouldn’t be long enough. 

A chuckle punctuated his breath. “When we do that…” His thumb brushed over your lower lip for a second time. “I’m not gonna be rushed. I’m gonna need hours, Heiress. Because once I have you like that, I’ll never be able to stop.”

Heat seeped into every pore, bringing with it a familiar ache. Needs and wants blurred together until they were indistinguishable from each other, his kisses having siphoned all logic out of your mind. 

You allowed a moment for the fog to clear and reality to settle. No, you couldn’t fake illness and burden your parents with an extra shift, just to have sex with Eddie. No, you shouldn’t run your fingertips along his zipper and awaken the beast that he had managed to quell. No, you wouldn’t let lust wield its power like a mighty sword, slicing into all reasoning until it was unrecognizable. 

“Y-Yeah.” You swallowed back temptation, your gaze falling to where his arousal was still evident in his jeans. 

Eddie’s eyes followed yours, accompanied by an embarrassed huff of laughter. “Don’t worry about that.” The tip of his nose grazed your earlobe as he whispered, “I can take care of that later.”

His admission brought the imagery of him laying back in his bed, boxers haphazardly shoved halfway down his thighs and hand wrapped around his cock. You wanted—needed—to know how he touched himself. Did he tease the head with his thumb? Did he use his other hand to cup his balls? Did he gradually edge himself or did he sprint towards euphoria?

The cold metal of his belt buckle brought goosebumps through your shirt fabric as he kissed you once again, too briefly. Always too briefly. What you wouldn’t give for just a few more moments alone with him to unfasten that buckle yourself. 

“Heiress?” 

Eddie’s smile lifted you out of your thoughts, the smirk informing you that he knew you weren’t paying attention. 

“Hmm?”

Lips connected to the soft skin just below your ear; your body reflexively arched into their butterfly touch. “What time are you doing laundry tomorrow?”

“Oh, um,” You calculated silently, the inside of your cheek trapped between your teeth. If you went to bed at 6 A.M. and then slept until early afternoon… “No earlier than two. I can knock on your door when I’m ready.”

He nodded as he threaded his fingers with yours. A current of protection surged through the lines etched in his palms, wrapping you in a cocoon that kept the rest of the world at bay. The sounds of car horns and pedestrians’ conversations and the subway rattling under the grate faded into the background, too dull to even hear. There was no one except for you and Eddie.

The motel entrance loomed ahead, the dimming sign filling you with ambivalence rather than its usual sense of tranquility. Despite the headaches and heartaches it brought, it was still home. 

Tonight, however, you approached it with newfound apprehension. Entering the lobby meant that you had a choice to make: You could keep your grasp on Eddie’s hand and risk your mom seeing, or you could let it go before she noticed. 

You reluctantly untangled your fingers from his, anxiety defeating you with a fatal blow. His hand draped over your wrist for the briefest moment before falling unceremoniously to his side. It hurt to look at the confusion pinching his brows together, his mind spinning to determine the miscalculation that caused you to let go. 

Telling Mom would be too complicated; you’d basically be subjecting yourself to a lecture on the unprofessionalism and dangers of forming romantic relationships with the guests. 

No matter that you’d never pursued so much as a friendship with a guest prior to meeting Eddie. No matter that, with him, you felt more whole than you’d ever been. More true to your authentic self. 

Mom looked up before the bell jingled, a product of her maternal sixth sense. There was no missing your smudged lipstick or the pinkish-red marks across Eddie’s mouth that nullified any alibi he might create. 

“Did you two have fun?” To her credit, Mom kept her tone nonchalant, but her narrowed eyes saw it all. 

“Mhm.” You scraped at the corner of your lip, as if that would conceal the evidence. “Eddie sang Elvis at karaoke.”

That got a smile out of Mom, her posture softening slightly. Still, distrust radiated off of her skin, twisting the knife of inadequacy deeper into your stomach. She glanced between you and Eddie, sizing up the situation. There was nothing she could say at that moment. Not with Eddie standing right there.

“I’m gonna get changed and I’ll be right back.” You couldn’t bear to meet her gaze as you walked to your room. 

A piece of you hoped that Eddie would be waiting when you returned. You stripped off your skirt first, the denim dropping to the ground and revealing your panties. They were, in fact, pink and lacy; the kind that one might wear if they planned to show them to someone else. As if you and Eddie would have been able to sneak past your mom unnoticed. 

You tugged on a pair of jeans, too worn and wide-legged to be capable of showing off your figure. 

The make-up you wore to the bar was too dark for work, and you scrubbed at it until mascara residue stained your white washcloth black. You rinsed, scrubbed, and repeated until your face was bare. Tired eyes stared back in the mirror. 

Honesty was a weight in your chest, anchoring you in an abyss of your own shortcomings. It pulled you down, down, down until the waters were too murky and the pressure was too strong to swim up to the surface. 

With a deep breath, you pushed off of the sink ledge and headed back to the lobby. Only Mom was there, her disdain no longer hidden now that the two of you were alone. 

“Eddie’s in his room,” she said, as though reading your mind. 

“Okay. Yeah, he’s probably tired—”

“You know better than to get involved with a guest—employee—whatever he is.” Mom waved her hand in irritation. Her voice was sharp, cleaving through the facade with one cut, yet hushed in case of eavesdropping ears. 

You cast your eyes down to the floor. “We’re—we’re not involved. Things just got out of hand, but we’re colleagues. Friendly colleagues,” you added off-handedly. 

Mom sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you making friends,” she started, “but it’s not a good idea for you to get close to Eddie. If you have an argument or a falling out…”

“I know.” It compromised too much. Eddie could pack up and leave at the drop of a hat, and the motel would be without a handyman. You weren’t sure how the place survived before he was around, changing light bulbs and plunging toilets and tinkering with minor electrical problems. Now that he was here, he was an invaluable asset. 

“Okay.” Mom looked at you once more, a warning flashing in her eyes. “Okay.” Stepping out from behind the desk, she watched as you took her place. 

“Mom?” All of your truths begged and pleaded to be unleashed. Your feelings for Eddie, graduate school, plans for the future. 

She stopped, stunned by the vulnerability in your tone. “Yeah?”

Tell her. Stop being a coward and tell her. 

“I’m gonna wash clothes around two tomorrow, if you need anything done.”

Failure. 

Mom loosened a breath that blew away some of her anger. “I’ll ask Dad, but I think we’re good.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know running this place hasn’t been easy, but we’re really proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Every ounce of your remaining strength was spent on tempering your emotions, swallowing the pit that formed in your throat. “Get some sleep.”

The ugliness of your lies wrapped around you, constricting vines that dug into your skin and severed the flow of blood and air. 

The daughter they were proud of didn’t exist. Maybe she never did. And the daughter they had was surely nothing less than a disappointment. 

It wasn’t until the silence settled in, swallowing you whole, that you realized you’d never bid Eddie good night.

--

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[johnnysuhbmarine]

My Lips are Sealed

Pairing: Jeno x reader Description: Your childhood was nothing short of amazing with !twinbrotherJaemin and !bestfriendJeno. It was the three of you against the world, and all Jaemin asked was that you and Jeno not get involved with each other. It was a simple rule, but one that Jeno convinced you to give up on by the end of your senior year of high school. While you’re ready to navigate the extent of both your feelings, Jeno was ready to pretend that one shared kiss never existed, tearing apart your friendship in the process. Though, with college graduation came the famed trip to Hawaii the three of you had planned since childhood. Now it was just a matter of if four years of no contact between you and Jeno was something you could come back from. Content warnings: mentions of alcohol, a little bit of angst with a happy ending. Please let me know if I’ve missed anything. Word count: 12,821 :) A/n: I had wips started for other members before the idea of this existed but I can’t help myself from writing about Jeno. I hope you all are doing well - I’m rooting for you! Please enjoy, or don’t…I can’t tell you what to do. As always, feedback would be GREATLY appreciated :)

You were alone on the outskirts of the venue, already tired of getting stepped on by everyone jumping up and down, or worse, having to withstand watching all the couples dance to the slow songs. Prom night was not all that those movies chalked it up to be, not when you’re single, anyways. That being said, the theme was masquerade and you were currently walking through the garden, so you didn’t miss the opportunity to at least romanticize your night a little bit. 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when you hear footsteps behind you, and you turn from the rose bushes to lay eyes on a figure you knew all too well, a small smile coming onto your features as you meet his masked gaze. As soon as you turned around to face him, his movements grew clumsier, and he softly laughed over them as he spoke. “Hey there. I don’t mean to come on too strong but, you look beautiful.” His words were firm but you just raised an eyebrow and shook your head.

“Jeno, I know you know it’s me.” You reply with a dry laugh.

He looks back over his shoulder before turning towards you once more, confused. “Jeno? Who’s Jeno?” 

Your raised brow quickly furrows as you look at him. The masks adorning your faces in no way made either of you unrecognizable to each other when you’ve quite literally grown up together. You were sure that was Jeno, and you were sure he knew who you were under that mask, too. “What are you playing at?” You ask, any remaining patience for his games leaving your voice. To your surprise, Jeno’s shoulders dropped, and he looked around again to make sure no one else was nearby before moving closer to you. 

“You know Jaemin’s one rule for me?” He questions, and you swallow hard because of course you knew the rule your twin brother had set in place since you were five, but you couldn’t figure out why that was any bit relevant right now. 

“That you’re not allowed to get involved with me?” You answer hesitantly, and Jeno nods his head.

“Yeah, that one. It’s kind of a pain.” He says with a light laugh.

You drop your head to face the floor, all your courage escaping you as you acknowledge the one thing you’ve been pushing down for years. “...yeah.” You breathe out in agreement, and the corner of Jeno’s mouth quirks up in a smirk. 

He takes a step closer to you. “So, what if our masquerade outfits were just so good that we couldn’t recognize each other?” He asks in something close to a whisper. “That I didn’t know it was you?” He takes another step, you can feel his breath as you look back up to face him with wide eyes. “Could I kiss you then?” He finally gets out in a whisper, and your world starts slowing to a pause.

You had to be smart here. Your brother meant the world to you, having his trust meant the world to you, and all he ever asked for was that you and Jeno not get involved…well, he made it more of a demand on Jeno’s end. For over a decade, you abided by it with no mishaps, but it never changed the fact that your soul has been aching for Jeno all that time - that it still is. You didn’t know what to do. “Jeno…” You whisper back, all of your thoughts ending right there. Thankfully, he picks back up and, for better or worse, doesn’t know how to quit.

“What if it was just an honest mistake? He can’t get mad at us for that, can he?” He continues to dig at it, reaching for the answer he wanted in response to his twisted logic. His hand had already come up to cup your cheek, and you shift your gaze to make eye contact with him, trying to take back some dominance as opposed to turning into a puddle. Your wide, soft, helpless eyes were nothing in comparison to the longing you saw in his.

Jeno had regained all his confidence and composure long since he stumbled through calling you beautiful. Everything now was meticulous, completely controlled by Jeno, and you wonder how long he had been planning this. Since the theme was announced? All those months ago? You can’t imagine having missed his pining after you for that long, especially when you’ve been looking for a hidden meaning to his every action for years now, and yet, he stood in front of you now in seriousness - seriously looking as though he might die if you don’t let him kiss you. 

You move your gaze back down to his chest - anywhere that wasn’t his eyes as you respond as surely as you could. “If you’re going to kiss me, whoever you are, do it now.”

The only pause Jeno took in between your consent and him actually kissing you was to smile like a kid who just got told they were getting dessert for dinner. Then he leaned in and kissed you gently. It might have been the fact that you were in a long dress and he was in a suit, but it felt like you were in a fairytale - the world around you quieted, the stars shining down on the two of you as if the universe had been waiting for this moment. The kiss was soft and delicate, Jeno never pressing to deepen it. Instead, he held onto you as though you were fragile, like any harsh movement would break everything, make it all disappear, and he would die before letting that happen. 

When you break away, Jeno rests his forehead against yours, the two of you now caught up in soft smiles and laughter that you couldn’t be too obvious about. Though, almost immediately, they were calling for everyone to get together for the reveal of prom king and queen. You look up at Jeno through your eyelashes. “Should we go see if Jaemin’s won prom king?” 

Jeno nods his head against yours. “Yeah, he’ll be looking for us after, anyways.” He replies, though he makes no effort to move. Instead, he sneaks in about a thousand small pecks at your lips until you turn back into a giggling mess. 

“Okay, okay, stop!” You finally get out in between laughs, moving back from his figure to instead grab his hand and drag him with you towards the main floor of the venue. You typically weren’t one for holding hands, but now you’re sure it’s just because you’ve never held Jeno’s before. His fingers intertwined with your own like they finally found their home, and you know Jeno’s hand was the only one meant for yours. However, the second you meet back up with the big crowd facing the stage, you let his hand drop and he didn’t fight to keep them together, he couldn’t…you both knew that.

To no one’s surprise, Jaemin was crowned prom king. The entire crowd broke into cheers, but Jaemin just stood on stage and scanned the audience for you and Jeno, finally finding the two of you with a small smile on his lips to level out the brightest of smiles held in his eyes. You made eye contact with your brother and nodded softly before joining the rest of the crowd in clapping. Though in seconds, everyone’s attention was turned to the sky as fireworks were set off in celebration. With Jaemin still not off the stage, Jeno leaned down at his side so that his lips were by your ear, though his eyes stayed trained on the fireworks. “That’s what kissing you feels like.” He whispers, and your entire face heats up. You take your eyes off the fireworks to turn and look at him, giving him a playful shove.

“Shut up.” You say, but your words meant nothing amidst the smile on your face. Jeno just laughs, turning his attention back to the fireworks still going off. Though, he quietly grabbed your hand back in his, playing with your fingers as the rest of the fireworks kept everyone’s attention on the sky. 

That was the last remotely romantic moment you had with Jeno. 

Jaemin found you both after the fireworks ended, and the three of you hung around together for the rest of the night. You immediately hugged Jaemin once he made his way over to you. “Congrats on the win, king.” You say, and Jaemin just flashes you a proud smirk before leading you all away from the bigger crowds so you had space to actually breathe. 

The dance ended an hour later and you all filed into Jaemin’s car so he could drive home. “That was actually a pretty nice night, yeah?” He asks, taking a glance over at you in the passenger seat and back to Jeno through the rear view mirror. 

You nod your head in agreement as Jeno is the one to elaborate. “Yeah, my favorite part was the fireworks.” He responds cooly, but your face heats up. You had no clue if he was talking about the actual fireworks or the fireworks that he claims went off when you two kissed earlier that night, and you couldn’t risk turning around to look at him and figure it out in his gaze. 

Instead, you just duck your head, idly messing with your fingers as you add on softly. “Yeah, the fireworks were nice.” 

Jaemin stared over at you with a look in his eyes as though he were trying to figure you out. Being twins, it wasn’t really a surprise that he knew you sometimes better than you knew yourself, but it was instances like these where you wish he didn’t. Thankfully, if he found any deeper meaning to your words, he didn’t question it, instead just humming happily in agreement before going over his own favorite parts of the night. 

Jeno ended up sleeping over with the excuse that your post-prom movie night ran too long - you and Jaemin told him that he should’ve planned on sleeping over from the start. Regardless, the next morning, you and Jeno ended up being the first ones awake. You walk out of your bedroom to see him in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a cup of coffee and idly scrolling on his phone. You smile at the sight of him in pajamas with messy hair, though you figure you looked about the same after just rolling out of bed.

“Hey.” You say, lightly enough to get his attention without risking waking up anyone else. His eyes snap onto your figure, a small smile coming onto his face as he begins to move.

“Hey, good morning. Do you want your coffee? I already made it - one cream, two sugars and all that.” He turns back to you with a smirk, a different mug in his hand now as his eyebrows raise in wait for your answer. He places his other hand around the actual mug to feel the temperature before nodding slightly. “It’s drinkable for you now.” He continues with a smile, sliding the mug over to where you’ve moved to stand on the other side of the counter. “Cause you know, you’re super scared of burning your tongue…even though the funny feeling goes away in like- a day.” He teases. “But anyways, I made it when I made mine so yours could cool down a bit until you got up.”

You duck your head, hiding a laugh. Jeno knew you a little too well sometimes, but you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t do the same in a reverse scenario - how he took his coffee was a fact far past memorized for you. “Thank you.” You say quietly, grabbing the mug from his hands and taking a sip with no hesitation. It was, in fact, your perfect cup of coffee. “How long have you been up?” You ask, and Jeno turns around to look at the clock on the microwave before doing math in his head.

“A little over thirty minutes. Your coffee hasn’t been waiting that long, I promise. It took me a while to convince myself to get out of bed.” He answers with a small laugh, and you flash your eyebrows in recognition as you take another sip. 

With you and Jeno hanging out practically every day, there wasn’t much small talk you could ever make - nothing to catch up on when you were there to actually experience all his stories in the first place. So, you turn your head towards the backyard windows, looking out as you try and build up the courage to say what was actually on your mind. “Are we gonna talk about it?” You ask quietly, still not brave enough to look Jeno in the face and see his reaction.

You figure that was probably for the best when he replies neutrally. “About what?” 

A stab to the heart was what that reply was, confusion coursing through your veins knowing he was the one begging to kiss you last night. You spent all these years helplessly pining after Jeno but he apparently kissed you just for fun - nothing that would matter the next morning, nothing to talk about. “Oh.” You say, trying your best not to sound hurt as you place your coffee back down on the counter. Without another word, you walk back upstairs to your room, passing by Jaemin who had just woken up. 

“Good morning.” He says with his typical smile, but you stay staring at your feet in front of you.

“Morning.” You reply quietly, sure your voice would crack with tears if you dared speak any louder. Jaemin furrows his brows at your behavior, but before he can question anything, you’re already back in your room and behind closed doors. So instead, he continues with his walk downstairs to find a distraught Jeno and your unfinished cup of coffee sitting on the counter. Jaemin just sighs as he moves to start making his own coffee, praying that whatever it was that had the two of you bothered would work itself out in no time. 

That never happened. 

You started avoiding Jeno after that morning, hiding in your room whenever he would come over or making sure you had plans to get you out of the house entirely; anything to make yourself scarce. It was a stupid way to spend your last summer before college - hiding from your best friend, but you couldn’t help the fact that any reminder of him now hurt. You had spent too long crushing on Jeno just for him to string you along with one kiss and then pretend nothing happened. Truthfully, you would have rather him rejected you outright instead of ghosting over the subject and leaving you without closure. 

After the first week of you blatantly avoiding Jeno, he too stopped trying to reach out - wouldn’t ask where you were headed as you left through the front door, wouldn’t knock on your bedroom door and ask if you wanted what Jaemin and himself just made for dinner, wouldn’t text and ask how your day went, wouldn’t say ‘hi’ in passing…all that was left of your relationship was the fact that he never left your mind and the way he would still stare after you with an unreadable expression whenever you walked away from him.

Jaemin let it go in the beginning, but soon enough he couldn’t bear the tension, nor the fact that now on any given day, he had to choose between hanging out with you or Jeno, when it used to be the three of you against the world. It was mid-summer when the two of you had gone out for ice cream one day. The entire outing was as normal as ever, but as Jaemin pulled in front of your house to park, he didn’t turn the car off right away. You look over at him in question as you unbuckle your seatbelt, but he just sighs.

“I know there’s something going on between you and Jeno,” he starts, and you sink back into your own seat. “But I also know you, so there’s no point in trying to figure out what happened because you’ll never tell me. But I just- are you okay?” He finishes, swinging his gaze over to you with a hint of worry in his eyes. 

You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, instead just shaking your head and trying to make sure it shakes back your tears as well. “I don’t know.” You answer hoarsely. Nothing has felt normal since you and Jeno stopped talking, but the idea of facing him now filled you with anxiety. Jaemin leaned over to wrap you in an awkward hug and you finally let some tears fall in his embrace. 

“Please just tell me Jeno isn’t the reason you’re going to a different university.” He says in a near whisper, and more things in your brain start to click. Before going to NCIT together was ever a plan between you, Jeno, and Jaemin, it was a plan between you and Jaemin. Choosing at the last minute to instead enroll elsewhere probably hurt Jaemin a lot more than he let on when you made the decision last month. Thankfully, you can at least reassure him that you weren’t letting a boy control your life…sort of. 

“He’s not. You know this one has a better program for what I want to do anyways. Sure, the situation with Jeno didn’t necessarily help in convincing me to stick with our original plan, but maybe some actual time away from each other will help mend things.” 

Jaemin breaks from the hug to resume a normal sitting position in his car, his hands idly fiddling with each other. “I’m sorry you two aren’t close anymore. I know- I know he meant a lot to you.” 

You shake your head, using your palm to wipe away any remnants of tears as you reply. “Just the normal amount.” Your words come out weak, as though the lie could hardly care to exist in the first place. You swallow back the awkwardness that came with your words, wondering how well your brother was able to read you today. Though, dwelling on it wouldn’t do any good, so instead you turn to face Jaemin with intent, a few traces of guilt hidden within your features if you look hard enough. “I’m sorry you have to be caught in the middle of it.” You say, and Jaemin lets out a light sigh that you think was meant to be laughter.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve navigated it for half the summer already.” He says with a teasing smirk that finally gets the atmosphere to lighten. “Besides, some time apart will mend everything and we’ll be all good to go for our graduation trip, yeah?” 

Despite yourself, a small smile comes onto your face. The three of you had been planning to spend a week in Hawaii after college graduation for almost as long as you could remember, and if there was one thing you weren’t going back on, it was a trip to Hawaii. “Yeah, that graduation trip stays as planned no matter what.” You reply, turning to face him so he could see your smile again. Jaemin nodded lightly, finally turning the car off as the two of you get out and head for the door. 

Fast forward four years and time did not mend things, but your graduation trip stayed as planned. Neither you nor Jeno ever attempted to reach back out during college, but neither you nor Jeno had it in you to bow out of the graduation trip or even slightly alter the plans. So, when Jeno joined the two of you outside, loading Jaemin’s car with luggage, he sent a small ‘hi’ your way. You just nod in response. There was no way the two of you could go the entire trip without talking, you knew that, but that didn’t mean you were ready to act as though the last four years of radio silence didn’t happen. In fact, pretending things didn’t happen was the last thing you’ve been wanting this entire time. 

Jeno lets out a soft sigh at your lack of a verbal response as you instead just slide into the back seat of the car. Jaemin comes around to place a comforting hand on Jeno’s shoulder. “Give her time. It wasn’t just separate colleges that had the two of you grow apart, it was that entire last summer of purposefully avoiding each other. Before you’re upset that you can’t pick up where you left off, remember that 50% of the blame is your own. You stopped talking to her, too. Where you ‘left off’ was not as best friends.” 

Jeno shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting us to be that close again.” He states plainly, and the tiniest of frowns flashes across Jaemin’s face before he motions for the two of them to get in the car as well, the ride to the airport filled entirely with music as you stared out the window. 

On the airplane, Jaemin sat in the middle, with Jeno taking the aisle and you the window seat. For a while, all three of you were doing your own separate things, but about an hour and a half into the flight, Jaemin pulled out the nintendo switch, propping it up on the tray table and switching his gaze back and forth between you and Jeno with raised, expectant eyebrows. You wave him off, turning your attention back to the window as Jeno is the one to take the other controller from Jaemin’s hands. Together, they played through three circuits of mariokart before Jaemin finally turned it off and started trying to fall asleep, laying his head against your shoulder. 

It was maybe fifteen minutes later when you feel a tap on your thigh. You quickly turn your attention from the window to the touch, tracing it back up to Jeno. He had booted up the switch again, mariokart waiting on the multiplayer home screen. You look back down to see one of the remotes held out for you in the hand that had gained your attention in the first place. You turn back to look at him; his eyes were wide in anticipation but he looked small as he silently asked for you to play with him. You breathe out a soft sigh, taking the remote from his hand before turning back to him. “I’m going to beat your ass.” You whisper over Jaemin’s head. Jeno turns to face the console rather than you to try and cover up the wide smile that your familiar tease placed on his lips. Unbeknownst to the two of you, the corners of Jaemin’s lips perked up in a grin, too, before he quickly started back on his attempt at falling asleep.

You must have played through every map with Jeno, with it unfortunately being a toss up for who took first on any given circuit. You finally hand him the remote back as he shuts the console down and situates himself so that he can fall asleep, too. You resumed your previous task of staring out the window and listening to music, Jaemin asleep on your shoulder and Jeno on his. Life wasn’t back to normal by a long shot, but a trip to Hawaii wasn’t necessarily normal either - so maybe despite it all, it was going to be okay. 

Hours later, the three of you step into the hotel room which might as well have been a house. Three separate bedrooms and bathrooms for each of you, all connected by a kitchen and living room. With you not getting any sleep on the flight, you immediately started on unpacking and getting ready for bed. Meanwhile, Jaemin and Jeno just threw their bags on the floor and headed down to the bar in the lobby, a common way to kill time that they picked up back in college. 

The next day, the dynamic was much the same. The guys hung around the beach and bar all day while you went for a bike ride down the coast, got a massage, randomly joined the hotel’s ping pong tournament where you were probably too excited to crush a thirteen year old in the finals, and remained pool-side for the rest of the first day. 

When you finally met back up with Jaemin and Jeno, it was for dinner. You were given free drink coupons for winning the ping pong tournament, so you all decided to eat at the hotel restaurant just off the shore. You don’t think you had ever seen the boys as confused as when you told them the story behind the coupons, but they weren’t going to question it if it meant you were willing to share the free drinks with them. 

Dinner itself was still awkward. It was either you talking to Jaemin or Jeno talking to Jaemin, and the other would pretend to be really invested in their food during the other’s conversation. Though, Jaemin didn’t seem bothered. At least, he didn’t push for the two of you to finally get over it and resolve the tension. So, you didn’t, and dinner became a game of you and Jeno trying to avoid eye contact at all costs. 

Regardless, the night quickly came to a close, and when the opportunity arose to join Jaemin and Jeno on the living room couch and watch Forensic Files, you politely declined and turned on the TV in your own bedroom instead. 

Trying to finally fall asleep around midnight would have been a lot easier if it didn’t decide to storm so horrendously. The lightning lit up everything around you as the thunder shook the room violently - or maybe it was just you that was violently shaking. You were never good with storms; they have always terrified you since you were little. Currently, this one had you curled up in a ball sitting atop your bed, silent tears rushing down your cheeks.

It was maybe twenty minutes into the storm when your bedroom door cracked open. You quickly wipe stray tears off your face as you look up to meet the presence standing meekly in the doorframe, their head turned down to face the floor. You knew the silhouette’s body frame, though, and it wasn’t Jaemin’s. 

“Jeno?” You ask hoarsely. 

Slowly, he brings his gaze up to meet yours, sucking on his bottom lip in hesitation before he speaks. “Are you still scared of storms?” He asks softly.

You freeze, wiping your eyes once more to make sure your face was clear of tears. “N-no.” You stammer out, voice cracking as you do. For some reason, Jeno just lets out a light exhale of laughter.

“You would be more convincing if you weren’t sitting in a ball and shaking.” He remarks more playfully. You just drop your face to stare into your knees, not wanting to look at him as you reply with words you couldn’t come back from.

“Please, just- come here.” You say in a near whisper, though Jeno picks up on it immediately. He finally moves from the door frame, stepping inside your room, shutting the door behind him, and joining you on top of your bed. 

He sat beside you, less than a foot away but making sure not to touch you. Despite the fact that it was a considerate gesture, it felt kind of stupid seeing as all your interactions used to start and end with the biggest hugs; and now here you were, needing comfort, and Jeno was scared to touch you. 

“How can I help take your mind off of it?” He asks, and you just shake your head. All this time, and you never figured out much to do other than wait it out in fear. That’s when another bout of lightning strikes, the crack of thunder feeling like it came from right behind you. Immediately, you flinch and start crying some more, and without spending too much time thinking about it, you lean into Jeno’s body at your left.

His breath hitches for the smallest of moments before he immediately wraps your balled figure in his arms, rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back. “Hey, it’s okay.” He says softly. You shake off his attempt to calm you down. 

“I’m terrified, Jeno.” You mumble out weakly, and Jeno just takes a deep breath before pulling you closer to him.

“I know, but I got you.”

At his words, some tension leaves your body. All this time avoiding each other but still all you knew to do was trust Jeno. One of his hands remains running up and down your back, the other tightly wrapped around your body as you speak into his chest. “Were you still awake, too?” You ask, and you feel Jeno shake his head.

“No, but the second the storm woke me up, all I could think about was you and whether or not you were able to fall asleep before it started. I mean, you sleep through this stuff like a rock, but if you aren’t already sleeping when it starts, all you do is shake. I just- needed to come make sure you were okay, or…” He drags off for a second, sucking on his bottom lip as he stares down at you in his arms. “At least, not alone.” 

You let out a heavy breath, not able to tell if you were more mad at the fact that Jeno knew you so well or that something like a storm made you panic and put you in this situation in the first place. “It’s stupid. I’m twenty-two years old. I shouldn’t be scared of storms anymore.” 

“Y/n,” he says, but his soft tone comes with a bite of seriousness. “It’s not stupid. You don’t expect someone who’s afraid of spiders or snakes to ever get over it, no matter how old they are. It’s not childish to be afraid of something. Don’t put yourself in some weird double-standard.” 

You shake your head that’s still buried in his chest. “Those are spiders and snakes - almost everyone finds those scary. These are storms.” You scoff, but Jeno cuts you off there. 

He unravels one arm from around your body to instead place his hand under your chin and direct your tear-glazed gaze back to him, making sure you could see he was serious as he replied. “And they’re scary to you, which is all that matters to me.” 

You quickly begin to cry again, this time because of his words rather than the storm. Your arms let go from their grip around your curled up legs so you can instead wrap them around Jeno’s waist and bury your head back into his chest. He just holds you closer in response, speaking into your hair. “We’ll wait it out together, yeah?” He prompts, but before you could even reply, he’s back to rubbing comforting circles on your skin, not giving you much of a choice. 

He holds you in silence for a little bit, an innumerable amount of thoughts plaguing both of your minds as the storm still raged outside. However, when Jeno couldn’t remember the last big strike of lightning, he began to shift in his spot, an arm unraveling from your body. “I think it’s died down-”

That was as far as he got before he felt your arm grab his wrist and wrap it back around your body. In the darkness, he let the brightest smile reach his face, taking a moment to squeeze you extra tight. That’s when more lightning hit and your figure began to tremble in his arms again, the smallest of whimpers escaping you. Jeno let out a soft sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.” He says smoothly. Though, as he shuffles slightly to check the time on his watch, he lets out a small exhale of laughter. “But you have to keep me entertained then. What’s new?” He asks playfully, but the question surprises you. New? Nothing on your mind was about anything new in your life and you couldn’t bring yourself to find anything new to talk about. So instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and build up the courage to address the one thing that was very much not new.

“Jeno, what was that all about when we were eighteen?” You ask, the words coming out more firm than any of your others so far that night. 

Jeno’s arms around you stiffen, and he manages to let out a wry laugh. “Do you still think about that?” He asks in return, and you swear you could feel the knife through your chest this time.

“Every day. Am I not supposed to? Did that not matter to you?” You shoot back, finding more emotion with every word. 

Jeno sighs deeply. “Y/n, nothing’s ever mattered to me more than that night…except maybe this one if I can get it right.” He speaks softly, hesitantly, as though he were scared of saying something wrong. He hasn’t yet, though. All he’s done is confuse you.

“What?” You ask, matching his voice level. Jeno shakes his head and you think he’s shutting off completely, but instead he just picks you up from out of the hug and places you so that you’re sitting face-to-face with him. Surprising you, he reaches out his hands and starts idly playing with your fingers. His head was dropped to face his lap, it was like having your touch was his last strength. Then he starts talking.

“Y/n, you’ve kept my heart and mind occupied for the last four years - before that, really. Long before that. The moment I understood what a crush was, I had a crush on you. All that tiny-me wanted to do was hold your hand.” As he says this, he ceases fiddling with your fingers to instead intertwine them with his own; staring at the interlocked hands with a weak grin before promptly pulling away again and dropping his hands to rest in front of his lap. “Um- but I couldn’t because of course that was the one thing Jaemin told me not to do. I couldn’t get involved with you. So, I didn’t, and I pretended to be interested in other girls in high school so that he wouldn’t get suspicious. But then that prom theme was announced and I found my one in - a stupid one, but an in. That was my one chance to do something about the ache in my chest all those years. Except, it really didn’t fix anything at all. We kissed and I haven’t known a day of peace since - my lips long for yours every second of every day. I didn’t date at all in college. Jaemin would tease me about the fact that I was one-half of the hot duo of best friends but never managed to get with a girl, and I didn’t know how to tell him my heart was already yours - that it’s been yours longer than it’s been mine.”

Suddenly, Jeno was making your world slow down again. His smooth voice saying words you didn’t know you needed to hear, bringing light to the dustiest corners of your heart, making you feel whole again, and yet, none of it made sense. “Then why- that morning- why…?” That was all you could get out before the tears previously pricking at the corners of your eyes began to speed down your cheeks. You didn’t need to finish your question though. Jeno knew exactly what you were getting at, and he was already preparing himself to address it before you even brought it up. 

He shakes his head slowly, defeated as he draws back on the past. “I was a stupid eighteen year old kid. Every night, I go back to that morning and think about what I could’ve done differently - what I should’ve done. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t regret letting you walk away. The truth is, I was terrified. I didn’t want to lose either you or Jaemin, and I didn’t know how to address what happened without risking doing so; which feels stupid to say because acting how I did was a direct path to losing you. I never gave either of us the chance for closure and then lost you anyways. Every day since, I wanted to reach out, ask how you were, beg for you to let me back into your life, but I struggled with thinking I was worthy of that in the slightest. I still haven’t forgiven myself for it, I don’t think I deserve to. I don’t ever want to be okay with the fact that I let you walk away from me. I want to make sure I can never make that mistake again. That morning, I thought I could have my cake and eat it, too. I got to kiss you but I never had to let it get out and make Jaemin hate me. I was selfish when I decided not to talk about it that day. That’s the all of it. I was selfish. Which is funny because I was selfish when I asked to kiss you, too. I just don’t know how the same state of being could lead to the best thing I’ve ever done and the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

By the time he finished talking, silent tears were running down his face as well. You had never seen him as broken as he looked before you now, and when lightning flashed through the entire room and thunder rumbled through you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could care about was Jeno. 

“So, if we went back-” You start, but Jeno had already whipped his head up to face you, his sure gaze looking out of place amidst his tear-stained face.

“I would’ve told you we could talk about it whenever you wanted - whenever you were ready, and if it was that very second, I would’ve started explaining. Every time you’ve made my heart race and my stupid plan that formed the second I heard the theme for prom. How kissing you truly was like fireworks going off and it drove me crazy in all the best ways. How I want to be able to kiss you again and again if you’d let me, and that when Jaemin inevitably finds out, I’d take the blame for everything, but the last thing I’d do is apologize for it. I’d never apologize for loving you, the opposite, actually; I’d shout it out to the streets, people would be tired of hearing how much I care about you.” He manages to let the smallest of laughs play on his lips, but his gaze drops back down to his lap as embarrassment flushes his cheeks. “I mean- I don’t even know if you liked me back, but if you did, that would have been the last time you ever woke up without a goodmorning kiss from me.” 

You let out a light sigh, facing the comforter to hide the weak smile that painted its way across your face. When you finally pick your head back up, your arm moves up with it. Gently, you place a hand on Jeno’s cheek, thumb moving to wipe at the tears under his eyes as you guide his gaze back to you. The two of you held eye contact, your breathing and the rain outside being the only sounds to fill the room before you spoke up with a small encouraging nod. “Jeno, it’s okay to forgive yourself.” You say softly, and you watch as Jeno breaks.

His soft, silent tears turned into him bawling his eyes out, and you watch as he leaned forward, grabbing for you, hiding his face in the fabric of your shirt as his tears stain your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him tightly, occasionally running a hand through his hair as you wait for his sobs to stop. 

When he finally calms down, he pulls back from the hug again, wiping his face clean of tears, and dodging your eye contact. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles out, but you shake your head.

“I forgave you a long time ago...way before I wanted to, but I couldn't help it.” You say seriously, and Jeno finds the strength to meet your gaze again, enough for you to see the shock and question in his eyes. “I wanted to reach out, but I just- never knew how to begin again after all of that.” You continue solemnly. 

Jeno nods his head in contemplation, but soon enough, a small hopeful smile accompanies his features again. “We can start like this.” He says softly. Then he picks you up, turning you around and placing you back down on his lap, his arms wrapping around your torso from behind as his chin rests on your shoulder. “Tell me everything I missed from the last four years.” He prompts, and at every point where you could have fought back, you don’t. Instead, a grin spreads across your face and you just start talking. 

Jeno listens to you talk for what seemed like an hour at least, and in turn you do the same as he recounts every story from college that Jaemin hadn’t already told you…and some that he had - if it was a crime to enjoy listening to Jeno talk, then so be it. Though, once you caught each other up to speed, neither of you were content with heading to bed. Instead, you continued to talk about everything imaginable. The storm outside could have raged on, you weren’t aware. The only worry you had was whether you and Jeno were laughing so loud that it would wake up Jaemin. 

Eventually, the two of you had moved so that Jeno’s legs were laid out in front of him and your head was on his lap as you lay down perpendicular to his figure. You were in the middle of talking about obscure superpowers you would want, and why your choice was much better than Jeno’s. You rambled for who knows how long, but you finally look up to meet Jeno’s soft gaze, a corner of his mouth perked up in a smirk that you couldn’t describe as anything else but fond. Immediately, you cut yourself off, furrowing your brows at Jeno as you change the subject. “Stop looking at me like that.” You say, and Jeno seems to visibly snap back to the present moment.

“Like what?” He questions genuinely, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Like you want to kiss me.” You reply plainly. 

Jeno lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I do want to kiss you, it’s not just a look.” He says, taking one of his hands to brush your hair out of your face. 

You sigh, turning your head away to face the wall rather than him. “Jeno, I can’t fold that quickly. Not after four years of building up walls.” You say in a near whisper. 

His smirk fades as he purses his lips, hurt flashing across his features as he thinks back on the past four years. He swallows harshly, still running his fingers through your hair as he responds. “I know. I’m not asking you to. It’s my fault they’re there in the first place. You just asked what my look was about, so I figured I should tell you. I’ll try not to make it so obvious. I don’t mean to make things awkward between us now.” 

As he finishes talking, you move to face him again, brows furrowed in confusion and you realize you never addressed one specific thing he said. “Jeno, you won’t make things awkward between us. You said you don’t know if I even liked you back during senior year but- Jeno, I’ve had a crush on you for forever. I’ve always liked you back. I liked you back before I even knew I was liking you ‘back.’ I didn’t care - you were everything I ever wanted growing up, and though you’re an idiot sometimes, you still are.” At your words, tension visibly leaves Jeno’s body, small smiles teasing at both your lips as you make eye contact.

“Y/n, I know we’re still getting over years of hurt, and my actions meant you had it a lot worse but- if you really mean it, I’ll wait forever for your walls to come down again. It’s just you for me.” 

You sit back upright again, facing Jeno and trying not to think about how red your face felt and therefore probably was. “Just give me a little bit of time. When I get tired of you staring at me like that and not actually kissing me, I’ll talk to Jaemin. It’ll be a much easier conversation for him to have with me than if it were with you. Then the second he agrees to get rid of his stupid rule, I’m running right to you and kissing your pretty lips. Just give me some more time to heal.” 

Jeno nods, his crescent-eyed smile revealing itself for the first time since the trip started. “You have all the time in the world.” He reassures, but you just laugh a little bit, not missing an opportunity to tease him.

“Well, I should probably figure things out before we’re old and gray. ‘All the time in the world’ might not be the best-” He cuts you off, shaking his head.

“Nope. Not a problem. Not when time stops while I’m with you.” He replies confidently, and you freeze as your teasing attempt gets turned on its head. 

“Oh, shut up.” You say playfully, and when Jeno’s cheeks puff out as he smiles in response, you don’t think twice before leaning forward and pressing a small kiss to one of them. You immediately dodge eye contact as you pull back, but Jeno doesn’t let you off the hook that easily. He grabs at one of your hands, pulling your body back to face him and his stupid perfect smile.

“I so got you.” He says, but instead of a hint of arrogance covering his words, they’re spoken as though he can’t believe his luck. You duck your head, laughing a little. 

“Give me time - if not to get over my hurt then at least to build up courage to talk to Jaemin. Besides, I’d like to spend some more time with you under the best-friend label again anyways. I’ve missed it.” You say, and Jeno nods, already on the same wavelength as you. 

You don’t question it when the best-friend label looks a little different the rest of the night than it has in the past. Neither you nor Jeno had any intention of going to bed anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that laying down was the comfiest position, and if that came with Jeno spooning you as you both continued to talk about every topic in existence, well…you were just really close best friends. 

When you look over at the nightstand and realize a bright 6:28 on the clock is facing you back, you figure it was an acceptable time to actually start the morning. “You wanna go make coffee?” You ask plainly. You had reached the point where you’ve been without sleep for so long that it felt like you were fully energized again, completely ready to start the day. Jeno seemed to have been the same way, because your regular tone as opposed to your previously light, soft statements didn’t faze him. Although, he seemed thoroughly against your idea of getting up, shaking his head as he spoke.

“I can’t hold you if we’re out there.” He says through a pout, causing you to laugh. The two of you managed to find your way back to sitting up during the early hours of the morning, and he currently had you locked in your position on his lap, with no intentions of letting go. 

You run your hands over his arms around you, the light touch sending shivers throughout Jeno’s body. “You’ve held me for the past six hours. I think you should be sick of it by now.” You reply playfully, but Jeno just raises his eyebrows in suspicion. 

“Are you sick of it yet?” He teases, and all you can do is purse your lips because you knew he just won. 

Instead of giving him an answer, you just start trying to unravel his arms from around your body. “Not relevant.” You say through a smile. “Come on, Jen. Let’s make coffee.” 

Within milliseconds, Jeno has let you go and is up off the bed. “Okay! Let’s go!” He replies in a rush. You stare at him in confusion, wondering what had him flip so quickly. 

“Are you okay?” You ask with a laugh. Jeno just gives you the biggest crescent-eyed smile. 

“You called me ‘Jen.’” 

Your eyebrows remain raised, though now it’s more so because of skepticism rather than confusion. “You’re all giddy because I took one letter off your name?” You question, and Jeno just ducks his head to avoid eye contact with you. You roll your eyes instead. “Remind me in the future not to give you any pet names. Not if you’re already like this over ‘Jen.’” You tease, but Jeno shoots his head back up to look at you, betrayal crossing his features. You let out a light laugh. “I’m kidding. Let’s go.” You say, and Jeno finds his smile again as he grabs your hand to pull you out of bed, your fingers instantly falling from each other the second you open your bedroom door and step into the living area. 

Jeno motions for you to sit down at the table while he makes his way behind the counter and to the coffee machine. You watch as he grabs two mugs, and you know he’s starting on making your coffee first so it can cool down a bit while his own brews. You study his figure intently, a grateful smile coming onto your face as you duck your head, taking in the fact that this was another chance at the morning after prom, except this time, you’ve already done all the talking; now he just gets to make coffee and keep your already full heart company. 

You think the second coffee was halfway through brewing by the time you look back up towards Jeno. You freeze when you realize he was already staring at you, his features soft. He can’t stop the smile, nor the blush, from coming onto his face as you look back at him, and he immediately directs his attention back to the coffee machine, shaking his head as his smile grows bigger the more he dwells on the moment, and you know he’s thinking the same thing you were, this time thanking his lucky stars that you were still sitting there smiling back at him. 

Soon, it was just you and Jeno sitting across from each other, drinking coffee, watching the sun rise through the window, occasionally kicking each other’s feet underneath the table, and continuing with your never ending conversation. You were on your second round of coffee, Jeno on his third, when another bedroom door opens and Jaemin walks out lazily. Your face falls into concern as you fade out of your conversation with Jeno. “Hey, Jaem. Sorry if we were the reason you woke up.” You say genuinely, but he shakes it off.

“No, you’re all good. There was just some laughing that-” He cuts himself off, finally seeming to focus his attention on the scene in front of him. “Laughing? You guys are talking?” He questions, his tired expression immediately off his face.

You and Jeno share matching smiles as you stare back at Jaemin. “We were both up early and decided maybe holding grudges was not the thing to do in paradise.” Jeno replies, taking a moment to move his gaze from Jaemin and back over to you softly. You miss it though, just nodding along with his words as you watch relief wash over your brother. 

“Thank god.” He breathes out with a laugh, getting you and Jeno to chuckle as well. Immediately, Jaemin is grabbing his own coffee and sitting down with you both, hardly caring about it not even being eight in the morning yet because his best friends were back. 

The three of you sat around the table drinking too much coffee for about another hour before deciding to go on a walk along the coast. Jaemin was still in the middle, with you and Jeno and either end, but it was no longer to stifle the tension. Instead, conversation flowed as it always had between the three of you since you were five years old. Suddenly, the idea of having maybe canceled on the graduation trip just because Jeno was going to be here felt nauseating. This was how it was always meant to be, the three of you together and Jaemin at least playing the part of oblivious to the feelings you and Jeno could hardly suppress. Truthfully, there was no reason for Jaemin to be suspicious. Looking at the bigger picture, if he hadn’t suspected something was up during your high school years, there’s no way he would be able to tell that those very same feelings were still very much there.

When Jaemin suggested lunch a few hours later, you politely declined. “I actually think I’m gonna go up to the room and take a nap for a bit.” You say casually, though Jaemin looks at you as if you had two heads.

“A nap? You never take naps.” He shoots back in confusion. You let out a small laugh, knowing he wasn’t wrong, but then you bring your gaze back up to meet his own with a light shake of your head.

“I didn’t sleep because of the storm last night, so I’m pretty exhausted still.” You reply, but the confusion doesn’t leave Jaemin’s face.

“It stormed last night?!” He questions, apparently having slept through any trace of it. You and Jeno let out a laugh, nodding your heads.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad.” You answer, and Jaemin flashes his eyebrows in recognition before he turns back to you with worry in his eyes.

“Were you okay?” He asks, hints of guilt in his voice knowing how badly storms scared you while he was just sleeping peacefully through it. You quickly rid him of any worry, though, a small smile coming onto your face as you nod.

“Yeah,” you start softly, and it takes everything in you to not look over at Jeno and surely give away what exactly happened last night. “I was okay.” 

Jaemin’s shoulders visibly lose tension as he takes in your positive answer, then he nods his head. “Okay. Well, you can go back up to the room, then. Text us whenever you wake up and we’ll let you know where we’re at-” He says, but Jeno jumps in.

“Actually, Jaemin, I think a few more hours of sleep would do wonders for me, too.” He says with a chuckle. The statement surprises both you and Jaemin, though Jeno continues without missing a beat. “Would you be okay if I went up to the room for a bit, too?” 

Whereas you were worried Jaemin would start putting things together, he just shrugged, his reply full of sarcasm. “Oh no, I’m alone in paradise and the bar has already opened for the day.” He says with raised uninterested eyebrows. “I think I’ll be just fine.” 

The three of you share a bit of laughter before you and Jeno break from Jaemin to go back up to the hotel. You waste no time in slipping right back into pajamas and under the covers, your fatigue fully hitting once you were actually laying down again. Within seconds though, your bedroom door opens and in comes Jeno, pajamas adorning his figure as well. He wastes no time in making his way directly next to you in bed. You just watch as he immediately clings to you, wrapping an arm around your torso and shutting his eyes tight. You let out a small laugh - you should’ve known. “You’re an idiot.” You say playfully, and Jeno opens his eyes back up to stare at you with a pout.

“So, I can’t stay?” He asks, almost completely in defeat if you couldn’t pick up on the hint of playfulness he also shared in his tone.

You roll your eyes, speaking plainly. “You can, but we’re actually sleeping this time. You’re the reason I’m so tired in the first place.”

With your positive response, Jeno instantly pulled you closer to him, but he doesn’t let you take a stab at him that easily. “That wasn’t me, that was the storm.” He replies confidently, but you can practically see the smirk adorning his face, regardless of you being turned away from him. You shake your head with a smile, flipping around in his arms so that he was forced on his back, with you taking up half of his chest so you could face him. 

His familiar smirk was, in fact, painted across his lips, a slight tease in his eyes as he stared back at you. All at once, a wave of extreme consciousness hits you and you realize the only reason you moved to face him was because you were fully intending to kiss him after his remark. You feel your face go beet red and you immediately hide it in his chest. Jeno was oblivious to the internal battle you had put yourself through, figuring this was just how you wanted to sleep. He gently ran one hand through your hair before wrapping both his arms around your body and humming contently against the top of your head. 

You instantly decide that you couldn’t look back up and face Jeno right now, so you accept the fact that you were going to fall asleep listening to the drumbeat of his heart. What surprises you is the fact that, for as long as you were awake, his heart rate never seemed to calm down; and what you didn’t know is that he looked at you sound asleep in his arms for far too long before he could convince himself that it may be worth missing this moment in front of him to actually get some sleep, too. 

When you eventually wake up, you haven’t moved an inch from where you fell asleep on Jeno’s chest. His breathing was still stable, and a peek up at him confirmed he was still sleeping. A soft smile forms on your face at the sight of him, his hair all messy again from being against the pillow and making him look extra cute rather than hot and bothersome. You move your gaze over to the clock on the nightstand, letting you know that you had been asleep for almost two hours, and you figure the most important thing to do was step out from your bedroom and make sure Jaemin didn’t come back to the hotel and realize Jeno wasn’t in his own room.

So, you snake out of Jeno’s arms, trying your best not to wake him up. His arms fall from around you to on top of his own chest, but it doesn’t seem to disturb him, and you take that as a sign to continue silently sneaking out of your bedroom. You do a quick check around the hotel room, breathing a little easier seeing that none of it seemed touched by your brother recently. However, looking at your phone, you’re greeted with unread messages from Jaemin, asking how long you were going to be out for and if you all could catch the movie night on the shore that the hotel was hosting later on. 

You shoot back a text saying that you just woke up and would go bother Jeno until he was out of bed, too, adding on that the movie night sounded great. Then, you make your way back to your room to actually go bother Jeno until he woke up. 

However, bothering him looked a lot different than how you would typically bother Jaemin. Gently, you let your fingers glide through his hair, his soft hums in response causing you to smile. You move your hand down to instead brush against his cheek, and knowing that he was awake, though he had yet to open his eyes, you start talking softly. “Hey, you ready to get up?” You ask, though it wasn’t much of a question. 

Jeno shakes his head, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Not really. How long has it been?” He asks, his voice low and grainy, and suddenly you’re glad he hasn’t opened his eyes yet to see how red your face has gotten because of it. 

“Almost two hours.” You reply lightly, and Jeno takes an extra long inhale just to let out a deep sigh. “Come on, Jen.” You continue, gently rubbing your across his cheek. At the nickname, Jeno finally gives in, peeking one eye open to look at you before his face turns red and he opens both eyes with a small smile. “What?” You question with furrowed brows.

Jeno shakes his head. “Nothing. I just- like you being the first thing I see when I wake up.” He says through his smile, and you just roll your eyes. 

“You’re really bad at being just a best friend.” You tease, and Jeno’s smile turns playful.

“I’d say ‘I’ll work on it,’ but I’m not trying to be just a best friend long enough for it to matter.” He replies, and the blush races to cover your face again, too. 

“You’re actually the worst.” You shoot back, the grin still on your face. 

Jeno smirks at you, but the look in his eyes is fond. “You don’t mean that.” He counters, and you drop your head to face your lap, knowing he wasn’t wrong.

“Whatever.” You say with a laugh as you turn to start exiting your room again. “Please get out of bed before Jaemin gets bored and comes back to the room. He’s already texted me asking how long we’ll be. And I’m serious, going back up to the room to take a nap while I did is the last suspicious thing you can do on this trip.” 

Jeno matches your laugh, putting his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay, fine. But it’s not my fault you’re the prettiest girl in the world. What am I supposed to do? Not have the biggest crush on you? That’s not an option.” 

You freeze and slowly bring your body back around to face Jeno. The instant your gaze meets his easy smirk, your head is facing the floor and your tongue darts out to lick your lips for a moment as you convince yourself not to give in with every breath. He lets out a heavy exhale that was meant to be laughter as he finally slides out of bed and walks up to where you were, placing the lightest kiss on the top of your head. “That’ll be the last of it.” He says softly, then making his way to freshen up before the two of you meet with Jaemin again. 

To your surprise, Jeno followed instructions well. The rest of the night included zero stolen touches or longing stares. Instead, it reflected any given night from your high school careers, and while you still could hardly stand the ache in your chest that popped up any time you were around Jeno, you wouldn’t have traded it for the world, because the three of you were happy all at the same time again - only slightly aided by the gelato in your hands and the old Disney movie projected on the screen set up by the shore. 

It was sometime after midnight when you all finally got back to the hotel room, and as Jaemin showered, Jeno stood at your bedroom door and begged for you to let him sneak in during the night and sneak back out early the next morning. You stared at him in disinterest, or at least tried to. “I’m not letting you sleep with me while Jaemin is across the hall. I’m sure you can control yourself for one night, Jeno.” You say, figuring starting out with ‘one night’ would be more effective than telling him he’d have to control himself for a huge chunk of the foreseeable future.

Jeno pouted, but when you just raise your eyebrows at him in response, he knows he’s lost, slumping back over to his own room and leaving you to get ready for the night. 

It was a little after breakfast the next morning when you all found yourselves back at the beach. The two boys stayed lounging on the chairs in the sand, claiming they were waiting for the sun to actually come out and heat up the ocean a bit before they would get in. You rolled your eyes at them, entering the water with ease as you spent some time by yourself. 

“Jeno, you’re staring at my sister.” Jaemin’s even voice cuts through the air, bringing Jeno back to reality and making him conscious of the fact that he truly was staring at you. Instead of getting embarrassed, he lets out a small defeated laugh.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to stare at her…just getting used to having her in my life again.” Jeno didn’t care if his statement implied that he would previously stare at you all of the time, too - he was tired of lying anyways. Jaemin just nods slowly, moving his gaze from Jeno and over to you some distance away in the water.

“You know, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I know it was your fault.” Jaemin continues, his tone not giving any hint as to his emotions. There was no playful tease hidden in his statement, nor was there even a trace of contempt. For the first time, Jeno thought, Jaemin was unreadable, and he didn’t know how to take it.

“Ouch.” Jeno replies through an exhale meant to double as laughter.

“Am I wrong?” Jaemin asks casually. 

Jeno shoots his gaze somewhere off to the side, his face finally losing the bits of playfulness he tried so hard to keep in the situation. “...no.” He replied in almost a whisper, and Jaemin lets something of a grimace cross his features. 

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his gaze constantly shifting between you and Jeno before it falls to face his own lap with a sigh. “Don’t hurt her again.” He finally says monotonously, but the mention of ‘again’ has Jeno whipping his head towards him. Jaemin dodges his gaze, just continues speaking. “That’s always been the one reason to have that stupid rule since we were kids. I don’t have anything against you. You’re my best friend. I trust you probably more than anyone with her.” He says, and it’s then that he lifts his gaze to stare back at a wide-eyed Jeno, making sure he could tell he was serious as he continued. “I just don’t want her getting hurt, and I knew no one would hurt her as much as you if things went wrong.” 

Jeno swallows hard, he couldn’t tell if the weight of the world was currently falling off of his shoulders or crashing onto them. The shock he previously bore on his face almost immediately falls into remorse as he thinks about Jaemin’s words. “I’m sorry for hurting her the first time.” He says firmly, this time Jeno being the one to make sure Jaemin could feel the sincerity of his statement. 

To Jeno’s surprise, Jaemin finally lets out a small laugh to accompany his nod, directing his gaze back to you in the ocean. “I know.” He replies, and a wave of relief washes over Jeno as he’s able to crack a small grateful smile, too. Though, some parts of Jaemin’s words were still poking at the back of Jeno’s mind. 

“How long have you known that I liked her?” He asks weakly, dreading how many more stupid past decisions he had no reason to make as a futile attempt to hide his feelings - how many lies he didn’t need to tell, should Jaemin have already known anyway. 

Jaemin dispels his worry, shaking his head. “Part of me saw it as inevitable, so there was always a gut feeling, but I never knew how you felt towards her with any confidence while we were growing up. It’s just- two best friends don’t stop talking immediately after prom for no reason. I figured feelings finally had to have gotten involved that night.” Jeno nods his head solemnly, opening his mouth to reply but Jaemin cuts him off. “Don’t apologize again.” He says with a laugh as Jeno flicks his gaze back up to him. “I don’t want to hear another apology and I don’t want to know what happened. Just- don’t hurt her again, that’s all I ask.” 

Jeno’s gaping mouth turns into a soft understanding smile, and he looks back out to finally face you again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Jeno debated telling you about his conversation with Jaemin for the rest of vacation. The second it happened, he wanted to run right to you, tell you that Jaemin wouldn’t mind if the two of you were together, and immediately make you his girl. However, he knew that you really wanted to have your own eventual conversation about it with Jaemin, and when you decide you’re ready to have said conversation and move things along with Jeno was not his own call to make. So, he kept it to himself, but now when he would stare at you as though you were the entire world, it wasn’t Jaemin’s attention he was afraid of catching, it was yours…cause the last thing he was going to do was break his promise to you about suspicious stuff. 

That of course meant that for the rest of vacation, you were clueless as to what had put such a giant, permanent grin on Jeno’s face. His crescent-eyed smile was more present than ever, and for the boy who you came to learn knew no anger, it was starting to seem like he knew nothing but happiness at all - how were you to know that you were the reason why?

 You were expecting the day after you got back from Hawaii to be boring at best, with nothing to do but unpack your luggage…and maybe also your feelings. You dreaded the idea of putting away over a week’s worth of clothes knowing that this closet wasn’t part of some hotel in Ko’Olina, but your own home. 

However, Jaemin quickly saved you from the torture, standing in the doorway and waiting for you to turn your attention to him. The second you realize he’s there, you turn off your music, facing him again with expectant eyebrows…which strangely matched his own. He had a smirk painted across his lips as he leaned against the doorframe and you had a gut-feeling you wouldn’t like where this was going. 

“Are you going to talk to me about Jeno yet?” He asks casually, and your stomach drops as your eyes widen. You quickly return your attention to folding the laundry on your bed. 

“What about Jeno?” You reply with a light laugh, trying to play it cool, but Jaemin just shakes his head, finally moving towards you with more intent. 

“Y/n, I’ve watched you fall in love with him every time he’s walked through our front door since we were five.” He replies, the statement falling from his lips as though he didn’t even have to think about it - cause he wasn’t lying. Your face drops and your hands fall idly at your side rather than messing with your clothes. 

“I’m not in love with him.” You say weakly, but you knew better, too. You could feel the way your face would glow every time you laid eyes on him, and Jaemin knew you even better than you knew yourself. Whatever defense you could build, he’s already seen right through. 

“I wouldn’t be mad if you were, you know?” 

You freeze at his words, sighing deeply before turning to look at your brother. “Jaem, are you trying to get me to tell you things you already know?” You watch as a small grin reaches his face again.

“It would be nice to hear it from you, yeah.” 

You shake your head, quickly losing the courage to look at him. “I don’t understand why you’re not mad. What you’re trying to get me to admit is the exact thing you made rules against.” 

Jaemin rolls his lips inward before shaking his head. “Yeah well, being mad at my sister is not my favorite thing in the world, so I try to avoid it unless absolutely necessary.” He says lightly, but when you still can’t meet his gaze, he sighs, adding on. “This is not one of those times…Besides, what I was trying to prevent in making that rule has already happened despite it, so it doesn’t much matter now.” 

You process Jaemin’s words with pursed lips. “You didn’t want me getting hurt.” You softly claim, though you let it hang as a question for Jaemin to confirm.

“No, I didn’t. Though, since it’s already happened and you seemed to have made it through just fine, I’d rather not care about whether or not you’re hurt as much as whether or not you’re happy.” 

You finally turn to look back at your brother again, his eyebrows raised expectantly. As you make eye contact, he unravels his arms from where they were crossed against his chest to instead hold them out for you to fall into, which you do; stepping into his hug as comfort immediately washes over you. “Jeno makes me really happy.” You say, and admitting that to Jaemin in this context seemed to finally settle the ground beneath your feet, like the entire world was waiting for your confession.

Jaemin laughs a bit, holding you slightly tighter in the hug. “I know. You make him really happy, too.” When Jaemin realizes you don’t intend to respond to that, he lets out a light sigh. “So…you should probably go to him and be all happy together, yeah?” He continues playfully. You whip your head out of his chest to look up at him.

“Are you sure you’re okay if your sister dates your best friend?” You ask seriously, though by now, a huge smile has made its way across your lips. Jaemin scrunches his face, looking back down at you.

“Maybe refrain from saying it like that and yeah, I’ll be okay. Besides, he’s our best friend, not just mine.” At his words, you’re practically jumping to get out of Jaemin’s arms, and he lets you go with a laugh. You scramble for your phone, immediately calling Jeno, who picks up on the first ring. 

“Hello.” His voice cuts through the speaker as you’re already rushing out of your room.

“Go outside!” You command, and you hear Jeno’s laugh on the other end.

“What? Why?” He responds playfully, but you don’t take it.

“Go outside! I’m serious!” You reply.

“Chill, I went outside the second you told me to the first time. What’s this about?” He asks, but you’re too busy running through the downstairs and to the front door, trying not to crash into any furniture. You open the front door and turn to your left towards Jeno’s house two doors down. As soon as he makes eye contact with you, he hangs up the phone, but he doesn’t have time to question the huge smile on your face before you’re already darting towards him, and he seems to finally understand where this is going as he prepares himself to catch you. 

As predicted, your run towards him only ends when you jump into his waiting arms, your legs wrapping around his torso as he spins you around once before resting his forehead against yours. “Kiss me, Jeno.” You breathe out, and Jeno wastes no time. There it was again, the fireworks, and the feeling in your chest that you never wanted this moment to end. 

“About time.” Your mom says, peeking out from the doorframe where Jaemin was standing and watching the two of you. 

Jaemin drops his head with a small laugh. “Yeah, about time.”

[countlessimagines]

New Guy Around [ Adam Warlock x Reader ]

!!!!!! GOTG VOLUME 3 SPOILERS!!!!!

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Summary: While helping rebuild Nowhere, you get to know the man who tried to kill your friends.

A/N: I’ve loved Will Poulter since I was 13 so of course I would fall in love with Adam Warlock <3 also my apologies for this kind of being small, my future imagines of him will definitely be longer! Enjoy for now though loves!!

MASTERLIST LINK

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It was a normal day for you when you began to talk to Adam; wake up to little raccoons climbing all over you, eating breakfast with Rocket and Groot, and helping Drax with the kids.

It usually consisted of Drax translating what they’re saying while you tried to get them settled into new homes with people willing to take them in.

And as usual, Adam would stroll around like a lost puppy trying to figure out what to do for the day. While he made himself useful by going person to person, today he looked more confused than ever.

You still weren’t on the best terms with him, despite the rest of the guardians giving him a second chance. It didn’t help that they told you what he was trying to do before they rescued him.

With a deep sigh, you let Drax deal with the children for the day and walked over to Adam.

“Do you need something to do?” You asked him and he seemed a bit startled that you were actually talking to him.

“Uh, yes?” Adam said and immediately began to follow behind you as you made your way to your small apartment. It had been destroyed pretty badly in the fight, and you could use all the help you could get into repairing it back to normal.

While your place was livable, it still needed something to make it more of a home.

You let Adam in and instructed him on fixing one of the walls with many holes in it. He got right to work and was pretty silent the whole time. Meanwhile, you straightened up your work desk littered with plants, pots, soil, and little figurines you built for the children.

“Can I ask you a question?” Adam said, taking you out from your little flow of organizing.

You hummed a yes and waited for whatever question he was going to say. You honestly weren’t in the mood for a conversation, though.

“For all those plants on your desk, you sure don’t decorate this place enough.”

You turned sharply to him, wondering why it was relevant to ask such a thing. “Maybe if the people you had been working for hadn’t ruined my place, I would be able to put things up by now. But no, I have to fix it first.”

“All I’m saying is a flower on your table would suffice.” Adam shrugged and began to work again.

You rolled your eyes and continued to replant some of the white flowers you knew Groot loved. “If you must know I gift these flowers to people I care about.”

Adam stood up from the ground and walked over to your desk. “Will I get one of them?” He was teasing you with a smile and a question you knew was a joke.

“Maybe one day if you don’t mess it up for yourself,” you said and glanced up at him. He was significantly taller than you, and it wasn’t until now that you noticed how close he was. “And maybe, just maybe if I forgive you for trying to kill my friends.”

Adam nodded and promptly began to work again. “I will win you over.”

-

Then it became normal for Adam to arrive every morning at your door to help repair the rest of your apartment.

While he worked, you would either tend to your plants or build figurines for the children. It kept both of you busy and eventually a comfortable silence would fall between the two of you. Well, besides Rocket blasting music over the speakers.

Adam would often go to your desk, do a little nod of approval at what you were creating, then go back to working. You would tend to sneak looks at him, thinking he didn’t notice but he always did.

You hated to admit that you found the golden man attractive, and fought against the thoughts that plagued your mind about him. You didn’t want to get close to him… yet.

Adam was very helpful and extremely nice to you, and you could tell he was trying to make up for his past transgressions. You felt bad for being an ass to him, and one day you tried to make up for it. You made him a figurine of his pet that always seemed to find its way to him.

You had left it at his apartment one night and thought nothing of it, expecting nothing in return.

It was the weekend now, and Adam tended to only help on weekdays, so you didn’t expect to wake up to him at your door. He was holding something behind his back, but you didn’t ask any questions.

“Oh, um, good morning?” You said sleepily, still in pajamas.

“I wanted to stop by to say thank you for my gift.” Adam smiled and you noticed he had placed it in the pocket of his shirt.

“Of course, it was my way of saying thank you for all the help.” You did a small smile in return.

Adam shifted on his feet and pulled out a small daisy from behind his back. “I, uh, picked this for you. I know it’s not much but you always gift flowers to people so I thought you deserved one yourself.”

You grinned happily and accepted the flower with a thank you. The tiny flower meant the world to you and Adam seemed ecstatic to give it to you.

“That’s the first ever gift I’ve given someone.” Adam looked so innocent and sad when he said that, almost as if his history did haunt him.

“It’s lovely.” You gave him a hug which took him by surprise but he gladly wrapped his arms around you.

“I was wondering if you’d like to…” Adam’s words trailed off in confusion, not finding the word he needed.

“Go on a date?” You helped him out, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Yes, that,” he said with his dorky smile and awaited your answer.

“I would love that.” You smiled brightly at him, delighted that Adam ended up being a sweet person beneath all the gold.